BLIND: A Mastermind Novel

by Lydia Michaels

  “Is she still friends with them?”

  “Some. She’s still close with Nicole, but she hasn’t seen Westerman since graduation. I don’t know who else she talks to.” He tossed his napkin on the table.

  “Just think about what I said.”

  “I will. I gotta go. Steve and I are going rock climbing.”

  Jet stood, his eyes creasing with worry. “Ash. You’re not a bad guy. I get you’re going through some personal evolution, and I’m glad you’re finding some confidence, but don’t let your insecurities win.”

  He nodded. “Thanks. I’m doing my best.”

  ****

  Scarlet whipped open the door and dodged Nicole’s knuckles as they relentlessly pounded. “What?”

  Her friend barreled inside holding a caddy of coffee. “What? What. What she asks. Um… you tell me.”

  Scarlet shut the door and followed her intrusive friend into the kitchen. Her gaze landed on her scribbled note from the night before. Snatching the paper she quickly crumpled it in her fist. Nicole narrowed her eyes.

  “What’s going on, Lettie?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing? What’s in your hand?”

  “Nothing.”

  The coffees landed on the table with a smack. “You better start spilling the beans about yesterday. Who did you spend the night with? Was it the guy from the picture? If so…” She paused and did a girly golf clap. “I want details.”

  “Myself. I was home by midnight.”

  “So you didn’t go to Mr. Mystery’s house? Spill. The suspense is killing me!”

  She calmly slid a coffee from the caddy and pinched back the top. “I met someone.”

  “Where? Who? And why is this the first time I’m hearing about him?”

  Scarlet sighed and walked into the living room where she plopped on the couch. It was too early for an interrogation. Nicole followed with a determined scowl.

  She didn’t want to disclose too much. First, because there was the whole danger factor, and second, this was her private business and she didn’t want Nicole’s cynicism to change her opinion. Scarlet had enough cynicism for both of them.

  She chose her words carefully. “His name’s Stone.”

  “Stone? What is he a soap opera character? Is that his first name or last?”

  “Last.”

  She snorted. “That’s what he goes by? Does he think he’s Cher? What’s his first name?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You went to a guy’s house and don’t even know his first name? Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?”

  “If I tell you his full name you’ll just Google the shit out of him and come up with some lame excuse why I can’t date him.”

  Nicole’s expression softened. “That’s not true. I want you to be happy, Lettie. It’s my job to worry.”

  She put her cup on the table. “I know. But I don’t want you worrying about this. It’s new and I really like him. I don’t want anything to ruin it just yet, because we all know it’ll eventually end on it’s own.”

  “And I’m the cynic? Who says it’ll end?”

  Fourteen nights—now thirteen. No promises. “Look at my track record. It will. We’re just having fun and we both know what this is.” Sort of. “I’m not going to get ahead of myself and label it as anything more.”

  Nicole’s bleached brows lowered. “So, what are you, like, his booty call?”

  She shook her head. “It’s deeper than that. We’re just talking right now. I’m not rushing into anything and neither is he.”

  Her friend groaned then whined, “Why won’t you tell me about him?”

  “I am.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re totally holding shit back. I can tell.”

  Her mouth twitched. There wasn’t much to hold back. Mr. Stone was one big mystery. There wasn’t much she could confess. “Nicole, it’s brand new. Just give it some time. If it turns into more”—big if—“I promise I’ll open up.”

  Disappointment pursed her friend’s mouth. “Do you think Matt would get along with him?”

  Scarlet groaned and flung herself back on the couch. “See? We are not double dating!”

  “What? I’m thinking positive. You just yelled at me for being cynical.”

  “You’re light years ahead of us, Nicole. I don’t want to overthink things.”

  “A girl’s gotta have a plan, Lettie. Do you think Matt would have tried out for the police force if I didn’t push him? Do you think he would have proposed if I didn’t persuade him?”

  “I don’t want to play games and neither does M—Stone.” She had to be careful how she referred to him.

