BLIND: A Mastermind Novel

by Lydia Michaels

“Seems a little unaccountable on your part, Ms. Farrow. You’ll never get what you want if you’re too afraid to ask for it.”

  Her mouth framed an objection, but she took a moment to collect her thoughts. In a calm voice, she argued, “Traditionally, men propose.”

  “Yes, but not always.”

  “Regardless, I’d have to have a relationship in order for that to happen. Instead I’m sitting in a mysterious place, blindfolded, discussing my personal failures with a stranger.”

  “Does the topic bother you?”

  “I don’t think anyone enjoys discussing their shortcomings.”

  “It depends how one views their shortcomings. Failure isn’t always a bad thing, Ms. Farrow. Many times it helps people better apply themselves and overcome adversity, climb those proverbial walls, if you will. I think it’s a matter of determination.”

  “Are you saying I’m single because I wasn’t determined enough?”

  “That’s not for me to decide. Let’s discuss your sense of failure. I want you to focus on your current predicament of being single, and contemplate the feelings it provokes.”

  Her mind immediately shied away from all those gross feelings of inadequacy. That was it. Inadequate. “Failure makes me feel inadequate.”

  “We must accept failure as a humanistic trait, otherwise it will control us. Perhaps your fear of such inadequacy has become a handicap.”

  “I’m here.”

  “Under my conditions, for fourteen nights. Hardly enough time to promenade, fall in love, get me to propose marriage since you aren’t accountable for that step, have a long, drawn out, tedious engagement, enjoy married life, and create life.”

  Her brow tightened behind the blindfold. “Are you making fun of me?”

  “Only a little. I want you to understand the true nature of failure. Mistakes are part of the natural growing process that helps us reach success. You must embrace your failures in order to better recognize success.”

  “You want me to accept that I’m incapable of finding a husband?”

  “Let’s not be so dramatic, Ms. Farrow. I’m merely suggesting you embrace your mistakes and apply them to your success. Every failed experience with a man has taught you something about yourself. That’s the angle of success. You must consider those lessons, not ignore them. Don’t allow yourself to be emotionally hijacked by the intense emotions linked to failure. Rather, redefine failure as a useful tool, a device that delivers a fundamental lesson.”

  A bubble of laughter escaped her throat. This was no joking matter, but she found his personality humorous. “You sure you’re not a life coach or a therapist?”

  “I’m sure. Just someone who’s had a great deal of success from failure. I see it for what it is, a driving force to do better.”

  “I could see that if I was talking about something simple, like, say, an exam.” She pursed her lips in the direction of his voice. “But you asked for something personal.”

  “Did you hope to be kissed tonight?”

  Her head drew back. Nothing like shining a spotlight on an already awkward situation. That quickly, she completely lost her grasp of what she was saying. “Um, I don’t know.”

  “Would you object to me kissing you?”

  Her stomach tightened as a jolt of excitement sent her nerves fluttering. “No.”

  “Will you consider it a personal failure on your part if I don’t?”

  She laughed, but only to mask her discomfort. “I don’t think so.”

  “But you’re not certain.”

  “I changed my mind. I don’t want to be kissed tonight.”

  He chuckled. The room turned quiet with only the soft crackling from the fireplace. Her body lurched with awareness the second his hand touched the back of hers.

  Her breathing immediately turned shallow and her tummy heated, causing her knees to press tightly together. When he spoke his voice was even lower than usual.

  “Perhaps me kissing you would have nothing to do with you and everything to do with me. A kiss should be driven by passion, an expression of absolute need seeking an outlet through affection. Should we not kiss, it wouldn’t be a failure. Rather, it would be a necessary component in the manifestation of something great. Every brick counts when building something impressive, Ms. Farrow. As I stated earlier, every action, every request serves a purpose. Never disregard my motive.”

