Читать книгу Hot Night - Shannon McKenna - Страница 10

It was cold in Mark’s bedroom.

Elaine shivered, struggling against the strips of the silk scarf that bound her wrists and ankles to Mark’s bed. That scarf had been one of her favorites. A gift from Abby. She hadn’t wanted it ruined, but Mark hadn’t listened once he’d started to rend. Mark didn’t listen very well.

Hah. Was that ever a stunning understatement.

The coverlet was wadded into a scratchy bulge beneath the small of her back. Mark had left her there and wandered downstairs a half hour ago. At one point, she heard him talking on the phone in what sounded like Spanish. Then she heard the muted hum of the TV being turned on. The TV, for Christ’s sake. She struggled harder, and made as much noise as she could, which wasn’t much with the scarf tied over the gag in her mouth. She tried not to cry, but she’d never had much luck at that when she felt hurt and abandoned.

Tears kept sliding down, tickling her face. She tried to blot them on the pillows. Her nose was blocking up with snot. What an alluring picture she’d be once he finally decided to pay attention to her.

A woman’s got to cut loose and take some chances sometime, right? God, had she really said that?

Within limits. As long as you’re having fun, Abby had replied.

She struggled harder for breath. She was not having fun. She’d been in a state of dazed incredulity since this affair began, she’d been excited, titillated, dazzled, but she had never had one ounce, not one pinch, not one speck of fun. She never relaxed with Mark. Never.

She was too afraid of him.

She knew herself, after years of therapy. She knew her weak spots and her defects like the back of her hand. She might have no clue how to overcome them, but damn, did she know them. And she knew that this was not fun. She should not be afraid of Mark. Not if this was true love.

Then again, she was afraid of everybody. Her own mother, her own boss, who wasn’t she afraid of, other than maybe Abby?

She was so pathetic. How typical, that she had to be bound, gagged, screwed, and forgotten to get a clue. Tears of shame oozed out.

It had been so exciting, finally having an affair, like normal women did. Actually having sex, after all those depressing years without. Good sex, too. At least at first. For about a week, it had been perfect. Then something strange had crept into it, so gradually.

It had gone rotten from the inside. As usual, she hadn’t wanted to let go of her fantasies. She waited until they were wrenched away, like a bandage off a scabbed wound. So that it hurt as much as possible.

Last night she’d started facing reality. Tonight, she had no more doubts.

The most awful thing about it was that she’d consented to this treatment. She had no one but herself to blame for being so eager to please. She’d even bought rope, at his request, so that they could play his games at her house. She was a willing accomplice to his cruelty.

Her therapists said that her problems with men were a direct result of her problems with her father, issues of abandonment, blah-blah, tell her something new. She understood the dynamic. Now all she wanted was out. She wanted to fly away. To be somewhere else, someone else. She wanted out of this bed, out of these silken ties.

She couldn’t run away to Spain with this man, as she had promised him. He would destroy her. He was destroying her now.

Mark appeared, silhouetted in the door to the bedroom, still talking on his cell phone. His voice was so beautiful, speaking Spanish. It still thrilled her, even bound and shivering. The light behind him lit up the bulb of the glass of wine in his hand. It glowed like a chalice full of blood. The Cabernet she had ordered to accompany their meal.

She shuddered, so deeply she felt like it should shake the bed. Mark clicked his cell phone shut and flipped on a row of the muted track lighting recessed into the paneled rafters of the bedroom. He wandered over and stared down at her. He put something in his mouth, chewed it as he stared. He washed it down with wine.

Snacking, while she lay here gasping vainly for breath.

More tears welled up, blocking her nose. She started to choke.

Mark sipped his wine, his eyes moving slowly over her body. Wretched as she was, she was still stupefied at how beautiful he was. Chin-length dark blond hair waving around a Greek god face. That broad chin with the sexy cleft, the cruel sensuality of his full mouth. And his body. So amazingly strong. He could immobilize her with one hand. Had done so, in fact. On many occasions.

“You’re beautiful,” he said. “I bought those sheets because I imagined you glowing like a pearl, black satin as a backdrop. Perfect.”

His voice was dreamy and absent. Elaine writhed and mewled for air. She was starting to panic at her complete inability to communicate with him. She began to flail wildly. His penis had started to lengthen, but as her movements grew more frenzied, his smile faded. He put his glass of wine on the bed stand and climbed onto the bed, straddling her.