  “There’re always games. If there weren’t games, the human population would drop and there’d be an overflow of men lost in a world of video games and stupid crap that’s a waste of time.”

  She shrugged. “I like video games.”

  Nicole shut her eyes and slowly shook her head. “No wonder you’re single.”

  “Hey.”

  Her phone buzzed and she was distracted. Scarlet had added the GeekPeek app to her mobile incase Mr. Stone tried to reach her when she was away from her computer. Her heart raced when she saw a text from ‘restricted’. He’d never texted her before.

  Her chest heated as she opened the message.

  Good morning, Ms. Farrow.

  “Is that him?” Nicole screeched.

  Scarlet jerked her phone out of view. “Maybe.”

  “Oh my God! What’s he saying?”

  It was strange, having this much of Nicole’s attention. Her dating life never really warranted such interest, but Scarlet attributed a lot of her friend’s curiosity to the monotony of married life—or the fact that she’d preemptively asked her to call the cops if she didn’t return from their first ‘date’.

  Enjoying the shift of gears, she said, “Mind your own beeswax.”

  She punched out a reply then quickly stuffed her phone in her pocket.

  Nicole glared at her. “I tell you everything.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Yes, I do! I even told you about the thing in the shower.”

  “I can’t help it if you’re a bragging pervert.”

  Nicole grinned and laughed. “That was some good sex.”

  “I’m sure. But the reality is, I haven’t had sex in almost two years. I’m pretty sure my virginity’s grown back and I’m dealing with some serious self-doubt in the performance department. I don’t want to psych myself out any more than I already am.”

  Nicole smiled sympathetically. Maybe she’d back off—

  “How tall is he? In the picture he looked tall.”

  Nope. Scarlet sighed. “Looks aren’t important. Besides, that wasn’t him.”

  Her friend’s forehead crinkled. “Then who the hell was that guy?”

  “His…friend. Penny—”

  “Penny?”

  “—Wise—ly. I mean Wesley. Wesley Penny.”

  “Well, what the hell did you send me a picture of him for? Next time I want a picture of Stone.”

  “Jesus, Nicole. I’m not saying anymore. Drop it.”

  They had their coffee and Scarlet’s phone continued to buzz, but she ignored it, not wanting to provoke more of an inquisition. They discussed normal topics, like work, Nicole’s incessant campaign to get a kid out of Matt, and their upcoming trip to her family’s mountain house.

  Nicole slipped in a few questions here and there, but Scarlet gave nothing away. There was a strange protectiveness regarding Mr. Stone. Or perhaps it was self-preservation. Either way, he was suddenly the biggest secret of her life and she desperately wanted to keep him to herself.

  When Nicole left, she checked her phone. She should have known better than to expect a typical text message. Aside from the good morning, there were only instructions. Pennyworth would be picking her up that evening and she was expected to wear a skirt.

  Interesting.

&nbs
p; ****

  Asher paced the foyer and waited for the sedan to arrive. What if she didn’t come? Her first text reply was immediate, but the following were delayed. He found himself doubting his ability to seduce her. Getting into her mind was doable, but he’d never had success with the human body. The familiar doubt made him bitterly aware of whom he really was.

  He checked his phone, sure Steve—or Pennyworth, the surname of Alfred, Bruce Wayne’s butler—would text him if there were any glitches in the plan. He should be on his way by now.

  Everything was moving ahead according to plan, so why was he suddenly nervous? He glanced down at his attire. She wouldn’t be able to see him, but his stylist had armed him with a sense of courage he never experienced. It was amazing what a designer suit could do for a man. The guys had made fun of him, but Steve and Jet dispelled much of his second-guessing by complimenting his new look.

  Lights flashed in the distance and his gut tightened with anticipation. This had to be them. When the car pulled into the long, circular drive, he released a pent up breath, rolling his shoulders to relieve some of the tension.

