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It had been a while since she’d had a good coffee. Strong, rich, bittersweet, and oh so bad for you. Like love, she thought, rather cynically. Emma was not a fan of love at that moment.

It had been two years, maybe three, since Kit had gotten married. His wife Mary was expecting their first c***d. Everyone had been invited to their mansion up in the country area of England for a house party that was to last ostensibly for over a month. Ridiculous extravagance, Emma thought, but then Kit Brandeworth was an enormously wealthy man and could afford to be extravagant. Emma had inevitably been one of those invited - her family and Kit’s had been lifelong friends, and though it had been a long time since Emma had last visited her family home up where Kit’s was, she was still a part of them and thus it would have been an unpardonable insult not to invite her. And while no one would have been surprised had she politely declined the invitation, she was not about to run away and hide like some snivelling coward and lick her wounds. No, she was better than that. She would show them that she had not been hurt, that Kit’s betrayal had not cut her straight through her heart...that she had not crumpled up and died.

And so, here she was, on the morning that the guests were to arrive, drinking her fifth fortifying cup of straight black coffee. She looked up as a thundering noise on the stairs indicated that her brother had come down. She smiled blearily at him. “Ready to go, Jordan?” she asked with false cheer, hoping he didn’t notice her bloodshot eyes or shaking hands.

Jordan regarded his sister for a moment, taking in the lackluster hue of her beautiful black hair, the redness of her usually bright sapphire blue eyes. She’d lost the plumpness he remembered she’d had at her vulnerable age of nineteen, and while her new slenderness undoubtedly suited her, she looked small and fragile, and ever so vulnerable. He felt a stab of rage at the man who’d left her at the altar, humiliated her, and broken her heart in front of the world, but quelled it quickly when he saw how weary she was. It would not do to cause a scene and besmirch her name further in any scandal - she would not be able to bear it. He forced a smile onto his face. “Shall we use my car or yours?”

They were all here, she thought, and wanted to cry. Every single one of them who had been at her wedding, who had watched her wait, and wait in vain, and then cry, and flee from the church once she had finally accepted that Kit was simply not going to come. And then they had all subsequently gone to Kit’s wedding, to watch him marry his chosen bride, the woman he loved, the woman he had always loved, and who had not been her.

She had wondered, sometimes, if Kit had ever felt any love, any tenderness for her at all. She had wondered during her engagement to him, and she had wondered after it had been broken. There had been times, when they were alone, and he had shown such love, such affection, she could have been in no doubt of his feelings. And yet, almost as soon as he saw her again, the next day or so, he would be like a polite stranger once again, dutiful, courteous, but distant. She had never understood it...even after the truth had come out and he had revealed his pining for Mary, his c***dhood sweetheart.

“Emma.” For a moment, she thought it was Kit coming towards her, and wanted to run. Then she realised that the hair was wrong, the expression was wrong, even the stance was wrong. It wasn’t Kit - it was James, his twin. James, with the same sculpted body, the same wide, broad chest and expansive shoulders, same muscular thighs and legs and rippling arms. She smiled faintly. James. She’d never liked him, and was quite certain her sentiments were returned, yet he had been strangely, her only support throughout her engagement with Kit - he’d been the one ally she had seemed to have within the walls of the wealthy, cold, and hauty Brandeworth family. The lesser of two evils, so to speak. The Brandeworths had all hated her - but he’d hated her the least. He’d cut his hair short sometime in the duration that she had not seen him - Kit wore his dark locks fashionably long and tied back in a que. James had lopped them off, and brushed them back of his forehead. His hooded, glittering green eyes were laughing mockingly as ever, the sensuous curve of his lips as sardonic as she remembered. His face was his brother’s, and yet it was not.

It was not just the superficial differences, but those engraved onto the planes of his face. Kit had always been sober, pleasant, dutiful. James, the older of the two was wry, cynical, always slightly mocking and a touch arrogant. Both were charming. Both were wealthy. But both were so very different.

“It has been a while.” His voice was distant, cultured, with a touch of hauteur.

She nodded. “It has. Are you well?”

“I am very well. And you?” he regarded her new slenderness with a frown. “You have lost weight, I see.”

“And glad of it,” Emma quipped.

“I am not,” he said abruptly. “You were perfect the way you were.”

There was an awkward silence for a moment, and then Kit strode into the room, Mary on his arm, and announced that lunch was ready.

After lunch, Emma found her way out to the old river, where she and Kit had used to sit, talk, and kiss sometimes. She sat for a while, lost in memories, and realised all of a sudden that while she was sad, and certainly mourned the days she had lost following a pointless dream, she was no longer bitter about Kit’s betrayal. In a way, the only reason she had felt so hurt was that he could have been so careless as to humiliate her in front of so many. She knew that if she had married him, she would not have been able to love him for the rest of her life. It was that simple - she had been in love with him for a short time, perhaps, but she would not have been able to love him for life. If she were, she would still assuredly be in love with him, and she was not. No, she was most definitely not.

She consigned her love, and her hurt, to the past. It had happened. It was over. She was still alive. She would heal, completely, given time, and one day she would love again. There was no use fighting against what had happened. Better to accept it with good grace...and save her pride, in the meantime. It would always hurt, perhaps, but it did not hurt quite so much anylonger.

“A penny for your thoughts?” a deep, masculine voice interrupted them.

Emma laughed. It was a strangely light, relieved sound. She felt no reticence at all towards him, strangely enough. “It will cost you a million pennies for these thoughts,” she remarked.

James smiled. “That profound, are they?”

“I was contemplating divinity and infinity.”

“Again? Do you never tire of it?”

“Never,” Emma smiled back at him. “How can one ever tire of it? It is a concept as such that the human mind can never grasp. It makes one’s mind want to fold in on itself, simply trying to understand.”

“That’s what makes it so tiring,” James said wryly. “One becomes weary of one’s mind being folded in on itself over time. Its dreadfully difficult trying to straighten it out once again.”

Emma laughed, and James stared at her for a minute, transfixed by the light in her eyes, the lushness of her parted lips. He had never seen her so carefree, so happy. Her only warning was the strange gleam in his glittering eyes before he kissed her.

His mouth was pressed, hard, against her own. Startled into immobility, and more than a little fascinated, she stilled. His tongue slipped out from between his lips, and slowly, languidly, licked over hers, finally slipping to the seam of her mouth. Her mouth opened, and he slid inside, tasting her. His tongue curled around hers, stroking it, enticing it, until he had lured her inside his mouth, where he trapped it, and sucked it lazily.

She gasped, pulled away. There was something curiously familiar about his kisses - no, terrifyingly so.

They were Kit’s kisses.

