Behind the Blindfold: A Sexy Mystery Duet

by Natalie E. Wrye

  But any remaining traces of fear were put to bed when Mrs. Rich gave a whoop and started galloping towards the surf. Her joy was infectious and Saturday followed, losing her cares to the fun of the moment. They rode along the shoreline next to the house until the sun began to wane.

  Though Saturday dressed warmly, the air was freezing and she returned to the stables from where they came with a happy, but very red face. Mark was there to greet her, his tall body swathed in a long wool overcoat.

  When Saturday climbed down from her horse, he opened the coat with a sly smile, welcoming her inside of it. She sunk into his embrace, letting him encircle and guide her to the guesthouse.

  Mark led her through the empty entrance all the way to the den, grabbing nearby firewood to set a blaze in the fireplace. It felt like heaven to Saturday’s frozen extremities.

  Mark stood from his crouching position near the fire, making his way over to Saturday. He reached out to unbutton her jacket, tossing it onto the couch. He continued on to her hat and boots without uttering a word.

  He gave her space to sit and took a seat beside her, gingerly picking up one of her feet and placing it in his lap. Laying his hands over her socks, he began to rub. Saturday groaned, leaning back and letting Mark’s hands work the tension out of one foot, and then the next.

  Between satisfied moans, she spoke to him. “Why’d we come here instead of the main house?”

  Mark looked toward the fire. “Because of this…”

  He paused, giving her a brilliant smile. “And it’s isolated here.” His pleased look was replaced by one of mischief, one that set Saturday’s skin ablaze.

  And then his hands slid higher up to her calves, massaging the muscles there. Saturday’s eyes followed his hands as they kneaded their way past her knees and along her thighs. They came around to her hips, caressing, his fingertips lightly brushing the skin underneath her sweater.

  Intently focused, Mark stroked his way upwards until finally his palms started inching their way further up her sweater… as Jonathan’s lean body passed the doorway, then stopped and returned.

  Jonathan’s eyes widened in amused surprise, as he stared at them from the den’s threshold. Mark’s hands stilled…then withdrew from Saturday’s bare skin.

  “Not that isolated, I guess,” she heard Mark say under his breath.

  “Whoa… sorry,” Jonathan said. “Didn’t mean to… interrupt. Your mother’s looking for you, Mark.”

  Mark’s brows furrowed. “About?”

  “She didn’t say,” Jonathan continued, shrugging. “I’m just the messenger.”

  Mark extracted himself from the floor, looking back at Saturday. “I’ll make it quick. Don’t leave.” He winked at her before following Jonathan out.

  Saturday sat straighter up from where she was inclined, placing her hands and feet closer to the flames. From that position, she stood, stretching her limbs and taking in her surroundings.

  This secondary house was almost as beautiful as the first, decorated in warm hues of burgundy and gold. She wandered out of the den and into the hallway, taking note of the kitchen and living room as she made her way up the stairs.

  Every door upstairs was identical, but one stood out above the rest. A street sign that said “Do Not Enter” was nailed to the front of it. Saturday cracked the door open and peeked inside. Saturday now understood what the sign on the door represented.

  Teen angst at its finest. This was Mark’s old bedroom.

  As soon as Saturday stepped foot inside, she was inundated with wall-to-wall images of sport stars, musical artists and movies. Underneath all of the posters were trophies, dozens of them… of every type… flanking the entire perimeter of the room. Beholding the room, it appeared that there wasn’t an instrument, sport or activity that Mark hadn’t participated in.

  From the looks of things, Mark was almost the ideal overachiever, every parent’s dream. She, on the other hand, could’ve been the face of teenage rebellion. Not a trace of that seemed to be in there.

  When she got a thorough preview of Mark’s CD collection, however, Saturday was able to get a glimpse of some of the typical kid rebellion she expected. Some of the music was angry: very angry. There was a Slayer album hidden behind several from the bands, Anthrax and Metallica.

  On the other side of the CD rack was a beautiful black Nikon camera. Her fingertips reached for it when she felt hands on her hips. Mark placed a kiss on her shoulder from behind.

