How did he know these things? She didn’t recall writing about Long Island or the birds in her books. Was it coincidence? A yawn suddenly interrupted her questions about the little statues.
“I am so sorry. I was enjoying your company too much and forgot the time. Let's get you into bed.”
“I'm not—” she yawned again “—tired.” The wine and the sudden drop of adrenaline seemed to bring about Regan’s immediate exhaustion.
“I can tell,” he laughed. Without asking, he swooped her up into his arms, despite her protests of being too heavy. After shushing her and reassuring her that she weighed not more than a sack of groceries, he carried her down the long hallway and up a flight of stairs. Gently, he laid her down upon a soft bed.
“Will you please untie my hands?” Regan asked nervously.
“I will, but first, let's get you undressed.”
“No! Don't…”
“Hush now. Save your protests. You know they won't help you, you silly girl. Don’t worry; I am not going to force myself on you.”
Regan held her breath as he gently removed her slippers, sweat pants and panties. She pulled her legs to her chest, ashamed of her body and trying to hide herself from his gaze. Without a sound, he untied her wrists and pulled her sweatshirt over her head, leaving her completely naked before him.
“Do you need to use the bathroom?” he asked, stepping back to peer at her.
She shook her head, balling herself up as tight as possible as her body sweltered with acute embarrassment.
“Very well. Let me know when you need to go, and I will release you.”
“Release me? But…” she groaned as he pushed her back onto the bed and secured her wrists in fleece-lined cuffs over her head. To her relief, he left her ankles unbound, but she still felt helpless and completely exposed.
“What are you going to do to me?”
“Let's see… What would any hot-blooded American male do in a situation when he has a gorgeous young woman bound helplessly before him at three o’clock in the morning? Sleep,” he laughed, covering her and planting a brief kiss on her lips.
“W-where are you going?”
“To bed. Why? Miss me already?”
Regan bit back the retort, listening to him exiting the room.
She gritted her teeth as the silence of the night took over her senses. The fact was, yes… she did miss him. Mentally, she kicked herself for feeling that way! What the hell was wrong with her? Was she so desperate? Regan groaned… it appeared she must be.
Chapter Three
Regan woke to the sound of clinking glassware and rattling metal. Unable to sit up, she held her breath as the sound of footsteps approached her bed.
“Good morning, sleepy head. We have a very special day ahead of us. Let me unbind you, to start.”
“What are you going to do?”
“New rule: stop asking me that question. I will tell you as I desire to. Sit up, please.”
Regan temporarily forgot about her nakedness as she drew her sore arms into her body, rubbing her shoulders. His warm hands took over, kneading the knots from her neck and back, with an occasional kiss to the bare skin. He pulled her to her feet and wrapped a soft robe around her body, warming her quickly, before leading her to the restroom.
“If you give me your promise not to try to remove the blindfold, I will allow you to take care of your needs without my assistance,” came the warning.
“I promise,” Regan said quickly, knowing damn well that she probably couldn’t unbuckle the intricate ties that held the blindfold in place, anyway.
He led her to the toilet and placed her hand on the roll of paper as well as on the knob to the bidet, cautioning her that he would come in to check on her shortly. Regan waited for the door to close and quickly took care of her personal needs, stifling a giggle as the bidet cleansed her gently. She stood, startled at the automatic flush, and felt her way to the sink. A toothbrush was placed there for her, as well as mint toothpaste.
She brushed her teeth, wondering what he had in store for her that day. In her blindfolded state, she felt nothing but helplessness and dependence upon him. Yet, in the back of her mind, she could not recall ever having to trust anyone to the degree he was forcing her to.
Something else nagged at her as well. Something all too familiar about the situation she was in. It was almost as though… It was almost as though he was reliving scenes from her books! Dread filled her heart as she brought to mind some of the less enjoyable parts that, while the readers believed them to be erotic and mesmerizing, would be horrific to actually experience! Which of those scenes would he chose to play out if, indeed, he was doing that? Why the time and expense to make this house like the one in her book, Dream House?
She bit her lip as she realized that this would be either her greatest fantasy or her worse nightmare. Either way, she was powerless to prevent it.
“Are you hungry?” he asked from outside the door.
“Not really,” Regan lied. Truthfully, she was famished, but she did not want to give into any more temptation if she could prevent it.
He opened the door and brushed by her. The sound of water striking a hard surface caught her attention.
“I'll give you a bath, and then maybe you will want to eat. Smell,” he ordered, sticking something under her nose.
“Is that cypress?” she asked, inhaling the woodsy scent. “Where in the world did you find that? I've been searching for that scent for years.”
“I can always find what I am looking for when I put my mind to it,” he chuckled, pouring the oil into the bathwater.
“You are either the world’s most obsessive stalker or a member of the CIA. How do you know my likes? I know for a fact that I have never mentioned cypress in any of my stories!”
“Like I said, I can always find what I want. And I wanted to discover some of your secrets.”
“You are creeping me out here. This is wrong. Don’t you have any moral sensibilities at all?”
