Behind the Blindfold: A Sexy Mystery Duet

by Natalie E. Wrye

  And when she thought of that someone, only one face came to mind.

  ***

  The reception started later in the afternoon and rolled forward into twilight.

  After the congratulatory speeches and dinner, the guests all made their way to the middle of a huge dance floor under the biggest tent on the property. The tent was illuminated with soft gold and lavender lighting, with huge floral arrangements adorning the tables and ceilings.

  It was there that Mark spun Saturday from her seat, lifting her gently from the table and into a close embrace. Tony Bennett crooned through the air as Mark swayed Saturday to the music, his fingers curling securely around her waist.

  His eyes roamed over her figure as his velvety voice started to speak.

  “Do you have any idea?” Mark said, his eyes lingering on Saturday’s pink lips.

  She swallowed thickly, her body tingling from his gaze.

  “Any idea of what?”

  “Of how unbelievably, fucking beautiful you are.” He placed a slow kiss on her lips.

  Love-drunk and satiated by his words, Saturday could do nothing but slightly shake her head, wanting to taste more of his lips.

  “You are. You are so damn beautiful… and sexy… and talented and… I’m so glad to call you mine. And you are mine, Saturday. All mine.”

  Saturday swayed with desire for him. She wanted to ravage him right where he stood.

  “Now, I want to hear you say it…. Go ahead… Tell me you belong to me.”

  Saturday answered on a sigh, her eyelids heavy with lust.

  “I belong to you, Mark. Just you.”

  He mirrored her own earlier thoughts back to her.

  “And tonight, I’m going to have you… every drop of you. And you… you’ll have all of me. No more holding back. Just us. Just this.”

  Saturday’s breath caught in her throat. She was supposed to be the aggressor tonight. She was supposed to be the one jumping his bones, accepting him back into her fold… literally and figuratively.

  But Mark had flipped it on her, of course. Telling her what he was going to do to her. Commanding her. And Saturday was powerless to stop it, as pliant as freshly made dough. And she loved every second of it.

  She nodded again. “Yes, Mark.”

  He kissed her in response, his tongue licking slyly and quickly at her top lip.

  Wet did not begin to describe what was happening between Saturday’s thighs. She couldn’t wait to get him to herself, in her bed, between those thighs.

  People around them were starting to watch. She didn’t care. All she cared was that Mark not stop touching her or kissing her like this.

  Another slow song began, and they continued holding each other, relishing in the touch of each other’s bodies. But there were too many clothes, too many barriers to how they really wanted to feel each other.

  Mark pulled back to look at Saturday, his green eyes on fire.

  “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

  Saturday bit her lip with excitement. Finally.

  A sudden ringing made her jump slightly. She looked down at Mark’s tuxedo. It was coming from his pocket. She swore under her breath.

  Mark grabbed his phone, stepped back and answered.

  “I specifically told you not to call today unless it’s an emergency…”

  He waited impatiently on the line. He ran a hand over his frustrated face.

  “Yeah, yeah, I get it… ok, I’m listening now.”

  He put the phone down temporarily.

  “I’ll be right back, Daisy. This will only take a minute. Don’t go anywhere.”

  Mark leaned over, kissing Saturday…before heading to the tent’s exit.

  Saturday shuffled self-consciously in her heels, literally feeling cold from the sudden lack of Mark’s presence. She had gone from hot touches and seductive squeezes to a cold removal in a matter of minutes. It was like a splash of cold water in the face.

  Not again.

  How many mysterious phone calls would Mark take? How many times would he rush out to attend to some phantom business?

  Saturday finally felt like she had him back… but she had to ask herself: did she ever really have him? He still was keeping secrets. Hiding things.

  This has to stop. No more prolonging the inevitable. Either he’s coming clean about everything he’s up to… or I’m out of here.

  Saturday turned to head back to her seat at the table when she felt a small tug from behind.

  It was Jonathan, Mark’s cousin. He looked handsome and regal in his tux, as he grinned at Saturday.

