It was not just necessary for them to pull back some from the searing topic of their mutual past, it was essential for Andy. Watching Miranda nearly fall apart, had created a hot fist around her heart. So certain that most of the pain was on her side, at least, that's how she'd regarded the events in Paris, it was shaking her world to learn that the pain had been mutual.
"What are you thinking?" Miranda said, having regained her cool tone of voice, even if her eyes still held their piercing expression.
"That I need a break. I don't know about you, but I'm getting a little too overwhelmed by all these emotions—my own, and yours." Andy tipped her head back for a moment. Raising it again, she took in the vision of Miranda. She looked calm and collected on the surface, which was probably something she'd trained to do over the years. And yet…there was something, an undercurrent that suggested the calm was only skin deep.
"I wouldn't mind a bit of a reprieve." Miranda gave a faint smile. "I'm not prepared for you to leave me stranded with half-truths and what else is left to say between us." She shrugged. "I need to look over the Book one more time as the layout team has taken a leave of their faculties. Do you have anything to occupy yourself with in the meantime?"
"I did bring my laptop as I came directly from work. I could do some fact-checking." Relieved, Andy felt a genuine smile form on her lips.
"Then let's head up to the study. I need my desk." Miranda stood and walked out into the foyer. She began climbing the stairs while Andy fetched her briefcase, and then followed her.
How many times had Andy walked behind Miranda, on sidewalks, upstairs like this, or shadowing her through throngs of people at functions? Then there were the times when Miranda had placed a steady hand at the small of Andy's back and ushered her through the same crowds as if she feared losing sight of her.
The study was one of the rooms in the house where Andy had never been invited before. A large cherry wood desk dominated the room, together with a sofa group in front of a fireplace.
"Pick any seat you like," Miranda said and grabbed the Book greedily. As much as she complained about incompetence, it was obvious that Miranda loved going through the Book. It was her mistress of the month in a strange. She tended to it, pampered it, and sometimes whipped it into submission.
They worked for around ninety minutes, and then Miranda stretched and rolled her shoulders. "I'm done," she said, sounding regretful. "How about you?"
"Almost. I just need to figure out the last paragraph to end this article in a way that will make the reader think twice and hopefully do some research of their own."
"What is it about? Can you tell me?" Miranda came over and joined Andy on the couch. The difference with this couch, compared to the one in the den, was that this was even deeper and plusher. It easily swallowed them both and it seemed to push them together, like a strange group hug.
"It's about how social media operate like schools of fish when they pick up a trend, a rumor, or a call to cancel someone…I've been playing bloodhound and trying to follow the trends and see how they start, evolve, and scatter. It's interesting—and scary."
"I can imagine." Miranda leaned in to read some of Andy's text, which she didn't mind, and placed her arm on the backrest, just above Andy's shoulders. This made them sit even closer and it brought back all kinds of sensations and memories. The short reprieve while working on her text, evaporated. And yet, something was different—or perhaps just in Andy's head?
"It's an interesting take, Andrea. I look forward to reading it when it's done." Miranda bent her arm and rested her head in her hand. "Are you hungry?"
"No, not really, but thank you. That casserole was so good, I overate." Andy placed the laptop on the coffee table and then sat back and pulled her legs up. She tipped her head back so she could see Miranda, as she sat so close. "Are you? I can help you reheat it."
"No, I'm fine. I might want some more wine, but I'm too comfortable right now, to move." Miranda used her free hand and combed Andy's bangs down. "Looks like you were tearing your hair out over your article. Or was it perhaps over me?" She smiled crookedly.
"Perhaps both?" Andy crinkled her nose. "Nah. It's just a habit. I just got over the habit of sucking on my pens."
"You never used to do that?" Miranda looked like she was trying to remember.
"Not a lot, not, and I tried my best at Runway to not do it. Emily saw me do it once and it triggered her gag reflex." Andy shrugged.
Miranda smiled. "What didn't, back then? Now that she's fully installed in Nigel's old position, she's doing better with everything. As the girls said, she even eats better."
"Good to hear." Tired, but not sleepy, Andy let her head rest against the backrest. "This couch is sinfully comfortable. And it's nearly bigger than my bedroom."
"Are you still in the studio apartment?" Miranda slid her fingers into Andy's hair and began running them along her scalp. Andy shuddered but tried to hide it. Miranda looked absentminded and Andy wondered if she too felt transported in time to those five days that changed everything.
"Yes. For one reason. Rent control," Andy said, hoping her voice wasn't trembling as much as her legs were.
