Masterful (An Erotic Dark Romance)

by Jesse Joren

  "In fact," he went on, opening the box, "it gave me a lot of satisfaction to watch them burn."

  "Not a Braves fan?" I jeered.

  "I hated those fucking clothes," he said, "because they showed you in the worst possible light and gave you a place to hide."

  This vehement little statement made me wish for a crack to open up in the floor and swallow me. Kidnapper or not, I was uneasy in the crosshairs of that knowing gaze.

  No convenient sinkhole appeared. I settled for hugging my body more tightly.

  A second later Hex tossed a soft bundle at me. I caught it on sheer reflex before clutching my arms back to my breasts.

  "Try that for now," he suggested. "Otherwise you'll be too miserable to eat the dinner you earned. You need to eat. It's been two days."

  I shook the bundle with one hand, keeping myself mostly covered. It unfolded into a leaf-green robe with that same expensive feeling as the panties.

  My eyes automatically flicked to the back of the neck. Size XL.

  Like a physical touch, I felt Hex watching me. I made no move to put on the robe. An awkward silence grew.

  "Turn around," I said. After a moment I forced myself to add, "please."

  "Why?"

  "Because I'm getting dressed. Is a little privacy too much to ask for?"

  "You mean you want to hide," he corrected, "for the same reason you wear nondescript clothes. Want me to tell you why?"

  "Not particularly," I said, afraid he was going to tell me anyway.

  "You've swallowed the poison of the almighty, Great American Marketing Machine. That being a smaller size is a magic bullet of being desirable. Like all the other sheep think."

  Suddenly I wasn't embarrassed or uncertain. I was pissed off as the words sank into me. I hated being called part of a herd.

  "You wormed your way into my life," I said, "and without my permission, by the way. That doesn't mean you know anything about me. I don't need your half-assed psychology."

  He shrugged.

  "If the truth stings, that means it hit the mark. You're still in denial. I'm willing to give you time."

  There was a brief, charged silence between us.

  "The food's getting cold," he said finally. "Get dressed. I'd prefer that you sit there naked, but you'd be so damn self-conscious that you wouldn't taste a bite."

  That cocky grin I'd seen in the half-light of my Atlanta bedroom suddenly returned.

  "Remember this, Eva. I've already seen you. Every last inch. You may not approve, but I do."

  He turned and started unpacking again, leaving me with a racing heart and burning face.

  I've already seen you. I approve.

  With quick jerks I pulled on the robe, not trusting that he wouldn't turn around anyway. The fabric was cool and light against my flushed skin.

  Delicious aromas were on the air from the box Hex was opening.

  "Almost three days since that sushi date with Natalie," he said. "You must be starved."

  Natalie. Hearing her name amped up the fear that was cruising along just below my racing thoughts.

  It was bad enough that I was trapped here. I didn't like him knowing so much about the people I loved.

  A sudden nudge from my body got my attention about something else.

  "I need to wash my hands," I half-lied. "I don't suppose there's a bathroom?"

  "Downstairs," he said, jerking his head toward the pantry.

  Now I saw how he'd appeared out of nowhere. The back wall of shelves had swung open to reveal a doorway. Steep steps trailed off into darkness.

  Didn't hidden passages only exist in old movies? At least this sort of explained how he'd gotten me here. It also meant there was a way out.

  "Watch your step," he said, his eyes sparkling with hidden laughter. "It's dim in the evenings."

  I hadn't fooled him at all.

  "Thanks," I muttered, stepping into the pantry.

  The stairs were dim and narrow. I hugged the wall as I went down, following the fading light from whatever lit them from below.

  Downstairs was a basement the size of the main room upstairs. On the far wall was a narrow, high strip of windows letting in the same greenish light as upstairs. A heavy door was beside the windows.

  Immediately I went and tried the knob. Locked. I wasn't even surprised. He wouldn't make such an obvious mistake.

  Hex's voice came down the stairs.

  "The key might or might not be in my front pocket. You're welcome to come back up and put your hand inside. Just to see what you find."