  “Wait up, Saturday” he said. “Where are you going?”

  Saturday motioned behind her. “Back to my seat. Going to give it a rest for a while.”

  “Wait, wait. No way.” He shook his head.

  “This is a party. You can’t leave the dance floor yet… well, at least not until you do me the honor of this dance.” He extended an expectant hand.

  Saturday hesitated, remembering the slight chill between Jonathan and Mark her first night in the Rich’s household. They were joking with each other at the time, taunting…but there was some undercurrent beneath it all. Some latent hostility.

  She was feeling a little jilted, however. And Jonathan’s face looked genuinely earnest. It was just one dance. She could afford to give out at least one dance to another wedding guest.

  She grabbed his hand as Benny Goodman’s famous jazz number “Sing, Sing, Sing” swung into play. Jonathan expertly reeled her around to the fast-paced beat, never missing a step. She wouldn’t have guessed that he’d be such an exceptional dancer.

  He twirled her again and again, causing Saturday to break out in laughter. She felt like a tiny spinning top in Jonathan’s skilled hands, and the sensation was quite fun. Little did Saturday know of how short-lived the fun would become.

  Between breaths, Saturday could see that Jonathan was talking, saying things to her. But Saturday could hear nothing. She could only see that his mouth was moving, but couldn’t make out the words.

  She yelled above the noise. “I can’t hear you!”

  He spun her one final time, bringing her close to his body. A little too close.

  “I said,” he went on, “I don’t know why Mark rushed off.”

  “Oh,” Saturday replied quietly. “Well, I’m sure he has… business to take care of.”

  Jonathan scoffed. “Yeah… sure. ‘Business.’ I mean…c’mon, it’s not like he has a career, anyway.”

  Saturday gaped at Jonathan, stunned by what he was saying. She didn’t know how to respond, so she said the first thing that came to mind.

  “Yeah…?” She knew that sounded dumb, but what else was there to say?

  “Oh, yeah,” Jonathan continued. “Mark’s what you would call… a serial hobbyist. He could’ve been a lawyer… like myself or our grandfather… but he chose not to. Playing second fiddle to his own friends. It’s a shame, really.”

  Jonathan smirked as he talked… basically laughing at Mark. For the first time during the dance, Saturday could see what was going on here.

  Jonathan was drunk. She could smell the alcohol on him only after he brought her in tightly to him and started speaking. Before that, she had suspected nothing, never guessing that a man that inebriated could be that light on his feet.

  Regardless of Jonathan’s condition, Saturday saw red.

  Drunk or not, Jonathan was still Mark’s cousin, and he should not be jumping at opportunities to expose Mark… or whatever he called himself doing. Clearly, Mark was embarrassed about not having a job and that was why he never told Saturday.

  And Jonathan was all too willing to speak condescendingly about Mark in his absence. Saturday had had enough.

  “Excuse me,” she muttered brusquely, brushing rudely past Jonathan on her way out of the tent.

  Asshole. She now understood some of the unexplained tension between the cousins. Jonathan was a dirt bag, flat-out.

  Now, she j
ust had to find Mark. She felt embarrassed by her efforts to push him into talking about his line of work. According to Jonathan, he didn’t even have work.

  All those calls, those projects. Mark obviously was taking whatever he could get; whatever job his artistic friends would throw his way. He was on their schedule, on their time. And he probably had to be very accommodating.

  That’s why he was rushing out all of the time. He was constantly being forced to adhere to someone else’s agenda.

  Saturday knew Mark wasn’t a bum…like Jonathan tried to portray him. He clearly worked…hard, at that. Whatever path he was heading down career-wise just probably didn’t pan out, and now he was trying to find himself.

  Saturday could definitely empathize.

  When she reached the opening of the tent, she ran into Mark’s cousin, Miranda, again. Miranda stopped Saturday in her tracks.

  “Hey, Saturday!”