  She hadn’t been concerned with kisses, but having his lips on hers suddenly became her greatest desire. His hand drifted away, stripping yet another layer. This man was a genius with women. He had to have a background in psychology. His proficiency with rationed words twisted her thinking in a totally different direction. He was emotionally stripping her.

  “Do you understand, Ms. Farrow?”

  She swallowed back her plea that he kiss her and nodded.

  A finger ghosted over her lips, mimicking the pressure of a kiss, and she sucked in a swift breath.

  “Not your failure. My choice.”

  She wanted to lean forward and chase his fingers with her mouth, an impulse she’d never had with a man before.

  “Your blush is back, Ms. Farrow. Tell me, is it because you’re afraid or because you’re aroused?”

  Her face tightened. Arousal mingled with embarrassment. She whimpered and he chuckled.

  “I’ll assume it’s the latter. Did you enjoy yourself tonight, Ms. Farrow? I know we had a bumpy start, but I found the evening pleasant.”

  She nodded. “I’m glad I came.”

  “Me too.”

  Were they finished? She didn’t want to say goodnight as she was finally starting to calm enough to enjoy their visit.

  She wanted… so many contradicting things. Home. The security of her house. His mouth on hers. His touch. To get rid of this damn blindfold.

  “Good. I’ll help you with your coat.”

  With a sound of fabric rustling, she sensed him standing. The second his hand closed around hers she turned her palm to his and squeezed. There was a moment of unspoken communication. She was thanking him, but still unsure for what. He clasped her fingers more firmly, the motion full of what she interpreted as affection.

  He led her toward the door and she analyzed the change in her disposition. There was no hesitancy to her steps, no fear he might lead her into danger. Perhaps next time she’d demonstrate enough trust that the blindfold wouldn’t be necessary.

  “Lift your arm, please.” He guided the sleeves of her coat over her shoulders. Her chest lifted as he carefully closed the buttons, grazing the curve of her breast ever so slightly. At the casual touch of his fingers she’d lost a bit of her composure, her body intensely responding to such a subtle caress.

  “You left your purse on the chair. I’ll go get it. Stay here.”

  She left her purse? Holy cow, her guard had lowered severely. She hadn’t realized.

  His steps drew nearer and her purse looped over her shoulder. “I’ll need my phone back, Ms. Farrow.”

  What was wrong with her? She’d been holding the phone in a death grip this entire time and had totally forgotten its presence. Stupidly, she held it out and he relieved her of its weight.

  A finger brushed over her cheek. The heat of his nearness seeped through her clothing, his scent intoxicating and implacable. She wanted to lean into him just to memorize it, finding the purposeful caress so much more meaningful than the accidental one.

  “Goodnight, Ms. Farrow,” he whispered, his breath tickling the hairs slipping past the blindfold.

  “Goodnight, Mr. Stone.”

  The door clicked open and cool air coasted over her skin. In the distance a car door opened followed by the crunch of gravel. Pennyworth.

  “Ms. Farrow’s ready to go home now, Pennyworth.”

  “Yes, sir. Ms. Farrow.” The chauffeur’s hand curled softly over the sleeve of her coat and Mr. Stone stepped back.

  As she walked away, the increasing distance between them was cataloged with fundamental goodbyes of her past,
moments so definitive they’d be impossible to forget or recreate—her parents driving away after moving her into her first dorm, her grandmother’s final words, and watching her first class graduate middle school. How had he become so significant?

  Frustration built as she was led down the stairs. Her eyes prickled as she fought back the urge to tear away the mask and see him. It was all very disconcerting and unprecedented. Perhaps it was best she was leaving.

  Gravel crunched under her feet and the car door opened, the quiet purr of the engine enough to cut away all proof that he was still in observing distance. “Watch your head please, Ms. Farrow.”

  She quickly turned, unsure if he lingered or not. “Thank you, Mr. Stone.”

  “It was my pleasure, Scarlet.” He was there. Validation he’d waited, looking on until she left, filled her with such comfort it gave her the courage to climb in the car.