He trapped her wrists. “Stop,” he commanded. “You’ll leave marks on your skin. I don’t want that. That’s why I used silk.”

She heaved ineffectually beneath him. He frowned into her wet, staring eyes. “You’re upset,” he observed, his voice puzzled.

No shit, Sherlock, she wanted to shriek, through wads of silk.

Mark peeled the scarf off the bottom of her face and plucked the damp, wadded cloth from her mouth.

She gasped in huge gulps of air, coughing. Mark lifted off her, snagged the wineglass, and held it to her lips, tipping Cabernet into her mouth. What didn’t slosh down over her chin hit her dry windpipe, and she choked and gasped, tears of humiliation streaming down her face.

Mark kissed her tears away. “Why are you crying? You’re beautiful like that.” He licked the wine that dribbled down her chin.

“You left me like this to watch TV. And talk on the phone. Like you’d forgotten me,” she blurted. “I couldn’t breathe. I was scared.”

He frowned. “You can’t expect me to pay attention to you every second of the day, love. Did you buy your ticket today?”

She nodded, docile as a cow. She had to tell him that she’d changed her mind about going, but a nervous little voice inside her whispered that maybe now wasn’t the best time for that announcement, bound hand and foot, with Mark sitting on top of her. He was so heavy.

“First class, for Barcelona.” Her voice was a cracked whisper.

He kissed her eyelids. “My driver will take you to the resort. You wait there, shopping and getting a tan, while I finalize my divorce. Then I come to you a free man. And we start our life together. In paradise.”

She tried to speak, but he continued without noticing.

“You told me you wanted to fly away from it all,” he said. “I’ll send those photographs to my contact in Spain. He’ll arrange for an EU identity card and passport. Spanish citizenship. Your name will be Elena in Spain. Beautiful like you. My sweet Elena.”

“Mark,” she faltered. “I…I—”

“You can forget all of it. Your parents, the hospitals. Everything painful in your past. You’ll be free.”

Yeah, tied hand and foot? She opened her mouth, but he kissed her deeply, his tongue thrusting into her mouth, blocking the words she wanted to say. She jerked away, feeling suffocated.

“Mark, untie me. Please,” she begged.

“No,” he said. “Can’t risk that. You’re mine now.”

“But my arms are asleep,” she protested. “I have pins and needles in my hands. It hurts. And I have to use the toilet. Please, Mark.”

“Should have left you gagged,” he muttered. He yanked open a drawer in the bed stand and took out a small knife. A flick of his wrist, and the blade snicked out. The knife flashed between his dexterous fingers as his gaze moved over her body. As if he were considering…

No. Don’t think it, she told herself frantically. She was imagining things. He would never…no. It was unthinkable, so she just wouldn’t think it. “Please,” she whispered.

He severed the ties with four slashes of his knife. Elaine rolled into a shivering ball, still wearing knotted bracelets and anklets of green silk. “If you need the bathroom, go,” he said. “Don’t make me wait.”

She rolled off the bed and fled down the hall to the bathroom. It was filled with mirrors, a luxury she didn’t appreciate tonight. She looked pale. Bluish, like skim milk. Her eyes looked huge and staring.

Scared half to death by that weird emptiness she’d glimpsed in his eyes while he was holding that wicked looking little knife.

She shoved open the window and leaned out, checking escape routes. Second story. Sheer drop. No porch roof, no drainage pipe, no handy tree. The probability of hurting herself was very high. Besides, she was stark naked. Her clothes were in the bedroom with Mark.

Calm down already, she told herself. She was just dramatizing, like she always did. She could imagine Gloria Clayborne’s reaction if her daughter were found wandering around town naked at night, babbling about a secret sadist lover. Mother had been very clear about how important it was that Elaine not embarrass her again. She had to keep it together, or it would be back to the loony bin for Lainie.

It was hard to say which prospect frightened her more. Her mother’s fury and scorn; the loony bin; or Mark, staring down at her naked, immobilized body. Twirling that knife between deft fingertips.

She splashed cold water on her face. She was imagining things, working herself into a state, as always. She tried to undo the knots, but they’d been pulled too tight. They were as hard as little rocks.

