Blind Obsession (21 page)

Just as I get to the end of the hall, he appears from around the corner. I stop immediately, slightly shocked because I didn’t expect him to come back from where he went.

“It’s down here,” he tells me.

All of a sudden, every single fear I have determinedly pushed aside into the little you-are-crazy box comes flooding back.

“Down where?” I ask hesitantly.

Smiling so slow and iniquitous, he lifts a hand, crooking a finger at me.

“Come with me, Gemma,” he invites.

His tone is so seductive he’s managed to make me forget I’m apprehensive and the fact that I’m standing in just a towel. I feel as though he’s hypnotizing me.

“What’s down there?” I probe, cursing the fact that my voice is trembling.

Nothing prepares me for the answer he gives.

“Chantel.”

***

Phillipe can tell by the look on her face that she’s about to flee.

Gemma’s eyes have widened, and her breathing has picked up to rapid pants.

“I don’t understand,” she tells him, clutching the towel to her breasts.

He takes a step toward her and holds out his hand. “You don’t have to. Come with me, Gemma.”

Her eyes move from his hand to his face. Considering all the tumultuous emotions that are currently running through him, Phillipe makes sure that his expression gives nothing away. When she reaches out and places her shaking palm into his, he’s shocked by the trust she is now extending to him.

He wraps his fingers around hers and squeezes them. When he tugs her toward him, she is hesitant, but she moves forward.

He lowers his mouth down to her ear, teasing her softly. “You want to see this, Gemma. I know you do.”

She turns her head, so their eyes meet, and he can see the curiosity burning there.

“How do you know?” she questions, seeming desperate in her need for an answer.

“Because, like me, you find her fascinating. You’re consumed by her, aren’t you? I can see it every time I talk about her.” He pauses, moving his head so their lips are now touching. “It’s okay, Gemma. I did whatever I had to, just to be near her. I wanted her with every breath I took.”

***

I
can’t
breathe. My heart is pumping and my head is roaring from the rapid blood flow. As he stands there, whispering dark seductive words against my lips, I feel like I will pass out from the lack of oxygen.

That’s when I am offered a reprieve.

Phillipe removes his lips from mine and takes a small step back, still holding my hand. He pulls me forward with each backward step he takes. He stops at the large wooden door, much like the one blocking this part of the house, and he reaches back to twist the knob.

I wait as it slowly swings open, and he is moving again. He turns, keeping my hand in his own, as he walks through the entryway.

Where the hell is he taking me?
The thought is screaming in my mind.

As I cross the threshold, I watch as he descends down a dark staircase, and immediately, I have visions of words from articles—
tragic
,
horrifying
,
deceptive
.
Instead of doing the smart thing and leaving, I follow him
blindly
down into the darkness.

Chapter  Thirteen ~ Ménage à trois

He stood in water, hip deep, as rain hit the back of his neck where his wet shirt clung to him. All he felt was numb.

“Wake up,” he pleaded. “Come on. It’s time to wake up.”

Eyes of gray opened. Eyes that held his soul focused as a small smile touched lips of red.

***

As I follow Phillipe one step at a time down the dark stone stairwell, I can’t help but wonder at my sanity. I can feel my hand as it trembles in his.

Again, I ask, “What’s down here, Phillipe?”

He stops halfway down the stairs and turns to look back at me. “I told you.”

I want to scream at him,
I know Chantel is not down there. So, what the fuck are you talking about?
Instead, I remain quiet and continue following him.

When we reach the landing, I can feel him turn to face me in the dark.

“Wait here,” he instructs.

I stand exactly where he has left me, not knowing what I might run into if I happen to move.

It’s cold down here
, I think as I look around, trying to make out what I can. Obviously, we have gone downstairs, which in turn means we are underground. As quickly as that thought enters my head, it is chased by the fear of something horrific happening to me, that I stupidly pushed aside earlier.

I’m about to say his name when suddenly the room is illuminated.

My eyes squint as they adjust to the change, and as they do, a wide, empty space comes into focus. Immediately, I’m aware of several large white boards. Each cut into rectangular lengths, they are mounted all around the walls at different heights.
Blank canvases?

“Acoustic room, Gemma.” His explanation drifts across the expansive room.

After that announcement, silence follows as my brain catches up.

“This was her music room,” he adds.

I let my eyes look up to the ceiling, and I see the strange placement of white boards placed there. The room is bare. There is nothing down here, just the panels on the wall and a shelf holding a sound system with what looks like CDs.  The thick carpet beneath my feet, which I assume is also for sound absorption, paired with the boards on the walls make the room look odd. As I step farther into the space, I feel as though she is calling out to me, almost as if the echo of her is here in the room, bouncing off of the walls.

Before I knew what was down here, I feared him. Now that I
know
what’s down here, I fear myself.

Bringing my eyes back to his, I ask, “Why didn’t you just tell me that? Why did you try and frighten me?”

That’s when he moves. He is in front of me before I can say another word. Gripping my naked shoulders in his palms, his green eyes roam all over my face.

“Don’t you see, Gemma?” His voice is strained, stressing the importance of his words. “You let
them
scare you.”

I try to understand what he is telling me.
Them
. There’s that word again.

“Who is
them
?” I ask this time, determined to get an answer.

His eyes narrow as he drops his hands from me. “Everyone else,” he mumbles as he turns away from me.

I watch him as he moves across the bright white space. As Phillipe disappears through a door on the other side, I’m left wondering if I am supposed to follow.

Making my way across firm carpet, I reach the small door where he has exited.

Stepping through the entryway, I notice right away that this room is different. It’s just as large. I assume that these rooms use to be the wine cellars. Phillipe must have converted a different space for that though. As I move farther into the room, stepping onto hardwood floor, my eyes are drawn to the paintings hanging up on the far brick wall.

