Saturday glanced up…and surprisingly into the direct gaze of Green Eyes, AKA Mr. Bossy-in-Black, the produce market guy. Well, not quite into his gaze. Green Eyes was now fitted with another baseball cap that eclipsed half of his face, but it was him, alright…complete with stubble, brown hair and full lips.
Saturday let out a sheepish laugh.
“Uhh..yeah. It’s just that…I’ve been on my feet all night…in these heels. And now I have to hike it to my stop before I miss the last bus. It’s been a loooong night.”
Green Eyes gave a slow side smirk.
“And it’s going to get even longer…”
Saturday froze in stunned silence, giving him an inquisitive look that turned into one of horror when she followed his stare to the glass gallery front.
Coming down outside was a sheet of torrential rain, and she had neither the patience nor the clothing to deal with that sort of weather.
Her attention was diverted from the window when he started to speak again.
“I’ll take you. Wherever you need to go.” He stared at her, barely blinking.
Saturday raised an eyebrow. Is he serious? He looks serious.
She skimmed her eyes up and down the length of him in careful appraisal. Mmm…
He was built, that was for sure. He had broad shoulders with a wide chest that lowered into a tapered waist and tight hips. He was pretty tall; at least to her 5’5” frame. Six-two…she wagered. He had long-ish brown hair that swept past his ear and a little down his neck.
Saturday swallowed hard. His face was just…all types of yes. His strong jaw wore something closer to a 6-6:30-ish o’clock shadow. What he wore was modest: white t-shirt, faded jeans, brown leather jacket.
Huh. Funny. She didn’t notice before. The gallery’s exhibit was a formal event. She realized that everyone was dressed in sophisticated attire…but him, and somehow, he oozed sophistication.
He took his hat off. And those eyes…man, those eyes. He was looking intently at her now, fixing her with a steady and questioning gaze.
Question. Oh…yeah. Didn’t he just ask a question? A suggestion, of some sort. What was it…? OH, right, right. Take me to my bus stop. Or home. Or to bed…Down, girl. He seems innocent enough…but so did Ted Bundy. Yeah, but…Ted Bundy was never THIS cute. Cut it out, Saturday.
He seemed to sense her internal debate, and spoke up, extending his right hand towards her.
“I’m Mark Rich… art-lover… and helper of the sore and stranded.” He grinned slowly.
Saturday chuckled and grasped his hand. “I’m Saturday. I’m a tour guide with Clairvoyage. And yes…(she resolutely decided)…I will take that ride. But ONLY to the bus stop. It’s not far.” She stood up from her seat. “I appreciate this.”
She looked around the gallery. Almost everyone had cleared out; a few stragglers made their way to the front doors. Her boss, Vicky, was gone and the other guides skedaddled as soon as the exhibit closed. Out of others’ earshot, Vicky’s slimy husband, Cristiano, offered Saturday a “ride,” but she gladly passed on that.
Fuck you, vanity. You, too, swollen feet. Now, normally, she wouldn’t have accepted this kind of offer, but she was bone-tired and hurting. She already surmised that she’d mace his ass with her little pink pepper spray if he turned out to be crazy.
Clutching her mace-laden purse, she let Mark guide her out of the gallery with his leather jacket as their overhead protection. Well, not so much “guide”…as hold the jacket over her head as she squealed, slipped and slid her way into the front passenger seat of his car.
Mark eased Saturday into the seat, wrapping his jacket around her, and entered the driver’s side, turning the heat on high as she rattled off directions to her stop.
The rain had been freezing, and to get warmer, Saturday let herself sink further into the leather seat of Mark’s Porsche (!?!). She inhaled deeply, taking a sly sniff of his weathered jacket.
Soap…and coffee beans. Hm. A man after my own heart.
Her ears perked up when she heard humming and drumming coming from the front seat. Green Eyes, in all of his wet-haired, wet-clothed glory…rocking to the beat of his own radio, clearly enjoying himself as he drove. She smiled into the collar of his jacket. Who is this guy?
