- Infidelity -
Helga Sinclair
Atlantis: The Lost Empire
1020 words
Some desires cannot be ignored.
Captain Lyle Rourke unlocked the front door of his modest Washington D.C. house. As he removed his coat and hung it on the stand, he wondered again why he’d come back here.
He could easily have taken a train down to Texas, personally checked on his mother and the ranch. The ride wasn’t long. No job offer would be so time sensitive that a couple days to reroute a letter would hurt. There was no reason to have come here, he told himself.
Someone chuckled in the back of his mind. He saw her sharp eyes, blonde hair, and the curve of her shoulders. Then Rourke himself chuckled. He told himself he didn’t know how long it had been since he’d seen her, all dolled up in white and diamonds. Automatically, his mind corrected him. It had been a hundred and twenty-six days. Not only hadn’t he seen her, no. He hadn’t heard from her since then. Granted, he’d only written her once. He wrote her to tell her about the expedition he’d been offered, a voyage to the heart of India. It had only taken three months. She never replied.
He removed his jacket and strolled through the short hallway. Why should she have written? And why should he care? She had been his student once, yes, and her father had asked him to protect her, but she was a married woman now. The task of protecting her fell to Jenkins.
So did the fun of satisfying her, he thought. Lucky bastard.
Rourke tensed when he entered his study. It was dark, but his years of training told him that the small room wasn’t empty. He heard quiet, paced breathing. Whoever was there was trying to conceal their presence. He unholstered his revolver with one hand while the other turned on the dim electric lights. He focused, ready to shoot.
A young woman sat in a chair by his desk. At first, he didn’t recognize her. Her loose blonde hair framed her face as she tried to look as if she had every right to be where she was. Hesitation in her eyes betrayed her. She wore a high-collared brown dress, and her white-gloved hands were folded in her lap. Even when he recognized her, Rourke stared a few moments more just to be sure.
“Helga?”
She flinched. “I’m sorry to intrude.” She sighed and stood. “I-- I don’t know what I was thinking. How-- This must look so foolish.”
Where was the girl who’d mocked him at her wedding reception? Who laughed at Egyptian curses? When had his star pupil become skittish?
“Sit back down,” he said. She obeyed-- too quickly for his liking. “Why are you here?”
She looked away. “I wanted to see you.” Helga chuckled, and Rourke felt he saw a glimpse of the girl he knew so well. “I told Christopher I was going to play bridge with some church women.”
“Why?”
“He would’ve made sure I didn’t go out if he knew I was coming here.” She still, he noticed, wouldn’t look at him.
“No. Why did you want to see me?” Though Rourke wanted to know how she’d come to let anyone confine her, he felt that could wait. He approached her, knelt, and put his hand under her chin. As he made her face him, he felt her quiver. Her eyes met his, and he knew the hunger he saw there.
Helga leaned forward. “I can’t take it. I’ve tried, but I’m losing my mind.” Before he could ask, she went on. “He’s Victorian, at best. We sleep in separate rooms. When he does come to mine or ask me to his, he touches me only as much as he has to. And if I try to touch him? You’d think I was trying to stab him.” She looked at Rourke, and he almost smiled. One type of insult Helga never took lightly was one to her vanity.
Not that he could blame her in this case. What sort of man would let his wife feel undesirable? Especially when that wife looked like the woman in front of him? Even his own wife, short-lived as the marriage had been, couldn’t have charged him with not wanting her in his bed. He tucked a strand of Helga’s hair behind her ear as he asked, innocently as he could make himself sound, “Why come here, though?”
She stared, and he watched her emotions play in her eyes. First, she was confused. She thought, making sure she heard him right. Next, she got angry. He smirked as the sleeping fire burst forward in her gaze. Then, though, the fire faded. He’d never seen her look quite so hurt before, never seen so clear a surrender. The shock prevented him from stopping her as she rose.
“I-- Of course,” she said, more to herself than to him. “Of course. You’re right. I’m sorry to have bothered you, Captain Rourke.”
He’d expected a sharp reply, even anger. Some haughty remark or something coy. A retreat… That wasn’t his Helga.
Rourke said nothing but got up quickly. He caught her in two strides. With one hand, he shut the room’s door. The other seized her shoulder and forced her to turn around. Before she could react, he pushed her against the door. She opened her mouth to speak, but he silenced her with a rough kiss.
He moved his hand from the door to her hip. For the first time, he felt only layers of cloth. That, he decided, had to be remedied quickly. He cupped her cheek briefly before he broke the kiss.
“Rourke,” she whispered. The fire and hunger were back in her eyes, and he reveled in the confidence in her voice. There was the girl he’d trained.
“Quiet.” He chuckled and gave her a brief, harsh kiss. “Come with me.”
“Where to?” Her lips curled into a smirk as he opened the study door.
He leaned in to whisper in her ear. “The bedroom. We’re going to do this properly.” He couldn’t hide his smirk, stifle his chuckle, or help himself. “Mrs. Jenkins.”