There, directly in front of me, are what I can only assume are the originals from Phillipe’s series. The six pieces he painted of Chantel are displayed at the opposite end of the dimly lit room. Each one is larger than life, and each one is illuminated with a picture light.

They are resplendent, and I am enraptured.

***

Phillipe watches Gemma from the far right corner of the space. He has purposefully left the room in shadows, so he could gauge her reaction unnoticed, wanting to witness the moment she first looks upon the collection.

He knows that seeing it in person for the first time is always a shock to the system. Many have described it as breathtaking, and now, it is revered as haunting.

To him though, it will always be beauty.

Six portraits, each thirty-six inches by twenty-four, line the far brick wall in silent repose. Each one is lit by a picture light secured above the frame, and each of them holds him ensnared whenever he comes down to look upon them.

Right now, however, Phillipe finds himself intrigued by a petite blonde shrouded in a white towel. She hasn’t seen him since she stepped into the room. As she makes her way closer to the paintings, he can sense her fascination with what is before her.

“It hurts to look at her, doesn’t it?” he asks, watching as she turns to look at him over her shoulder.

He pushes himself away from the wall and makes his way toward her. Gemma keeps her wary eyes locked to his as he moves closer. When he finally stops beside her, shoulder to shoulder, he looks down to where she has turned her head to peer at him.

“She would play her violin in the room next door, and I would come down here to sketch,” he explains.

Gemma turns her head back to stare at the paintings on the wall. “These are simply magnificent, Phillipe,” she whispers in awe. She takes a step closer before looking at him over her shoulder. “May I?”

Phillipe nods once and remains where he is. He tries to remind himself that there is no reason he should feel guilty about being bound by one woman who is becoming entranced by another.

***

 
“Guilty?” her voice seeped into his mind. “What are you guilty of?”

“Everything,” he confessed as he stroked a hand down her cheek.

“Do you see the lights over there?” she asked.

He closed his eyes, blocking out what she was telling him.

“You don’t see lights over there, Chantel. You can’t see anything,” he told her gently.

“Just like you can’t be guilty,” she whispered.

He watched her wet lips part on a soft sigh.

“Don’t let them make a villain out of you. Don’t let them break you.”

Leaning down, he pressed his lips to her wet ones, knowing what she was trying to tell him, but the truth was the lights were there.

He raised his mouth from hers and looked into her sightless eyes. “You can’t break a man that’s already broken.”

***

I can’t believe that I am standing in a room with the original six pieces from
The Blind Vision Collection
. I move as close as I dare, and I turn to look over my shoulder at the artist—a man so complicated that I am starting to realize I haven’t even begun to scratch the surface.

He’s watching
me
as I look at
her
, and I find that I like it. His eyes glance over my naked shoulders, and he frowns before quietly turning to walk away.

“I’ll be back in a minute, Gemma. Take your time,” he informs me as he exits out into the music room.

Left alone with Chantel, I turn back to face the paintings. I move over in front of
Armor
, the same image I have been posing for. It’s easy to see that Phillipe was fascinated with her by the way he made the light fall upon her, creating shadows along each sensuous curve of her body.

Each stroke was executed with such care and love that I feel as if I am witnessing it being painted. He’s captured the luminescence of her skin with such perfection that I can’t help but move closer. Once again drawn to her in a way I’ve yet to understand or make sense of, I stroke my fingers down her arm.

From the slope of her breasts down to her tight hard nipples, her skin almost glows, making her appear ethereal in nature, but it’s also the darkness he’s captured in the pose that’s so eloquent in its meaning. It’s as though you can’t tell where she ends and the shadows begin. You can only see what he has decided to show you.

She appears strong and brave as she holds the one thing that makes her formidable in her own right, and that’s the Stradivarius.

I don’t realize how caught up in the painting I’ve become until I hear a thud behind me. Snatching my hand back as if I were just burned, I turn to see that Phillipe is back, and he’s carrying a wooden chair. He places it right behind a small plush rug, the only covering on the wooden floors.

“What do you think?” he asks, moving to sit.

I find I have no words for him.
How do you tell someone that his creations are the most painful and beautiful objects you have ever looked upon?

Instead of talking, I stand motionless in my towel and wait for him to do something,
anything
.

“Come here, Gemma,” he commands quietly.

I don’t know what I’m feeling at this moment. As I look at him sitting there in the low lights with his slightly spread jean-clad legs and his dark hair brushing the collar of his sweater, I find myself moving toward him.
I want to touch him, and I want him to touch me.

Slowly, I walk to where he is sitting, facing
Armor
. I stop before him as his eyes move up the white towel, over my breasts, and finally rest on my face.

Once again, he raises his hand, and in a gesture that is now familiar, he crooks his finger. “Come closer, Gemma.”

Like a dream in the night, I find I have no choice.

***

As Gemma stands before him, Phillipe can see
her
behind Gemma, and that’s all it takes for his desire to magnify.

Raising his eyes to Gemma, who is now staring down at him, he brings his legs together. Softly, he invites, “Sit with me.”

He watches as she lets her eyes fall to his lap, and then she glances back to his face. He places his hand on his thigh. Coaxing suggestively, he says, “Turn around, Gemma, and sit here on my lap. Tell me what you see.”

He isn’t sure if she will do as he asks. She licks her lips and pivots on her heel. He lets out a deep breath as she sits down on his lap, her towel-covered ass firmly seated on his thighs. Raising his hands, he places them on her waist and pulls her back against him until her sweet curves are molded to his front.

Lowering his chin to her shoulder, he looks at
Armor
. He repeats his original request, “Tell me what you see when you look at her.”

He feels her take in a breath of air, before she releases it softly before wriggling a little closer.