She would go in and assert herself, for once. Thanks, Mark, for the new identity, but she was sticking with her old one. She flung her hair back, straightened her back, and started toward the bedroom.

But the strips of silk tied to her ankles trailed behind her like a dog’s leash.

Abby speared a plump truffle ravioli on her fork, and stared into her plate. The pasta was adorned with a dusting of grated truffle. The elegant decor, the muted clink of silver on china, the discreet, attentive service: it was just right. She sipped her wine and tried to concentrate on what Reginald was saying. Her face felt like a rubber mask.

Reginald stopped in mid-monologue and stroked his goatee. She wondered if the white streaks over his ears had been put there by a hairdresser. They were so improbably symmetrical, suspended in a thick, swept-back scaffolding of hair gel. Like Dracula.

What an ungracious thought. The guy had done nothing wrong, other than be pompous and boring. Since when was that a crime?

“Are you all right?” Reginald’s baritone voice oozed sensitive concern. “You seem distracted.”

“Do I? Gee, I’m sorry.” Abby attempted to wrench her mind into focus. It was like wrestling alligators in a mud pit.

“Intuition is my stock in trade,” he said. “I’m a psychotherapist, as Ludovic must have told you. Nothing escapes my notice.”

“How nice for you.” Abby speared another ravioli with a jab of her fork and put on a bright, interested smile. “Who’s Ludovic?”

Reginald smirked. “You must have known Ludovic for a long time if you still use the nickname ‘Dovey.’”

“Dovey? Good Lord. You mean Dovey’s real name is—”

“Ludovic has decided that he must leave his past behind, and with it, his nickname. A name that represents self-destructiveness.”

Abby searched for a coherent response to that, but Reginald sailed smoothly on. “If you consider yourself his friend, call him by his real name, which represents both his essential, core self, and also the supremely realized future self toward which we all aspire.”

Wow, that was a big chunk to chew on. “But Dovey never—”

“I can’t say any more without violating the doctor-patient bond of confidentiality.” Reginald stroked his goatee, a Freudlike gesture.

“Uh, of course. All I meant was, Dovey never even told me that—”

“Ludovic’s former persona often dominates his behavior.” Reginald gave her a knowing smile. “Setbacks, slipups, they’re all part of the process of growth, Abby. As I’m sure you know.”

“But he never once even mentioned—”

“But can one ever plumb the depths of another person? Their dreams, their dark desires? No matter how close we might feel, another person is a foreign country. Even one’s most intimate…beloved.”

She eyed him with mounting alarm. “Uh…”

“But oh, the thrill of the unknown.” Reginald’s eyes fixed on her with what she guessed was meant to be a seductive gaze. “No quest is more compelling than the frontier of the Beloved Other. Verdant jungles…thrusting mountains…precipitous chasms…more wine?”

She stuck out her glass. “God, yes,” she muttered.

“I feel like an explorer tonight.” Reginald filled her glass with an experienced twist of his wrist. “With such an attractive woman.”

“Uh, thanks.” Abby gulped her wine, and persisted in trying to finish her sentence. “But all I was saying is, if Dovey—”

“I can’t permit our conversation about Ludovic to continue, Abby.” Reginald’s tone turned stern. “My professional ethics forbid it.”

Abby closed her mouth with a snap. Reginald reached over to pat her hand. “Sorry to be abrupt, but I would so prefer to talk about you.”

“That’s nice,” she said tightly.

“Oh, yes.” Reginald did not seem to register her discomfort. “Such a beautiful, mysterious woman makes me curious.” He eyed her bosom.

“Oh, really?” She hated her brain dead, two word replies, but it didn’t matter. This guy didn’t need any help carrying on a conversation. He could hold up both sides all by himself. Abby stabbed the last ravioli and stuck it into her mouth. She was going to need all her strength.

“Ludovic told me a lot about you,” Reginald said. “He told me that you had a very, shall we say, colorful past, romantically speaking.”

Abby’s fork clattered loudly onto her plate. “Oh, did he?”

“I was fascinated.” Reginald took a big bite of his steak and eyed her hungrily as he chewed it. “I’m bending my own rules by being here tonight, you see. It’s a bit dodgy, to allow one of my patients to fix me up, but Ludovic had told me so much about you, I just couldn’t resist.”

“I, ah, see,” she said stiffly. She was going to have a stern little talk with Dovey. The very second she got home.

