“And yet they do,” Ella says. “And I’m not obsessed.”
I arch a brow.
“Okay, maybe I am,” she concedes, “but I’m going to make more than double what I would have teaching summer school. You should really consider going to the next auction with me. I’ve already turned around two of the three units I bought for big money.” She holds up the journal. “This came from the last unit I bought, and it’s the best yet. It has artwork I know is going to sell for big bucks. And so far I’ve found three journals that are absolutely spellbinding. My gosh, I can’t seem to stop reading them. This woman started out like you and me, and somehow got pulled into this dark passionate place that is terrifyingly exciting.”
She’s right, and I can feel that burn in my belly as I recall the words on those pages. I can almost imagine the soft, seductive voice of the woman whispering her story to me. I try to focus on what Ella is saying, but I’m wondering about that woman instead, wondering where she is, who she is.
“Oh my!” Ella exclaims. “You’re blushing. You read the journal, didn’t you?”
I blanch. “What? I …” Suddenly, I can’t talk. I am so not myself right now, and I sink helplessly into an overstuffed brown chair across from Ella, stuck in the trap of my earlier lie. “I … yes. I read it.”
Ella claims a couch cushion, narrowing her green eyes on me. “Did you think I wrote that stuff?”
I cast her a tentative look. “Well …”
“Whoa,” she says, clearly taking my reply, or rather lack of reply, as confirmation. “You thought …” She shakes her head. “I’m speechless. You couldn’t have read the good parts or there’s no way you would think she was me. But you’re sure blushing like you read the good parts.”
“I read some parts that were, ah, pretty detailed.”
She snorts. “And you assumed I wrote them.” She shakes her head again. “And here I thought you knew me. But heck, I so wish I could live up to that assessment for just one hot night. There is a mysterious eroticism to that woman’s life that’s just …” She shivers. “Haunting. It, she, affects me.”
In some small way it comforts me to know she is as affected by the words on those pages as I am, and I don’t know why. What in the world do I need comfort for? It isn’t logical. Nothing about my reaction to this unknown woman is logical.
“Once David and I finish with the journal,” Ella continues, drawing me back into the conversation, “he’s going to take pictures of a few intimate pages for potential buyers and we’re listing the journals on eBay. They’re going to bring in big money. I just know it.”
I gape, appalled at this idea. “You can’t seriously intend on selling this woman’s personal thoughts on eBay?”
“Heck yeah, I do,” she says. “Making money is the name of the game. Besides, for all we know, it’s fiction.”
Her words are cold, and she surprises me. This is not the Ella I know. “We are talking about a woman’s private thoughts, Ella. Surely, you don’t want to profit off her pain.”
Her brows dip. “What pain? It sounds like all pleasure to me.”
“She lost everything she owns at auction. That isn’t pleasure.”
“I’m guessing her rich man flew her off to some exotic location and she is living life in a grand way.” Her voice turns somber. “I have to think like that to do this, Sara. Please don’t make me feel guilty. This is money I need, and if I didn’t do this, some other buyer would have.”
I open my mouth to argue but relent. Ella is alone in this world, with no family aside from an alcoholic father who doesn’t know his own name most of the time, let alone hers. I know she feels she has to have money for emergencies. I know that feeling myself all too well. I, too, am alone. Mostly, but I don’t want to think about that right now.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her, and I mean it. “I know this is good for you. I’m happy it’s working out.”
Her lips curve slightly, and she nods her acceptance before she pushes to her feet. I stand with her and give her a hug. She smiles, her mood transforming into the instant sunshine I so often find she brings into my life. I love Ella. I really do.
“David and I are looking forward to a bit of that spellbinding action ourselves tonight,” she announces mischievously. “I have to run.” She laughs and waves a few fingers at me. “Enjoy your night. I know I will.”
I sink back into my chair and watch the door close.
The sound of pounding on my door once again takes me from bliss to panic. I sit up in the bed, disoriented and groggy, and eye the clock. Seven in the morning on my first day off from classes.
“Who the heck is pounding on my door?” I grumble, throwing the blankets off me and sliding my feet into the pink fuzzy slippers one of my students gave me last Christmas. I grab my long pink robe that is not fuzzy, but does say PINK across the back. More knocking has begun.
“Sara, it’s me, Ella!” I hear as I shuffle my way toward the living room. “Hurry! Hurry!”
