She knew he wasn’t being rude. They had discussed his breech of Internet etiquette and she understood he liked stressing certain words.
>Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: You know what I love about you, Adam?
Breathlessly, he wrote, “What?”
>Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: You’re a pig who doesn’t deny he’s a pig.
>Edgar_Allan_Poem: LOL.
In reality, he smiled but didn’t actually Laugh Out Loud.
>Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: Not every man will admit that, you know.
He informed the computer screen, “I’m not exactly a man.” What he typed was, "I’m not your typical man."
>Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: I’ve gathered that. :)
There was a pause and he started to ask her how Deborah was. He didn’t care, of course, but it was a formality he hadn’t taken care of yet. As he was typing, Rachel wrote...
>Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: So are you *ever* going to have a picture taken that you can send me???
Adam’s smile darkened. After back-spacing over what he wrote, his fingers tapped so fast and hard on the keys, it sounded like a machine gun barrage.
>Edgar_Allan_Poem: ::::sighs:::::
>Edgar_Allan_Poem: How many times have we discussed this? You know I hate having my picture taken.
>Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: I would guess we’ve discussed this at least a dozen times. And yes, I *do* know you hate having your picture taken. If memory serves, we’ve determined that, despite your claims to the contrary, you’re either fat or ugly or both.
>Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: Or you’re married. Or...
>Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: A new theory here...
>Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: You’re one of America’s Most Wanted.
>Edgar_Allan_Poem: Close. I’m one of Columbia’s Most Wanted. I operate a combination drug cartel and brothel in Bogotá.
>Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie:Heh.
>Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: So what *is* up with the picture thing?
Rachel chose to show emphasis by placing an asterisk before and after a word.
>Edgar_Allan_Poem: I TOLD you all you need to know about me. I’m tall, dark, and handsome.
>Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: And rich.
>Edgar_Allan_Poem: Filthy rich people prefer to be called 'independently wealthy.'
>Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: And you’re modest too.
>Edgar_Allan_Poem: Do you think so?
>Edgar_Allan_Poem: I’ve never thought so myself but I’m much too modest.
>Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: And what’s the reason we can’t talk on the phone again?
About a month ago, after Rachel had a particularly lousy day, fighting all day with Deborah, she suddenly asked Adam if they could talk on the phone.
Unfortunately, he had to decline. Then, as now, he told her...
>Edgar_Allan_Poem: Hearing your voice would be torture, Rachel. You really don’t understand how much I want you, how much I long to be with you. I think about you all the time.
>Edgar_Allan_Poem: I know you’ve been hurt and I know you’re guarded. I’ve tried very hard to respect your feelings.
>Edgar_Allan_Poem: But in this instance, I’d ask you to please respect mine.
Excited, he drug his tongue over his teeth.
>Edgar_Allan_Poem: If you want to know the truth...
He waits a second, grinning wickedly, then finally writes, NM, meaning “Never mind.”
>Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: What?
>Edgar_Allan_Poem: Nothing.
He made her beg for it.
>Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: Tell me.
>Edgar_Allan_Poem: You don’t want to hear this.
>Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: How do you know? Are you a mind-reader?
He answered aloud, “Yes, I am, but I can’t do it online.” His smile faded. “Which is why we need to get together, in real life.”
He paused too long and she said again...
>Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: Tell me.
>Edgar_Allan_Poem: :::::sighs:::::
>Edgar_Allan_Poem: All right. You asked for this...
>Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: Yes, I did.
>Edgar_Allan_Poem: I think I’m falling in love with you.
He expected a pause and he got a long one. Again, he waited her out.
She finally wrote...
>Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: I don’t know, Adam. Sometimes I think I’m falling in love with you, too.
>Edgar_Allan_Poem: So why not meet me? Let’s get together.
>Edgar_Allan_Poem: You know you want to.
>Edgar_Allan_Poem: :-)
Instead of denying that, she asked,
>Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: What? Me fly out to your place in Beverly Hills? No, wait. The mansion outside Chicago is closer, right?
While he hadn’t sent her photographs of himself, Adam had sent her pictures of three of his six homes. He had trouble convincing Rachel they were really his. She often accused him of scarfing the photos off the Internet. Like many hard-working moms, she had trouble believing a man could become as wealthy as Adam without selling his soul to the devil and still having the horns to show for it.
He once told her, “I have no soul.”
She had rolled on the floor laughing (ROTFL) at that.
Adam knew Rachel wouldn’t be comfortable if their first date was at one of his homes. So he made a joke.
>Edgar_Allan_Poem: Since I stole my houses off the Internet, I don’t think that’s such a good idea. What if the REAL owners come home?
>Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: That could be a problem.
He didn’t intend to go this far tonight. He simply intended to tell her he thought he might love her. He planned to let her digest that tidbit for a couple of days before he went further.
But suddenly he felt the time was ripe. His instincts told him to seize the moment and Adam always trusted his instincts.
>Edgar_Allan_Poem: Yes, it could. That’s why we should get together at your place. That way I could meet both you and Deborah.
Deborah already liked him. He’d already won over the brat by talking to her (with Rachel’s permission) on the Internet. He treated her like a princess and she lapped up his flattery as greedily as her mother did.
