Excerpt Mythic Fantasies
Emily introduced her to so many people that she knew she would never be able to remember any of their names. Not that it really mattered, as none of them had that something special she was looking for. Although, to be honest with herself, she had no idea of what that something was. Then Emily was steering her out of the brightly lit ballroom into a much smaller, darker room. Here, a large log fire and candles on the tables were the only illumination. It took a while for Cathy's eyes to adjust to the lighting, and then she saw that the room was deserted, save for one solitary occupant. She was puzzled and turned to Emily for an explanation, only to find that she had disappeared. Her first reaction was to run out of the room, but it was too late for retreat, as the man, sitting on one of the long coaches that lined the walls, had already seen her. She smiled nervously, and walked slowly across the room towards him. He stood at her approach. The dim lighting meant she couldn't really see him clearly, just that he was tall, and had dark hair that reached to his shoulders. It wasn't until she was a couple of feet away from him that she could make out his features, and she gasped. Heathcliff! This man was the very personification of Emily Bronte's cruel gypsy. At least of the image of him that Cathy held deep in her mind. She had almost forgotten about it, it had been so long ago. She'd been thirteen years old, and trying desperately to come to terms with the loss of both her parents in a car crash. She'd discovered a second hand copy of Wuthering Heights in an old bookstore, and had devoured it as a welcome escape from reality. Identifying with her namesake, Catherine, she, too, had fallen deeply in love with the unobtainable. The nightmares about her parents' death had been replaced with dreams filled with the exquisite pain of forbidden love. It had helped her through those terrible days, until she found another escape in her study and career. Since then she'd had little time to think about romance. Until now, that is. The memories came flooding back. She felt her legs giving way, and the man's hand shot out to support her. At his touch, she felt a shock flow through her body, but this was no static electricity. They was standing on bare floorboards with not a thread of nylon in sight. A look of concern flashed across the stranger's face. "Look. I think you'd better sit down. You look as if you've had a bit of a shock." Cathy smiled weakly. Well, he was right about that, she thought, though she didn't really understand why the man had such an enormous impact on her. She had reacted like an infatuated teenager, and it was most unlike her. She sank down on the coach, at a loss for words. "Patrick Bell." Cathy looked at the man in confusion, and realized he was introducing himself. "Oh, Cathy. Cathy Cain." "Pleased to meet you, Cathy." "Er... I take it you're here for the Valentine singles party, too?" "Well, no. I'm not, actually. I'm a resident here at the hotel. " "A resident? Does that mean you actually live here?" "Yes, that's right. I'm, afraid this is my only home. Emily and I have stayed here for more years than I care to remember." "Emily? The hostess?" "Hostess? Oh, yes. The hostess." Cathy was aware of a strange look in the man's eyes, but before she could question it further Patrick went on, "She's my little sister. She does a lot of things in the hotel. I lose track sometimes." "And what do you do?" "Whatever's needed," the man smiled. Cathy was puzzled. "You mean a sort of Jack of all trades?" "Something like that." "How did you end up here?" "It's a long story. Maybe I'll tell you another time. I'd like to hear more about you, now." Another time? The words sent a shiver down her back. So this wasn't to be just a one-off meeting, then? At least the stranger didn't seem to think so. Cathy wasn't so sure. But then she wasn't sure about anything any more. She hadn't felt so vulnerable in years. The barriers she had spent most of her life erecting seemed to be falling before her eyes. She felt intoxicated and out of control, and all on one glass of champagne. Or had it been champagne, she thought in shock? She remembered its strange taste and wondered if it had contained something more powerful - like a love potion? It sounded laughable, but she suddenly realized why she felt as she did. The moment she'd seen this mysterious stranger she'd fallen madly in love with him. No logic on earth could explain it, but she knew she'd finally met the man she'd been dreaming about all her life, and suddenly she was pouring out her heart to him. "You want to hear about me? Well, all right. Remember it was you who asked, so you've no-one to blame but yourself. My name's Catherine, I'm thirty years old, I earn a top salary, I'm a leader in my field and a success at everything I do. I own a penthouse flat in the most expensive part of town, furnished by the best designer in the business, I've got more haute couture clothes than I can ever wear. And I'm as lonely as hell." There was a long silence, during which Cathy didn't dare to look at the man beside her. She had, for the first time, bared her soul to another human being, and she dreaded his reaction. When it came it astonished her. "Perhaps it is the time to tell you about myself. You see, I know what loneliness is. I was betrayed by someone I thought I loved. She was the only woman in my life, and she deserted me for wealth. I sought escape in drugs and drink, and they destroyed me. That's why I'm here now. In my own personal purgatory at Hotel Caledonia." Reaching out, he took her hands in his. "Ironical , isn't it? My paramour chose riches above love, you would choose romance above wealth. I need someone to love as much as you do. I think we could help each other, don't you?" "I... I don't know. I'm not sure we can. My feelings have been dead for so long I don't think I'm capable of giving love." "Ah... Death. Don't people say it is only the beginning?" He sighed. "No more words. Let me help you live again." And he pulled her into his arms. She felt her heart beating wildly against his silent form. His lips pressed themselves onto hers and she was lost. Nothing else in the world mattered as she returned his kiss. They sank down onto the soft upholstery of the couch and Patrick's hands began to explore her body. His fingers were gentle, yet demanding, tender, yet yearning. As they closed around her breasts she gasped. His fingertips caressed her nipples through the thin material of her blouse, and they rose, aching and hungry, to his touch. Unbuttoning his shirt with shaking fingers she slipped her hands inside. His skin was cold and she longed to warm him. She stroked his chest and was rewarded by a long drawn out moan that fought its way from his lips. He cradled her breasts and his tongue forced itself into the depths of her mouth. | ||
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