  The car slowed and Steve rounded to the passenger door. His gaze fastened to the dark interior as two slender legs came into view. She’d done it. She’d worn a skirt. “Amazing.”

  Taking a step back from the window he moved to the door. It took a few minutes for the driver to lead her up the stairs. As the knob turned, Asher drew in one last calming breath and dragged his moist palms down his jacket, chafing away the remaining clamminess.

  The moment she stepped inside her delicate fragrance hit him like an aphrodisiac. Soft apple mingled with a scent extremely feminine and delicate. Pitching his voice low, he greeted her. “Good evening, Ms. Farrow.”

  “Good evening, Mr. Stone.”

  Her mouth twitched with the touch of a smirk. The atmosphere was markedly relaxed in comparison to the night before.

  “Thank you, Pennyworth.” He took her hand as the driver stepped away and exited the house.

  Her tiny fingers fit around his and squeezed much like they had the night before and it was his turn to smirk, drawing a familiar comfort from the gesture. She appeared happy to return.

  “Let’s have a seat.”

  She nodded and moved her other hand to his forearm. Perhaps it was for balance, but there was curiosity hidden within her touch. Her palm curled around his sleeve and pressed into his triceps. The attention to his build would have made him uncomfortable a month ago, but since hiring a trainer his muscles had started to take shape and she was perhaps experiencing some evidence of his rigorous attempts at improving himself.

  When they reached the chairs, he faced her and severed their touch. Without invitation, he unclasped the buttons of her coat, unwrapping her like a long awaited gift, savoring every part he slowly unveiled. She allowed him to slide the covering off her shoulders, enchanting him with the little shiver that trembled to her chin.

  “Have a seat.”

  She lowered herself into the chair and he moved to hang the coat by the door. When he returned to his seat he took a moment to admire her outfit. “You look very pretty tonight, Ms. Farrow.”

  “Thank you.” There was a slight quiver to her voice, which made her blush even more charming than he usually found it.

  “Are you nervous?”

  “You always make me nervous.”

  She made him nervous too, but he wouldn’t share that information. Unable to resist, he reached out and traced a knuckle slowly along the delicate bone of her jaw. Her frame leaned into the brief contact, her lips parting infinitesimally the moment he pulled his touch away.

  “Did you have a nice day?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Nothing special. My friend stopped by. After that I cleaned and watched some television.”

  His gut clenched at the mention of a friend. “Tell me about your friend.”

  Her mouth curved down for a split second, the curious action catching his notice. Her friend was stimulating some emotion. He shelved the observation for later.

  “Her name’s Nicole. We’ve been friends since childhood.”

  His relief that her friend was female was instantaneous. He remembered Nicole—not fondly. She’d always seemed to boss Scarlet around. He wondered if her dominant personality still played a part in their relationship. “She’s the friend that stole the mascot head.”

  A breathy chuckle escaped. “Yeah.”

  “Did you enjoy your visit with Nicole?”

  “Sure.”

  “That’s not a yes.”

  “She was asking me about you.”

  He tensed. Had Scarlet told her? “What did she want to know?”

  “Everything. I didn’t tell her much.”

  A surprising sense of camaraderie followed his relief. “Why do you think that is?”

  She shrugged, but her play of ignorance wasn’t genuine.

  He had to reel back his need to know what she’d told her friend. There was a fine line between appearing curious and coming off needy. Asher wanted to fulfill the role of an assertive male. Turning the tables, he approached the subject from a different angle. “Tell me how you felt while she was questioning you.”

  She took a moment to deliberate as he poured two glasses of wine. As he guided her hand around one goblet, she thanked him and sipped.

  “I felt annoyed.”

  “Describe feeling annoyed.”

  “Frustrated. Cornered. Slightly coerced.”

  “Nicole’s a close friend of yours?”

  “Yes, but she doesn’t get it. She’s the one that said my standards were too high.”

  “Ah, so perhaps you’re holding back information because you’re afraid of failing in front of her again, while maintaining those pesky standards.”

