S2 E7 – Come Stay At Mine

Part 2 of 2

As his cheeks flame and he thinks he is going to totally die of mortification, she has to add fuel to the fire and begins tugging at the cloth! "Don't," she says softly, "don't cover up. You're beautiful! Oh, my god, so beautiful!"

For once, she sounds totally cowed and subdued, which confuses him even further, and this time he does yelp! If ever a man is justified in yelping… this is that man! "Camille! For god's sake, turn your back!" He keeps hold of the cloth but just barely and it takes both hands.

"Why?" she says in wonderstruck tones, "The good stuff is right here in front of me. Holy…"

Something in her voice makes him hesitate. He frowns slightly, cocks his head, then frowns mightily. Oh. OK. Now I get it. She's taking the mickey out of me! A woman like this… she can't possibly be interested in me! Not even remotely. Not in the slightest. Not plain old me. Well, two can play at this game, Miss Bordey! His heart breaks a little as he nods and scoffs, "OK, Camille, joke's over. Ha ha, very amusing. Now let me out of here." He grits his teeth. Bitter bitter wormwood and gall. How dare she mock me like this? As if I'm not in enough pain already. I ought to write her up!

But she's putting on a good show. If he didn't know better, he'd almost swear she is sincere in her fascination with his… his… his accoutrement. She drags her eyes up to his and seems to search for words a bit breathlessly, snap-clicks an elegant hand, "How about your back? Did you get your back?"

This gives him pause. No, he didn't get his back. He isn't double-jointed and there's no scrub-brush. She sees his hesitation and actually lays hands on him! He is so surprised that he doesn't react at all as she deftly spins him around and begins to lave his back… his back and… as her hands dip lower he practically crashes through the wall in front of himself, cringing in outraged manhood and bellowing, "Camille! Stop touching me!"

"Why?" is her calm reply, "You feel so good! Especially here…" and her hands encroach on the forbidden zone: the forbidden, don't-think-about-it-and-maybe-it-will-go-away, always-such-a-distraction, he-wishes-he-could-leave-it-at-home-in-a-bottle, zone.

He defends his honour, "I order you to stop that! Don't use my weakness against me! That's not fair!"

"Doesn't seem weak to me," she coos. What wonderful reflexes she has, he thinks as she artfully dodges his best attempts to capture her hands. When he is plastered up against the wall behind himself, breath coming in short pants, his mind swimming with delirium… she DOES step away… briefly.

"Richard," she says in such a reasonable tone of voice that he can hardly believe the predicament he's in, "I just want you to know that I've dreamed about this moment for a long time now."

He can't think of anything to say except, "How long is 'a long time'?" in a rather breathless voice. Oh, he can hear his own pulse hammering!

"Months, maybe a year, I don't know, but this isn't a sudden impulse for me. You aren't a game or a toy. I'm deadly serious. Will you allow it?" Her hands rest upon him. She is awaiting his answer.

The silence is deafening… except for the sound of the shower and the roaring storm outside. Or is it roaring inside now too? He can't tell. He is trembling on the cusp of something huge. He feels so small before it. A mote. A speck. A tiny bit of flotsam in the face of a tidal wave. A tidal wave called Camille.

He makes one last valiant effort, "Allow what?" As if he doesn't already know. But he needs to hear it. He needs to know in his heart that this is real and she isn't playing him like he's been played in the past. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me!

She leans in ever so gently and whispers, "Will you let me love you? Please? Not just for today or a week or a month but for a life time? Can you do that? Will you trust me to do that?"

And his answer surprises them both, "Of course. I've been waiting a long time for just that."

She stands back, hands on hips in her best Sergeant-mode, "Well? What's stopping you?"

He looks at her. Really looks at her. Sees her. Sees her seeing him. And his decision is made without conscious thought. He takes her gently and pulls her to him, "Nothing. Nothing at all."

The storm howls and screams and sobs all night long. Or… it might have been the storm. Might have been something else just as elemental but a lot more enjoyable. Either way, when dawn steals into the bedroom, it finds two souls deeply entwined and devoted to one another.

'Hers' became 'theirs' without the slightest regret on anyone's part. In fact, Maman seemed more thrilled than either of them although Richard didn't think that was remotely possible either. But still.

House-hunting began the very next day and baby boy Poole #1 is born 9 months later, give or take the time it takes to towel off and pour two glasses of wine.

END