BLIND: A Mastermind Novel

by Lydia Michaels

  Violins and flutes joined the clarinets as a far away trumpet quietly announced a sense of hope and new beginning. “I know this,” she whispered.

  His steps slowed, losing a bit of the rhythm, but quickly recovering the cadence. “Pardon?”

  Harps plucked and she could perceive an image clear as day in her mind, imagine the birds chirping and water babbling. The words soft and smooth came to mind. She gasped. “Are we dancing to Attack of the Clones?” These were movie scores! No wonder she recognized them. “What was the one before this? I knew that one too!”

  “Ms. Farrow, you’re distracting me. Stop trying to play name that tune and enjoy the moment.”

  “Oh, sorry.” She quietly gasped, placing the previous song as Ice Dance from the movie Edward Scissorhands. Was Mr. Stone somehow involved in the movie business? Oh my God! Was she dancing with Danny Elfman?

  He cleared his throat. “Ms. Farrow.”

  “Yes?”

  “Where are you? I feel your body in my arms, but I sense your mind has gone elsewhere.”

  “Sorry…Danny.”

  “No.”

  “Damn it.”

  He chuckled, his palm traveling up her back as they swayed. Leaning closer, she rested her head on his chest, breathing in his scent.

  She hummed, her heart content. “This is nice.”

  They danced for a long time to some of the prettiest ballads ever composed. It was unlike any other experience she had with dancing. Mr. Stone did that a lot, took something familiar and made it new and exciting, different, so it couldn’t get lost in the shuffle of similar memories. No. The memories of him would always stand a bit taller than the others in her mind.

  He’d created an incredible compilation. The problem was, as she recognized each score, she remembered the movies—and the love scenes they accompanied.

  Her mind was a medley of memorable kisses and passionate acts. Mr. Stone had done exactly as he promised and held her in his arms all night. In short, her body was on fire.

  “Mr. Stone,” she asked, her fingers trailing over his collar. He’d worn a dress shirt.

  “Yes, Scarlet?”

  “I want to kiss you.”

  He stilled. The music continued, building to crescendos that were written for making love. Lifting her cheek from his chest, she tipped her face upward. His hand left her hip, his finger tracing softly over her lower lip.

  Pressing up on her toes, she leaned into him, only to have him place his hands firmly on her upper arms and take a step back. “Ms. Farrow.”

  “Please.”

  “Not yet.”

  “When?” She’d never been so sexually frustrated in her life. Being celibate for two years was nothing in comparison to the two months of knowing this man.

  “When it’s time.”

  Frustrated, she stomped her foot in a despicable display of immaturity. “What’s wrong with now?”

  “It isn’t time.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t be tedious, Ms. Farrow. Because I said so.”

  She scowled. “I’m not being tedious. I’m telling you how I feel.”

  He stepped closer, his hand cupping the side of her face, as he whispered, “How do you feel?”

  “Like I’m going to die if I can’t touch you soon.”

  Holding her breath for a pregnant moment, he finally took her hand. “Come with me.”

  He moved at a clipped pace and she panicked as he towed her blindly behind him. “I don’t want to leave.”

  “You’re not leaving.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “You ask too many questions, Ms. Farrow. Get on the bed.”

  Not realizing where they were, her legs crashed into the mattress. Bed was good. She eagerly climbed onto the soft covers.

  He took her hand. “Sit on the edge.”

  Scooting quickly to the edge, her feet dangled over the end of the mattress not quite touching the floor. Her hands folded in her lap as excitement rushed through her.

  He stood before her, his legs taking up space between her knees. “Which hand do you write with, Ms. Farrow?”

  “My right.”

  “You may use your left hand to touch me, but nothing else and you may not move from your seat on the bed. Any questions?”

  “Is there a time limit?”

  “Until I tell you to stop.”

  “Can I take off the blindfold?”

  “No.”

  ****

  This was a mistake. He knew it the second he walked her toward the bed, but…she knew the score from Attack of the Clones—not the main theme, either.