During dinner, Emma, seated next to James, could hardly bear to look at him. Her newfound relief gone, she found in place of them, suddenly a million complications and problems. Wonderful, she thought to herself. Well done, Emma. Trade one twin for the other, so he break your heart again. Heck, it would have been bad enough if they were simply brothers, but twins? My god, she’d be seeing Kit’s face for the rest of her life!

“Could you pass the salt, please?”

Emma looked up. The salt was directly in front of them, a mere foot away from him. “Get it yourself!” she snapped, uncharacteristically rudely, then felt ashamed almost at once.

“My apologies,” James said smoothly. “I merely wished to distract you from your thoughts. They seem to be rather distressing.”

His kisses were just like Kit’s. But of course - they had the same lips, didn’t they? Perhaps they kissed exactly alike. But even as she made the excuses, she knew they were feeble. Men did not kiss alike. To find, and kiss two that did was almost impossible. “How would you know?” she said waspishly. “You cannot read my thoughts.”

His raised brow made her think that he could.

“You have been quiet all evening. Is there perhaps something wrong?”

“No,” she almost snarled.

He smiled slightly. “Ah - is it perhaps that time of the month?”

He thought she had PMS! She wanted to scream. “No!” she said furiously. “Not that its any of your business. But since you seem so eager to talk about my menstruation cycle, I’ll take leave to inform you that I’m not due for another three weeks.”

There was a faint curve to his lips that she knew were signs of mockery. “But perhaps you are irregular? It has been shown that some women who have to face intense emotional distress do become irregular, if only for the duration of that distress. An influx of hormones, I believe is toted as the cause.”

“I am not irregular!” she hissed, and because she knew that any more of conversation in this vein would cause her to tip the entire contents of the dining table on his lap she turned resolutely to her soup and pointedly ignored him for the rest of the evening.

It was dark out, but Emma was resolute. She needed a walk, and by god, she was going to take one. She had to think. She had to relieve the stress that was building up inside her.

She dragged on a robe, tied it up, and crept out into the hallway. She stopped and listened for a moment. Silence. All the other houseguests were asleep. Jordan was too, presumably, since she could hear nothing from his room, which was next to hers. Slowly, she began slinking down the hallway. Just as she reached the secluded, almost empty wing of the house where she thought the coast was clear and she could begin to walk normally, and quickly out of there, a door opened and she was dragged inside.

A blindfold was pulled over her eyes, tied with quick precision. Her wrists were clasped in powerful hands, and she suddenly found herself handcuffed, and pulled back against a powerful, muscular chest. A powerful, muscular bare chest if she was any judge. She was flung down onto the bed, her wrists restrained to the bedpost, and suddenly, quite helpless. It had all happened so quickly she had had no time to react, and even if she had, what could she have done? This part of the house had been built for privacy - almost living here for the duration of her engagement to Kit, she knew almost all its nuances and secrets. No one would hear her scream, and her captor was a powerful man - he would overpower any attempts at escape easily.

“Who are you?” she demanded, having struggled for a while and found that the only thing that accomplished was to sc**** her wrists raw.

“I think you know,” he said, and she could almost hear his smile. James. Incredible. First he kisses her, now he a*****s her. Was there something wrong with the world?

“What are you doing?” she said angrily. “Let me go at once!”

“No,” he said simply, and kissed her.

She struggled. She really did, but after a while, could not seem to be bothered. His kisses were d**gging, illicit, delicious. Even while she protested, she craved for more. She wrenched herself away.

“Let me go!”

“I have said already - no. I cannot. I must show you something.”

She felt cool air, and discovered to her dismay, her robe had been cut away, and with it, her nightdress. He tugged, and she was naked.

“Ah,” James murmured. “That’s better.”

He’s insane, Emma thought wildly. I am in the clutches of a lunatic.

“I’ll scream,” she threatened shakily.

“Please do,” he replied coolly. “It turns me on.”

“What are you, sadistic? Do you torture people just to hear them scream?”

“Not at all,” he said, a laugh in his voice. “I will torture you, and you will scream, but not in the way you think. You will like it, you see. And nothing is more erotic than a screaming woman in the throes of pleasure.” He traced a finger down her body as he spoke, and a shiver coursed through her.

“You’re going to **** me.” It was not a question.

“It is only **** if you are unwilling,” he countered softly. “And I promise, you will not be unwilling.”

“Over my dead body!”

He took her breasts in her hands. Her nipples were tiny pebbled peaks of arousal. He kneaded gently, and she caught her breath. “Would you care to make a wager on that?”

She was aroused, Emma knew. Even now, she could feel the wetness between her thighs, feel her sex gaping. She only hoped that he could not. “Don’t,” she said weakly, as he caressed her nipples with his thumbs.

To her surprise, and relief, he obliged. She felt his hands leave her breasts. Her relief was shortlived, however, for his mouth was suddenly on it. Heat. Wetness. Hunger. She cried out at sensation, involuntarily arching her back.

James smiled in satisfaction and sucked harder. He bit down gently, then harder. A whimper escaped her throat, and she writhed, unable to bear the pain, and the pleasure.

He moved to her other breast, licking first everywhere but the nipple, then circling it until she thought she would go mad. Finally, he sucked it intil his mouth, suckling so hard she thought he meant to devour her entire breast.

“Shall I stop?” he asked, lifting his head.

“Yes,” she said reluctantly. She felt him shift, move, and knew not whether to be relieved, or disappointed.

His fingers plunged inside her. She screamed.

“Ah,” he said in satisfaction. “Music to my ears. Do you scream when you come? I think you do - scream for me, darling. Scream when you come.”

His fingers were plunging in and out of her rhythmically, roughly, steadily. She panted, gasped, fought not to buck against his fingers. His thumb rubbed at her clitoris. She moaned, writhing.

He withdrew his fingers, put them into his mouth, and suckled, drinking in the sweet taste of her. She whimpered at the loss, only to scream again, as she felt his mouth on her. His tongue was lapping at her, licking and devouring at her lips and sliding up inside her as if he were starved. His tongue was slick, hot, wet. His mouth enclosed her clitoris, and she felt his fingers sliding inside her again. She moaned in pleasure as he began to suck at her clitoris, moving his fingers inside her all the while.

She screamed when she came, pouring into his mouth. He lapped at her, swallowed, and smiled.

“Are you still unwilling?” he asked, and Emma felt something nudge at her.

“Yes,” she gasped, defiant to the last.

“Well,” he said softly. “I’m afraid that can’t be helped.”

With a great lunge, he shoved his cock inside her, and she moaned, arching up against her will.