My heart flutters not only because Ella is clearly in some sort of panic but also because, unlike me, who doesn’t like to waste a second of any day, Ella doesn’t get up before noon on days she doesn’t have to. The instant I yank open the door, Ella flings her arms around me and announces, “I’m eloping!”
“Eloping?!” I gasp, pulling back and tugging Ella inside, out of the chill of the early morning. She’s still wearing her clothes from the night before. “What are you talking about? What’s happening?”
“David proposed last night,” she exclaims excitedly. “I can hardly believe it. We’re flying to Paris this morning.” She eyes her watch and squeals. “In two hours.”
She shoves something into my hand. “That has the key to my apartment. On the kitchen table, you’ll find the journal and the key to the storage unit. If it’s not cleared out in two weeks, it has to be rented, or it’s auctioned off yet again. So take it and sell the stuff. The money is yours. Or let it go. Either way, it doesn’t matter.” She grins. “Because I’m eloping to Paris, then honeymooning in Italy!”
Protectiveness fills me for Ella. I don’t want her to get hurt, and I’ve never even heard her say she loves David. “You’ve known this man for only three months, sweetie. I’ve met him only once.” He always, conveniently, got called away when we’d been planning to get together.
“I love him, Sara,” she says, as if reading my mind. “And he’s good to me. You know that.”
No, I don’t know that, but while I try to find the right way to say it, she is already reaching for the door. “Ella—”
“I’ll call you when I arrive in Paris, so keep your cell handy.”
“Wait!” I say, shackling her arm. “How long will you be gone?”
Her eyes light up with excitement. “A month. Can you believe it? A whole month in Italy. I’m living a dream.” She hugs me and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “Since we high school folks don’t go back until October, thanks to the longer school days, I’m going a full month! Can you believe it? I’ll never complain about our longer school days again. A whole month in Italy—I’m living a dream! I’ll call, and when we get back we’ll have a reception.”
Her eyes soften. “You know I wanted you with me for this, don’t you? But David knew I had no family. He wanted to whisk me away so that it wouldn’t be painful.” She pokes at the puckered spot that always appears between my brows when I frown. “Stop making that face. It’ll be wrinkled when you get older. And I’m fine. I’m perfect, in fact.”
“You better be,” I say, attempting my best teacher voice, but my throat is too tight to do much more than croak out the warning. “Call me as soon as you arrive so I know you’re safe, and I want pictures. Lots of pictures.”
Ella smiles brightly, “Yes, Ms. McMillan.” She turns and rushes away, giving me a last-second wave over her shoulder before she rounds the corner. She is gone, and I am fighting unexpected tears I don’t even understand.
I am happy for Ella but worried
for her, too. I feel … I’m not sure what I feel. Lost, maybe. My fingers curl around her keys, and I am suddenly aware that I have just inherited a storage unit and the journals I swore I wouldn’t read again.
AUTHOR PHOTOGRAPH BY DIEGO HARRISON
LISA RENEE JONES is the award-winning and New York Times bestselling author of more than thirty novels and novellas. Follow her on Twitter, visit her on Facebook, or go to www.lisareneejones.com.
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Also by Lisa Renee Jones
The Inside Out Series by Lisa Renee Jones
If I Were You
Being Me
Revealing Us
Rebecca’s Lost Journals Vol.1: The Seduction
Rebecca’s Lost Journals Vol. 2: The Contract
Rebecca’s Lost Journals Vol. 3: His Submissive
Rebecca’s Lost Journals Vol. 4: My Master
The Master Undone: An Inside Out Novella
His Secrets
Gallery Books
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Rebecca’s Lost Journals, Volume 1: The Seduction copyright © 2013 by Lisa Renee Jones
Rebecca’s Lost Journals, Volume 2: The Contract copyright © 2013 by Lisa Renee Jones
Rebecca’s Lost Journals, Volume 3: His Submissive copyright © 2013 by Julie Patra Publishing, Inc.
Rebecca’s Lost Journals, Volume 4: My Master copyright © 2013 by Julie Patra Publishing, Inc.
The Master Undone: An Inside Out Novella copyright © 2013 by Julie Patra Publishing, Inc.
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First Gallery Books bind-up edition April 2014
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ISBN 978-1-4767-7210-3
ISBN 978-1-4767-7255-4 (ebook)
Rebecca's Lost Journals Page 18