  Sucking in a deep breath he stared as her hand slowly lifted. Fanning her fingers wide, she gradually reached for him. The first contact was to his stomach. Her palm pressed into the buttons of his shirt, heat searing through the fabric. He was suddenly grateful for all the medicine ball crunches he’d bitched about every morning.

  Her breath sucked in as her lips parted. Could touching him really mean that much to her? Her hand traveled up to his chest, grazing his nipple and causing him to suck in.

  His cock lengthened as her thumb teased through his shirt. Her fingers curled, traveling slowly to his throat. The backs of her nails traced his jaw and he swallowed. The soft pads of her fingertips dragged over his lips, following the small divot beneath his nose.

  Her brow creased the moment her fingers made contact with his glasses. “Glasses?”

  “Do they bother you?”

  “Not at all, I just wasn’t expecting them.”

  He’d removed them the day he’d pleasured her in the chair.

  Her fingers slowly grazed the shell of his ear, muffling the music for a few seconds. Stretching, her touch teased his sideburn and hair. “Your hair’s so thick.” She smiled.

  She spent a long time running her fingers through his hair. It was intoxicating. When her touch returned to his face, she inspected his glasses, tracing the rims. The side of her mouth quirked, and he suspected that meant she liked discovering this identifying trait about him.

  She brushed over his shoulder, squeezed his bicep, and traced each one of his fingers. His breathing turned irregular when she returned to his lower belly. As she caressed along his hips her chest lifted, her breasts pressing into her shirt. He could see the pucker of her nipples.

  Shocking him, she swiftly moved her hand between his legs and he grunted as she cupped him. She sucked in an audible breath as the bulge of his pants filled her palm. “Mr. Stone.”

  Moving quickly, he bent, snaking his hand under her hair, cupping the back of her neck. His mouth closed over her exposed shoulder, kissing and sucking her sweet flesh.

  Her grip firmed, massaging through his pants as he climbed on top of her and yanked her shirt to her chest. Her supple breasts plumped as he held her and sucked on the succulent ivory skin. She moaned, her fingers tugging at his belt.

  Landing open mouth kisses along the curve of her throat, he quickly undid the buttons of her blouse. Once he had her shirt open, he jerked the lace cups of her bra and fastened his mouth to her nipple.

  She arched into him and cried out, her hips grinding into his thigh. His belt came undone and the heat of her palm scorched his cock, flesh to flesh, nothing in between. Jerking back, he caught her wrist.

  “Please,” she begged.

  He glanced at their position. Her bare breasts were red with traces from his stubble. Her nipples were engorged and wet. His belt was hanging undone and his cock was ready to explode. None of this was supposed to happen.

  Quickly, he climbed off the bed and she eased up on her elbows. As she panted, his attention returned to her breast. Dear God, he wanted to keep going.

  “Why are you stopping?” she snapped.

  “Scarlet,” his voice was a mere rasp. “Scarlet, we can’t do this now.”

  “Why?” Her brow was pinched, her lips tightening in frustration. “I want you. Don’t you want me?”

  “Yes, but—”


  “But what? This is getting impossible!” She reached for the blindfold.

  “No!” He caught her hand, startling her, and she froze. Softening his tone, he said, “No, Scarlet. Not yet.”

  “Why? You’re killing me. I don’t know how you can keep denying us.”

  “Discipline,” he whispered.

  “But what’s it worth if it’s making us miserable?”

  It was worth his pride. Who knew how she’d react in the end, when all veils were removed? Showing himself to her might be the end. “Just a little longer, Scarlet, and then all the waiting will be over.”

  She plopped back on the bed. “I don’t know how you’re doing this.”

  “You felt me. I’m not immune to you.”

  She mumbled something he didn’t catch.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Nothing.” She mumbled again.

  “Scarlet, are you talking to yourself or talking to me under your breath?”

  Shaking her head, she muttered, “This is why I’m sniffing your gloves and masturbating.”

  He stilled. “You sniffed my gloves and masturbated?”

  Her cheeks flushed. “Only once. Fine, twice, but they smelled like you and you were off in Milan doing God knows what.”

