From Chapter Two:
A deep,
satisfying warmth filled Caitlin, once again safe in her sanctuary.
Her glass house. No ordinary structure of glass and aluminium, but a
perfect piece of Victorian architecture and engineering, sitting at
the edge of a walled garden, in a property once owned by Caitlin's
grandparents. Now in her ownership and care, it looked stunning, with
its dwarf brick walls, sparkling glass and white, cast iron frame,
topped with a ridge of fleur-de-lis, but it was a very different
picture when she first inherited it. Caitlin’s heart had swelled
with sympathy when she first glimpsed the rusted framework, most of
the glass broken and what little remained so black with dirt it was
unrecognisable, crumbling brickwork, overgrown with nettles and
layers of mud so thick they could have sent a geologist to heaven.
From Chapter Twelve (a little steamier and names removed to protect the identities of those involved - you'll have to wait unit some fabulous publisher decides it's brilliant - or at least until I put these chapters up on Authonomy - to find out who they are):
She had a moment to take in the walls of glass, overlooking
Queen's Island before the pair fell to the leather sofa. Kisses
bruised lips, hands brushed over clothing. He shrugged off his
suit jacket. She sought the buttons on his shirt and opened them,
pulling it free from his trousers and pushing it off his arms.
She unbuckled his belt and opened his trousers. His legs pressed hard
against hers, his weight pushing her against the leather which warmed
and moulded to them. His hands found the edge of her dress and raised
it over her thighs, revealing the line of fine lace that edged that
day's most thought about purchase. His fingers traced the line, his
weight shifted sideways, as he followed it across her thigh and
between her legs. As his knuckle grazed her she lifted her hips and
parted her legs. His hands moved up, over the delicate black lace
shorts, pushing the dress higher, over her waist.
'I want to see the rest of this,' he said, continuing to reveal the
matching bustier.
She sat up, turning round so he could unzip the dress and remove it.
Keeping her back against him, he kissed her shoulder, her neck, he
traced circles around her nipple. Slipping the bustier straps off her
shoulders, he began to unhook it, freeing her breasts to his touch.
Standing in front of her, he pushed his trousers and underwear to
the floor. She took him in her hand, teasing him first with her
tongue and then her mouth, only stopping when he pulled away from her
and brought her to her feet.
The lace shorts skimmed down her thighs
and over her knees. She began to remove the shoe but his hand held
her ankle. 'Keep them on.'
She halted and he eased the shorts over
one foot, then the other. Discarding them he kissed her ankle, the
inside of her knee, then her thigh. His fingers began to tease and
probe until she brought him back to the sofa and he once again
pressed against her, her hips answered his movements, while he held
the heels of those twinkling shoes.
From Chapter Thirteen (during a tour of Titanic Belfast):
In complete quiet, Caitlin watched as the camera relayed video of the
broken ship and Dr Ballard's voice discussed the finds. Recalling the
splendour they'd witnessed throughout the tour, the hopes the ship
had generated, the effort taken to build her and the pride so many
people of Belfast had felt in her, their devastation at the loss of
her and so many lives, she began to see what the new building
symbolised. More than just a tourist attraction, a sign of the still
fragile peace that claimed the country but an acknowledgement of the
city's role, the possibility that it could reclaim what it had once
been, have pride in it's accomplishments and itself again.
....and that's all...for now.
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