A thought came to Saturday’s mind. She pulled the collar higher over her face, and she let her eyes roam over him. With his white t-shirt wet, she could see every muscle, every line. Watching his full lips mouth the words coming from the speaker, she let her imagination play a little. His lips’ movement combined with his absent-minded fondle of the Porsche’s throttle sent her senses into overdrive as she thought of what each of those would feel like on her.
She could sense her nipples hardening, despite the car’s warmth, but felt powerless to stop it. She could feel the area between her thighs become damp. With that realization, it dawned on her that Mark was simply one of the sexiest men she had ever laid eyes on. And his demeanor, his smile, the abandonment with which he now jammed to the music warmed her to him. He seemed so easy-going in demeanor today: lighter, looser.
Before her thoughts could delve any further, they were slowing by her bus stop as her 11:02 bus cruised into its destination.
The rain had thankfully stopped, giving Saturday a much-needed reprieve as she handed Mark’s jacket back to him. She wanted to believe that the spark she felt as their hands brushed in the exchange was a fluke, perhaps static shock, but she knew it wasn’t. She liked him.
“Thank you,” Saturday said, facing him under the streetlight’s illumination. “Not many people would have done what you did for a complete stranger.”
Something unidentifiable passed in Mark’s eyes, but it was over as soon it came.
“My pleasure, Saturday.”
She smiled, hopping out and rounding the car in front of the headlights. Before she could step foot on the bus, Mark called to her, stopping her in her tracks.
He rolled down his window, looking straight into her eyes.
“Oh…and Saturday…I hope you didn’t get too wet tonight.”
Saturday froze, shell-shocked, as he flashed her the most bedazzling smile and then faded down the dimly lit street.
Chapter Two
A Chance Encounter
The next two weeks were a flurry of activity for Saturday, as she diligently worked exhibit after exhibit, private events and then some.
Unfortunately, she had yet to spot those memorizing green eyes again.
After that night with Mark at the exhibit, it seemed like the past few weeks had been full of regrettable events for Saturday. She got a call from her ex, Charlie, which would’ve been great…if she hadn’t suspected that he was trying to reconcile.
Every few months, she and Charlie re-ran this dance, where Charlie, lonely and usually heartbroken from his latest crush, reached out to her. He’d call Saturday, wanting to rehash where they went wrong. Eventually, Saturday would set him straight again, make him see how they were much better as friends. Yes, friends…from a distance. Then they’d laugh and promise to set up a coffee date…that they both never honored.
Her parents called as well. And those conversations were always a blast. Thirty-five minutes of non-stop questions pertaining to what Saturday was “doing with her life.” Good times as usual.
Her work schedule was leaning more heavily towards the serving side, and that had been a bit of a bummer. The server job was ok, and it helped to pay the bills. But if she had her druthers, she’d be at the Clairvoyage gallery every night. She sometimes dreamed that she was showing her own art to the patrons.
Truth was…Saturday hadn’t been able to come up for air from all of the craziness in days.
But tonight? Tonight was her night. She finally had a free night to enjoy herself with some “friends-of-friends” on the local art scene, and for the first time in a while, she was going to cut loose.
Her friend Kara invited her over to get the fun started off right.
Kara was
the closest friend that Saturday had in the city. It had only been two years since they met through a mutual acquaintance at a local concert, but Kara proved to be a breath of fresh air in what could be a ruthless place. What their relationship lacked in duration, it more than made up for in intensity. While Kara cheered her on, Saturday begrudgingly threw back another shot before calling a taxi and heading to the penthouse, where the party was being held.
When they arrived, they stepped into a room that was drowning in red light. It was so cliché, but dammit if Saturday wasn’t excited as hell to party. The music was thumping and Saturday could feel its bass reverberate through her entire body.She wore a strapless little black dress that night, but the heat of the liquor, the thundering bass and the ambiance had her warm and tingling all over.