  “Hi, Miranda.” Saturday gave a quick wave as she tried to pass the quirky redhead.

  “Hey. Listen. Mark told me to tell you if you came looking that he’s in the library in the main house. He had to step away to get far from the noise.”

  “Yeah, sure. Thanks, Miranda.” Saturday picked her gown up from the grass, and hightailed it to the main house.

  It wasn’t until she opened the front door that she realized that she had no idea where the library was located.

  The house was completely silent and for some odd reason, she felt uneasy about disturbing the eerily quiet peace. She opted not to yell out for Mark, and instead search for the library.

  She wandered around the ground floor, making her way past the dining room and den. Finally, she found the library’s entrance and slowly eased her way inside.

  Mark wasn’t in there, but at the moment, she was too mesmerized to care. The library was immaculate. There were ceiling to floor bookshelves on almost the entire hexagonal perimeter of the room, stacked with books, old and new.

  Saturday twirled in the middle of the room in her lavender gown. She felt like Belle in Beauty and the Beast. What a magnificent room. What an impressive collection!

  On two of the back walls, there were paintings featured prominently in the center. Saturday moved in closer for a better look. The paintings were striking, each one unique in its on way.

  One painting was of a countryside landscape. The use of color was brilliant, so realistic that Saturday almost felt that she was in the fields depicted. She looked at the artist’s name. Marie LeMieux. Saturday smiled.

  The next painting was that of the side-profile of a woman’s face. She was half-hidden in shadow, staring out of a moonlit sky. Something in the woman’s face captured Saturday. Though her face was half-covered, there was something hypnotizing about her.

  The artist of this painting? Beaumont. Upon seeing this, Saturday had to laugh. She respected the Riches more than ever after seeing their compilation of art. Her admiration for them increased with each passing day.

  She wondered what it would be like to grow up in such a family. Her relationship with her parents wasn’t tumultuous, per se, but it was…strained.

  They had never really backed Saturday in the endeavors and dreams she wanted to pursue. Nope. They’d much rather push her into jobs, careers, and hobbies that they believed were “suitable” for a child from an upper-middle class upbringing.

  Saturday wished that she had the tightly knit bond that Mark had with his family. Or rather… the bond that he once had.

  What was that all about, anyway?

  Mark used to talk about his parents with such obvious love and devotion. Now, he seemed colder in regards to them… detached.

  Sometime during his “hiatus,” his family dynamic had suffered; she felt it within Mark. She caught the slightest scent of it during her post-dinner cleaning duty with Mrs. Rich. Maybe she would never find out what caused it.

  She and Mark had more in common than she cared to admit: they were both classic avoiders. They had a terrible habit of running from their fears and frustrations.

  The strange part was that it took another avoider, Mark, to give her the push she needed to face some of her biggest fears. She would never have approached Vicky about including her work in the gallery without him.

  A few of her paintings were already on display in the gallery. Two had already sold!

  She gasped when she saw the next artist’s name. K. Kristoff.

  She hadn’t seen his work in years. He was an abstract artist who was a fan-favorite in Clairvoyage. He had always been… but a few years ago, he announced a retirement from the art world, and his work had been snatched up like hot cakes.

  It was rare to see one of his pieces these days, especially in a private residence. Saturday touched the frame with tentative fingers.

  “See anything you like?” she heard from behind her. She turned.

  Mark stood in the entryway, one eyebrow raised.

  “Yes,” Saturday answered. “All of it. Your parents have great taste.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah… they’d like to think so.” He looked down at the floor, his face growing serious.

  “I have to get back to the city, Saturday. Something’s come up. Some work. I’d like to go back tonight, if that’s alright.”

  Saturday could sense the gravity in his voice. She finally got it now. Other people depended on him for help, and he depended on them for work. He didn’t really have a choice.

  “Yeah, of course,” she responded. “I have to work tomorrow afternoon anyway, you know. I’ll get my things together right now.”