Adam had no doubt the girl-child would take one look at his handsome face and fall hopelessly in love.
Another quiet moment played out, while he waited for Rachel’s response.
When it finally came, he was surprised.
>Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: When?
He needed confirmation.
>Edgar_Allan_Poem: Are you serious? We can get together? I can come there, no problem. I’ll fly into Indianapolis and then drive up to Muncie. If you’re not comfortable with me coming to your house, I can meet you somewhere. We’ll go out to dinner.
He didn’t know why he was saying that. Dining out was always problematic for him but he was barely aware of what he was speed typing, he was so thrilled by her answer.
>Edgar_Allan_Poem: Whatever you want to do, Rachel. Whenever. I’ll play by your rules.
He sighed, frustrated with himself for making such promises.
He always played by his own rules.
He forced himself to stop after he wrote...
>Edgar_Allan_Poem: You tell me when.
He waited anxiously for her response.
When it came, he slapped his hands together with glee before returning them to the keyboard.
>Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: How about a week from tomorrow? Next Saturday night?
>Edgar_Allan_Poem: That sounds wonderful!
>Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: I eventually want you to meet Deborah, of course. But I think the first time we get together should just be you and me.
>Edgar_Allan_Poem: I like the way you think!
>Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: And I don’t need to meet you someplace. You can come here.
>Edgar_Allan_Poem: Great!
>Edgar_Allan_Po
em: I really didn’t want to do dinner anyway. I’m going to be entirely too nervous to eat.
>Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: *You’re* going to be nervous? *I’m* already a nervous wreck! LOL
>Edgar_Allan_Poem: I still can’t believe you just invited me into your home. You did just invite me into your home, didn’t you?
>Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: Yes. Deborah is staying with my mom. We’ll have the whole weekend to ourselves.
Adam laughed aloud, barely able to contain his excitement. “The brat’s out of the way and she is not ruling out the possibility we’ll have sex! Perfect!”
>Edgar_Allan_Poem: That sounds perfect to me!
>Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: Okay. I’ll email you directions to my house. Let’s say next Saturday night at 8:00? Is that okay with you?
>Edgar_Allan_Poem: Let’s make it 9:00. :-)
>Elizabeth_Barrett_Brownie: 9:00 it is.
When Rachel signed offline not long after that, Adam rushed downstairs, looking for Byron. He found his manservant in the living room, kicked back in his La-Z-Boy, watching The Late Late Show on their giant plasma TV.
The moment Byron saw Adam, he sat up, picking up the remote to mute Craig Ferguson.
“Pack our bags, Byron,” Adam commanded. “We’re going to Indiana!”
******
They actually didn’t fly out to the Circle City until four nights later. It took Byron that long to make the arrangements. Never one for hotels, Adam purchased a condominium on the north side of Indianapolis.
Adam and Rachel continued to talk nightly on the Internet.
They couldn’t wait to be together.
Finally, Saturday night arrived.
Adam could easily fly to Muncie under his own power. Not knowing how the evening would go, however, not knowing if they might want to go out later, he decided instead to have Byron drive him to Rachel’s home, in a limousine purchased just yesterday.
He arrived at her house at precisely 9 p.m..
Adam asked Byron, “How do I look?”
Since Byron couldn’t use the rearview mirror, he turned around to gaze at his boss. In his slight English accent, he said, “Smashing, sir, as always.”
Picking up the two small gift bags he’d brought Rachel, Adam got out of the limousine.
As he walked up to her modest little home, he muttered, “You won’t be living in squalor much longer, my dear. Not if you’re a virgin.”
He wasn’t referring to her sexual virginity. With a seven-year-old child, that issue was obviously settled years ago.
Adam couldn’t care less about her carnal history. He was wondering if she was a virgin in another way.
And he couldn’t imagine she wasn’t.
He was so hopeful tonight, he was almost giddy at the possibility of romance.
Instead of ringing the doorbell, Adam opened the screen door and lightly knocked on Rachel’s front door.
He licked his lips and then ran his tongue over his teeth. It took a great deal of effort just to remain still, he was so full of hyper energy.
Finally, the door began to open. It took an eternity before she was finally revealed to him.
He beamed at her and she smiled back.
Rachel stepped across the threshold, taking him into her arms. He concentrated on reflecting her own soft heat back at her, so she didn’t feel how hard and cold he really was. The embrace was quick but he was thrilled to finally touch her, to smell her, to hear her rapid heartbeat.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi,” he responded, breaking the embrace. He stared intensely at her face, his dark eyes blazing. “Your photographs don’t do you justice. You’re beautiful.”
Adam almost lost control when Rachel blushed. His dark, dead heart swelled with an unholy ardor.
He could barely contain his desire.
She looked up at him through long lashes and said, “And you sure didn’t lie! You are tall, dark, and handsome.” She smiled. “Incredibly handsome!”
“I have something for you.” He held out the two gift bags.
“Adam! I told you no gifts!” She looked at him with a worried expression and he knew he did exactly the right thing when he denied his urge to buy her some expensive jewelry.