She and Kara danced and swayed until a thin sheet of sweat covered them both. Saturday hadn’t felt this good in a long time. In the midst of gyrating and swaying, Saturday swore she saw a recognizable face in the crowded room.
She brushed it off.
She had seen so many familiar people here, people who frequented the gallery and friends of acquaintances. She swung her hips to the beat of the next song until her eyes met his.
Mark was standing on the far side of the room, a drink in his hand, a hungry look on his face. He looked absolutely, positively…hungry. For her? She didn’t know.
Amazing. One day this guy showed up, and now his face was popping up in the most random places. Maybe he had always been around, on the scene, and Saturday simply hadn’t noticed him. Doubtful. Her explanation sounded ridiculous, even to her own ears. No way did a man like Mark not show up on her radar…or any woman’s, if she was being honest.
Saturday pretended not to notice him, then turned in the opposite direction and continued to dance. She just kept moving her body to the music until she felt confident enough to sneak another glance.
She got her answer. There he was…in the same spot…with the same ravenous look in his eyes…eyes that were focused solely on her.
Saturday’s inner self was hugging herself and smiling. Now aware of Mark watching her, Saturday’s movements became slower, her sway more provocative. She felt sexy…and alive. The more she danced, the bolder she became. What had started out as a playful stunt was now an all-out seduction.
This game played itself out in stolen glances, little smirks exchanged between the two, as Saturday’s body and Mark’s eyes worked on enticing each other.
The crowd at the party was pretty thick, not overwhelming, but just enough so that Mark and Saturday’s path of sight was occasionally obstructed. It was made even thicker by the gaggle of women that sometimes lingered nearby to ogle Mark. Nonetheless, Mark’s eyes never left Saturday’s face.
Hair plastered to her forehead and neck, her bottom lip fixed between her teeth, Saturday twirled to catch Mark’s eye one more time.
But the place that was occupied at the wall was now Mark-free, and Saturday instantly felt the temporary loss in the pit of her stomach. Her dancing slowed to an awkward stop, but at Kara’s urging, she continued, occasionally scanning the now-empty spot.
When her limbs couldn’t take anymore, she staggered wearily and contentedly into the other room and leaned against the kitchen counter.
Breathless and still tingling, she left Kara in the kitchen chatting up some local tattoo artist, and headed to the balcony for a little fresh air.
The tingle became a certified buzz when she recognized the figure overlooking the night view. Her eyes finally got their fill of him now. This time, he wore a jet-black blazer over a white collared shirt with black slacks.
When he turned around, he caught her eye and winked. Her entire face lit up at the sight of him. He looked soo good.
Wanting to appear confident and casual, she strolled slowly toward him, taking precisely measured steps in order to not look like the drunken, infatuated pup she had become.
Mark leaned back, both elbows resting against the balcony rail…Watching her –
Waiting.
“Hi.”
“Mark. Hi.”
Say something else, ok? Stop staring.
“So, what brought you here?” Lame.
Mark casually shrugged. “A need for a night out… buddy of mine owns this place, so it was convenient.”
Saturday almost choked on air.
“Buddy? James Ellis?”
Mark nodded in between sips of the drink in his hand.
Saturday knew who the owner of the loft was. Hell, almost everyone in the city knew who the owner was. Technically, she only knew of the owner. He was James Ellis, famous photographer, notorious womanizer and one of the most renowned names in the city.
She didn’t even know if he was at his own party (she really only saw his security the whole night), but she was just excited to be there, thanks to Kara’s pull in certain circles. And Mark knows him. Knows him well, apparently.
For the second time in as many weeks, Saturday wondered about the tall man in front of her. She decided to take a stab at finding out.
She twirled her hair around her fingers, a half-assed attempt to appear nonchalant.
“So…*clears throat* are you a photographer… as well?”
Mark peered at her over the glass in his hand as he took another swallow.
“No.”
Saturday waited expectantly for an elaboration… but it never came. He just gazed at her; long-lashed blinks his only movement. Saturday raised an eyebrow, inhaling sharply. Mr. Intense is back tonight.
