Page 21 of Pyg

An obnoxious burst of sound from the door buzzer jolted Alice from her thoughts; she pressed the button on her desk to release the catch and seconds later Fran sauntered in, her chestnut curls bouncing along with her stride.

“What, what are—” Alice stumbled at the sight of her.

“Oh, Alice. Do close your mouth.” Fran pouted. “Aren’t I allowed to pop by to bring my little worker bees lunch from time to time?”

“I, er… I have an egg sandwich in the fridge.”

From the crook of her arm, Fran swung a Fortnum & Mason picnic basket onto Alice’s desk. “I think what I have for you will be much more appealing than your sad little sandwich.”

Alice looked over her shoulder, eyeing the door with the brass plate etched ‘Dr J. Dalton’.

“I, er…” she glanced at her computer screen. “Jeremy is with a client. He’ll be a while yet.”

“Well, I’m sure you and I can find plenty to occupy ourselves with before then.”

“Sorry, but I just need to finish this.” Alice gestured to her monitor.

Fran gave a terse nod. “Fine, I’ll entertain myself.”

Alice’s eyes flicked to her screen, but within seconds they’d gravitated back to Fran, watching as she stepped around the low coffee table and couch, which comprised the furniture in the waiting room. Fran bent to pick up a glossy magazine and reclined into the corner seat, making a big show of crossing and uncrossing her legs. As Fran leafed through the pages ofGood Housekeeping,Alice tried to concentrate enough to at least save her work before acquiescing to her brain’s desire to be entirely consumed by the other woman.

Fran sighed and tossed the magazine back onto the low table. Standing, she smoothed her hands over her skirt and walked the perimeter of the small room, her top lip curling as she looked around.

“It’s always so glum in here.”

“The plants are new since you last?—”

“Yes, but even so. A little greenery isn’t enough to lift the heavy air.”

Alice grinned. “Well, Jeremy specialises in bereavement psychotherapy, so a lot of our clients are?—”

Fran waved away Alice’s words. “Let’s change the subject. All this talk of…” She stopped in front of the closed door on the other side of Alice’s desk and brushed her fingers over the engraved words on the brass plate.Dr C. Truscote.

“Out, I expect?”

“Hmm?”

Fran tilted her head towards the closed door.

“Oh, Doctor T.? Let me see…” Alice clicked her mouse, and her eyes scanned the screen, “…at The Milverton clinic with a client and shouldn’t be back for the rest of the afternoon, so you’re safe.” Alice had never quite understood their vehement distaste for one another, and Fran always shut it down whenever she asked.

“Good, good.” Fran strode over to Alice’s desk and perched on the edge. She plucked a pencil from the pen pot and rubbed the end over her lips, before leaning in to twirl it in one of Alice’s curls. “So, are you hungry?”

Alice gulped, and Fran’s lips curved into a satisfied smirk.

“Let me see what I have to whet your appetite.” She leaned across and pulled the picnic hamper toward her. Unclipping the wicker fastening, she rifled around before retrieving a breadstick dipped in something smooth and beige. Fran poked it into Alice’s willing mouth, and a rich, buttery taste coated her palate.

“Mmm, did you make this?”

“No.” Fran scoffed a laugh. “You like it?”

Alice nodded and opened her mouth for more; Fran obliged, this time scooping an extra-large dollop to poke between her lips.

“Honestly, this is the nicest thing I’ve ever had in my mouth.”

Fran arched a dark eyebrow. “This is just theamuse-bouche, darling,” she said, with a haughty laugh.

“Shh!” With wide eyes, Alice peered over her shoulder at Jeremy’s closed door. Heat rose up her neck to her cheeks at the thought of him walking out and seeing Fran perched in front of her, looking all seductive and gorgeous. Even though Fran was adamant that Jeremy didn’t see her in that way, it didn’t make Alice feel any better about things. Fran claimed that Jeremy barely noticed when she made an effort, and today she’d made an effort all right. She wore a black, hip-hugging pencil skirt, with a long slit…oh my God, that slit…paired with stockings and heels. Fran had topped the cake with a cherry-red silk blouse, unbuttoned to show her full cleavage, which lay nestled in a lacy bra. She leaned over to feed Alice more heaven-on-a-breadstick, and Alice ached to bury her head in that cleavage and inhale her potent musky scent.

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