“It’s not a gift. It’s a small token of my affection.” His smile was every bit as intense as his gaze.
She opened the heavier little sack first, pulling out the book. She gasped, then actually squealed when she saw it was Poems Before Congress, by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Adam told her, “It’s a first edition.”
“I don’t believe it!” She clutched the book like it was already dear to her. “This is so sweet of you! It must have cost a fortune.”
He shrugged. “Not really. It’s certainly not as expensive as the diamond necklace I would have liked to have bought you.”
She looked at him with awe. “You really are rich, aren’t you?”
He smiled. “I told you I was.”
She shook her head. “This is unbelievable. Things like this never happen to me.”
“Look in the other sack.”
She dug past the tissue paper and, when she saw what was inside, she laughed. “Brownies! I should have known!”
He grinned. “Do I know you or do I know you?”
“You certainly know what I like.” She dropped the brownies back into their sack. “Did you make them yourself?”
“Of course,” he lied. In truth, Byron made them. Adam had never created anything in a kitchen except bloody disasters.
“Come on in,” she invited and he followed her into her abode.
He couldn’t truthfully say he liked her pedestrian house but he could say, “I like what you’ve done with the place.”
“Thanks.” She beamed again at him, then gushed, “I can’t get over it.”
“What?”
“You said you were handsome but Good God!” She laughed. “You’re gorgeous!”
He nodded, holding up his hands as if to say, I told you so.
“I want to put these brownies away. Can I get you anything? I know you don’t drink but I’ve got sodas, ice tea, bottled water.”
“No, thank you.” He knew from talking to her online that Rachel enjoyed red wine. “But feel free to have a glass of Merlot if you want.”
She gave him an uncertain look. “Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?”
“Not at all.”
"Okay. Make yourself at home." She clutched both gift bags to her bountiful chest. "And thank you again for the presents."
“You’re most welcome.”
She started to leave, then looked back. “You sure I can’t get you anything?”
“I’m fine.”
“Okay. I’ll be right back.”
When she left him alone in the living room, he began to look around. The living room was exactly as he imagined it would be; sweet, feminine, tiny. She had very little furniture and what she did have, didn’t match. On an end table, in addition to a stack of Oprah magazines, there was a Nancy Drew book that surely belonged to the brat. One wall behind the sagging couch was devoted entirely to pictures of Deborah. Adam walked over and looked at the little girl’s life, from her nearly nude baby picture, to grinning pictures where she was missing teeth, right up through a laughing photograph taken at her last (seventh) birthday party.
He muttered to himself, “Pretty eyes. Like her mother’s.”
With his preternatural senses, Adam could hear Rachel in the kitchen. He smiled when she said to herself, “Oh my God, girl! I think you just hit the jackpot!” He could smell the wine the moment she opened the bottle. He could also smell her sweat, despite the fact she was wearing Secret deodorant and Red perfume.
Knowing she was nervous took the edge off his nervousness. Now that he was with her, now that he was inside her home, Adam felt completely in command of the situation. And yet there remained a wound-up spring of tension that wouldn’t be released until he read her mind.
He was extr
emely eager to uncover her deepest, darkest secrets.
He smiled, knowing her greatest sins would be trivial. She lied to someone, maybe hurt someone she loved (probably Deborah).
Maybe she stole something during a time of desperation.
Maybe she liked kinky sex.
Whatever it was she felt most guilty about, he would soon know it.
And once he did, once he knew she was virgin in the only sense that mattered to him, only then would he be free to love her completely.
Only then would he be free to corrupt her.
He reminded himself, “These things take time.” He promised himself he would go slow. They must talk first, for hours, and he will see the Rachel she wants him to see. He will charm her. He will dazzle her. He will be vigilant for that look in her eyes when she regards him with trust and adoration.
Only after he has seen that look of love will he take her into his clutches.
He heard her returning to the living room but pretended he didn’t, giving her time to check out his butt. After a few minutes, she told him, “Okay. I’m back.”
He turned around, his hands clasped in front of him.
She sat her glass of wine on an end table, nearly knocking it over in the process. She barely prevented the spill.
He smiled. “There’s no need to be nervous, darling.”
She avoided eye contact. “I can’t help it.”
“I promise I won’t bite.” His smile broadened. “Not yet, anyway.”
She looked at him suddenly and said, “So, would you like the grand tour?”
“Please.”
“This will take all of about two minutes.” Rachel led him down a short hallway, showing him first the bathroom, then Deborah’s room, then her bedroom.
In her bedroom, he gave her a lusty look which caused her to blush again and again he nearly lost his mind. He imagined ravaging her, pushing her back on the bed, ripping off her clothes, sinking a part of himself into her. The intensity of the fantasy left him breathless.
Rachel also seemed a bit breathless and quickly led him out of her boudoir.
As he followed her down the hall, he looked at the back of her neck and struggled to gain control of his passion.
When they entered the kitchen, both of them were completely unprepared for what happened next.
Fishing in Brains for an Eye with Teeth (Thirteen Tales of Terror) Page 10