“I can assure you that I am neither an obsessed stalker nor a member of the CIA. And if I did not have any moral sensibilities, would I have been so careful with you? I've spent a long time finding you so that I could make an attempt to court you. I want this to be long term, Regan. I want you.”
“Court me? What are you, eighty? And normal men ask a woman out, not kidnap her!”
“No, I'm not eighty. I'm forty-two. And if I had asked you out, what would you have said?”
Regan was silent. There had been several prospective men in the recent past who had asked her out, all of whom she’d refused. Even Kennedy had commented to her that if she would just let herself get laid, she would be less grumpy. But Regan did not want that. And she destroyed her chances with Steve, although their life would have been an unsatisfying and unhappy one if they’d stayed together. Still, it would have been better than being alone, right?
He continued, “As you see, you have made it very difficult for anyone to become part of your life. I made the decision for you in that you will allow yourself this one time of not being in control, to see how you like it. It will change your life, if you allow it to.”
“Maybe I'm happy with my life the way it is!” Regan barked.
“Snarky comments are not becoming, my dear,” he scolded. “Do you really think you’re happy? Is that why you drink yourself to a stupor alone and live so far out of reach that even the coyotes can’t find you? If you really believe you are happy and content, then I think it's time that you stop lying to yourself. Now, take off that robe and let me help you into the tub. No arguments, or I will warm that lovely backside again.”
Regan clenched her teeth as she gingerly stepped into the hot water. She slowly sat down, releasing a sigh of content as the fragrant bubbles surrounded her. Jet bubbles were turned on, and she jumped, startled. “Oh!”
“You weren't expecting to have just a plain old bath now, were you? How does that feel?”
“Okay, I guess. What
are you doing?” she asked as she felt the water level rise.
“Getting in with you.”
Regan felt the closeness of his body as he positioned himself behind her, spreading his thighs to draw her closer against his chest. He placed her unbound hands on his knees and encircled her with strong, muscular arms. Timidly, Regan ran her fingers along his thighs, feeling the outline of finely-toned muscles beneath her hands. She lifted her hands to trace his arms, not surprised to feel the solid bulk of strength under the lightly-furred forearms. His hands were larger than she had imagined, easily engulfing her own. The soft fur of his chest tickled her back and she could feel the firmness of his pecks… along with the other muscle that was rising to greet her.
“Sorry about that,” he laughed. “It's been a long time since I've been this close to such a beautiful and desirable woman.”
“You must be desperate if you think that I'm either beautiful or desirable,” Regan said bitterly. “You seem to know everything about me. Will you tell me about yourself?”
“Besides that I have exquisite taste in literature, design, and women?” he asked, ignoring her debasing comment about herself.
“J… does that stand for John? James? Jeremy?”
“None of the above. You have never met me face to face.”
“Have we ever talked before?”
“Again, not face to face. Now stop trying to guess. You will not succeed.”
“You’re frustrating me.”
“And you,” he reached between them to reposition his uncomfortable organ, “are exciting me. Besides my name, what do you want to know? You may ask three questions a day, and I have the choice of whether or not to answer them.”
“That's hardly fair.”
“My game, my rules. So, what is your first question?”
“Where are you from?”
“A tiny town called Beaufort, South Carolina. My father was a DI for the Marine Corps Boot Camp.”
“And your mother?”
“Is that your second question? I was being generous by giving you some extra information.”
“You're a butthead.”
“And you are feeling more comfortable. My mother was a housewife, made her own bread, gardened, the works. I had a great childhood. No younger siblings, just the ugliest three-legged dog on the planet by the name of Woof.”
“Woof?”
“Yeah, the stupid dog wouldn't come to anything except the sound of his own voice.”
Regan could not help but laugh, picturing a boy with a three legged dog and having to call the animal “Woof” just to get it to come to him. He joined her laugh, the vibration deep in his chest, and told her stories of Woof and the trouble the old cur got himself into. Regan was holding her stomach as she pictured the old dog covered with honey before rolling in a mess of feathers from the chicken coup, and then the expression on the neighbors’ faces when the boy and his parents walked through the neighborhood “woofing” after the old dog had turned up missing again.
“How about you? Did you ever have any pets?”
“I thought you knew everything about me,” Regan replied, closing her eyes as she relaxed against him.
“I know enough, but not all.”
“No. Never had a pet. My parents were practically allergic to dirt. I always wanted a kitten, but… well…”
“You never got around to it. Commitment issues, love?”
“No… Maybe… I don't know. I'm feeling waterlogged; can I get out?” Regan asked, suddenly uncomfortable as the conversation turned serious.
“You can’t always run when something uncomfortable is brought up. Sharing your heart is not going to hurt you.”
“That’s what you think,” Regan responded, drawing into herself again.
With a patient kiss to the cheek, he helped her out of the tub and folded a large towel around her body. He patted her dry, taking time to rub lotion over her body in long, nonsexual caresses. With his hand on the small of her back, he lead her back into the bedroom, careful to steer her away from any furniture.