Reginald’s smile displayed large teeth. “Don’t be embarrassed,” he purred. “We all have our dark sides. It’s the shadow play of light and dark, the contrasts, the secret, hidden places, that creates the sizzling heat of sexual attraction between a man and a woman.”

Reginald licked his shiny lips and smiled. He had the smug look of a man who was dead sure he was going to get laid tonight.

She was being slimed. Classy restaurant or skeevy dive, the effect was the same. The prices on the menu didn’t change a thing.

Reginald edged his chair closer and laid his clammy pink hand over hers. “I’m not afraid of your dark side, Abby,” he crooned, lifting her hand slowly toward his lips.

Oh, no. This was one frog she was not going to kiss. Screw politeness. She wasn’t even waiting for the dessert cart.

She yanked her hand away, dabbed at her mouth with her napkin, and sprang up. “Thanks for dinner, Reginald. I’ve gotta scoot.”

Reginald looked blank. “Huh?”

“Bye.” She gave him a brilliant smile and headed straight toward the headwaiter’s podium. “Could someone call me a cab, please?”

“Abby.” Reginald grabbed her arm. “What did I say? Did I offend you in some way?”

She wrenched her arm out of his grip and pushed out the door. “I need to go home,” she said. “I have a headache.”

Café Girasole was on the water. The boardwalk was right across the street. Fortunately, it was crowded with people on this clear June evening, so she was in no danger of repeating last night’s stupidity.

Reginald hurried out after her. “I’ll take you home, Abby.”

“Cab’s fine, thanks,” she said crisply.

“I’m so sorry you’re not well,” Reginald persisted. “You should have said something earlier. I’m expert in several different massage styles, you know. Ten minutes of my Black Serpent technique, and you’d be ready for anything.” He leered as he groped for his keys.

Unbelievably, the guy still had no clue. It boggled the mind.

“Thanks, but I’ll pass,” she said. “’Night, Reginald.”

“But I…wait a minute.” Reginald dug in his other pants pocket. He tried his jacket. He tried them both again. He peered into the BMW. The keys were still in the ignition. He tried the door. It was locked.

Abby tamped down the giggles. It seemed cruel to have so much fun at his expense. “It happened to me last night. Maybe I jinxed you.”

The laughter in her voice made his head whip around. “Every superstitious belief has its roots in psychological fact,” he said icily. “I conduct the activities of daily living with heightened mindfulness. Locking my keys in my car is a sign that other forces are at work.”

Abby’s mirth faded. “Meaning? What other forces?”

Reginald spoke slowly, as if to a dull child. “Certain people create chaos wherever they go. What an ignorant person might refer to as a jinx is, in fact, just contact with a nexus of chaos and negativity.”

Abby forced her mouth to close. “It was a joke,” she said slowly. “Do you know what a joke is, Reginald? Do I need to explain it to you?”

Reginald frowned. “Sarcasm is unbecoming.”

She could practically hear the clicking sounds as her vertebrae stacked themselves up. “Are you implying that I actually jinxed you?”

Reginald shrugged. “Ludovic led me to understand that your past was one chaotic, unpredictable disaster after another.”

“So it’s my fault you locked your keys in your stupid car?”

“You’re oversimplifying,” Reginald said loftily. “It’s very complex.”

“I have not even begun to oversimplify, you pompous butthead!”

“No need for hostility.” Reginald looked much more cheerful, now that he’d whipped her into a frenzy.

“You call me a nexus of chaos and negativity, and then say there’s no need to be hostile?” Her voice was getting shrill.

Reginald looked down his beaky nose. “You have a problem with anger management, which doesn’t really surprise me. Please control yourself long enough for me to find a professional to open my car.”

She was opening her mouth to tell him exactly where he should stick his anger management when the switch flicked inside her. Ping.

A professional to open my car. A shiver went through her.

Oh, no. She’d be better off going home, turning on the Classics Channel, getting out the Fudge Ripple and a nice big spoon. Being a nexus of chaos and negativity was way too stressful for a working girl.

She tapped Reginald’s shoulder. “I know a locksmith.”

He pushed a button on his phone and frowned. “How’s that?”

“I was locked out last night. Call this number.” She held up her thumb. “If you’re not afraid of getting sucked into my nexus, that is.”

