Descended (The Red Blindfold Book 2) (21 page)

“Yes.” I blinked
away a snowflake that landed in my lashes. “How long have you been
in town? Why didn’t you call?”

“A few days. I wanted
to talk to you in person.”

Though he was still the
hottest man I’d ever seen, something about him had changed. He
seemed more relaxed, less driven. I almost expected him to tell me
that he’d found the submissive of his dreams and eloped to a
tropical island.

“What happened with
the case?” he asked. “I told the prosecutor I could fly in to
testify but I never heard from anyone.”

“It’s over,” I
said, feeling little of the bitterness that had plagued me in the
weeks after the prosecutor’s call. “They said the case was too
weak. No witnesses, my past relationship with Trevor, all the things
in your apartment.”

Marc shut his eyes
briefly. “I’m so sorry, Sophie. What happened that day still
tears me up. I’ll never forgive myself for it.”

I shook my head,
suddenly feeling stronger than I had in a long time. “You have to.
Maybe the case didn’t go anywhere, but I don’t need to worry
about seeing Trevor anymore. He’s moving to Asia. Already moved,
actually.”

Marc didn’t say
anything; he just nodded slowly. I frowned and looked closely into
his face.

His look of triumph,
his slight, somber smile – this wasn’t the first time he’d
heard about Trevor’s job. It couldn’t be. “Wait a minute,” I
said. “Do you know about this?”

He shrugged. “Let’s
just say I’ve come to New York more than once since you left
France.”

I could hardly keep my
mouth from dropping open. “What did you do?”

“Nothing much. I had
lunch with Trevor’s boss, who knows one of my partners from a
start-up they worked for years ago. He was concerned to hear that his
employee strong-armed his way into my apartment and harassed someone
I care about. He agreed it would be best to send Trevor to a small
branch of the company where he can be monitored closely. I didn’t
want him fired because then he’d stay in New York. The point was to
get him away from you. For a long time.”

Seconds went by before
I could speak. “Did you tell anyone about –”

Marc shook his head.
“Nobody knows anything specific. And the only thing Trevor knows is
that karma’s a bitch.”

Yes, it was. Maybe life
had a way of giving us exactly what we deserved.

Overwhelmed with
gratitude, I smiled. Marc had done it for me. He’d made sure I was
protected. He hadn’t done anything crazy, he’d just exercised his
options and erased Trevor from my life.

“God, Marc. I don’t
know what to say.”

“That’s how his
parents reacted when Trevor’s boss called them yesterday. He
thought they should know why he was transferred, and why he won’t
work in his industry again if he comes back. And if that sounds like
a trial without a jury, tough. I still might file suit against him,
just to drain his bank account and watch him squirm.”

I couldn’t help
feeling a glow of relief. Trevor hadn’t gotten away scot-free,
after all. Marc had made sure of it. “And I thought
I
wanted revenge,” I said.

“If you want more,
just say the word. I’m sure I can figure out some creative ways to
make his life hell.”

I laughed. “That’s
quite an offer. Thank you.”

“I just wish I could
undo what he did to you. I wish I could undo a lot of things.” He
took a step closer, making me feel small even in heels. “The last
few months – my life is different, Sophie.”

“What do you mean?”

“My father’s
near-death experience had quite the effect on him. He hasn’t had a
drop to drink since his accident, for one thing. And he’s asked to
hear about my mother’s letters to her lover. He’s ready to see
his marriage for what it was.”

“That’s good news,”
I said. “I know it was important to you.”

Marc smiled, his eyes
searching mine. “But the most interesting part is that he can’t
keep anything to himself anymore, even things he kept quiet for
years.”

My teeth began to
chatter lightly, from nerves as much as cold. “Really?”

“I think you
understand what I’m talking about,” he said. “Don’t you?”

There was no mistaking
what he meant. Somehow, he knew. I’d done exactly as Eleanor asked,
and it hadn’t protected him from anything.

“Marc, please forgive
me,” I said. “I didn’t mean to find out – actually, that’s
not true. I saw a note from your mother that hinted at something to
do with you. I used looking for the lost letter as an excuse to go
through your father’s things. It was a terrible thing to do. I
should have told you.”