  I swallowed hard. What would that be like? I could slide my hand inside and –

  Stop it.

  Behind a small corner screen was the bathroom in all its glory. A large sink with a hand pump. A white towel, another bar of my favorite soap.

  There was no mirror and no toilet. Instead there was what looked suspiciously like an enameled hole in the ground.

  I'd read enough travel blogs to know what I was looking at. The infamous squatty potty. Great for the digestive health. Hell on the legs and ass.

  I wanted to laugh, or cry. I wanted to have a screaming tantrum that included throwing myself headlong and beating the floor with my fists.

  Instead I grimly set about my business. Let him laugh. He wasn't going to break me that easily. It would be good practice for future travels after I escaped.

  Because I was going to escape. Even if I didn’t quite know how.

  For the record, the travel blogs are right. My exhausted quads threatened not to let me up again. At one point I almost fell in.

  Through sheer willpower I pulled myself up again. I was going to feel that tomorrow.

  My legs shook as I stood at the sink and worked the stiff, balky pump. As I washed my hands, I scowled at the serene and oblivious squatty potty.

  In all the stories I'd ever read, the heroine was whisked away to a lavish estate. A private island. A penthouse. Even pirates could pony up a luxurious lair for the periodic kidnapped maiden.

  Only I could manage to land in a fucked-up version of Walden Pond.

  Other than the so-called bathroom, there was only one other thing in the basement. A trap door with a ring pull was just underneath the windows.

  Probably choice filets of previous occupants. Are you crazy? Don't open that.

  I never could stop while I was ahead. I went to it and pulled up on the handle. A cold whiff of air made me shiver.

  There were no hearts and skulls stacked inside, not even a random leg bone. It was an open stone compartment, small and deep with a shallow wooden rack fitted neatly inside.

  A quiet flow of water swirled under the rack. The rack held a pint of half-and-half. Several containers of my favorite apricot Greek yogurt. A package of string cheese.

  My grandmother had talked about spring houses, built over a stream to keep butter and milk cold. I'd never heard of one actually inside a house.

  "Eva, bring up the cream since you found the refrigerator," Hex called.

  Refrigerator, my ass.

  I leaned my forehead against the rough, cool stones of the nearby wall. I needed to think. There had to be something I'd missed. Some way out.

  As hard as I tried, I couldn’t stop my whirling thoughts. About Hex. About why I was here. About that strange, uncontrollable power he already had over me.

  He didn't act crazy. That was what worried me the most. Every gesture I'd seen so far spoke of calculation and control. That made him a very dangerous man.

  For now I'd play along. I'd hear what he had to say and wait for my chance. What other choice did I have?

  And you're not going to be turned on by him, right?

  Grabbing the carton of cream, I let the trapdoor bang shut, leaving that question unanswered for now.

  The light from upstairs lit the stairs with a soft glow as I climbed cautiously toward whatever plans Hex had for me.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The coffee pot I'd seen earlier was on the stove. The room alrea
dy seemed warmer from its aroma.

  "Elegant set-up you have down there," I said without hiding my bitterness. "Guess the chloroform set you back. Can't pay the utility bill?"

  "You'll find out about all that soon enough. This is what you earned." He jerked his head at the loaded table.

  Chicken breasts grilled with fragrant herbs. Fluffy mashed potatoes. Thick tomato slices, sprinkled with more herbs and drizzled with what looked like balsamic vinegar. Steaming rolls.

  And on a small plate, a little piece of heaven. A single creamy slice of cheesecake, dressed with strawberries on top.

  The bare room seemed cozy now. It was filled with savory smells and warmth from the stove, not to mention the charisma radiating from Hex.

  Grimly I fought against the illusion that this was a safe, pleasant place. This was a prison, no matter how good it looked and smelled.

  And Hex was dangerous. No matter how good he looked and smelled either.

  He pulled out my chair as I stood biting my lip, uncertain what to do.