Reginald rolled his eyes as he punched the number into his phone. She held her breath as he waited for it to ring.

“Hello?” he said. “I’m locked out of my car. In front of Café Girasole, on the boardwalk. Do you know it?” He listened. “How quickly can you arrive? Ten minutes? Very well.” He switched off the phone.

A wave of heat climbed into Abby’s face. Her cab was on its way, and with it, her last opportunity to cheat fate and act like a grown-up. The locksmith was trouble at best, heartbreak and ruin at worst.

But she just had to know if he was as mouthwatering as she remembered. Maybe it was just a flush of fluttery gratitude for being rescued that had beautified him to her.

Ten minutes felt like forever. She ignored Reginald and stared at oncoming headlights. She hoped Zan would get there before her cab. It would be awkward and embarrassing to justify not hopping right in.

A shiny black van pulled over next to them. Zan was at the wheel. He killed the engine and sat there for a long moment, staring at her.

“What the hell is he waiting for?” Reginald grumbled.

Zan got out. His gaze swept over her brief dress. Spaghetti straps, plunging neckline. She shivered, brushed hair out of her mouth, and turned her back to look out at the ocean, her face very hot.

It wasn’t a flush of gratitude. He was monumentally gorgeous.

“I take it a check will be acceptable?” she heard Reginald ask.

“I prefer cash.” Zan’s voice was bland.

“But that’s inconvenient for me. I promise, my checks are good.”

“The bank doesn’t care about promises,” Zan replied.

Reginald sputtered. “But I don’t have a hundred in cash on me at the moment! Be reasonable.”

“I’m reasonable,” Zan said mildly. “You’re free to call someone else if you prefer. If not, there’s a bank machine around the corner.”

Reginald stomped away, muttering.

Abby leaned on the wooden railing and lifted her hot face to the breeze. Zan’s gaze felt as palpable on her skin as a physical touch.

“Is he the reason you wouldn’t give me your number?” he asked.

A sound came out of her, part laughter, part sob. “No! Just a blind date. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Maybe you should rethink these blind dates, sweetheart,” he said. “Maybe it’s time that you opened your eyes.”

His fresh scent was so different from Reginald’s cloying cologne, which had made her throat tickle. “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“I know,” he said. “It’s chilly out here. You can wait in the van for Prince Charming, if you like.”

“Thanks. I’m fine out here,” she said.

“You’re shivering. No wonder, going out at night in a slip.”

She was stung. “This is a Versace! It cost me two weeks’ salary!”

“Two weeks’ salary wasted.” He looked her up and down. “Save your money and buy yourself a sweater, baby.”

Her knees weakened at the lazy appraisal in his eyes. “Stop it,” she whispered.

“Stop what? I’m not doing anything.”

“Stop…stop vibing at me,” she blurted.

“Sorry, beautiful. It’s the one thing that I cannot control,” he murmured, moving closer. “You’re cute with your hair up, you know? I usually prefer girls’ hair down, but I like those swirly wisps.” He twirled one of her wisps around his finger. “You’ve got color,” he went on, his voice velvety. “Are you blushing? Or do you have a fever? I swear, you’ll get pneumonia dressing like that. Not that I’m complaining.”

Every individual particle of her body was anxiously aware of how near he was. Every hair stood on end. “Smart-ass,” she said shakily.

“That’s what they tell me,” he admitted. “Since I was a baby.”

Looking into his face made her feel like she was going to topple over backward. “You’re looming. Stop it. It makes me nervous.”

“Don’t worry. Your stuffed shirt will be back from the bank machine in a minute to protect you. Relax.”

“I’m not tense. And I don’t need protecting.” She stretched up to peek over his shoulder to see if Reginald had reappeared.

He wasn’t there, but the cab was. She turned to tell Zan good-bye.

He cupped her jaw, his thumb dragging delicate circles over her cheek. “Forget about him.” He brushed a wisp of hair out of her eyes.

“Who?” she breathed, as he leaned closer.

His smile widened in triumph. He cradled her face in his hands. The leather of his jacket creaked as he leaned forward.

His lips were sensitive, coaxing. Velvety soft. Startled pleasure flashed through her body. His arms closed around her, his lithe body pinning her against the railing. He tasted wonderful. Coffee, a hint of mint. So warm and solid, vibrating with energy. She wanted to wrap herself around him and squeeze, but she was melting into taffy.

