Me: Care to share?
Unknown: Not that, and surly not you.
Me: Why not?
Unknown: You’ll see soon enough.
What is his deal? So secretive, which is sexy in a mysterious, I-should-probably-be-freaked-out kind of way.
I change his number from unknown to Suit Master and I open up Gage’s messages.
Me: I should be the one asking you. How are you feeling, Mike Tyson?
Gage: Not gonna lie. My knuckles are sore as hell. Even though I feel pretty fuckin’ snazzy.
Me: What kind of man says snazzy? And what in the heck is that supposed to mean?
I’m seriously laughing over here, resting in bed, wearing a white teddy. I don’t own a single ugly pair of pajamas. No flannel bottoms, no oversized tees. Silky, attractive, and luxurious are my keys to a good nightie. I like feeling pretty when I go to sleep and when I wake up. It makes for a better day. You should try it.
Gage: This one says it. It means that I’m feeling good. Larger than life.
Me: Why?
Gage: Corey’s not pressing charges. You’re safe and I got to finally touch you last night.
Me: Touch me?
Gage: Yes, you read that correctly. Touch you. If you haven’t figured it out yet, I sort of have a thing for you.
Ok! Wow! He’s a bit blunt today.
Me: Not holding anything back. I see.
Gage: Well I’m not sure if you’re catching my subtleties, so I figured being more forward might help.
Me: It won’t. I’m not looking to date.
Gage: Says the woman with the online dating profile.
He’s right. I know it.
Me: That was a mistake, a huge one that Roni guilted me into.
Gage: Does that mean rose boy is out of the picture?
Me: He was never in the picture. I told you that.
Gage: He was in it enough to know where you work and send expensive flowers.
Me: Is somebody jealous?
Gage: Why would I be jealous? You just said there was nothing going on. I believe you, sort of.
Me: Well you should. He’s a lawyer too, and I’m not fond of lawyers.
Gage: You were fond of me enough last night to let me hold your beautiful body.
Me: It was a mistake. Thank you for being nice and kicking Corey’s ass. Good day, Mr. Masterson
Gage: Good day, Lex.
Sitting my phone on my nightstand, I slip from under the covers and make my bed.
Ding dong, Ding dong, my doorbell rings.
Who would be at my house Saturday midmorning?
Snatching my ivory silk robe from my closet, I pad my way downstairs and to the front door.
Opening it, I’m greeted with a man in a strange blue jumpsuit, wearing a nametag that say’s Mike.
“Can I help you?” I inquire, fingering through my messy hair, confused.
“We have a delivery for a…” He looks down at his clipboard. “Lex Keagan. You her?”
Nodding, I ask. “What kind of delivery.”
“It’s a heavy one. Care if we bring it in through here?” He gestures at my front door.
I shrug. “Yes…I guess.”
What in the world is going on here? A package to be delivered? A large one and a man in a blue jumpsuit.
I back away from the door as he rolls in a large cardboard box on a dolly.
“Where?”
“Well…what is it? I don’t know where to put if it I don’t know what is it.”
Giving me a harsh exasperated look and a shrug, I tell him to leave it in the foyer and I see him to the door, sign for the delivery, shut the door, and slowly walk toward my package.
It’s not a huge box. But it was heavy enough to need a dolly.
Heading quickly into the kitchen to grab a knife, I return to the box and slice the top open. Folding back the flaps and lying the knife on the floor. I crouch down and pull the bubble wrap from the top of the box, discarding it on the floor.
Underneath is a huge stack of various colors of leather bound books.
Carefully, one-by-one, I pull out each book and flip through the pristine, crisp, mint condition pages. Completely flabbergasted by the quality of these works. Edgar Allen Poe first editions, four volumes.
A tear trickles down my cheek, feeling overwhelmed to have my hands on something so amazing. Pressing the leather to my nose, I inhale its heady vintage scent, committing it to memory. As I empty the box completely I am left with such a warmed heart I think I might explode from so much happiness. Sixteen first edition books, mint condition, a collection worth tens of thousands of dollars. The Poe is among the first editions, as is the Divine Comedies Dante’s Inferno, Moby Dick, Little Women and many others.