  “Ok, great. I’ll let my parents know about us leaving then. I’ll meet you upstairs soon. The attendants will help bring our bags down when we’re ready.”

  Mark looked at Saturday’s mournful expression.

  “Don’t worry, baby. You’ll see everyone, again. We’ll be back,” he said, smirking.

  Saturday smiled widely, nodding as a reply. She walked past Mark to head up to her room. He playfully swatted her on the ass as she passed, inciting a giggle from her throat.

  Saturday walked through the hallways and up to her guest room with a lightness she hadn’t felt in weeks. She finally had Mark figured out.

  The Porsche, the Range Rover, the calls, the “projects.” Mark was a freelance artist/ “jack of all trades” who came from very rich roots. He had no formal job, but was at the mercy of multiple associates who used his services. And he could afford fancy clothes and cars because he was born of wealth.

  It all made sense.

  Formal job or not, none of that mattered to Saturday. Mark was handsome, talented, exciting, and so much more. This was the man she wanted to be with.

  Once she reached the bedroom, Saturday stripped off her clothes in seconds, reaching for her bag. She placed the gown neatly on the bed, and grabbed the notepad and pen she always carried. She wrote a quick note to the Riches, thanking them, and placed it by the gown.

  In 15 minutes, she was packed and ready, and from the sound of things, it seemed that Mark was, too. He had returned to his room shortly after Saturday started packing.

  The attendants came, as Mark said they would, and retrieved the bags, bringing them down to the front door of the house. Another attendant brought Mark’s Rover to the front as well so that their bags could be loaded.

  After everything was secured, Saturday and Mark were on their way, cruising back into the more depressing reality of the city. Saturday wistfully watched the grand house disappear behind them.

  The road back to the city stretched onward, and Saturday yawned with the burden of the day’s activities weighing on her eyelids. She drifted into a peaceful sleep in the passenger seat of the truck, dreaming about a different type of aisle…one with her and Mark on it.

  Chapter Ten

  See no Evil

  Saturday stirred to the sound of her car door opening. Mark was opening her door, placing his hands underneath to carry her. Saturday remained half-sleep, her eyes still closed. Sh
e allowed Mark to take her out of the car and bring her up the stairs.

  It wasn’t until Mark sat her on the bed and removed her shoes that Saturday realized that she wasn’t in her own bedroom.

  She lifted her head, startled by the dark-colored room and sheets. The bed was plush, and Saturday struggled not to sink her head back into it. She finally managed to sit up.

  “Mark,” she called out weakly. “Where are we?”

  He was just returning to the room with their bags from the car. He looked up at her.

  “My place, of course.” He winked suggestively.

  He placed his fists on the bed, leaning his full mouth in to touch hers.

  “I’ve got to run to meet up with James on a new project, but I’ll be back late tonight. G’head. Make yourself comfortable.”

  He motioned to the far side of the room.

  “I’ve got t-shirts and pajamas in the top drawer. Whatever you need, babe. Be home as soon as I can.”

  He kissed her again… and walked out, putting his leather jacket on.

  Saturday longingly watched him leave, wishing he could stay in bed with her when she realized something.

  Home.

  He had called his place “home.” Like it was her home, too.

  She could get used to the sound of that.

  Saturday knew that things between the two of them were going from 0 to 60 mph, practically in a weekend’s time, but it felt right. Meeting his family, staying in his home. This was the way a relationship was supposed to be.

  They lost months during their time apart, and now they were making up for it.

  Staying at your boyfriend’s place overnight was something that girlfriends did… right?

  And getting to explore your boyfriend’s home… while he was away… was also something girlfriends did, right?

  Saturday’s curiosity was definitely getting the best of her. Mark’s bedroom was too dark; she could barely see anything. But she could see a small sliver of light coming from the distant end of the hallway. She itched to poke around… just a teeny… tiny bit.

  The pull of sleep was presently stronger than her desire to “sightsee,” however. The weekend had been so eventful… and so exhausting. And Mark’s bed was so very, very comfortable.