  "Sit down, before it gets cold," he said. "In fact, I insist."

  The chair bumped against the back of my thighs until I sat, then Hex took the chair across from me. As he began to fill the plates, I had my first real chance to secretly study him.

  He was even more compelling by daylight. The shortness of his dark-honey hair emphasized those starting gray eyes and slanting cheekbones.

  The little I'd seen of him in my bedroom in Atlanta was accurate. His skin was tanned and golden, his body strong and lithe. Raw sex appeal oozed from him like musk.

  The open V of his shirt showed a smooth, muscular throat tinted by the sun. A finely worked platinum chain gleamed. I thought I saw a single pendant, gleaming a dull black. It looked like a claw, maybe a tooth.

  A fierce bolt of carefully buried pain tried to resurface. How familiar that looked. It was so much like –

  Stop, Eva.

  There was no time to think of that now.

  The shirt clung to his broad shoulders and chest in the soft, familiar way of a favorite garment. It was rolled up to his elbows, exposing his finely muscled forearms.

  His hands were deft as he dished up our supper, long-fingered and quick. Those fingers had been inside me in the most intimate way imaginable last night, tugging and stretching and filling me.

  The memory sent a sharp flare of heat between my thighs. I pressed them together, trying to focus.

  "Everything all right? You look a little flushed," he said.

  "Just getting a good description of you for the police."

  The words were out before I could stop myself. Sarcasm probably wasn't the best strategy.

  "Want me to strip so you can get a full view of all my identifying marks? I'd really hate to be misrepresented," he teased, putting a plate in front of me.

  The delicious smells were making my mouth water, but caution stopped me.

  "I'm not hungry," I forced myself to say.

  "You're a terrible liar," he said. "Even worse in person than online. Do you think I brought you here so I can poison you?"

  "The thought did cross my mind."

  He reached over and forked a bite of everything on my plate into his mouth with quick precision. As he chewed, he threw in a few obnoxious smacks of relish for good measure.

  "Happy now?" he asked.

  "Not really. Didn't I see some protein powder in the pantry?"

  He could still have done something to it, but it seemed safer. My stomach rumbled its displeasure.

  "Evangeline," he said slowly, "if I were in your shoes right now, I'd take advantage of the meal in front of you while you have it, before it gets cold."

  He looked at me with one eyebrow raised.

  "Or you can argue and let it go to waste and face a very long day tomorrow without having it inside you to give you strength. Your choice."

  I didn't like the sound of that. So the threat of an even longer ride loomed for tomorrow. Exhausted and weak didn't seem like a good way to try to outwit a man who so clearly held all the cards right now.

  My stomach was about to go postal at the thought of passing on the dinner spread out in front of us.

  I picked up my fork and took a bite of the potatoes. They were still hot and rich, a comforting reminder of my long and co-dependent love affair with them. A forkful of chicken filled my mouth with a burst of rosemary and tarragon.

  The tomatoes were cold and fresh, a familiar contrast with the tangy balsamic vinegar. The yeasty aroma of the rolls was impossible to resist.

  Wherever it had come from, the food was delicious. And still fresh. The potatoes didn't have that stickiness from sitting around and being reheated

  There was a clue in there somewhere. I filed it away to consider later.

  My plate emptied with embarrassing speed, but my head felt clear for the first time since I'd returned to my apartment. I finished the glass of cold water by my plate.

  "Nice well water. No city services?" I asked casually.

  Hex's plate had emptied faster than mine.

  "They're available," he said, equally nonchalant. "I prefer water that can't easily be contaminated, by accident or on purpose. Your Uncle Dale would probably agree."

  I didn't like hearing the names of the people I loved falling from his lips with such practiced ease.

  "Where are we?" I asked. "Why am I here?"

  "Right to the direct approach huh? I prefer dessert first."

  He picked up a clean fork and pried off a small bite of the cheesecake.

  "Open up, Eva."

  Last night he'd used those words too, in a very different context.

  "What if I say no? Are you going to force-feed me?" I challenged.