“Can you tell me what this room looks like?” Regan asked, uncomfortable with the silence between them.
“Is that a question?”
“Oh, come on! Please?”
“You are going to be so spoiled. Very well.” He described the bedroom as being drenched in light, with a multitude of windows looking out over the trees, thick plush rugs that were shades of champagne, and a four-poster brass bed. He handed her a large bearded iris from the vase and chuckled when she asked about artwork. He then admitted to a fondness for the works of Daniel Merriam, a surrealistic watercolor artist.
“No way! I love Merriam's work. It is so… well… out there. Kind of disturbing, but way intriguing.”
“It's about dreams. He puts his dreams on canvas like you put yours into words. He's the one who painted my fresco.”
“My favorite is High Heaven; you know, the cherubs getting in each other's faces,” Regan giggled.
“I like Man on the Moon. Like your books, they show many sides of his mind.”
“Kidnapping and bondage aside, I have to admit that I am finding you… interesting. I haven't met anyone who appreciated the oddity of art like I do.”
“You haven't allowed yourself to meet anyone. Until now, that is, and it only occurred with much protest and a little force. By the end of your stay, we will become the closest of friends, I promise.”
“You are really going to let me go?”
“Yes, if you desire, but not anytime soon. Now, would you like to dress or stay naked under that robe all day?”
“Ha ha. Dress please. And, well, I'm hungry.”
“Good!” he sounded pleased. “You blush beautifully when you are uncomfortable, you know. Lift up your arms.”
Regan obeyed, feeling him slipping something soft and warm over her head. By the feel of it, it was a large T-shirt or a loose, short dress. He then brushed out her short hair, pulling out the strands from under the hooded blindfold, commenting how beautiful it would be long. He sat her down on the edge of the bed and lifted her right foot up. Before slipping a sock over it, he took the time to rub more lotion into her skin, his strong hands massaging away her tension. His fingers brushed her naked sex as he rubbed the lotion into her thigh, making her jump slightly at the unexpected, but not completely uncomfortable, touch.
She wrinkled her brow as he slipped shoes over her feet. She had come to the house in slippers, and these fit her perfectly. Did he know her shoe size? Only one man had ever had access to her closet, and he was long gone. Plus, Steve was not interested in anything that did not directly involve him. Selfish bastard, she fumed, thinking of all the time he’d stolen from her. But then, she was as guilty for using him, she acknowledged.
Regan held her breath as he started to hum something. Again, vaguely familiar, yet she could not place it. He patted her shin before standing and pulled her up next to him.
“It's a beautiful day. I will toss some stuff in a basket, and we will have a picnic breakfast.”
“How…? I never wrote about that in my books. No one knows that it’s something I really enjoy…”
“No one? I do. Stop trying to figure this out, Regan. It will cause you to wrinkle. No mangoes, right? Allergic?”
Another fact otherwise unknown. She tried to think. Not even her medical records reported her mango allergy. Her parents had known, and a couple of girl friends from college. She was pretty sure Steve did not know, or care, about it. Again, if it did not involve him, he was disinterested.
Regan found herself becoming intrigued by this strange man, rather than being frightened or angry. There was something intimately tender and nurturing about him, yet she sensed an underlying threat of danger. It excited her, tugged at her, and left her uncharacteristically moist!
He led her outside and paused, seemingly just to let her gather her bearings. Facing the warm rays of the morning sunshine, Regan took in a deep, cleansing breath and liste
ned to the sounds around her. Birds singing, a few flies buzzing, the chattering of tree squirrels… and the sound of his breathing next to her.
She had never been so aware of the presence of another person as she was now.
Sensing that she was ready, he linked her hand in the crook of his arm and led her through the cool thicket that was covered with a canopy of rustling leaves.
Her footsteps were timid and wary at first. She tested each step and tried to feel out in front of her in fear of tripping over something or walking into a tree. The confident manner in which he led her gradually gave way to her trust, and Regan found herself walking at a regular pace, focusing on his lead and gentle nudges. They paused after walking up a small hill, and Regan could feel the sun bear straight down upon her in a warm, soothing caress.
She listened to fabric being snapped open and the crunching of dry plants as it was spread out on top of them. He pulled her onto the blanket and kissed the back of her hand.
“Thank you,” he said.
“For what?”
“For trusting me to lead you. That must have been very difficult.”
“At first. You seem to be very surefooted. Have you lived around here for a long time?”
“Question two?”
“Yes.”
He placed a bowl of cut-up fruit in her hands after popping a grape into her mouth. “No. I moved here about four months ago. I have not spent a lot of time in this area.”
“Were you in South Carolina until then?” Regan asked.
“That is your third question. No, I was not. I've been… around. I went to college in Pennsylvania.”
“You are being very vague in your responses.”
“You need to learn to ask more specific questions. And I'm giving you more than you deserve right now, you little brat,” he chuckled, holding a cup of hot coffee poured from a thermos and placing it carefully into her hand.
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