  His mouth stretched in a cocky grin, wishing someone were there to hear such confessions. “Did you orgasm?”

  Her mouth pinched tight.

  “Ms. Farrow?”

  “No,” she snapped. “I…I can’t do that without…you.”

  Interesting. A slow burn began to smolder in his veins. “Do you need to come, Ms. Farrow?”

  “Are you offering?”

  “Perhaps.”

  She slowly lifted her arms over her head and spread her legs. “Yes, Mr. Stone, I’d very much like to come.”

  He’d never survive this woman. “Then you shall. Tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Yes, and you are not to touch yourself until then. Do you understand?”

  “I hate you,” she grumbled.

  “Don’t pout.”

  “I’m sexually frustrated!”

  So was he.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Capitulation

  “I have to tell her.” Asher plopped down on the couch at the Think Tank. Elliot, Hunter, and Jet stared at him. “What?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Told you this wouldn’t work.”

  “It’s about time.”

  They all spoke at once.

  Ash huffed. “She’s…amazing.”

  “So tell her who you are and get on with a normal relationship,” Hunter said.

  “I’m scared. So much is riding on this. She…we were dancing and Across the Stars came on. She knew it was from Attack of the Clones.”

  “Is that Star Wars?” Jet asked, and they all snapped a unanimous, “Yes!”

  “Maybe she just watched it,” Elliot said.

  “Or,” Hunter cut in. “Maybe she’s got a little nerd girl in her after all. Imagine that, all this time, Lettie Farrow was a geek.”

  “She’s not a geek. She hasn’t shown any signs until last night.”

  “Sometimes geeks look like ordinary people,” Elliot said.

  Asher eyed his tie. It had molecular formulas on it. “Is that a new tie?”

  Elliot glanced at his chest and smiled. “Yeah—” He frowned, registering the point Asher was making. “Whatever.”

  “I think it’s great,” Jet said. “She likes you. You like her. Sounds simple enough to me.”

  “She almost ripped off the blindfold last night.”

  “Why? Did you piss her off?” Hunter asked.

  “Not exactly. She was…frustrated.”

  “With…” Jet asked.

  “Our lack of sex.”

  “Wait.” Elliot held up his hands. “She hasn’t seen you yet and she wants to have sex with you?”

  “Badly,” Asher confirmed.

  “That doesn’t make any sense!”

  “I know,” he agreed. “But if I don’t give her some relief she’s going to snap.”

  “Just get rid of the blindfold and do her,” Hunter said.

  Jet shook his head. “I say keep the blindfold and do her. A little kink never hurt anyone.”

  “I don’t want to get rid of the blindfold yet and I don’t want to have sex yet. It’s too soon. I can’t sleep with her until I’m sure she’s okay with sleeping with me. The only way I’ve been able to build up my courage is by giving myself the time I need to prepare. I’ll show her who I am soon enough, and when I do, I’ll see if it matters to her. Only then, if she’s still interested, will we…make love.”

  Jet arched a brow. “You sure you want to throw around that four letter word?”

  He wasn’t sure of anything at the moment, but he knew if they got to that point it would be a hell of a lot more than sex.

  Elliot stood. “Then why are we talking about this? You aren’t an animal. Just don’t have sex. Find something to distract yourselves.”

  “Nah, Ash wants the sex. I can tell,” Jet said.

  “Not blindfolded sex,” he repeated. “I want her to see me—the real me. I want to look in her eyes and…” It was difficult, exposing his honest feelings to the guys. Everything he felt for Scarlet ran deep. “I’m just not ready yet.”

  “But she’s all fired up,” Jet recapped.

  …For Mr. Stone.“So what do I do?”

  His friends contemplated his predicament. Jet shrugged. “You fake it until you make it, Ash.”

  “I’ve been faking it all along.”

  “No, you haven’t. All of this is you. This is just the first time you’ve unearthed your hard-ass setting and played a dominant role. So far the mystique seems to be working for both of you. Just keep doing what you’re doing.”