“I love it when you moan,” he said, panting. He gripped her hips and pumped inside her, closing his eyes at the exquisite pleasure of having her, hot and tight and wet, wrapped around him. His fingers cradled her buttocks, squeezing and kneading in tune to his thrusts.

“How does it feel?” he demanded.

“Full,” she gasped. “So full.” And it was - he seemed to fill every inch of her as he plunged inside to the hilt. She was mindless, out of control. Every thought seemed to centre on the incredible sensation of being filled, being taken, again and again. She was wet, could feel her wetness running down her thighs, could feel his enormous cock pumping inside her, and it seemed that it was all that she could feel. She could feel herself coming, could almost taste the pleasure of her orgasm. She bit her lip, moaned again and bucked against him.

She was close, he knew. He revelled in the expression on her face, one of mingled pain and pleasure. He was being rough, and he knew it. She didn’t seem to care though. Her mouth opened - he withdrew.

She cried out in dismay. James cocked his head. “What is this - you are perhaps willing, after all?”

“Yes,” she said, almost screaming in rage. “Yes, I’m willing, you bastard. Finish me!”

He crawled up her body until his face was level with hers. He kissed her, openmouthed, and she reciprocated in passionate desperation. He pulled away after a moment with a sneer. “Beg me,” he whispered.

She whimpered and shook her head. He sighed, then moved up until his cock was level with her face and nudged at her lips. “Take me inside your mouth,” he commanded.

Dazed, she opened her lips obediently and he slipped inside, emitting a heartfelt groan of pleasure. Her tongue flicked at him and he almost came right then. “Suck me,” he said harshly. She did, and he groaned again, letting out a moan of pleasure as he began to thrust inside her mouth. “Harder, sweetheart. Harder.”

Emma closed her eyes and did as he ordered. She seemed to have lost all capacity for thought. She was sucking on him, and that seemed to be all that mattered, that and fire between her legs. She sucked harder, and he suddenly withdrew. “Enough,” he said. “Now, beg me.”

“Please,” she whispered.

“Please what?”

“Please!”

“Tell me you want me.”

“I want you.”

“Tell me you want me to fuck you.”

“I want you to fuck me. Please.” Even at the last, she was polite, he thought wildly.

With a laugh of triumph, he shoved himself back inside her, and started thrusting again, mating with her with vigor. She moaned with pleasure, and he felt her tightening around him. As she contracted in orgasm, she let out a scream, and he too let go, pouring into her in hot gushes, coming with a roar of pleasure, emptying himself inside her. He collapsed onto her, exhausted, feeling sleep creep over him. At the last moment, he wrapped his arms around her and gathered her close, drawing her into the protective cocoon of his body before dropping off to sleep.

He was still inside her.

Emma woke to the sensation of something nudging against her buttocks. Her bare buttocks, she realised blearily, eyes still half closed. In fact, her bare, rather warm buttocks.

Her eyes opened like a shot and she made to bolt upright only to feel two arms wrap around her and pin her down again. “Hush, sweetheart,” a voice murmured warmly in her ear. “I’ve waited for more than three years for this and I’m not about to let you get away that easily.”

The memories came flooding back in a rush and she smothered a whimper of mortification, remembering her wantoness, the way she had responded, the way she had screamed and cried out for him. Her face went scarlett and she lay still, completely at a loss.

James’ lips feathered over the back of her neck, and she knew without a doubt that it was his penis that was nudging so boldly against her posteriour. His tongue flicked out, licking her, then she felt the sc**** of his teeth as he bit gently into her, then harder. She gave a little whimper of mingled pain and pleasure and he chuckled. “You like it rough?” he remarked. “I think we can manage that...”

“Don’t hurt me,” she said softly, her voice small and vulnerable.

James’ demeanor changed abruptly. “Never that,” he said tenderly. “I’d never hurt you. Never.” His hands slid over her body to cup breasts that had tautened and peaked with arousal. “I want only to love you again...if you’ll let me.”
She said nothing and for a moment he too was silent, concentrating only on caressing her breasts.

“Did you ever wonder why Kit was always so hot and cold with you?” he asked her suddenly.

“No,” she said, confused. “What do you mean?”

“How sometimes he seemed to change his attitude towards you in a split second?”

“Yes...” she murmured thoughtfully. “I wondered sometimes why he could be such an incredibly passionate, tender lover in bed...and then see me the next day and act as if nothing had happened. He was never affectionate to me in public, and yet in private, it seemed as if he completely adored me. I could never understand it. It was almost like it was two different people...”

“That’s because it was...” was the soft rejoinder.

She stiffened. “What do you mean?” she choked out.

“It was me, Emma my love...did you never recognise me? It was I who was your first...not Kit. It was never Kit. It was me, my darling.”

“I - I don’t understand.”

“Its simple. Kit was always in love with Mary - but she had broken up with him. He used you to make her jealous, going up to the point of even asking you to marry him. And meanwhile, you were falling in love with him - I believe he didn’t want any complications by refusing to sleep with you. At first, he asked me to only because he felt disloyal to Mary - but after that first time...he didn’t even have to ask me, anymore. I’d fallen completely and irrevocably in love with you...”

There was a long silence. When Emma finally spoke, her voice was as cool as ice. “So in other words, you slept with me out of pity? You took what I offered - my innocence, out of kindness? I was a simply a charity case for you, is that it?”

“No!” The protest was adament. “No, Emma, that wasn’t it at all. I couldn’t court you while Kit was still engaged to you - it was impossible. And I couldn’t make Kit break up with you, no matter what. I didn’t want to hurt you, but you were hurt anyway, weren’t you? When Kit left you for Mary.” He swore suddenly. “God, I should have done something!”

“Its no use crying over spilt milk, is it?” Emma said bitterly. “What’s done is done.”

“Yes,” James said. “But seeing you again - its made me realise that I never stopped loving you, even when I tried to convince myself that I had. Three years, Emma. I’ve waited three years for this. And now I’ve got you, I’m not going to let you go.”

“Excuse me?” her tone was one of blatant disbelief. “Not let me go? May I remind you that you can’t actually do that unless you have me? And you sure as hell don’t!” She made to struggle and get up but was pinned down quite firmly, and for her trouble was turned down onto her stomach, with him lying half on top of her. “I beg to differ,” he said coldly. “I would say that the position you are currently in fairly screams the fact that you’re mine.”

“I am nobody’s! I am not an object, to be sold and bought. And I certainly do not belong to you!”

“We shall simply have to see about that, won’t we?” His voice was silky, sibilant. She swivelled her head to look at him and the smouldering look of heat in his eyes made her inhale swiftly.