  She slid into the seat and buckled her seatbelt. Mr. Pennyworth took his place and they were soon on their way. Replaying the night in her mind, she shivered, knowing there would be many more. Pennyworth was quiet for several minutes and soon enough her wish was granted.

  “You may remove the blindfold now, Ms. Farrow.”

  Odd, part of her didn’t want to. Shaking off the confused desire to stay in the dark, she slid the mask off her head and blinked, as even the dim interior lit only by the night sky and dashboard lights, seemed too bright.

  They were already in her neighborhood. Pennyworth looked exactly the same. She’d foolishly expected his appearance to be altered from the start of the evening.

  When the car parked in front of her house, she smirked, thinking of Cinderella and the pumpkin carriage. “What time is it?”

  “Ten to midnight,” Pennyworth answered, opening her door. “I hope you had a nice evening.”

  She grinned. “I did.”

  There was such a rush of accomplishment. For all the danger she feared would come from taking such a risk, there was that much more pride. She’d done something reckless and she wasn’t dead or trapped in basement full of skeletons. The sensation was so out of character for her, such an extraordinary high, she was actually sad it was over.

  Her mouth hid a secret smile as she recognized the desire to go to him again. Of all her experiences with men, this one seemed to wake a part of her soul that had been still for a very long time.

  She grinned and sighed. Mr. Stone.

  Chapter Eight

  Exposure

  “I can’t believe you actually went through with it,” Jet said as he sniffed the health shake Carla made for him. “I’m proud of you. What the fuck is this?”

  “Kale. It’s good for you.”

  Jet pushed the shake away. “How do you feel?”

  Asher tilted his head in consideration. “Good. I’m still a little shocked. I mean, she did everything, got in the car, wore the blindfold, followed my every command. I never expected her to actually put that much trust into this.”

  “She’s desperate.”

  His mouth tightened, not in agreement with that diagnoses. “She’s disciplined,” he offered, finding it a better-suited term. “It’s weird. We have something. There’s chemistry there.”

  “So why not cut the crap and level with her, maybe actually get the girl, Ash?”

  He shook his head as he swallowed a bite of the grilled fish served for lunch. “Can’t. We’re too deep now. She’d see it as a betrayal if I showed her who I actually was. I need a guarantee this won’t blow up in my face before I let her in.”

  “Love doesn’t come with guarantees, my friend. And I know you. This isn’t an act. Maybe this is part of who you really are, you just never looked deep enough to see it.”

  It did seem he was falling into his role with little difficulty. “I like taking an authoritative role with her. I never considered being that way with women.”

  Jet’s dark eyes narrowed as he smiled. “You like her.”

  He shrugged. “I like what we’re doing. It’s different.”

  “I’d say.”

  “There’s a rush involved,” Asher explained. “It’s a power trip. I’m in complete control. I’ve never experienced anything like it before.”

  His friend laughed. “You kinky little pervert.”

  “It’s not like that. I didn’t even kiss her.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “Nope. It’s deeper than that. There’s so much sexual tension just from prolonging the intimacy, it keeps building and building and she’s getting drunk on need.”

  “How about you?”

  Authority was definitely intoxicating. Between that and her sex appeal, there was a punch drunk lightness that hadn’t existed before reintroducing himself to Scarlet. He’d almost backed out of everything last night when she’d started to panic, but then he’d calmed her down, and they found their rhythm and everything had jelled.

  “I’m not sure how far I’ll take things. I don’t want to use her. I just want...what I never thought I could have. If I put too much faith in her this early on I’m afraid I’ll end up hurt again. And this time it would be way worse than the first time.”

  “Things like this never end well.” Jet stole an apple from the dish at the center of the table and took a snapping bite. “So long as you’re keeping secrets, you’re the villain of the piece and the second you get too confident, the rug will get pulled out from under you. Take the opportunity while you have it, Ash, and level with her.”

  “I don’t think so. We’re just talking. There’s nothing villainous about having a conversation.”