Atlantis: The Lost Empire
1020 words
Some desires cannot be ignored.
Captain Lyle Rourke unlocked the front door of his modest Washington D.C. house. As he removed his coat and hung it on the stand, he wondered again why he’d come back here.
He could easily have taken a train down to Texas, personally checked on his mother and the ranch. The ride wasn’t long. No job offer would be so time sensitive that a couple days to reroute a letter would hurt. There was no reason to have come here, he told himself.
Someone chuckled in the back of his mind. He saw her sharp eyes, blonde hair, and the curve of her shoulders. Then Rourke himself chuckled. He told himself he didn’t know how long it had been since he’d seen her, all dolled up in white and diamonds. Automatically, his mind corrected him. It had been a hundred and twenty-six days. Not only hadn’t he seen her, no. He hadn’t heard from her since then. Granted, he’d only written her once. He wrote her to tell her about the expedition he’d been offered, a voyage to the heart of India. It had only taken three months. She never replied.
He removed his jacket and strolled through the short hallway. Why should she have written? And why should he care? She had been his student once, yes, and her father had asked him to protect her, but she was a married woman now. The task of protecting her fell to Jenkins.
So did the fun of satisfying her, he thought. Lucky bastard.
Rourke tensed when he entered his study. It was dark, but his years of training told him that the small room wasn’t empty. He heard quiet, paced breathing. Whoever was there was trying to conceal their presence. He unholstered his revolver with one hand while the other turned on the dim electric lights. He focused, ready to shoot.
A young woman sat in a chair by his desk. At first, he didn’t recognize her. Her loose blonde hair framed her face as she tried to look as if she had every right to be where she was. Hesitation in her eyes betrayed her. She wore a high-collared brown dress, and her white-gloved hands were folded in her lap. Even when he recognized her, Rourke stared a few moments more just to be sure.
“Helga?”
She flinched. “I’m sorry to intrude.” She sighed and stood. “I-- I don’t know what I was thinking. How-- This must look so foolish.”
Where was the girl who’d mocked him at her wedding reception? Who laughed at Egyptian curses? When had his star pupil become skittish?
“Sit back down,” he said. She obeyed-- too quickly for his liking. “Why are you here?”
She looked away. “I wanted to see you.” Helga chuckled, and Rourke felt he saw a glimpse of the girl he knew so well. “I told Christopher I was going to play bridge with some church women.”
“Why?”
“He would’ve made sure I didn’t go out if he knew I was coming here.” She still, he noticed, wouldn’t look at him.
“No. Why did you want to see me?” Though Rourke wanted to know how she’d come to let anyone confine her, he felt that could wait. He approached her, knelt, and put his hand under her chin. As he made her face him, he felt her quiver. Her eyes met his, and he knew the hunger he saw there.
Helga leaned forward. “I can’t take it. I’ve tried, but I’m losing my mind.” Before he could ask, she went on. “He’s Victorian, at best. We sleep in separate rooms. When he does come to mine or ask me to his, he touches me only as much as he has to. And if I try to touch him? You’d think I was trying to stab him.” She looked at Rourke, and he almost smiled. One type of insult Helga never took lightly was one to her vanity.
Not that he could blame her in this case. What sort of man would let his wife feel undesirable? Especially when that wife looked like the woman in front of him? Even his own wife, short-lived as the marriage had been, couldn’t have charged him with not wanting her in his bed. He tucked a strand of Helga’s hair behind her ear as he asked, innocently as he could make himself sound, “Why come here, though?”
She stared, and he watched her emotions play in her eyes. First, she was confused. She thought, making sure she heard him right. Next, she got angry. He smirked as the sleeping fire burst forward in her gaze. Then, though, the fire faded. He’d never seen her look quite so hurt before, never seen so clear a surrender. The shock prevented him from stopping her as she rose.
“I-- Of course,” she said, more to herself than to him. “Of course. You’re right. I’m sorry to have bothered you, Captain Rourke.”
He’d expected a sharp reply, even anger. Some haughty remark or something coy. A retreat… That wasn’t his Helga.
Rourke said nothing but got up quickly. He caught her in two strides. With one hand, he shut the room’s door. The other seized her shoulder and forced her to turn around. Before she could react, he pushed her against the door. She opened her mouth to speak, but he silenced her with a rough kiss.
He moved his hand from the door to her hip. For the first time, he felt only layers of cloth. That, he decided, had to be remedied quickly. He cupped her cheek briefly before he broke the kiss.
“Rourke,” she whispered. The fire and hunger were back in her eyes, and he reveled in the confidence in her voice. There was the girl he’d trained.
“Quiet.” He chuckled and gave her a brief, harsh kiss. “Come with me.”
“Where to?” Her lips curled into a smirk as he opened the study door.
He leaned in to whisper in her ear. “The bedroom. We’re going to do this properly.” He couldn’t hide his smirk, stifle his chuckle, or help himself. “Mrs. Jenkins.”