He bit her neck. She moaned softly, her head dropping onto the pillow as his hands wandered down her back, to her buttocks. “No, damn you. Stop it!” But her protest was weak and she knew it and he simply ignored her. He stroked, kneaded, and caressed for a moment, before sliding his fingers down to the hot wet centre of her. His fingers played and stroked...and suddenly plunged. She muffled her scream with the pillow. “No,” he said hoarsely. “No, scream all you want, darling.”

She let out a little whimper as he probed, then started plunging rapidly in and out.

Then suddenly his fingers were gone, to be replaced by something thicker, heavier, and a great deal larger. He slid inside her slowly, teasingly, lingering at the edges of her. “So wet,” he moaned. “So hot and tight and wet...you feel so incredible, darling.” He shoved in to the hilt, roughly, groaning, “Yes!” Then he simply stopped moving.

“Do you want me to move?”

“Yes,” she said breathless, panting.

“Do you belong to me?”

“No!”

“Say you belong to me, or I won’t move.”

“No.”

He almost growled with frustration. “Say it, damn you!”

She was silent.

He cursed, then grabbed her hips and began thrusting. “Damn you,” he muttered. “Damn you.”

He forced her legs apart, slid between them and squeezed her buttocks vengefully, before gripping her hips and thrusting into her deeper and harder, faster and rougher. She let out a moan, panting, and writhing against the covers. “Take me,” he ground out, pushing himself into her deeper and deeper. “Take me - all of me!”

He slid in to the hilt, ground himself against her, and slid out again.

“Oh god,” she panted. “Oh dear god.”

He slammed into her again.

“James...” she whispered.

He stilled. “Say that again.”

“James,” she said again, a little louder.

“Louder,” he said, thrusting deep. “Say it again.”

“James!”

He groaned. “Yes, darling. Scream my name.”

“James! Oh, god, James!” She bucked against him, but he pressed her down into the mattress, asserting his power over her. She moaned, her fingers curling into the sheet. He slid his hand underneath her, to the tight little nubbin that was her pleasure spot and caressed in rhythm to his thrusting. She began to buck, screaming out in pleasure, almost as if to throw him off but he held her down firmly with a growl.

“Oh no, my little love. I intend to ride you out until the end.”

His words seemed to send her over the edge, as, with a tiny scream she orgasmed, her muscles clenching tight around him as he thrust and he too erupted in a roar of pleasure. He spilled into her, her muscles milking the very last drops of his cum, and he collapsed, spent, once again.

Spent beyond exhaustion, Emma's head dropped back onto the pillow and her eyes fluttered closed...her last thought being of the heavy, comforting weight still above her.

End of Part One

To be continued in Part Two
Love...and Love Intensely Ch. 02
She was gone when he woke. Somehow she’d managed to get out of the bed without waking him, had dressed and left already. He swore softly. Perhaps she’d already even left the estate. He sat up abruptly and pushed the thought aside. No - she couldn’t have gone. He could not have waited three years for this, only to have her slip away. She’d already left him once - she never would again.

With another small curse James swung his feet over the side of the bed, stood, and stretched. His gaze fell on the pair of handcuffs lying on the ground and he smiled slightly to himself, his cool green eyes mocking and bitter. Perhaps he should have kept her handcuffed to his bed - that way she would never be able to leave him, ever...

With a small shake of his head, he headed towards the shower. If Emma had already left, he would track her down. If she hadn’t, well, there would be time enough to make her his...truly his.

Oh god, oh god, oh god, Emma chanted to herself as she sat on her bed, dishevelled and still rather in shock. She’d been sitting there since almost dawn, replaying the events over and over again in her mind, and as yet did not seem to show any signs of moving anywhere anytime soon. The mind numbing mantra served to send her into a realm where her only thoughts seemed to centre around the words “oh god”, which really, wasn’t all that helpful, seeing as to how she must have screamed them out five times last night.

Last night. Good lord, had it really happened? If it weren’t for the fact that she could still smell the scent of James and their coupling on her, she would have doubted her own mind.

Even now, she struggled to accept it. It all seemed so farfetched, so ridiculous, so...cruel. Whilst Kit had been using her, stringing her affections along in order to make his real love Mary jealous, James had been sleeping with her in his brother’s place, so as to not make her suspicious when Kit refused to sleep with her in order to remain faithful to Mary... It was all such a soap opera, she could not believe it was the truth.

And yet, why would James lie? What did he stand to gain from it? She was already in a far from charitable frame of mind towards Kit, and he had already demonstrated that if all he wanted was to get inside her pants all he had to do was handcuff her...no, there was nothing in it for James. He was telling the truth. Instinctively, she knew that while James would evade and omit, he would never lie outright to her.

And thus, if he was telling the truth about that matter, it stood to reason that he had been telling the truth about the other. He claimed to love her. Did he really? Did she really want to know?

There was nothing for it, Emma decided, sitting up determinedly. She was leaving. There wasn’t a chance in hell that she was about to stay here a minute longer.

She emerged from the shower, naked and rather wet still, since her hair simply refused to dry, no matter how vigorously she towled it, and opened the door which connected her bedroom to her bathroom in the opulent Brandeworth mansion. Lost in her thoughts, she wandered over to the chest of drawers where she had left her clothing, and bent to open the draws, completely unaware of the rather large, lean, masculine form lying sprawled on her bed, watching her.

“I see that you seem to have recovered your equilibrium remarkably well,” a throaty, deep masculine voice drawled from the bed.

Emma shrieked, spun around and instinctively covered her naked form with her arms.

“Its a bit late for that, don’t you think?” James remarked dryly, cocking one arrogantly slashing eyebrow. His glittering eyes gleamed with something that made her want to shudder.

Emma said nothing, merely began backing away towards the door. James leapt out of the bed and advanced towards her, shaking his head at her. “I wouldn’t do that, my darling...you belong to me, you see, and I do not intend for a single other soul to ever lay eyes upon you in all your glory...and if you keep walking in that direction, I’m afraid I’m going to have to take steps in order to prevent just that from happening.”

“I - I don’t belong to you,” Emma said her voice wavering slightly. She tilted her chin. “You - you oaf!”

“Come here and say that,” he invited silkily, still advancing.

“What do you want?” Emma said desperately, a slightly hysterical note in her voice.

“What do I want?” James replied musingly. “Well, lets see. I’d like you to stop covering yourself. I’d like you to stop moving away. I’d like you to love me, and...oh yes. I want to be inside you.” There was a tiny warning glimmer in his eyes, before he struck.

“No,” Emma breathed, but it was too late. He had launched himself towards her, heaved her over his shoulder and dumped her onto the bed. He was on top of her before she had time to regain her breath.