“No,” he said,
grabbing my half-frozen hands. “You did nothing wrong.”

“I promised Eleanor
I’d never say anything. She said it would devastate you.”

“She told me,” he
said. “We’ve had a lot of heated discussions about it. They’re
still my family and that’ll never change, but honesty is first with
me. They know that now.”

“I think she was
trying to do what’s best for you.”

“She was trying to do
what’s best for herself, but at least she’s being straight with
me now. It’s a start.”

I couldn’t help but
feel vindicated. Eleanor may have silenced me, but she hadn’t
counted on her father’s change of heart. “How did her auction
go?” I asked.

“It hasn’t
happened, and I don’t think it will. We didn’t expect so much
publicity to come from what you wrote. I don’t know how much you’ve
heard, but it generated a lot of controversy in Europe about her
plans to sell French heirlooms to some foreign billionaire looking
for a trophy. It made her think about what matters. It’s funny –
now everybody knows I’m a descendent of Sade’s just when it turns
out I’m not. But people can think what they like. I know what the
truth is.”

I smiled at him. “You
really
have
changed,
haven’t you?”

“Yes,” he said,
rubbing his gloved thumbs over my knuckles. “You and I have a lot
in common, losing our mothers young. But what we had – I always
knew it was deeper than sex. I knew it the first time I met you.”

He looked at me as if a
gaze alone could wipe out months of confusion and heartbreak. “This
is going to sound crazy, and it probably is. I want you to come back
with me.”

They were the words I’d
been longing to hear for weeks -- and they scared the hell out of me.
“Marc…”

“For a week or two,”
he broke in. “Just to see.”

“To see what?” I
asked, wrenching my hands free. “If you change your mind about me
again?”

“No,” he said. “To
see if you change yours.”

“But you said…my
effect on you…”

Snow swirled around us,
giving me the eerie sense that I was dreaming. “Your effect on me
is the same, but I’m not,” he said. “I’ve been operating
under an illusion half my life. Finding out who I was – I finally
had to stop blaming other people for my actions. It’s been a hard
couple of months. Hard and long overdue.”

“So, trying to be
someone else? That’s over?”

“Yes,” he said,
without hesitation. “I’m done lying to myself, and to you. You’re
strong enough to decide what you want.”

Dean was looking on
from the table, light reflecting off his high forehead.
I could almost hear his thoughts as he sat watching us.
I
should have known she was a dud when she didn’t ask questions about
my poetry.

“I don’t know,” I
said, turning back to Marc. “I have a career. I have a life.”

It wasn’t much of a
life without him, but I’d spent almost four months scrapping and
struggling for it. I couldn’t give it up that quickly, without
taking time to think.

“I understand. I put
you through a lot.”

“Not just me. Both of
us.”

He slid his fingers
around my upper arms. I hadn’t realized I was shivering until I
felt his warmth through my dress. “Can you get away from work for a
few days?”

“Maybe,” I said. “I
just…who are you now? Which man would I be going back to Paris
with?”

He leaned forward and
pressed his cheek to mine. “You already know, Pet,” he whispered,
his words like fire against my ear. “You knew as soon as you saw me
tonight.”

Pet
.
Though my heart threatened to melt in my chest, I had to be careful.
I reacted to those three letters the way other women did to the word
“love.”

“I have to go,” I
said, stepping backward out of his grasp. “I’m sorry.”

He clutched my wrist.
“Meet me at JFK tomorrow night, eight o’clock, the Air France
terminal. I have a ticket for you. Now, hug me like an old friend. We
wouldn’t want your date to think you’re flirting with someone
else. I’ve been in his shoes, and it’s no fun at all.”

I put my arms around
his neck and sank against him, thinking of nothing, wanting nothing.
All I could feel was his heat and his strength. The world could have
ended and I’d have gone on holding him until we were dragged apart.

“Eight o’clock
tomorrow,” he said when I finally pulled away. “I’ll be waiting
for you.”

Brushing the snow from
my hair, I turned toward the door of the restaurant.