In the bottom of the box sits a white envelope and I open it.
To my Angel,
These are some of the finest books I know you would love. Please accept these as a gift. They were some of my most prized possessions and now they will be yours.
All my love,
Suit Master
Throwing the card on the ground next to the box, I stand and dash up my wooden staircase and into my bedroom. Grabbing my phone off the stand, I pull up his number and press send. It rings once and sends me to voicemail. I hang up and call back again. It does the same thing. On the third try, I give up and decide I will leave a message.
Hello, Lex, you’ve reached the Suit Master. If you would like to leave me a message, please do so. I would love to hear your voice. If not, I’m sure I’ll be seeing you very soon.
A recording states. Not his voice.
-beep-beep-beep-
“For the love of God, you even made your voicemail greeting me. Are you crazy? Obviously, you are for sending me thousands of dollars’ worth of books to my house, which I love by the way. But they are way too much to accept. Please take them back. Thank you for them and for the roses and the drinks. But I don’t want to date you. Just go away.”
I hit end and dive stomach first onto my already made bed. Burying my face into the mattress I scream and pound my fists, exceedingly frustrated, until my lungs hurt and my phone beeps.
Turning my face to the side, I pull my phone into view.
Suit Master: I’m not taking them back. They are now yours, my Angel. You’re welcome for the gifts. That is just the beginning. And no, I’m not going anywhere. I tried to play this your way with the online dating profile. The ball is now in my court, and I’m doing this the way I want. Just like I should have years ago.
Me: Years ago?
I swallow hard.
Suit Master: Good things come to those who wait.
Me: Why are you so cryptic?
Suit Master: I didn’t think you liked me telling you so much about myself. Scared you off the first time, so I’m trying a new approach.
Me: What approach is that? Creepy stalker?
Suit Master: No.
Me: Then what?
Suit Master: It’s for me to know and you to find out.
Me: So now you’re a kindergartener?
Suit Master: Only do what your heart tells you.
Arg!!! He is frustrating!!
Me: What does that mean?
Suit Master: It means what it says, Lex. I’m listening to mine. Are you listening to yours?
That’s it! I’m finished talking with him. He’s impossible! Sounds like somebody else I know; Roni or Gage, both equally as frustrating.
Tossing my phone on my nightstand, I head downstairs, pick up the books from the floor in my foyer and gently carry them into my office that’s off the kitchen. Stacking the books on the shelves, among the hundreds of others I have. My office isn’t like anything most people have seen before. It has a giant window with a bench seat to read on. I have a small mahogany desk with a vintage green reading lamp, a wooden rolling chair. The walls are built in bookshelves from floor to ceiling and there’s a silver chandelier suspended in the middle of the room. Most rooms in my house hav
e a chandelier. They are classy, elegant and timeless, kind of an addiction for me.
Walking back into the kitchen I grab the ice cream from the freezer, caramel sauce off the butcher-block countertop, rainbow sprinkles and coconut from the cabinet and carry it all into the living room with a spoon and a napkin. Plopping down on my couch, I turn on the TV and White Chicks on the DVD player. Curling into a ball, I throw my blanket over my legs and dive into my rocky road.
I’m definitely not leaving the house today.
“Lex.” Somebody nudges my arm. “Lex!”
“Uh?” I mumble, rolling onto my back and stretching my arms above my head as I force my eyes that are matted with sleep, to open.
“You had me worried. You weren’t answering my calls.” Lincoln says, looming over me, next to the couch in his uniform.
“I’m sorry.” I croak, running my tongue over my teeth. My mouth feels nasty. I need to brush my teeth.
Lifting my legs, he slouches into the couch and drapes my legs over his lap. His hands instantly attack my feet, rubbing the arches with his thumb. I groan and smile at him.
“You need a wife.” I tease, smirking.
“No… What I need is my girl to answer her phone before I have a stroke.”
