This opening has been written several years ago as a writing experiment (I never quite got around to): One beginning, many different possible endings. Have an idea you'd really like me to write? Drop me a message below.
"Goodnight," Inspector Robinson said, unwilling to leave. But it was late. Way too late. It was inappropriate that he should stay at a lady's house until the early hours of the morning, especially with this much alcohol in his blood. And he was sure that this were the exact thoughts on Mrs. Stanley's disapproving mind when she had left as the last guest, save him, half an hour ago. But it was Christmas after all - or at least Christmas in July.
Miss Fisher currently looked like a present, with her golden dress hugging every curve, begging to be unpacked. Jack had to clench and unclench his fists to not succumb to temptations invading his mind. Then he realised that he was still standing at her doorstep with Phryne watching him, a knowing smile on her red lips.
"Goodnight, Miss Fisher" he said again, willing himself to turn away, when he noticed her glance slip upwards. His eyes followed.
"It appears someone hung a mistletoe right over our heads, Jack," Phryne pointed out and he might have imagined her sounding slightly out of breath.
"How fortunate that your kisses cannot be provoked by sprigs of parasitic plants, Miss Fisher," he quipped, noticing in his whisky-muddled brain, that somehow she seemed to have come closer without moving. He swallowed hard.
"I am told mistletoe aren't parasitic plants," she pointed out, looking up at him with dark eyes.
"Hemiparasitic, Miss Fisher," Jack breathed. Her perfume mixed with the scent of her warm skin, invading his nostrils. It was late. Way too late.
Her face came closer and he forgot to breath. Even if he had wanted to, there was no escape. When their lips touched, Jack thought his knees would buckle underneath him. A warm hand snuck onto his back, keeping him upright, pulling him in while he tried to hold on to sanity in the world behind his closed lashes. It was no use. He was lost.
Phryne tasted more intoxicating than he could have ever imagined, her lips so soft that he temporarily forgot about the red colouring which would mark him in the most telling of shades. Jack's head was swimming, small trails of lightning sparkling along his nerve endings as his arms wrapped around her. He felt like he was going to drown in her if he didn't stop. Yet he didn't have the strength to pull away.
The waves closed over him when she deepened the kiss, their tongues now wrestling in a messy knot of warm wetness, her body pressed against his.
Jack knew he was panting into her mouth. If anyone should discover them, there was no talking this away. But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered but her warmth, which bled through the many layers separating them. He felt her hand wander lower, leaving a smouldering trail on his back, settling on his hip. When she pulled him against herself, there was a small explosion in his stomach that made him fear he would lose it right here. Dear God!
His own groan woke him. Jack tried to slow his breathing without opening his eyes. Just another dream. His body didn't seem to care; it was aching with unresolved longing. The Inspector lay for a minute or two in silence, calming himself. When his rushing hormones had somewhat subsided, he had time to sort through the rest of his limbs, mostly his raging headache. If it was caused by the concussion a hit to the skull had left, or a few drinks too many at Miss Fisher's Christmas in July party, he would never know.
The Inspector groaned again, this time for very different reasons and rubbed his throbbing temples when he realised that something was off. It might have been the mattress, the sheets, but mostly it was the scent hanging in the air. Her scent! For a moment he wondered if he was still dreaming, then he pried his eyes open and turned his aching head towards the soft breathing. The air hitched in his throat. Only centimeters away from him lay Phryne Fisher, still fast asleep. Her face was peaceful, her black locks messy, the thin strap of her nightdress fallen from her white, freckly shoulder. Jack fought down the temptation to pull it back into place. His thoughts were racing. What on earth had happened? Was there a sane explanation? As much as he racked his aching brain, it wouldn't come up with an answer. Just then he noticed the first movement in Phryne's lashes. They fluttered gently. Jack wanted to flee, but his body wouldn't move. The world seemed to slow down when a sleepy Phryne arrived in the land of the living and only briefly it occurred to Inspector Robinson how often he had wished for this moment. The moment when she woke from her sweet dreams to look at him. In his imagination, her blue eyes had, however, never widened in shock.