  "Then you'll miss out on a pretty good slice of cheesecake. And while a lot of things are going to happen while you're with me, force isn't in the plan. Not exactly."

  "What do you call you breaking into my apartment and dragging me here?" I asked.

  "I put that in the category of the end justifies the means," he said.

  He held out the fork to me again.

  Reluctantly I accepted the bite, savoring the sweet tang in spite of myself. It really was a good cheesecake.

  He took a bite for himself from the same fork, licking it clean. The implied intimacy made me flush.

  "To answer your question," he said, "you're still in the great state of Georgia."

  "Could you be a little more specific?"

  "Not very far from Savannah. That's as detailed as I'm willing to be right now."

  He pressed another bite to my lips.

  I gave up questioning for the moment, savoring the rich dessert. With alternating bites he fed us both until only a few sticky graham cracker crumbs were left on the plate.

  "You're good at setting a mood," I said. "Just tell me why you brought me here. It must be pretty bad, if you're working this hard to jolly me along."

  "So you think that's what you think I'm doing? Cream in your coffee, right?" he asked as he stood up.

  "That's fine," I said, my lips stiff with the effort not to tremble.

  I watched as he worked. In spite of everything my logical mind said, so many things about him attracted me. He was a complete stranger who knew my deepest secrets.

  Just looking at him, I could guess a lot about him. He would be the type of guy with girls throwing themselves at him. All he'd have to do is decide who to pick.

  Aggressive girls who would bribe the doorman and wait in his bed wearing nothing but smiles. Brilliant girls who would broker million-dollar deals by day and give him a different kind of business at night. Gorgeous girls who really were lean and beautiful without resorting to online lies.

  My overwhelming response to him the night before still made me cringe. Mesmerizing or not, I wasn't going to let him have that kind of power over me again.

  He returned to the table with two steaming cups of coffee. Mine was exactly the right shade of creamed-within-a-inch-of-its-life
.

  It worried me that I was starting to not be surprised that he knew these tiny things about me.

  He's misjudged the big stuff, I promised myself, stirring with quick little stabs. He better watch this back. He wasn't sure if I'd shoot him last night.

  Never mind that I wasn't sure either.

  A hush fell over the cabin, broken only by the faint crackle from the wood stove.

  "You'll want to interrupt me," Hex said, "but don’t. This is the beginning of a story I think you'll want to hear. The story of why I decided to kidnap Evangeline Bright."

  CHAPTER NINE

  "For my own reasons," he said, "I don't have a personal life."

  "You and I both know about chat rooms. They're the fast food of sexual fantasies, full of those who are busy, lonely, curious, cheating, predatory. Maybe you meet someone and there's a spark. Amusement for a night with no strings, forgotten by the next morning."

  "On a winter night about two years ago, I went online. I was bored, restless. A job just finished, too keyed up to sleep."

  "It was the same old crap in the chat room. Nothing to distract me. I was about to sign off when text appeared at the bottom of the window. 'Cherry-on-the-Bottom joined the room.'"

  "I read your profile. Just one sentence. Tell me what it said."

  I knew that I'd said. Those words were burned into my brain forever. Somehow, saying them out loud seemed to give him even more power than he already had.

  "I'm waiting," he said.

  "'If you're not willing to earn the right to dominate me, then fuck off,'" I said after a very long pause.

  Just saying the words gave me a chill. It was like seeing my own tombstone. The Ghost of Eva Past.

  Hex nodded.

  "You get a much better idea about people when they don't know you're watching them," he said. "I decided to eavesdrop on your private messages."

  That explained a lot. He must be a chat room moderator then. Somehow he'd broken into the code that provided a fragile shell of privacy for the most intimate chats imaginable.

  "Only a real jerk of a moderator would invade someone's privacy like that," I snapped.

  "Half right," he agreed. "Only a real jerk would do that, but I was never a mod. That night I was sitting in a six-thousand-dollar-a-night hotel in Dubai after doing a very large favor on very short notice. "