  “Except your deceiving her. If she finds that out before you tell her, she’ll see it as some sort of motive,” Jet said, disapproval showing in the arch of his brow.

  “I told her every word I say and every interaction we have has a motive. There’s nothing wrong with having a goal.”Right now his goal was to prove he could be what she wanted. His success was anybody’s guess.

  “Yeah, but she thinks you’re interested in her. You’ve led her to believe your motive’s are in the same realm as hers. If she remembers you from high school and knows you tried to hide who you are on purpose, she might see things a different way.”

  He was hiding who he was, but only because he wanted to be perfect when he finally introduced himself to her, not as Mr. Stone, but as Asher Roan. Still, Jet had a good point. He deflected. “Who said I’m not interested?”

  “Are you?”

  Asher wiped his mouth and pushed away his plate. He’d be lying if he said a lot of his old sentiments hadn’t returned. She was as beautiful, if not more so than she was twelve years ago. Their strange encounter was revealing not only things about her, but things about him.

  It was a daily battle to see past the pain she’d caused. Until he figured out how to do that without effort, their circumstances would remain unchanged. Besides, she’d likely face a similar battle if he asked her to see past the kid he was in high school, a kid he wasn’t much different from now.

  Physically, he was changing. Steve marked it in his charts, Hunter had made a comment about his physique, and Elliot noted that he was carrying himself with a bit more confidence. But Asher couldn’t see a change yet—not a significant one at least.

  Internally, something was happening to him. It was a potent tonic, authority. He was in control, a puppeteer pulling strings. It wasn’t the power he had that effected him most, however—it was her compliance. It shocked him every time.

  This woman, the same female still leagues ahead of him that he’d spent years fantasizing about, trusted him. Every time she allowed his words to guide her, there came a heady rush of awareness. There was nothing to compare it to. But he liked it and didn’t want it to stop. Learning that he was Asher from high school might put an end to the game faster than anything else.

  It was certainly a challenge to not take advantage of such trust. He’d never wanted to kiss a woman with the raw desire he felt last night when the topic was addressed
. His main worry was disappointing her expectations.

  “Asher?”

  Returning his focus to Jet, he admitted, “I want to get to know her more. She’s still stunning. But now… there’s a sort of innocence about her. I don’t know how a person matures into a more innocent person than they once were, but she’s somehow managed it.”

  “An innocence you could crush. That’s not you, Ash.”

  He laughed without humor. “Yeah right. I thought I could do this and stay unaffected. I thought I could outsmart her wiles, be immune to her beauty, but I can’t. And the way we’ve gone about getting to know one another…it’s like an addictive game I tell myself I shouldn’t play, shouldn’t invest so much time and effort into it, but I can’t stop.”

  He rubbed the back of his head and looked into Jet’s concerned eyes. “I know she humiliated me in front of all of my enemies and then some. I shouldn’t care what she thinks, Jet, but I care so much. Too much. Even when I thought this might all be a lesson in vulnerability, I never would have exploited her the way I was exploited. She saw so much of my shame, Jet. So much pain and weakness, I need to make an impression great enough to erase those moments from her memory. Or she’ll always look at me and see that loser.”

  Jet shook his head. “You weren’t a loser. Vulnerability and humiliation are private. Do you think those assholes remember you?”

  “Yes, I do. Why do you think I skipped out on the reunion? Those jerks lived to torture us, especially me. She would’ve been sitting with them—just like in high school.” As much as he couldn’t imagine the sweet woman from last night doing that, he knew how things like a reunion went. People stuck with what they knew.

  “I don’t think you’re giving her or yourself enough credit. She’s a teacher, Ash. She has to have some level of compassion and understanding. I mean, my God, if we all believed what we believed twelve years ago Elliot would still be writing letters to Santa Clause and Hunter would still sleep with the light on. People change. They grow up. Let her see you so she can see the man you’ve become.”

  “I can’t,” he whispered, wondering if thirteen more dates would be enough to find his courage.