Awkwardly, she tried to make an excuse to escape his stare. “I think I’ll head back inside,” she muttered half-turning. In his moments like this, he was almost too severe. She felt like a flower wilting under the heat of a penetrating sun, but part of her couldn’t get enough.
“Bored already?” he inquired.
Saturday shrugged.
“I don’t know. I figure I’ll just find my friend, Kara. Maybe we’ll get into some trouble tonight…” She snickered then. Saturday hadn’t noticed it before, but she did now. She was feeling good, the liquor performing its job properly.
“I’ve got all of the trouble you need right here.”
Her brows knitted in confusion, as Mark slowly walked back towards the fire escape. And then, she understood.
She followed him with one leaden foot after another. She couldn’t have stopped herself if she tried. He walked down the steps with his hands now in his pants pockets, his black suit disappearing as he stepped further into shadow.
He turned abruptly to face her, his hair falling forward, and extended his hand.
“Can you keep a secret?”
Saturday didn’t understand, her sandy curls tilting with her head in confusion, until Mark looked down at his open palm and then back to her.
She glanced back at the party, at Kara’s turned head in the open kitchen, and then downward towards Mark. His green eyes were ablaze: intense, almost glowing from what appeared to be a look of mischief and… something else she couldn’t decipher.
Gazing at his outstretched hand, Saturday knew then that this would be a defining moment for her, a turning point of some kind. She just… couldn’t put her finger on why.
Ever the Disney movie fan, she realized that she felt a bit like The Little Mermaid: being stretched between two different worlds, wanting so badly to join the curious realm of this…peculiar boy. Unlike Ariel, however, Saturday was drowning—drowning in sea-green irises. She should be afraid, she knew, but she wasn’t.
She grasped his hand firmly. “Why, yes. I can.”
***
Using the fire escape ladder, they crept back into the loft onto the floor below, where they reached a private elevator to which Mark had the key, and descended. Saturday glanced nervously at Mark in the elevator and fiddled with the hem of her dress.
He never looked in her direction, but he seemed to smile in response. Perhaps fear should have been driving her thoughts, but that wasn’t what she
felt. Anxiety. She was merely anxious. Anxious to see the “secret” that Mark was revealing. Anxious: just being next to him.
They finally stopped at what appeared to be the bottom floor. Unable to keep her hands still, she picked at her glossy pink nail polish… until Mark reached over and held her hand. Saturday felt a flush creep from her head to her toes as he lead them into dimly lit hallways and finally into a dark back room. She could barely see her hand in front of her face.
Now, she was afraid.
Thankfully, Mark reached over and hit the light switch, turning on the sparse fluorescent lights on the high ceiling.
Mark’s voice came on with the light. “James’ private collection.”
He brought a raised index finger to his lips, the universal “hush” symbol. “Not for the public’s eyes.”
The walls were stark white, except for the items that were hanging at eye-level. Saturday gaped at the wall in front of her. What she was looking at was beautiful… and grotesque.
The wall was filled with black-and-white pictures, photos of nearly nude people in various stages of restraint. Tied up, tied down. Twisted and contorted, they were all in some form of bondage, their bodies stretched and splayed in countless positions.
Each body was illuminated in a single light with a background of absolute shadow. The white light in the photo bathed each body, highlighting both beauty and imperfection.
Still… it wasn’t their distorted bodies that unnerved her so. It was their faces.
It was unclear to her what the subjects of the photos were experiencing, what they were trying to convey. Their expressions were as distorted as their forms, each arranged in a way that was difficult to interpret.
Their facial expressions teetered on a thin line between ecstasy and agony. She couldn’t tell if they were conveying pleasure… or…
Pain. “Pain.”
Saturday’s head snapped back to look at Mark when he said the word. He continued.
“And passion. They seem to be in the throes of both or either, don’t they?”
Behind the Blindfold: A Sexy Mystery Duet Page 2