  Reading some of her thoughts, Mark told her, “I escaped to the smaller house when I was fifteen. Told my parents that ‘I needed the space’.” He chuckled. “Shockingly, they gave it to me.”

  “Did it help?” Saturday inquired.

  “Yeah, it did. I got focused. Channeled my frustrations with ‘life’.” He made imaginary quotations with his hands.

  Saturday did a 180-degree pivot on her feet. “I see that.” She fingered a trophy on Mark’s dresser. “Soccer, eh?”

  He shrugged.

  “I could’ve guessed. You’ve got the body of a player.” She smirked. Mark returned the smile.

  He took a step towards her, placing a kiss on Saturday’s collarbone.

  “Now… I’d like to pick up where we left off.”

  Mark’s hands reached out, sliding across her shoulders and down her arms. His lips drifted their way up her neck, coming to rest beneath Saturday’s delicate jaw. His hands soon followed the same route, reaching up to cup both sides of her face.

  She knew his next kiss would be on her mouth… but the door was violently thrown open.

  Kelly, Mark’s 12-year-old cousin whom she met earlier, was barging in, her blonde ponytail swinging.

  “Aha!” she cried. “Found you guys.”

  Saturday awkwardly jumped away from Mark, and Kelly continued babbling without pause, pulling Saturday’s arm towards the door.

  “C’mon,” Kelly prompted. “Pretty Little Liars is on!”

  Saturday’s distressed gaze met Mark’s amused one, as she was dragged all the way to the main house’s small theater room. Saturday was absolutely trapped. She fell asleep that night, amidst a gaggle of Mark’s pre-teen cousins and pink fluffy quilts.

  The next morning and afternoon, she was pulled into several rounds of matrimonial games…and every other pre-wedding activity imaginable by guests of the house who were just as kind and excited as Mr. and Mrs. Rich.

  Mark was there, of course… in the background, not participating in anything, really, but watching. Always…watching her, a sly grin on his beautiful face as he witnessed his extended family waylay her.

  Saturday and Mark tried to steal some moments together, but every time they did, someone was always there to interrupt and pry them apart. Saturday was being kept too occupied to even have her nights to herself.

  The last night before the ceremony, Saturday got to spend it in the room that she was given. She was sinking into the luxurious mattress when her thoughts turned to Mark, who she had only seen in passing that day. But she felt his presence in every room, at every activity she was pulled into.

  Dinner was the only time that they really got to spend together, and even then, they were surrounded by all of the guests. Mr. and Mrs. Rich decided to share the couple with the others after their four-some supper that first night. He still found ways to caress her: his hand on her thighs, around the back of her chair, on her hands at the table.

  Since Mark’s short return, he had turned into someone so doting, so loving. Not that he wasn’t before, but this time, he was different. Before, even when his gaze was hot, she could sense the icicles beneath. Part of him was always hidden, always sheltered, always ready to run. Saturday didn’t know how or when, but she could tell that her Boss-Man had finally thawed out.

  She turned over in the guest bed, a smile on her face. She then heard the bedroom door creak and watched a shadow creep into the room. Saturday held her breath, nearly moving to the far side of the bed when she saw Mark’s face. He was naked f
rom the waist up, in only his flannel pajama pants, his soft hair disheveled. He looked young and carefree… and so damn sexy.

  She scooted over in the bed to accommodate him and he crept in and under the covers.

  Sweet Jesus, if you love me, please don’t let me disrespect the house of Mark’s parents by violating him in it. I won’t be able to resist twice.

  When he crawled under the sheets, he grabbed her by the hip, draping her leg over his own. He tucked her head underneath his chin and lay there. He didn’t move his hand from her hip. Saturday then heard him say, “I just wanted to be here while you slept. Finally.”

  They had certainly slept in the same bed before, but it was always after love-making and exhaustion set in. Their embrace, here, in his parents’ home, was on a level of closeness that they previously hadn’t reached.