He was heavy, and incredibly aroused, she realised, feeling the bulge against her stomach. She struggled, wriggling against him and watched in fascination as he groaned, his eyes closed and his face tortured. “Stop that,” he hissed, gripping her wrists and holding her to the mattress. Defiantly, she bucked, enflaming him further.

“Good lord,” James muttered. He let out a tortured breath through his teeth, his eyes still closed. “Will you stop wriggling?”

Emma stilled, watching his expression with interest. “Why?”

“Because if you don’t, I’m going to come in my pants, that’s why!”

A small, triumphant smile lit Emma’s features and with calculated intent, she wriggled slightly, testing him. When his features contorted further, she deliberately ground her hips against him, and he swore, rocking his own hips in response. Pleased with her success, she kept up the motion, sure of herself now.

He stopped, suddenly, pressing her so hard into the mattress that she could not move at all as his full weight rested on her. Her eyes widened in surprise and dismay. “No,” she said desperately.

“Oh, yes,” he said grimly. “You will not find me quite so easy to manipulate, my dear. I want to be inside you - and inside you, I will be.” His mouth hovered, close to hers, then settled ever so gently, over her lips. His lips were soft, velvet soft, and warm, brushing back and forth against her mouth. Then tentatively, she felt the hot lick of his tongue at the seam of her mouth - her lips opened, and suddenly the kiss was no longer gentle, but hard, and punishing. His tongue slid inside her mouth with insolence, stroked roughly at hers with demanding caresses, and his mouth was sealed to hers with an almost bruising v******e, as bit by bit, he ripped her wits from her, turning the tables. Even as she whimpered in fear at his rage, her mouth opened wider, sought more of him, more of his taste. And then, quite suddenly, he was gone.

He sat up, shrugged quickly out of his shirt and the warm, musky male scent of him, spiced with a tang of soap and aftershave, filled her nostrils. His chest was wide and broade, his hips lean, his shoulders strong. He knelt up, and seizing her chance, Emma heaved, unbalancing him enough for her to scramble off the bed. He did nothing, merely watched, amused as she wavered, uncertain of his response, and continued to strip, until he was as starkly naked as she. Then, methodically, he advanced towards her, picked her up, and set her back on the bed again.

“We would really save a great deal of time, Emma,” he remarked conversationally as he climbed on top of her and spread her legs. “If you would simply get on the bed yourself and save me the bother of having to carry you.”

“Why?” Emma taunted, defiant to the last. “I would have thought that you would like the sense of power that experience from being able to make others submit to your will.”

He smiled at her, brilliantly white teeth flashing, and she wanted to hate him in that moment, for having the power to subdue her, to charm her, and most unforgivable of all, to make her want what he was forcing on her.

“I can’t deny that I like it when you submit to my will, sweetheart...but you clearly don’t. Why did you leave me this morning?”

She stared at him blankly. “What?”

"This morning. After we were...together. You left me, without a word.”

“After you ****d me,” Emma corrected, and yet even as she said them the words felt like a lie. “And as to the other - I went back to my room. I had to.”

“Why?”

“Well - I - Jordan - it wasn’t right - I mean -”

“You mean that if you had stayed, it would have looked like you were willing, and thus you would have been stripped of the ever so convenient excuse that I ****d you. But its not true, is it Emma? I didn’t...not if you were willing. And as I remember...you were very willing.”

“I wasn’t!” she denied hotly.

“Oh?” Sensuously, he rubbed his body against her and for the first time, Emma was consciously aware that they were skin to skin, body to body, naked against eachother. He forced her legs slowly apart, until his hips rested in the cradle of her pelvis. “Are you quite sure?”

“Yes,” she said, rather weakly.

He plunged inside her.

She screamed, arching her breasts towards him, and he bent his head, clamping his teeth around one. She whimpered like a small, hurt a****l, and he began thrusting, moving quickly, deeply inside her.

“Leave me, will you?” he growled, his hands gripping her hips tightly and lifting her towards him. “Run off on me, just like that, will you?” She gasped, exposed her throat to him and hungrily he bit into her, devouring at her neck. He slid deeper inside her, thrust harder. “Lie, will you? Deny this, deny what we have, will you? Well deny it all you want, my darling, but the fact remains that what we have is real...what I feel for you is real...and I know you’ll never admit it, but what you feel for me is real, too...”

She clamped hard around him and he erupted with a roar of ecstacy, his seed spurting deep inside her in hot bursts. He plunged deep inside her one last time, and she gave a scream of sheer, unadulterated pleasure, clamping hot and wetly around him, her hands, free at last from his bruising grip, free to wrap around his neck, to cling to him as the last vestiges of her orgasm drifted away.

“Don’t leave me again,” James murmured sleepily, when she made to move, to get out from under him. “Please don’t leave me again.”

And, cursing herself inwardly for her own weakness, Emma gave in, relaxing against the comforting heaviness of him atop her, closing her eyes as sleep claimed her, and feeling oddly safe.

When Emma woke again it was much later in the day - well past noon, to judge from the sun shining brightly through her drawn blinds. Yawning sleepily, she sat up, gazing around in bewilderment at the stained sheets for a moment, blinking. Memory rushed back and her face flushed - gritting her teeth, she climbed out of bed for the third time that morning. She did not question her hypocrisy, or the reason for her resentment, as she thought vengefully, don’t leave him, indeed. It was perfectly all right for him to leave her though.

She came down stairs half an hour later relatively refreshed but still very much in a quandery. She found Jordan sitting by himself in the morning parlour, eating from a plate of tiny sandwiches. He looked up as she approached. “Hello, s*s,” he said cheerfully. “Had a late night, did you?”

“Yes,” Emma replied vaguely, feeling her face heat once again. She took a seat, then looked around in curiousity. “Where is everyone else?”

“Kit took them all hunting,” Jordan answered. “The Redwoods, you know. Fresh deer, apparently.”

“Ah,” Emma said, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

Jordan looked at her curiously. “Aren’t you feeling well, Emma?”

“Its just a bit of a headache,” Emma said hastily. “Nothing to worry about. Although,” she continued as a sudden flash of inspiration hit her, “Perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad idea if I were to cut my visit just a little short, go home for the remainder of the houseparty. Just for a bit of a rest...”

Jordan bit his lip, eyed her worriedly. “Emma, if its Kit...”

Oh, it wasn’t Kit, Emma thought to herself rather hysterically. It had never been Kit, she realised abruptly. The man she had fallen in love with, the man she had believed to be Kit...that man had never existed. How could he have, when he was two people? Kit in daylight, and James at night...

“Its not that,” Emma said truthfully. “Its just that I’d really rather go home now...”