When I looked back,
Marc was gone.

One week later…

I’ve been back in
Paris for six days. And still Marc will not make love to me.

“No,” he says,
gently pushing me away. “Not yet.”

“When?” I ask.

“When it’s time.
You’ll be the first to know when I decide.”

He goes to the office
for a few hours, comes back, and takes me shopping, spending the
entire afternoon helping me choose lingerie and jewelry. But he won’t
let me wear any of it, won’t even glance in my direction if I defy
him and emerge from the bathroom wearing a satin merry widow with the
leather collar around my neck.

“I have work to do,”
he says. He’s sitting on the bed with his legs stretched in front
of him, eyes fixed on his iPad.

“You won’t look?
Even for a second?”

“I don’t have to,”
he says. “I’m hard just hearing your voice.”

I’m not allowed to
come to bed naked.

Every night before we
go to sleep he gives me a single kiss, the one thing that sustains me
and gives me hope.

“Things will be
different from now on,” he says that night as we lie in the dark.

“How?”

“There’s nothing in
our way anymore. The guilt and shame are gone. So is my reserve. It
means our relationship will become very intense.”

“It was intense
before,” I say.

“But until now, we’ve
just been playing at domination and submission, haven’t we?”

“It was playing when
you cropped me and tied me up?”

He strokes my back with
long, soothing caresses. “Our physical connection is only part of
it. The mental element is even more important. If you aren’t
emotionally submissive to me, then you aren’t mine at all.”

“Emotionally
submissive – you mean, you tell me what to do and I do it? I
thought you weren’t interested in that.”

“I’m not. I’m
talking about trust, Sophie. Knowing you’ve given me every part of
yourself. That you trust me with your life.”

“I’ve shown that,
haven’t I?”

“Face me,” he says.
“I want to look at you.”

I turn over and slide
closer to him, my face inches from his. I can feel the warmth
radiating from his golden skin.

“I want you to
imagine something, okay?” he says. “Imagine that, a day after
meeting me, I sat at dinner with you and came on to someone else to
make you jealous.”

“But that was months
ago, and –”

“Just listen. And
then imagine I had an ex-girlfriend who came to Paris to see me, and
I didn’t tell you about it. And after she caused a lot of trouble
for us, you found me with the waitress who’d served us dinner. Four
months later when you flew halfway across the world to see me, you
discovered that I was having dinner with yet another woman. How would
you feel? Would you start to wonder if you could trust me?”

My stomach roils with
shame. If I hadn’t tried to get a reaction from him, or protect him
from the truth, or forget how much I loved him, none of those things
would have happened.

But now I understand.
With his background, seeing the woman who raised him cheat and lie,
it’s no wonder he’s lost faith in me.

“I’m sorry,” I
say. “I’m surprised you trust me at all.”

“I’ll be honest,
Sophie. It’s difficult. But I’d like to change that.”

“How?”

“It’ll take more
than letting me bind you. I’ll need your absolute faith and
obedience.”

I feel the strange
thrill of fear, anxiety tinged with head-spinning anticipation. “I
promise I won’t do those things again,” I say.

“I want to see that
promise put into action,” he says, and kisses me. I open my mouth
for him, rubbing against him to tempt a hard-on, but he’s
unaffected.

“It’s been almost a
week,” I whisper, running my hand along his jaw.

“And before that,
almost four months,” he says. “We can wait a little longer. I
want to be sure you’re ready.”

“I am,” I insist.
“Completely.”

“Maybe,” he says, turning over
to sleep. “We’ll see.”

We’re going somewhere
– that much I know.

In the morning, I find
a note on the nightstand.
Be
ready at seven, M.

There’s a silk blouse
and navy miniskirt on top of the dresser, along with the usual sexy
accompaniments – sheer stockings, lace bikini panties, and a
matching corset with Swarovski crystals sewn along the bodice.

Inside a drawstring
chiffon bag is a stunning emerald choker, more collar than necklace,
with heavy platinum links that make my throat look small and white.

I have an entire day
ahead with nothing to do but wonder what’s coming. There’s no way
to prepare except to do as I’m told.