  Her head tilted and her mouth quirked. “Or maybe I was honoring your demand for privacy.”

  Her cocky response caught him off guard, but pleased him immensely. Interesting, that their relationship could tamper with her loyalties to a friend she’d had since grade school.

  He reached for her free hand and brushed his fingers lightly over her knuckles. She immediately responded, turning her palm to his touch, seeking more. “I’m pleased, Ms. Farrow.”

  Her chest lifted as she breathed, a proud little smile on her mouth. She responded well to his praise.

  His attention traveled to her attire. Brushing a finger over her stocking clad knee, her body drew to attention, her shoulders lifting another degree. “Let’s discuss your attire tonight.”

  “O-okay.”

  “Are you anxious, Ms. Farrow?”

  “You told me to wear a skirt.”

  “That’s not an answer to my question.”

  Her throat worked as she swallowed. “I’m always a little jumpy around you.”

  “Good. I prefer you that way. It keeps your responses honest. Now, tell me why you chose this skirt.”

  Her breathing turned shallow. Her little pink tongue slipped over her lower lip. “I don’t wear skirts often. This one seemed…safe.”

  The deep blue material reached to her knee while standing, but since she’d taken a seat the skirt had ridden up to her mid-thigh. Her shirt was a thin blouse he could see through if he looked close enough. His gaze fastened to her tight nipples. On her feet were black heels, but not the sort any man would appreciate.

  “Why safe?”

  “It’s modest.”

  “Is it?” he asked, dragging a finger along her outer thigh, stopping only a few inches before her hip. There was no verbal objection to how freely he touched her.

  Her breathing accelerated. Her body quivered, but she didn’t move to lower the skirt.

  “Does my touch offend you?”

  “No.” Her response was a mere rasp. Interesting.

  “Are you aroused, Ms. Farrow?” Her cheeks flushed a deep shade of rose. That would be a yes. “Please answer the question.”

&
nbsp; The blindfold allowed him to scrutinize every part of her response. Through her thin blouse twin peaks formed at her breasts. Her excitement was evident in her physical reaction—something that triggered a physical reaction in him—but he still wanted her to confirm his suspicions. There was a potent rush connected to compelling her to vocalize a response. “Your nipples are hard.”

  She whimpered.

  “There’s no hiding from me, Ms. Farrow. I’m studying your every reaction, scrutinizing your physical responses. I like unnerving you. Sometimes your knees draw tight when I touch you. There’s a slight lift to your posture when I address your hesitancies, as if you want to hide the truth and appear dauntless. Your breathing accelerates when we discuss sex. And then there’s that telltale blush that implies your blood is pumping with adrenaline. So I’ll allow you another chance to answer. Are you aroused, Ms. Farrow?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good girl. Your honesty’s imperative if I’m to help you.” He wanted to push her. “Take off your shoes.”

  “My shoes?”

  “Yes.”

  She hesitated then slid her foot from one and glided her stocking clad toe into the heel of the other. He swallowed. The move was entirely feminine and naturally sexy, ranking up there with the bra removal scene in Flashdance.

  Her compliance impressed him. Removing the shoes triggered yet another effect. Vulnerability perhaps. One toe remained pinned to her shoe. “Tell me why you chose these shoes.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Typically, women pair high heels with skirts, yet you opted for a stout heel.”

  Her blush intensified.

  “Are the shoes a defense mechanism, Ms. Farrow?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Does removing them make you feel vulnerable? Take another sip of wine before you answer.”

  She did, sipping from the glass deeply. When she lowered the goblet she released a sigh. “Yes. I can’t see and now my feet are bare.”

  “Not true. You’re wearing stockings.” He leaned forward and collected the shoes. “I’m going to place these out of reach.”

  Her body tensed. “Why?”

  “Because your reaction tells me a bit more about your tolerance. I like seeing you unsettled. Every physical barrier represents an emotional one. Stripping them can be quite telling.”