  “Can’t you just think of it as role playing like in World of Warcraft?” Elliot suggested. “We know it isn’t real, but we also know we can’t walk away. Fantasy’s addicting.”

  Hunter nodded and pointed to Elliot in agreement. “Yeah, give her a fantasy, Ash. You have a masterful mind, master her in other ways without crossing that line.”

  Jet’s dark brow arched, the side of his mouth hooking in a half-smirk. “What gets her hot?”

  Lots of things. The question was, could Asher deliver such things once he was no longer Mr. Stone and simply Asher? “I need to think about this. We have two more encounters and the last one’s the big reveal. This is my last chance to show her I can be what she needs.” Because once she was looking him in the eye, he wasn’t sure how Mr. Stone he could be.

  While fantasy play was appealing, he didn’t want to live his life in a fantasy world. He wanted something real, something he could openly share with others. He wanted a place in her heart.

  Sitting back, the truth sank in. Scarlet was giving him hope and hope could be a very dangerous thing. For the first time in over a decade he was risking everything and opening himself up to what could be the best thing in his life or the worst. Only time would tell.

  Not only was he stressing about meeting her expectations as a man, he was now worried she might prefer his alter ego to the real him. Never once did he imagine he’d be in competition with himself.

  He sighed and faced the guys. “I just want her to like…me.”

  Jet blew out a slow whistle. “Look at you, admitting your feelings and showing your human side.” He slapped a hand on his back. “My boy’s all grown up!”

  “It’ll be like watching Batman remove his mask and learning it was Bruce Wayne all along,” Hunter said, his face poised in awe. “It’s always a bit of a shock, but after a while, you realize he’s the same person, no matter what name he goes by.”

  Elliot finally smiled. “And so the Padawan becomes a Jedi. Already know you that which you need.”

  “Thank you, Yoda,” Ash joked.

  Elliot shrugged. “Yoda’s my hero.”

  Drawing in a stea
dying breath, Asher nodded. One last evening of secrets, then…he’d tell her exactly who he was and hope with all he had that she could care for him as much as she cared for Mr. Stone, realizing they were one in the same.

  ****

  There was something fundamental coming. Scarlet sensed it in the tone of Mr. Stone’s voice, the quelling silence of her dark surroundings, and by the way her heart beat rapidly in her chest.

  Her coat was removed, as were her shoes. Every touch was refined yet reverent. Integrity bled from him as he guided her to the room with the bed. His words seemed reserved for direction, each carefully chosen directive baring an acute effect on her senses.

  “I want you to remove your clothing, Ms. Farrow.”

  Would he not help her?

  “I’m going to watch.”

  His words gave her pause. After discovering his glasses and piecing together many scenarios in her head regarding the mystique of their relationship, the state of his vision crossed her mind. She’d considered perhaps he was blind and this was all a lesson in empathy. It would have explained why Pennyworth always drove.

  Quietly, she asked, “You can see me?”

  He chuckled. “You make it hard to blink, Scarlet.”

  Good enough.

  Her skin tingled as she slowly unsnapped her jeans and slid the zipper down. Peeling back her socks, she placed them on the floor then carefully folded her pants. Her shirt bore six buttons and she counted each one, her fingers trembling over the tiny pearl disks.

  Slowly disrobing, he never interrupted her process, and she had no doubt he watched every move. There was no music tonight. The echo of her breathing played as a backdrop to each rustle of fabric and even the rasp of her fingers tucking her hair.

  She imagined him sitting a distance away, leg casually crossed in some sophisticated manner, long fingers veiling his mouth, glasses masking all telltale reactions her performance evoked.

  Swallowing tightly, she savored all the assumed reactions he might be suffering as she stripped down to nothing. When she stood, baring her soul to the man who had embedded himself there, she interlocked her fingers behind her back and waited for his direction.

  “Please kneel.”

  Jarred by his command, her lips parted in question, yet she uttered not a sound. Her body throbbed, every point of her senses awakened by her intense need. Slowly, she lowered her body to the ground with as much grace as she could manage.