Andy sprawled on the terrace, supremely satisfied with herself. Ever since that damn Harry Potter - no, ever since she had earned Miranda's first astonished once over, she gloried in upsetting Miranda's carefully constructed balance.
She happily wiggled her toes, letting the breeze cool her overheated feet. One-upping Miranda felt as good as stepping out of those monster shoes.
Who knew? She could affect the woman like that. Was it always there, this… interest? God, if that was true, she'd chop her own head right off. Because, in that case, by leaving she had lost much more than the mere possibility to bask in Miranda's presence.
The question was, of course, if this was something Miranda would be willing to acknowledge. Miranda, whose every single date, not to mention husband, had been carefully considered and assessed for their social standing, cultural worth and economical value. The woman did not have marriages, she had mergers.
Andy sighed. And that answers that particular question.
And still… Miranda didn't seem that desperate to get away from her, however uncomfortable the lodgings. Running hot and cold, the woman was confusing hell out of Andy. Nothing new there.
Perhaps she should take a more fatalistic approach for a while. Stick around and see what happens. And finally clear the air about that fiasco called Paris.
Andy's thoughts turned back to her article. God, she was so dead. Perhaps she should write it longhand and transcribe it tomorrow when they found a way out of here.
Asking Miranda to provide a written excuse felt somehow very wrong. On many levels.
She rose and dusted herself off. Man, was she looking forward to a shower. Her skin was all itchy from the tiny, prickly wood chips, and she felt glazed over by sweat. Not to mention her hair. She was actually afraid of taking the cap off. It was probably the only thing keeping her scalp from crawling off.
Yup, she was more than ready for a shower.
Except, the shower was not ready for her.
Refreshing oneself in Miranda-speak obviously meant occupying the bathroom forever. After a few foiled attempts of coughing significantly in front of the door followed by forceful knocks, Andy finally gave up.
Her stomach was growling so she decided to tackle the wood stove, instead. Once more she thanked granny Pauline for teaching her the basics. She cleaned the grate with only minor mishaps involving the ash pile; she crunched up some papers to light the fire and gently layered the firewood.
Andy was staring at the flickering flames, when she heard the door opening. She sprang to her feet.
"Well, it's about ti-, "she swallowed the rest upon seeing Miranda.
Was it the hair? Slick and combed back, darkened by moisture, it sculpted Miranda's face anew, lending an unexpected rawness to sophisticated features. Perhaps it was the contradiction of the unpolished attractiveness and the haughty tilt of her lips. Or was it the curious tiny curl that dared to rebel next to her ear? Or the mockingly raised eyebrow while she pierced Andy with the sultry look?
She was negligently sexy, arrogant in her beauty. She was Dietrich personified and Andy's heart almost broke.
Midnight blue silk bathrobe opened up when she moved, showing a generous amount of long, sculpted leg. Miranda glided to Andy, close enough to have the edge of her robe brush Andy's arm, definitely close enough for Andy to inhale Miranda's familiar, luscious scent.
"Yes? You were screaming?" Miranda brushed her fingers against Andy's cheek. They came off dirty with ash.
"Um."
"You should clean up, Andrea," Miranda leisurely wiped her hand on Andy's sports bra, painfully close to her nipple. "The layer of civilization seems awfully flimsy on you."
"Um." Andy repeated eloquently. It was only when Miranda disappeared through the terrace door that she could finally breathe. "Good Lord."
She stumbled to the bathroom. She really, really needed a shower now.
The blend of scents that made up Miranda's unique fragrance was thick and intoxicating in the humid air. Lightheaded, Andy stumbled to the sink. The woman was a menace. One-upping Miranda, right. Every single touch was calculated to entice. And embarrass. Andy turned to the mirror and stared. Her face was indeed stained with ash, her hair sprinkled with wood chips. On her left cheek, she noticed two streaks of cleanness. She traced the lines, imagining Miranda's fingers on her skin.
Jesus.
She stripped efficiently, discarding the heavy jeans with great pleasure. She forlornly dumped the top and the panties into the sink to soak. Yay. She was going commando until these dried.
But first, the shower.
With utter relief, Andy stepped into the tub and adjusted the jets. The water gushed out strong and steady, beating down on her tense shoulders and sweaty back. She moaned in appreciation, feeling her muscles mellowing with every blessed drop of water.
Andy eyed the row of expensive looking bottles on the shelf and finally succumbed to temptation. Kidnapper'srightsandallthat.She could almost feel her hair stretching and purring with pleasure. She let herself enjoy the excess of foam for a few minutes, then put her head under that hot, lush waterfall -
- which trickled and died.
"Oh, no. Nononononono!" Andy wailed, turning the knobs desperately. "I can't fucking believe it!"
She sobbed in frustration. She howled in rage.
"Miranda!"
Andy scrambled out of the shower, draped herself in a towel and stormed to the terrace. Miranda was once again curled on the deck chair, deeply immersed in that bloody all-important Runway mock up. Andy glared at her ineffectively, until a blob of foam dared to drip on a page.
"Careful!" Miranda quickly flicked the offensive bubbles away. "Did your brain wash down the drain?"
"It couldn't," Andy said through her teeth, "because there was no water left!"
"And?" Miranda snapped. "Do you expect me to do a rain dance?"
"You used it all!"
"Ah," Miranda leaned back. "How very unfortunate for you."
Andy felt the vein in her left temple thump wildly.
"Unfortunate? Unfortunate?" Andy pointed a trembling finger at her foaming hair. "What the hell am I supposed to do about this?"