“Why am I your girl…? Dang Linc that feels soooo good.” Moaning, I close my eyes, relishing in his amazing foot massage. His fingers gently press each pad of my toes, sending spikes of relaxing pleasure to rack my entire body.
“Because…you just are.” He shrugs, his eyes focusing on my feet. Not my face.
“You don’t like me that way do you?” I guess I’ve never thought to ask this before. I assumed it was no. But he’s always been there for me and we’ve been friends for years.
“Yes. I do. Even though I shouldn’t and can’t. My lifestyle does not go with what you need. You could never be a Submissive, Lex. And I don’t even want you to be. That’s why I’ve never pushed anything. I love you a lot. More than a friend kind of love, but, like I said, it’s never going to be more.”
My heart climbs up and fills my throat. He’s right; I could never live like that. And I can’t believe he actually feels something for me. This is news.
“What about my lady?”
“What about it? You think that’d deter any man from wanting you? You’re prettier and sweeter than most women. Who cares about that? I surely don’t. Any man worth your love wouldn’t either. If I didn’t get my kicks the way I do. I’d make you mine. But I’m a Dom down to the bone, have been for half my life.” His voice is low, and sexy. It’s always sexy but right now, it’s even more so.
“Do you have a Sub?” I inquire, treading lightly. I don’t want to push for more information. I guess this is a night of question and answers. I’ve never asked him about his lifestyle before.
“I have three.”
“Three?” I choke on my words and cough, pounding on my chest with my fist to clear my windpipe.
Chuckling, he sweetly pats my calf. “Yes, three.”
“Do you beat them all?”
Shaking his head, now laughing, he looks at me with a giant smile. “Lex, I don’t beat anybody. Well, perp’s I do. Not the women I take as Sub’s. It’s not like it was with you and Brian. I don’t hurt them. I pleasure them. There’s a huge difference. Did you ever get pleasure from the things he did?”
Cringing, I shake my head. I never liked a damn thing Brian did to me. None of it was pleasurable. It hurt. Bad.
“See, that’s what I thought. I’ve been with two of my Sub’s for almost ten years. My newest, I met through one of them and I like her too.”
“Do you sleep with them all?”
“Yes. But it’s not about me. It’s about them.”
“How’s that possible? A Dom gets pleasure from a Sub.”
Shaking his head, he pats my calf again and returns to rubbing the soles of my feet. “It’s not like that with real Dom’s, Lex. We don’t force Sub’s to pleasure us. They do it so we will service them the way they need to be. Some like it rougher than others, and I’ve always been careful not to push the limits too far with my Sub’s.”
“If you don’t push limits then why am I not a contender?”
Did I really just ask him that? Do I want Lincoln to take me to bed? No! I don’t want anybody to take me to bed. I can’t believe I asked that. I’m an idiot.
“There is pain involved. You deserve a man who doesn’t want to put you through any pain. You’ve had enough of that. I’ll kill anyone who tries to hurt you. I’m glad Gage got to Corey last night before I did. If he hadn’t, Corey would be lucky all he ended up with was a few fractured cheekbones, bruised ribs, and a broken nose. I wouldn’t have been as nice.” Lincoln’s facial expression has switched from normal and handsome to menacing. His voice, dripping with malice.
Sitting up on the couch, I wrap my robe-covered arms around his neck and pull him into a side hug. Kissing his cheek I whisper, “I love you, Linc. When do you have to go?”
“I love you more. I’ve got to get going now. I just came to check up on you. Sorry about the conversation.” Moving my legs to the side he gets up from the couch, kisses my forehead, and leaves.
Chapter Thirteen
Sunday
The Suit Master
“Can I help?” I ask, peering over my sister’s shoulder, into the salad bowl on my father’s countertop.
“You can’t cook.” Tasha teases, bumping me with her hip.
“It’s not cooking. It’s tossing a salad.” I remind her, tickling her sides and making her squeal.