He stepped back. The void between them seemed to ache.

A couple was getting into her cab, laughing and smirking. The cab pulled away. They stared at each other. His eyes were so dilated, they were almost black. He gripped her shoulders. “You can’t let him touch you,” he said. “Tell me you’re not going to let that guy touch you.”

She opened her mouth to say she would never let a gasbag idiot like that touch her. The concept was too complicated to verbalize in her melted-taffy condition. He leaned forward to kiss her throat. “Promise me,” he urged, under his breath. The plea was breathless and ragged.

“I promise,” she whispered.

“I take it you two have met?” Reginald’s voice was glacial.

Zan’s hand dropped. Abby locked her knees, hoping they would bear her weight. “Ah, yes,” she said distractedly. “I locked myself out last night, remember? He was the locksmith who opened my door.”

Reginald squinted. “You didn’t tell me that you knew this man intimately before you gave me his phone number, Abby.”

“Actually, I, ah, don’t,” she admitted.

“Ah. This kind of promiscuous behavior is exactly what I would expect from someone suffering from your pathology.”

She was so rattled by Zan’s kiss, it was hard to follow the through line of Reginald’s insults. She focused on Reginald’s face, then wished that she hadn’t. She hadn’t noticed just how unattractive his beady dark eyes were. Squinched into a furious frown, they seemed rodentlike.

“So it’s not a coincidence?” Zan pitched his voice just for her ears. “You gave him my number on purpose? Wow. I’m touched.”

“This disgusting impulse to have a sordid liaison with a stranger is symptomatic of the larger chaos of your life,” Reginald said. “I’m sorry to have witnessed this, Abby. It’s painful to me. But I’m glad to know the truth about you before I got embroiled. Thank you for that, at least.”

“Disgusting and sordid?” Zan sounded remarkably cheerful. “I’ve been called lots of things, but I do believe that one’s a first for me.”

“I wouldn’t have touched you with a ten-foot pole anyhow, so piss off, Reginald,” she said.

Reginald blinked. “Temper! You’re projecting your frustration over your own lack of self-control onto me. In my professional opinion, you would benefit from intensive psychotherapy, specifically targeted at your rage problem and your sexual addiction. A pharmaceutical approach might be in order, as part of a multimodal treatment plan.”

“Sexual addiction?” Her mouth worked. “You…you jerk!”

“How about you guys thrash out the psychiatric treatment plan after you pay me?” Zan’s voice sounded faintly bored. “That way I can open up the car and we can all call it a night. OK?”

Reginald pulled out his wallet and wrenched out a wad of money. Zan shoved it into his pocket. He pulled a toolbox out of his van and crouched beside the car. Reginald hovered over Zan’s shoulder as he pulled out a wedgelike object and a long pronged wire.

Zan frowned up at him. “I can’t work with you breathing over my shoulder,” he said. “You’re blocking my light. Give me some space.”

“Do not scratch my car,” Reginald said.

Zan raised an eyebrow. “Back off, if you want this thing opened.”

Reginald backed away. Zan inserted the wedge between the window and its seal, easing the wire rod delicately under the window, probing with small, precise movements, his face calm and faraway.

She couldn’t keep staring like this. She had to call a cab, get a clue, disappear. She turned, looked at the ocean, tried to breathe.

She heard the muted pop of a car door opening, and cautiously turned around. Reginald crouched over the car door, checking for scratches. Zan packed his tools up and looked over at her. “Your date’s a big loser, sweetheart,” he said. “Get in. I’ll take you home.”

Reginald nodded, as if his worst suspicions had been confirmed. “Just as I thought. Classic case of sexual addiction. How sad.”

Abby looked at Reginald’s beady, avid eyes. He licked his lips. They gleamed, red and moist, between his mustache and beard.

She looked at Zan, waiting patiently beside his van, his face calm and watchful. His long hair blew across his face in the breeze. He opened the passenger side and beckoned her in, inclining his head.

The gesture was so graceful and courtly. As if she were a queen, being handed into her carriage.

Reginald tsk-tsked. “You’ll never overcome your shadowed past if you continue to yield to your darker impulses,” he admonished.

Zan’s lips twitched. Abby hurried to the van and clambered in.