“I wouldn’t do that,” a voice said, surprising her from behind. She spun around, her face breaking into a smile at the sight of Lucien Tusane. Lucien, one of James and Kit’s best friends, had been a fount of support for her during the days after Kit’s defection. Word was that these days, he only spoke to one of the Brandeworth twins, and that one was definitely not Kit.

“Luc,” Emma said in pleasure. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“Arrived last night,” he answered briefly. “Might convey the wrong idea,” he continued, his dark grey eyes twinkling at her as he raked a careless hand through his tousled blond hair. “Give people the impression that you can’t handle being here - that you’re running away.”

Emma frowned at him in consternation as Jordan nodded thoughtfully. “Its true, Em,” he agreed. “Keep your pride, at least.”

Emma sighed in frustration. “I just want to go home!”

“Well, there is another way,” Luc put in. “If all you want is to simply leave this place.”

“Well...” Emma began.

“If we put it about that you and I are...you know, involved, it won’t raise too much speculation when we both disappear together...and that way, we both get what we want.”

“Ah,” Jordan said, a gleam in his eyes.

Emma was silent for a moment. Luc’s plan made sense. She knew how wounded he’d been when Mary had broken up their engagement, in order to marry his best friend...yet another twist, Emma thought bitterly. The plot was thickening by the day! She felt like she was trapped inside some sort of absurd parody of a nightmarish soap opera.

“Its sounds like a perfect idea,” Emma said finally, forcing cheerfulness into her tone. “Two birds with one stone, so to speak. When can we leave?”

“You’ll have to keep up the pretence for a few days at least,” Jordan intervened. “It will look suspicious if you just up and go - take time to establish the lie first.”

Emma shrugged, meeting Luc’s querying gaze. “Why not?”

It was that evening, while the numerous guests mingled in the drawing room before dinner for drinks that the “announcement” was made. Emma took a deep breath, steadying herself, and stepped into the room.

Luc saw her at once. “Emma, darling!” he exclaimed, taking long legged strides towards her and looping an arm around her waist possessively. “Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for hours!”

“I was dressing,” Emma replied demurely, feeling James’ piercing gaze on her and deliberately playing up her part. “I wanted to look good for you, darling.” Perhaps that was a bit much, she thought wryly, as she saw the wickedly humourous look in Luc’s eyes. He pecked her nose fondly, and whispered intimately in her ear, “Tone it down a little, sweetie, or I might crack up and blow our cover.”

She whispered back, just as sweetly, “If you do, I’ll castrate you.”

He roared with laughter, drawing more attention to them, and offered his arm. She took it with a cloying smile, and together, they walked into the dining room, seemingly oblivious of the curious whispers they left behind, and one hot, furious gaze.

It was while she was standing outside on the balcony after dinner that evening, taking in the air and waiting for Luc to come back with her drink, that just what she had gotten into hit home.

The footsteps behind her came softly, almost silently, and suddenly, two large, male hands had clamped tight onto her shoulders. She stiffened, made to turn around, but found herself held forcefully where she was, gazing out into the darkness below.

“Do you know,” James voice was very near her ear, his body gradually positioning hers so that she nestled inside the cradle of his, “Its always been a fantasy of mine to take you like this, out here, before the world?”

“Funny,” Emma managed to retort, “I never would have picked you for an exhibitionist.”

“Oh its not that,” James said softly. “Its more a sign of ownership - a portrayal to the word that you are mine...that you belong to me, and only to me...”

“I can see where this is leading,” Emma said laconically. “I don’t suppose you ever listen when what you hear isn’t to your liking?”

She could almost feel him smile. “I listen...” he disagreed. “But I don’t have to accept. And I do not accept this - this charade - that you have set up with Luc.”

“Who says it is a charade?” And perhaps because her voice held just the right amount of indignation, anger, and scorn, she felt him still, heard him go silent for a moment before he ground out, “I say it is...and if it is not, it soon will be...”

“I sincerely doubt that,” Emma spat.

“Oh? You really are Luc’s woman, then, my love?”

His scorn was apparent. “How very...fickle, you are, Emma my dear. You claim to be his woman and yet you are more than willing to respond to my touch...” His hands moved from her shoulders to her arms, and across to stroke featheringly across her breasts, pulling her even more firmly against him.

“You lie,” Emma gasped. “I was unwilling, and you simply - simply took me.”

“I took you,” he agreed, “But you were all too willing. As you are now.” He slid a hand inside her dress, toyed with a peaked nipple. “I could make you come, right now.”

“N-No,” Emma protested, but somehow her protest seemed only token, as he spun her around and sealed her mouth was his. His mouth was bruising, hurting her, and yet inciting her against her will. His tongue invaded, trapped, lured, and touched. His lips captured, sucked. His teeth grazed, possessed, and bit with a hungry voraciousness that drew an involuntary moan from her. “James,” she gasped.

“Hush,” James ground out against her lips. “You’re being punished.”

He wrenched away from her suddenly, a wild look in his eyes. His gaze fell to her red, swollen lips, and his breath seemed to hitch in his throat. “I want you,” he rasped. “If I don’t go, I’m going to take you, right here, right now.”

Dazed, she merely stared dreamily back at him, her lips slightly parted, her eyes clouded. With a curse, he turned abruptly, and walked swiftly away from her.

It seemed that minutes had barely passed when he returned again, for all of a sudden, whilst Emma was once again staring numbly out at the darkness, arms circled her waist from behind, and a voice breathed passionately into her ear, “Emma.” James, she thought, bemused. Had he decided to come back, then? “I’ve waited so long for this,” he continued, feathering soft, gentle kisses across her neck. “At last - at last, I’ll have you.”

Now that didn’t sound quite right, she thought, confused. What the devil was he talking about? Before she had much time to ponder that, however, she had been yanked into his arms and his mouth was covering his.

She sensed almost from the moment his lips touched hers that something was wrong. His kisses felt wrong, new, different, somehow, and his taste seemed different as well. She tasted whisky on his breath, and whilst before he had always been demanding, almost violent, now his lips were gentle, meek, shy, almost. “James?” she said, confused, but found her lips covered once again.

There was a harsh intake of breath from the doors that led to the house and Emma’s eyes shot open, looking from the very large, menacing figure standing in the balcony doorway, to the man who was holding her in his arms. Kit’s eyes stared back at her.

With a cry of dismay, she pushed him away from her, stumbling backwards, unsurprised when he lurched drunkenly, then had to grab the railing to steady himself.
There was a look that could almost be construed as hurt in James’ eyes, Emma thought warily, as he stood and stared at them for a moment longer. She brushed the thought quickly away though, surprised at herself for feeling even an inkling of guilt, and watched waiting for the rage that she knew simmered in the depths of his eyes, then bit her lip, as he turned and strode abruptly away once again.