"Would that be my shampoo?" Miranda inquired politely. "I'd recommend rinsing at least twice."
"Gah! You—You- Couldn't you just for once, just for a second, think of someone else but yourself?"
Andy turned on her heel and stomped to the far end of the terrace. That obnoxious, selfish, egotistical- Andy stared balefully at the black lake water. She should just jump in and swim away. Leave Miranda to fend for herself.
Except, she tried that once already, and look where it got her.
Andy sighed, resigned. The water looked as uninviting as water could get without having icebergs and shark fins floating on surface. Still, there was a stainless steel ladder attached to the edge of the platform, plunging deep into the water. Someone must have done some swimming here once or twice. She gave Miranda another accusatory look over her shoulder. The woman was not even pretending to read the Book. She was staring at Andy with unabridged interest.
Fine,let's give her something to look at. She dropped the towel, and stood at the edge for a long moment displaying all of her backside. Theoretically, she was kind of mooning Miranda, so there was that, at least.
Of course after such a brazen move, turning around and stepping down the ladder was completely out of question. Thus, she more or less gracefully dove in.
Straight down, into the icy waters below.
It was cold.
Oh, Lord, was it cold.
So cold, that Andy squeaked underwater. She broke the surface gasping and held to the ladder, cursing through her chattering teeth. If the proverbial witch's tits felt as frozen as her own, she truly pitied the sorry wench.
Miserably, she clung to the ladder, trying to catch elusive sun rays, and shivered some more.
It was horrible, it was terrible, it was—
Well. The sun was actually quite strong at this particular spot and the water felt almost pleasant closer to the surface. Experimentally, Andy let go of the ladder and tried a few strokes.
She was sorry to admit, it felt good.
She splashed around a bit and then, tiring, turned on her back and floated mindlessly, absorbing the heat. Boob tanning, Lily would call it. Andy gazed at the fluffy clouds, losing a sense of time, feeling almost like one of them.
From the corner of one eye, she noticed a movement, a silhouette at the edge of the dock. Miranda? Realizing she was giving her quite a show – Andy was obviously turning into a raving exhibitionist – she flipped around ungraciously and almost drowned. When she finally managed to blink the water out of her eyes, the dock was deserted once again.
Swimming lost its appeal after that. Holding to the ladder, she attended to her hair. With wrinkled fingertips, she dutifully rinsed her hair twice - and then spent ten guilty minutes waving the bubbly rainbow stain away. Miranda's shampoo was probably as environmentally friendly as a stick of dynamite. She could just imagine ghastly white fish bellies popping out all over the lake by tomorrow morning.
When she finally climbed back up and peaked over the ledge, Miranda's chair was deserted, and the woman herself was out of sight. Andy reached for her discarded towel, and noticed a pile of neatly folded clothes. She poked at it experimentally: a pair of light Capri pants, a loose, gauzy black shirt, and, peaking underneath the hair-brush, a pair of tiny, lacy La Perla panties.
Miranda's panties.
Oh,boy. Now she felt like showering again.
Andy sat in the deck chair – the one unclaimed by Miranda - and toweled her scalp furiously. While she did like her hair most of the time, there were occasions, like this one, when she'd happily chop it all off. It was a menace to manage: unless she tamed it now while still wet, it would look like a pterodactyl's nest by morning.
She sighed, grabbed the brush and started combing diligently.
"You shall clean both the brush and the deck once you are finished, of course."
She turned to see Miranda stepping on the terrace, a tray with two bowls and crackers in her hands. The smell of hot soup reached Andy's nose and her stomach roared in happy anticipation.
"Oh, God," Andy moaned, and promptly discarded the brush. "Just clean? I'll be your slave forever for a bowl of that."
"Nonsense. We've tried that already," Miranda gracefully lowered herself into the deckchair, and passed the tray. "You ran away, remember?"
Andy winced. Trust Miranda to pull Paris out when she least expected it. Like now, barely balancing the tray in her hands.
Fine. If she wants to finally talk about it... Andy looked forlornly into her soup bowl, wondering where to start. The damned letter said it all so much better than all her incoherent mumblings ever could. She was pretty incoherent in the car; she doubted she'd be better poised now. All it would take was one vicious barb about responsibilities, loyalty and trust and she'd fall apart. True, Miranda's voice was mild, almost teasing, but that's how the worst Runway storms often began – with a light breeze.
"So, yes," Andy placed the bowl on the table. She didn't feel that hungry after all. "About the, uh, Spartacus move I pulled-"
"Are you certain you wish to draw that particular parallel?" Miranda sniffed. "We both know how his little misadventure ended."
"Right, right," Andy swallowed. Perhaps she should begin by apologizing for minor transgressions first and then, slowly, ease into general sniveling.
She took a deep breath. "Um, talking about unruly minions, I wanted to apologize for my outburst earlier. It was-," Andy tried to find the right adjectives.
She needn't have struggled.
"Rude, offensive and absolutely uncalled for," Miranda promptly supplied.
"Hey!" It sounded much worse when Miranda said it.
"Fortunately for you, I am much too considerate to even mention it."
"But you just—," Almost too late Andy noticed Miranda's lips twitching. She managed, somehow, to hide her surprise and quickly reiterated. "Absolutely, Miranda. I have always admired your graciousness."
She kept her face perfectly straight throughout Miranda's regal nod. But, when she noticed Miranda trying to hide a smirk behind the bowl, she could not hold her mirth back and laughed.
She reached for the soup again. Perhaps they could leave Paris for later.