  They lay there together for what seemed like forever, not moving. Saturday recalled what Mark said their first evening in his parents’ home about letting him “back in.”

  Too late. She already had. Completely.

  She didn’t even know when the exact moment was, but somehow, somewhere along the line, she had forgiven him. Maybe it was when he held her hand during the first night’s walk to dinner at his parents’… or maybe when he watched her with fearful eyes as she climbed with shaky limbs onto his mother’s horse. Or maybe when he sneakily tucked her in when she fell asleep on one of the couches during “movie night” with the girls.

  Saturday was even starting to suspect that perhaps she had fallen again for Mark the second she laid eyes on his daisies. Not that she had ever really stopped falling for him.

  And now? Now, they were back on the path from which they started. A few meaningful days had essentially wiped out the few hurtful months. Mark had broken through the wall Saturday built in his absence, and tore down her pride and ego with it.

  She thought about what Kara would say if she could see her now. She’d probably think and, knowing Kara, say to her face that Saturday was the biggest fool. But if the way Saturday felt in Mark’s arms was a side effect of being foolish, then she might as well put her Dunce cap on right now.

  Chapter Nine

  Portraits of a Rich Man

  Sunday morning.

  The day of the ceremony.

  Saturday awoke in the morning to find Mark missing from her bed…and a lavender gown in his place. The gown had a note on top of it:

  My mom begged me. Looks like I’m stuck…but it’s up to you if you want to be a part of it.

  Saturday was bewildered. She re-read the note. The dress. “Stuck.” “Part of it”? She paused, pondering….

  WAIT! WHAT?!

  The ceremony. Dammit! She dropped her head in her hands.

  It didn’t take a genius to see that she was somehow being lassoed into being IN the actual service.

  She definitely wasn’t expecting this nor was she prepared. She’d never been a part of a wedding before, renewal or otherwise. What was she supposed to do? Where was she supposed to stand? All those people at the service. All those eyes…

  Why didn’t Mark tell her? Why hadn’t he warned her?

  Saturday stood hastily from the bed. She raised a fist to bang on the adjoining door between their rooms. She decided against knocking and just opened the door instead.

  When she entered, Mark stood there, much in the same position she had caught him in days before. With his towel in his hands. Dripping wet. Completely naked.

  Saturday stared silently. He was beautiful…as always. She could never tire of seeing Mark this way. Her heart thudded loudly in her chest. The mound between her legs started to throb even louder than that.

  He looked up, finally noticing her. He laughed. Even his laugh was beautiful. He cocked an eyebrow upward.

  “Are you just going to stand there?” He held a hand out. “Come in.”

  Saturday started walking to him, when she remembered her reason for intruding, and stopped. She crossed her arms over the long, pink t-shirt she wore for bed.

  “Why didn’t you tell me that I’d be in the ceremony?”

  Mark lowered his hand. “Because I didn’t know. My mom hasn’t exactly kept me informed about all of her plans this weekend… remember?” he remarked pointedly.

  Saturday thought about her invitation to Mark’s parents’ house without his knowledge. Her indignation wilted.

  “Look,” he continued, “I know that you’ve been blind-sided by all of this.” He tilted his head. “You don’t have to do this.”

  Saturday’s voice was small. “I know.”

  “Good…but what you do have to do is come here.” Lust gleamed in Mark’s eyes. She followed his gaze to her t-shirt front. Her nipples were hard and showing through the pink fabric. She gave a slow smile, walking backwards.

  “Ok, heel, boy,” she remarked, laughing. “I have to get ready.”

  Mark frowned. “For what?”

  “To be in the wedding, of course.”

  ***

  Saturday looked in the mirror at herself. The lavender gown fit like a glove. Mrs. Rich had good taste…and an even better tailor. Saturday had made her decision pretty quickly after confronting Mark. Mrs. Rich was an absolute doll, opening up her home and family to Saturday. The least Saturday could do was accept Mrs. Rich’s invitation to be part of one of the biggest days of her life. She couldn’t disappoint Mark’s parents by turning down such a thoughtful offer.