She must not feel guilty, Emma told herself, finding her way to a chair and sinking down heavily. She did not belong to him, and it was not as if she had asked Kit to kiss her. He’d been drunk, after all. And besides, who was he to say who she could kiss and who couldn’t? She had the right to kiss anyone she wanted!

“Emma,” Luc’s voice brought her back to the present. He was holding her drink in his hand. “Sorry I took so long. I just met Julianna...” he grinned, and the look in his eyes was rueful. “You understand why it took so long for me to extract myself.” Emma understood perfectly - Julianna had, after all, been angling after Luc for what must have been a decade. Ever since she’d turned thirteen, in fact, but as far as Emma knew, Luc had never felt anything for her but brotherly love. With ten years between them, it wasn’t that surprising.

But both Kit and James are ten years older than you, a small, niggling voice in the back of her mind reminded her. And god knew, what she felt for James was certainly not brotherly...

What she felt for James. With a stab of fear, Emma thought back to all the times he’d touched her, kissed her, coupled with her. He’d been her first, though she hadn’t known it, and after him, there had been no others. She was no fool. She knew that what she had experienced with him had been unusual - she’d certainly never experienced with anyone else. Not even Kit, she realised, feeling something cold in her stomach, and she believed she’d been in love with him. What if James was the only one who could feel that way? She had to know.

“Luc?” Emma said suddenly. “Would you kiss me, please?”

Luc was silent for so long, that Emma believed she must have utterly disgusted him and that she’d ruined their friendship forever. She opened her mouth to apologise, but Luc spoke before she could do so.

“I would certainly oblige,” he said carefully, “But may I ask why the sudden request?”

“It - I just - I just need to reassure myself on something, that’s all. Please Luc, just this once. I swear its nothing. And you really don’t need to -”

Before she could finish however, Luc had grinned, and was kissing her.

It was pleasant, comforting, but that was all it was. She knew that Luc wasn’t attracted to her, and she wasn’t to him, and that in essence made their kiss one that was merely companionably pleasant - his lips caressed hers, but nothing else. After a moment, he broke away and raised his eyebrows. “Your doubts have been quelled, I hope?” he asked, amused.

“No,” Emma said, rather deflated.

“Perhaps I should try again, then?”

Before Emma could answer however, a voice said icily from the shadows, “I wouldn’t, if I were you, Luc. Not if you want to leave this place with your manhood intact.”

There was an utter silence from all sides. Finally, Luc spoke, “Is there perhaps something you need to tell me, Emma?”

“Yes, Emma,” James agreed. “Do tell.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Emma said shakily. “Nothing at all.”

“Oh but there is,” James said silkily, stepping into the light and wrapping a possessive arm around her, drawing her slowly, but steadily towards him, into the curve of his body. “I think that there is.”

Luc stood for a moment, frowning, then a small smile curved his lips. “Is this what I think it is, Em?”

“No!” Emma said fervently, fighting to extract herself from James’ grip. He simply tightened his hold on her. “Its not what you think!”

“What I think,” Luc said with a sly look in his eye, “Is that you’ve been having a lover’s spat, and I just happened to be a handy escape route. Its all right, Em - I don’t mind in the least!”

“We have not been having a lovers spat! We’re not lovers!”

“Oh?” James retorted. “Then what do you call this?” His mouth was against hers again, hard and demanding, and cursing herself violently Emma found herself once again responding to his lips, his tongue, his teeth. She was gasping and breathless when he let her go at last, raising an eyebrow at Luc. “I hope that quells your doubts, Luc,” he murmured.

“Perfectly,” Luc agreed cheerfully and sauntered off, leaving Emma stranded once again, her last hope of escape having quite happily deserted her.

“And now, my dear,” James breathed, staring into her eyes, a look of mingled anger and heat simmering in his, “I shall deal with you.”

With two quick steps he had her backed up against the stone wall of the house, out of sight, unless someone decided to walk straight out onto the balcony and look around.

“What -” Her words were cut off with his mouth, settling over hers, as he ravaged and plundered. His hands moved to her bodice, and with a quick, jerking motion, ripped it in half. The rest of it slid to the ground, and quite suddenly she was left standing in her bra and underwear, James’ hard, male body pressed up against her.

“You’re mine, Emma,” James breathed against her mouth, unclipping her bra easily. “No matter what. Nothing can change that.” A quick rip, a tearing sound and her underwear was gone, too.

“No,” Emma said desperately, her hands fisting against his chest. “No, please, James...”

To her surprise, he didn’t ignore her, but took her hands and laced her fingers with his. He moved them against the wall and stared intently at her, at the soft, vulnerable look in her eyes and the way she trembled against him. “Why, Emma?” he asked softly, and she could hear his voice shake slightly. “Why did you kiss them?”

“I didn’t,” Emma said, half truthfully. “Kit kissed me.” There was a look of hope in his eyes.

“And Luc?”

“I asked him to kiss me.”

He deflated. “Why?”

“Because Kit’s kisses did nothing for me.”

He stared at her blankly. She continued helplessly, “I needed to see if it was like that for me with everyone, or...”

James was suddenly looking at her with new intensity. “Or what?”

“Or - or if -”

“Or if mine were the only kisses you craved, is that right, Emma? Or if my touch was the only one that turned you on? Or if my body was the only one that could satisfy you?” She was silent, her face flushed, turned away from him. “Well, is it?”

When she didn’t reply, he tilted her face and brushed a kiss against her mouth. “Emma?”

“Yes,” she said, frustrated and angry. “Yes, damn you!”

“Oh, my love,” James murmured, and kissed her.

His lips trailed down her throat, his tongue flicking out to taste her and he shuddered in pleasure. “Delicious,” he groaned. She whimpered when his mouth enveloped her nipples, his teeth grazing, his tongue laving at her. He suckled at her and she moaned, arching at him, and he sucked harder, driven into a frenzy at her abandon. He was marking her, and felt triumphant in the fact. He would brand her any way he could, any way that would proclaim that she was his, and his alone.

“Are you wet?” he queried, rubbing his body sensuously against her. “I think you’re dripping, my dear. I think you’re just about to come...”

“Oh god,” she breathed, dazed.

He let her go for a moment to fumble with the zip of his trousers, releasing the thick shaft that was his manhood, lifted her in his arms against the wall and suddenly he was inside her, impaling her with his hard, throbbing length.

“James!” she shrieked with the sensation of having him, full, deep, and embedded firmly inside her. “No!” Her protest felt fake to even her own ears.