“Stop it!” she scolds, then whines, “Dad, he’s doing it again!” Flashing me a naughty grin, knowing she’s won. I wonder how her husband Brock handles her, and these weekend family lunches. Every Sunday we meet at my dad’s in Lords to congregate. His new wife Chelsea, who’s younger than I am, always helps my sister prepare the meal. While my brother Max corrals the kiddos in the family room, and my Dad watches sports on TV from his recliner in the living room.
“Is the lawyer tormenting you again?” Chelsea chortles, carrying an oversized watermelon in from the back porch.
“Here, let me help.” I retrieve the watermelon from her struggling arms and set it on the counter, with a loud bang.
“Such a man.” She winks at me and my stomach churns with distaste.
My dad and Chelsea are newly married. Dated three months and married for another seven. I’ve had a longer relationship with my running shoes than the ten months they’ve had together. She’s a sweet gal, short pixie blonde hair, nice rack, petite. Still…has nothing on my Lex.
Suddenly claustrophobic in my dad’s small kitchen with the two women. I disembark and head into the family room with Max, my brother, and Tasha’s two rug rats.
Dropping my street clothed self on the brown leather sofa, I lean back and watch as Max plays Harley and Stephen on the Xbox.
“Die! Die, Uncle Max.” Twelve-year-old Harley yells at the screen, playing some sort of first person shooter game. My brother is a video game nerd and my sister’s kids are both nearing their teen years. They seem to have the same brain capacity. My brother isn’t the brightest. He’s not an idiot either, but I can’t imagine he needs to use that much intelligence to be a gas station attendant.
Oh…the joys of spending quality time with my family. When I was married to Melissa, she hated to come here. My sister Tasha hates her and my father hates her even more. He’s not a pleasant man and doesn’t take kindly to many people in his old age.
I wonder what Lex is up to? Maybe I should text her to see. That’ll keep her on her toes. This game I’m playing with her has started to wear heavily on me. I wish I could just come out of hiding now and reveal myself, but I know she wouldn’t accept me. Not yet. That’s why I’ve got a weeks’ worth of tricks up my sleeve. Hope she enjoys the surprises that await her.
Lex
“What do you mean you want me to go on a date with Maxwell?” I snap, pacing the front of
my mom’s florist shop. My brown kitten heeled sandals clicking loudly on her wooden floors.
“Oh…come on, Lex, you need to go on a date. Maxwell always looks so lonely when I stop to get gas or coffee. It’ll be good practice. He’s a good looking fella.”
Is my mother insane? Maxwell, the gas attendant? Seriously? He is an attractive man. He’s also a poor dresser and he’s shy. I can’t believe she’d even consider this. One second she’s spouting about not dating and now she’s playing matchmaker. I wish she’d make up her freakin’ mind.
“Mom, no.” I hold my stance, placing my hand on my hip and staring her down. She’s behind her floral station tucking flowers into a sweetheart bouquet order that was just placed. Her hair is atop her head in a firm bun, her pants are jeans and her shirt is a white V-neck tee. My mother is not a fashion conscious woman. Her and Roni, both agree about that. I, on the other hand, have on a yellow knee length flowing dress, with a chocolate thin braided belt and a simple silver heart necklace with dangle earrings. My hair’s tied back in a ponytail.
“Please…” My mom begs, looking up from her station with sappy eyes. I hate when she uses those against me.
My phone beeps in my purse.
Saved by the phone!
Holding up my finger for her to wait a moment, I fish it out of my bag and slide on the screen.
Suit Master: Faith consists in believing when it is beyond the power of reason to believe.
What the…? Ya gotta be kidding me…another cryptic message that can be deciphered a hundred different ways?
I’m not in the mood for this today. I turn my phone off and tuck it back into my purse. Walking around the back of my mom’s counter I drop my purse into the wicker basket where she keeps hers and remove my heels, placing them alongside it.
“Put me to work.” I hip bump her and throw my arm around her shoulder, pulling her into a side hug as she works her floral magic on a daisy sweetheart arrangement. Cutting stems in her steel sink filled with water and tucking the flowers into the wetted floral foam that’s placed into the bottom of the antique silver, elongated pedestal urn.
Lex (Unconventional Hearts) Page 14