  She knew she made the right decision. The second that she went to Mrs. Rich and accepted her invitation, she was swept into a whirlwind of make-up and dress fittings and stylists. At least she wasn’t alone. All of the cousins, nieces, nephews, aunts, uncles, grandmothers and fathers were being primped and prodded for the ceremony.

  She found out from a talkative aunt that Mark wasn’t even going to take part in the service at first. Apparently, since finding out that Saturday would join, he had changed his mind. Right now, he was allowing his mother’s tailor to work on his suit, something he previously wouldn’t allow. He still would not allow his hair to be touched by the visiting stylists… but it was a start.

  The ceremony was poised to start early in the afternoon in the back of the veranda. A white carpet for the aisle was laid beside magnificent white tents. The carpet would serve as an aisle for the marrying couple and the “unofficial” bridesmaids and groomsmen. Luckily, Mark’s cousin, Miranda showed Saturday where to stand and how to enter onto the carpet. Saturday and Mark were scheduled to walk last, right before the couple.

  When Saturday goaded Mark for not wanting to participate in the service, he leaned in slyly.

  “Because the service’s all pomp and circumstance. The reception is where the real fun begins.” He smiled with a wicked glint.

  The afternoon sun was surprisingly warm for a late fall day. Cream-colored giant torches decorated the veranda, combatting any cold breezes. Saturday stood in one of the carpet’s side tents, waiting for her turn to walk, her legs shaking from nerves as opposed to any chill. The music began, and the bridesmaids started exiting the tent in front of her.

  For the thousandth time, Saturday touched the pins in her hair, making sure her side-swept curls were still intact. She took a deep breath and readjusted the lilies in her hand. Every bridesmaid was meeting with her groomsman counterpart in the middle of the aisle and walking down together. Soon, Saturday was the only maid left in the tent.

  She opened the tent wider to leave, when she spotted Mark leaving his at the same time. He wore an expensive black tux that showed off his broad shoulders and long, leanly muscled frame. When he saw her, he grinned...the same devious smirk that she had grown to love.

  Saturday’s knees finally stopped shaking. It was the Mark effect; his presence soothed her so much these days. He was a different man now, a gentler man…with slightly rough edges, but hey…she could learn to deal.

  Mark and Saturday walked towards each other, never breaking eye contact. They met in the middle of the carpet. It wasn’
t until Mark extended his arm that Saturday realized that she had yet to take a breath during her walk over. She inhaled deeply at his side, taking in his familiar fresh scent. The smell of soap and…man. The smell of him. Some deep, earthy fragrance that stirred up the primal need within her.

  Tonight would be the night. Saturday would let herself have him, let him have her. She could feel Mark’s erection last night, could feel him grow hard as her body was draped across his. But he didn’t make any advances toward her. He was trying to respect her space, it seemed, not wanting to rush her.

  With the exception of the very first night in his parents’ house, Mark’s touches had been chaste. He might hold her hand or touch her thigh, but that was where it ended. The old Mark would have been caressing his way across her hips, palming her ass with his hands underneath her skirt whenever they got alone. Not this Mark, however.

  Well, screw that.

  She would take the reins tonight. She wanted to rush. She wanted him…so damn bad. Mark brought out so many facets of her; he could render her shy; turn her bold; make her strong… and leave her weak. He was so unlike any other man she’d ever met.

  And she loved him.

  There was no denying it… as she looked into his eyes… on that beautiful day… at that beautiful ceremony, imagining a forever with him.

  They walked down the entire length of the aisle without Saturday noticing. When they reached the end of the aisle, Saturday was jerked back to the present. She abashedly let Mark’s arm go when Mr. Rich’s chuckle reached her ears. She walked over to her place beside the other maids, with a blush on her face that no make-up artist could recreate.

  When Mrs. Rich arrived down the aisle and exchanged vows with her husband, tears streamed down almost every face there, including Saturday’s. The love they had for each other was clear to see…and it was inspiring. Saturday could only hope to share that kind of love at that age with someone…