“Oh, yes,” he growled, grabbing her hips and shoving her down on him again. She moaned, clutching at him. “No screaming this time,” he warned, moving her up and down on him. “You’ll be heard.”

No screaming? Emma thought dazedly. Impossible. He plunged inside her again and she clamped her mouth around his neck, biting to keep the scream inside. He moaned in pleasure, his fingers digging into her as he thrust inside her again, deeper, harder than before.

“You’re mine,” he declared, pulling her down on him. “Mine, do you hear? You belong to me. Say it.”

“I -”

“Say it, Emma.”

But she just shook her head helplessly and he growled in frustration, forcing himself up inside her, forcing her to take more of him, determined to make her accept him with her body, if not with her mind. She cried out, wrapping her legs around him, aware that whilst she was vulnerable and naked, he was almost fully clothed, powerful, impervious to weakness. As if the thought set off a trigger inside her, she spasmed around him, clenching around him, clinging tightly to his neck, sinking her teeth into him once again.

He shuddered, groaning and thrusting jerkily into her one last time, and she felt the hot flood of his seed filling her body as he stood immobile for a moment, recovering from the aftermath. She clung to him, breathing hard, feeling an incredible sensation of being small, and weak and helpless...and completely taken.

He’d taken her, Emma thought, when he finally withdrew from her body and set her on the ground. She fumbled for her bra, put in on, her mind dazed and confused. He’d taken her, completely and irrevocably, and somehow in the meantime, she had - or at least her body had - accepted that. She pulled the dress up, realising the futileness of the act as she saw that it had been ripped down the middle.

“Here,” James said softly, shrugging out of his evening jacket and wrapping it almost tenderly around her. She felt her eyes stinging with tears. She felt so lost, so confused - and it enraged her. She hated feeling helpless. Her eyes fell on her tormentor and clouded once again...who was this man, this man she had always felt she knew and yet had never really known?

“We’d better go inside,” James said when she made no move to leave, merely stood there with his jacket buttoned up around her, the scrap of ripped material that had once been her panties clutched in her hand. “They’ll miss us.”

She stuffed the material into a pocket as he took her arm, and, gently, ushered her inside.
Love...and Love Intensely Ch. 03
It was to be another two days before Emma ventured forth from her room again. Ever since that episode on the balcony that night, Emma had gone reclusive, not leaving her room even for meals, which Jordan brought to her. As her room at Brandeworth Manor was connected to a bathroom ensuit, there was no need for her to leave even for that, and Jordan did not at all mind doing the small favour for his sister. On Emma’s part, she did not really seem to notice whether or not food was brought to her at all, and seemed quite content to simply hide away.

It had gotten to a point, however, where Jordan was no longer content to simply bring her meals and sit and talk to her. Emma hardly seemed inclined to talk at all anymore, and he sensed that, far from being simply depressed as he had initially thought her to be, the problem ran far deeper.

In truth, Jordan was quite at a loss as to what to do, and when, after two days, Emma had shown no inclination whatsoever of recovering her spirits, he brought in the cavalry.

And thus it was that that Sunday, at eight-thirty in the morning, Jordan and Luc banged on Emma’s bedroom door, demanding to be let in.



“Go away!” Emma said blearily from her bed, her voice muffled by the pillow she had pulled over her head. “sleeping.”



“Emma!” Luc and Jordan’s voices hollered in unison.



“Go ‘way!” Emma answered.



“Emma, if you don’t open this door, I’m calling James,” Luc threatened. “He has a key, you know.”



Emma made an incoherent sound of disgust and sat up, treading to the door and flinging it open. “What?” she demanded crossly.

“Good morning!” Jordan said brightly and skipped into the room, plunking himself down on the bed, making himself at home. He eyed with distaste the various items of clothing strewn about, seemingly debating with himself whether he dared to risk Emma’s wrath by cleaning her room. No, he decided finally. Better not risk it.

Emma, meanwhile, was regarding them both with something akin to murder in her eyes. “This better be good,” she said darkly. “Or I’ll make you both pay.”

“I hear you’ve been a bit of a hermit these days, Em,” Luc said with studied nonchalance, leaning against the wall. “Have another spat with James, did you?”

“Here now,” Jordan said, eyeing her curiously. “What’s this about?”

“I did not have a spat with James,” Emma said frigidly.

“Ah,” said Luc wisely. “A lover’s quarrel, then?”

“No!” Emma exclaimed, exasperated.

“Emma!” Jordan exclaimed at the same time. “You and James? Why the devil didn’t you tell me?”

“Because there’s nothing to tell!” Emma said angrily. “We’re not lovers! He’s nothing to me!”

“Aha!” Luc exclaimed. “There, you see?”

“Oh for the sake of the lord, Luc, if you’re going to be an ass, go away.”

“Alright, alright,” Luc conceded. “I’ll stop. You’re sure that there’s nothing going on there, though? James seemed quite... proprietary...with you the other night.”

“Nothing,” Emma said coldly. “Nothing at all.”

“All right,” Luc said, though clearly still disbelieving.

Emma sighed. She could see it was going to take some convincing to persuade Luc that she and James were not...lovers. He couldn’t be her lover if he’d forced her, could he? No...They were nothing to each other...nothing... Somehow, the thought didn’t bring as much comfort as it should have.

“Luc,” Emma said suddenly. “Do you remember that little plan we had - the one we decided on a few days ago?”

Luc regarded her with perplexity. “You don’t mean to go through with that, do you Em? Especially in light of...you know.”

“I do,” Emma said firmly. “I think it’s a perfect idea. In fact, we should put it straight into action right now. Can we leave today?”

“Well,” said Luc doubtfully, “I don’t know...”

“Please Luc,” Emma begged. “I really need to get out of this place.”

“Well, I can’t say I mind being used as an excuse,” Luc said with a grin. “But are you sure this is the best way to go about it? If you and James have had a falling out, then isn’t it better to stay and resolve things?”

Emma gritted her teeth. “We have not had a falling out,” she ground out. “We never had a ‘falling in’. I just want to leave, that’s all.”

Jordan was watching the both of them in fascination. “You’re serious, then, Emma?”

“Yes,” Emma said firmly. “As of now, Luc, we are engaged. We’re leaving tonight, and we’ll break up in a month, due to personal differences. You can break it off if you like.”

“Er -” said Luc.

“Excellent,” said Emma, “Its settled then.” And beaming, she danced into the bathroom. The other two, one her brother and the other her friend, exchanged glances, shook their heads in unison, then resignedly, walked out.

James was the only one in the morning parlour when she skipped down half an hour later, fres