"Understandable." Miranda's eyes followed Andy's features as if she was mapping her face. Slowly, like an afterthought, she slid her fingertips from Andy's temple down along her cheek, along her jawline, and down her neck. "So much is still the same," she murmured.
"Well, it is still me," Andy whispered. It felt as if she would startle Miranda if she used a normal tone.
Miranda nodded slowly, looking pensive. "You're the same, but you've become—more. More of everything. Stronger. More self-assured. More poised…and more beautiful, if possible."
"I'm not always strong, Miranda," Andy warned as her stomach clenched. "If you keep stroking my face, I can begin to misunderstand your intentions." And that would be devastating.
"Four years. Four damn years since you allowed me to do this last time." Miranda repeated her light caress, this time not stopping her fingers until they rested on Andy's collarbone. "You comforted me where I sat, literally in the ruins of my marriage, and when I had run out of tears, you looked at me with those enormous, golden-brown eyes, and whispered…"
"Anything, Miranda," Andy said quietly. "I said, 'I did say, I would do anything at all, Miranda.'" She drew a trembling breath.
"I couldn't look away from you. There I was, in my gray silk robe and void of makeup, and you looked at me like you were there for me in any capacity I could desire. Of course, you had no idea how long I'd—" Miranda broke off and pressed her fingertips against her lips.
"How long you had what?" Pulling Miranda's hand away, Andy pressed her lips against the back of her hand. "Talk to me."
Miranda stared at her hand and then back at Andy, her lips slightly parted. "Surely you didn't think I went from zero to a hundred in one second there on the couch. Of course, I had noticed you long before then."
#
Far too long. Miranda studied Andrea furtively. She looked as if her mind was truly going from zero to a hundred now.
"You mean…even before that evening? You noticed me like that before then?" Andrea's stunned tone would have been humorous if they hadn't been in this situation because they had both sustained emotionally mortal wounds during Fashion Week four years ago.
"Yes." Miranda wasn't keen on going into detail and bare her jugular, but she would if she had to.
"Oh, thank God." Andrea closed her eyes briefly. "Of all the things you could have said right now, that was the most reassuring."
Confused now, Miranda blinked. "How do you mean?" She studied Andrea's expression, but all she could see was relief.
"Miranda," Andrea said softly. "I had fought my attraction for months. If you only know how many excuses I came up with for ogling my married, female boss. Hero worship, admiration, idolization, etc. Neither of them ever fit, as it was pure attraction. Can you imagine how I felt? I was like Alice and the rabbit hole was endless once I began to fall. When you took my words of 'anything' at face value and began running your fingers against my face, down my neck…and unbuttoned my blouse…" Andrea shivered.
Miranda couldn't remember how many times this evening she had lost her breath. This was one of them, as she was transported back to Paris. She had sat almost exactly like this, and she had indeed put her hands on Andrea. Startled she looked at her left hand now and how it rested against Andrea's skin just inside her collar. "I seem to keep taking liberties with you."
"I promise to say no if I don't like it," Andrea said evenly, but her accelerated breathing showed she wasn't entirely calm.
"Fair enough." Miranda opened the top four buttons of Andrea's shirt and found the dragonfly. She traced its outline and remembered how she had fished it out of the pile of boxes of gifts from a plethora of designers. As soon as she saw it, she knew it would be perfect for Andrea. The fact that Andrea had kept it, and wore it, was…unexpected. Then Miranda's eyes fell upon the top part of Andrea's bra. A no-frills bra without any painful wires, but this fact seemed to make it sexier than the most elaborate La Perla.
"We're playing with fire," Andrea said and tipped her head back again. "But I suppose since I chose to dance with the dragon that was to be expected."
"And I'm the dragon in this scenario, I surmise," Miranda said and gently dipped her fingertip in between the space between Andrea's full breasts. She drew an unsteady line upward, up to the indentation below Andrea's neck that showed how fast she was breathing.
"Only in the best way," Andrea said. She swallowed hard. "I never did subscribe to any of the monikers people bestow upon you…but I happened to love dragons."
The ache erupted in Miranda's chest at Andrea's words. Of course, she didn't mean that literally. "I have been called so many things, I can't keep track. Some of the names, I encouraged, as they were useful. I suppose being a dragon lady is not very original."
"Perhaps not. Until said dragon gave me a dragonfly." Andrea shifted and placed a hand on Miranda's shoulder. "That put things in another perspective."
"It could have been because of the circumstances." Hoarse and unable to devour Andrea with her eyes, Miranda slid her left arm around Andrea and pulled her closer. "Where were we on this trek down memory lane? Oh, yes. On the couch in my suite. And I had taken off your shirt."
