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The Fixed Foot

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Jack stirred and craned his neck over his shoulder as a familiar body curled against his back. A slender, pale arm draped over his waist, and he covered it with his own arm. He yawned. The arm under his tightened around him.

"Breaking and entering, Miss Fisher?"

"I didn't think you would mind." Her breath was warm on his neck. "But on that subject, Jack, you really must replace your door lock. It's old and rusty and far too easy to pick."

"Hmm."

A short time passed. Or perhaps it was a longer time, and he had drifted off.

"Will you turn and hold me?" Phryne asked.

He shifted under her arm and drew her close, too tired to act on the realization that she was naked. No doubt her evening gown and lingerie were flung upon some piece of furniture nearby - or, knowing her, the floor. She nudged his shins with her foot until he parted them slightly to allow her to thread her smooth leg through his.

"You smell good," he noted. Perfume on her body, wine on her breath, herself everywhere. "I thought you were out tonight with that--"

She made a noise of dismissal. "I changed my mind."

"Clumsy dancer? Couldn't hold his liquor?"

"No," she replied with an amused huff. "We dined and danced, and then I politely sent him on his way. It was a good night. But I wanted my Jack." She nuzzled his nose and kissed him sweetly. "I wanted you."

He opened one eye. "It was a long day, and I have an early morning, Phryne."

"Not for that!" she laughed. She raised a hand to stroke his cheek. "For this."

"Mmm." His eye closed.

"You don't... mind, do you?"

"Mind?"

"That I came over unexpectedly."

"My door is always open to you, and not only because the lock is easy to pick." He grinned, eyes still closed. "Besides, the other woman already left." Phryne laughed again, softer this time. "You smell good," he mumbled.

"So I've been told," she said. Her fingers brushed his face again, tracing down his neck. "Go back to sleep, darling."

And he did.