"You're killing me." Andrea smiled faintly but allowed Miranda to hold her. "I was the one who pulled it off all the way. Suddenly your suite was so hot."
Miranda nodded. "Yes, the suite too."
"And then the belt to your robe came undone." Andrea's eyes began to glitter. "That held quite the surprise in itself."
Her cheeks warming, Miranda closed her eyes. "Oh, God. Yes. I think I blocked that out."
"You were naked underneath," Andrea filled in helpfully. "And it took you a while to notice what had happened, which meant, I found out right then and there, that I was not into hero worship or anything else. I was genuinely attracted to you, and I would have sold my soul to the closest demon for just one touch."
"And then I noticed." Miranda ran her thumb along Andrea's lower lip. She wondered if Andrea knew how flushed and aroused, she looked. The more they reminisced about that evening in Paris, the more they both responded physically. Miranda wasn't sure if Andrea was as emotionally in the moment as she was, but Miranda knew this would be a fast track to a world of hurt if Andrea pulled away. She had done so before, and one more time would mean agony.
"I helped you tie the belt," Andrea said dreamily. "You were so flustered and embarrassed, and I couldn't figure out why. It took me quite a while to realize that you, who I saw as the perfect woman in so many ways, could harbor insecurities."
"If you only knew how many," Miranda muttered. "Right now, my brain is sending out loud alerts, warning me that you can decide to leave at any given moment. That's an insecurity I've struggled with since then." She pressed her lips together but didn't take her eyes off Andrea.
"Yes. And that is so painful to think about." Andrea leaned her cheek against Miranda's shoulder. "I wish there was something I could say or do to make you feel that I won't. I suppose that's my punishment."
"And you leaving me back then is mine." Miranda pressed her lips against Andrea's hair. "There's been enough punishment between us, don't you think? No matter what the future holds, I don't want that. I don't want you to feel I'm punishing you, and I don't think I could bear it if you—if you felt I still deserved that."
"I don't!" Andrea's arms came around Miranda in a startling hug. "I don't, Miranda. I promise."
"Shh." Miranda held Andrea close, and her body was so familiar, felt so right in her arms, she whimpered from sheer relief. Never even daring to hope to feel like this again, with Andrea clinging to her as if her life depended on it, Miranda kissed Andrea's temple over and over. "There. It's all right."
Miranda's mind went to the time when Andrea had retied her belt, and then only ten minutes later, pushed the collar of the robe down Miranda's shoulder to make room for her lips. They had whispered such amazing words of tenderness and arousal to each other on that Parisian couch. "I called you 'darling' back then."
Andrea lifted her head and looked wide-eyed at Miranda. "Yes." Her mouth was half open.
"And for those three nights, you touched me as if you—as if you couldn't get enough." Miranda cursed the tears that burned at the corners of her eyes.
"And, I believe, so did you. You went back and forth between surrendering to me and commanding me, and I loved every second of it. You were right—I couldn't get enough." Andrea gently dabbed at the tears on the thin skin below Miranda's eyes. "I was so sure I had found—" Andrea drew a shaky breath. "And I was so wrong. Where I thought it was about love—and I hear now how naïve that was—you made it clear that it wasn't."
"I know." Miranda couldn't swallow as too many tears had found their way into her throat. "For me it was impossible."
Andrea nodded sorrowfully. "And I had been so sure it wasn't, as it was obvious to me. I had never experienced anything like I did with you, and don't misunderstand, I'd had great sex before, so that wasn't all of it. It was also all the things in between. The laughter, the long talks, the gentle, tender caresses—you know? So, then, when you made it clear that you had a plan to follow that had nothing to do with me, and you made it sound as if your marriage might be salvaged—yes, I probably was very naïve…" Andrea shrugged. "I don't want to be the one to say, 'I told you so,' but in retrospect, considering how we've both been affected by it all—I was right. It wasn't just sex or just physical attraction. It was a lot more than that."
Miranda listened to the scorchingly painful words as Andrea described it from her point of view. She had been aware of some of that, but certainly not all. She considered Andrea's response. "You were so passionate. I had never experienced that. And unlike you, Andrea, I hadn't had great sex for a long time, and I thought I was on hormonal overload. I couldn't fathom what else it could be, as I had never been with anyone like you—ever." She leaned in and brushed her lips whisper-light against Andrea's mouth. "But that said…yes."
"Yes, what?" Andrea said, gasping as Miranda kissed her again.
"Damn it, Andrea." Miranda trembled as her thighs clenched. She cupped Andrea's cheek. "Yes, as in you were right."
Continued in part 7.