Descended (The Red Blindfold Book 2) (3 page)

“Voilà. Sorry
again!” he said, and disappeared into the kitchen.

Marc glanced at the
piece of paper, looked away, and looked back. My heart froze.

I’d forgotten all
about it.

I’d wanted to forget.
I hadn’t wanted to heed the warning.

My mind raced back to
the morning at the chateau when I’d found the boxes of books in
Marc’s closet. The yellowed pages, the erotic drawings, and the
cryptic anonymous note that had fallen from the pages.

If
you find this then it’s probably too late for you...If you can
still think for yourself get away from him. You won’t have anything
left if you don’t.

It was too late for me
right now. That I knew for sure.

“What is it?” he
asked, his expression hardening.

I swallowed. “Nothing.”

I reached for it but he
held up a hand. Taking the piece of paper, he opened it slowly and
read the words inside.

“Nothing, indeed,”
he muttered, and set the note by his gleaming knife.

Though I tried to
speak, every lie and excuse caught in my throat. There was no way
out. I’d read something that didn’t belong to me, and when
threatened with being found out, I’d taken it. I couldn’t undo
what I’d done, or make it better.

“Don’t tell me,”
Marc said coldly. “You can explain.”

Feigning confidence, I
raised my chin. “Yes, I can.”

Arms crossed, he sat
back and gave me a dark, piercing stare. “Then, by all means,
Sophie. I’m very interested to know what you’re going to say.”

I remembered how I’d
felt when Marc knocked on the door. Confused, startled, scared.
Anything had seemed better than discovery.

But discovery like this
was far worse. Now all I had was the shameful truth.

“I saw a box of old
erotica books in the closet at the chateau,” I said. “I was
curious, that’s all.”

Marc pursed his lips.
“You were curious.”

“I’d never seen
books like that before. I wanted to know what was inside.”

“Ah,” he said, with
a nod. “You couldn’t help yourself. They were so forbidden and
exciting.”

Blood rose to my cheeks
and my heart fell. “Yes, they were.”

“No harm in looking
at some old books,” he said, but his tone was sinister. “Go on.”

I forced myself to hold
his gaze. “The note was inside one of them, stuck between the
pages.”

“And you saw it by
chance?”

“Yes. Just by
chance.”

“But you didn’t put
it back where you found it, did you? You took it out and read it.”

“I’m not sure why,”
I said. “I didn’t know it was this – secret thing. It was just
there.”

I sat in excruciating
silence while our waiter brought the wine, poured a taste for Marc,
and filled our glasses. As soon as he turned to go, Marc’s false
smile faded.

“So, you took the
note from one of my books and read it, and now ‘this secret thing’
is sitting on a table in Paris. How exactly did that happen?”

I took a sip of wine,
then chased it with two more. “You knocked on the door and said it
was time to leave. I didn’t know what to do with it. I panicked.”

He watched me, not
blinking, his expression ominous and his brows low.

“Did you know about
it, or –” I stopped to take a breath. “– did somebody put it
inside the book?”

“Yes, I knew about
it,” he said flatly. “An ex-girlfriend wrote it and left it in my
bedroom drawer, where I assume she thought another woman might come
across it. I found it and put it in the book myself. A few years ago
I took some things to store at my father’s house. I’d forgotten
the note was there until tonight.”

“You kept it?” I
half-whispered. “Why?”

“As a reminder,” he
said.

“Of what?”

His eyes were like
smoldering embers. “The reason I’d never dominate another woman.
But then I saw your picture and here you are, with the note that was
meant to stop me from what I’ve been doing for the last week.”

There it was again,
that bitter flood of shame. Yes, he’d chosen me, but he’d tried
to resist me. I’d gone into his room at the chateau and changed
everything, for both of us.

“I’m sorry,” I
said.

“No, Sophie. I am.”

He sipped his wine and
looked out the window, watching an older couple cross the street arm
in arm. When he turned his gaze back to me, his face shadowed again.

“I’ll tell you what
happened,” he said, “but I want to make something clear. If we’re
going to continue, this kind of deception can’t happen.”

“It wasn’t
deception,” I said, matching his cool tone. “I hardly knew you
when I found it, and then I forgot about it.”

His mouth was a flat
line. “You’ve had the note for two weeks. You had it with you on
holiday. Since then, we’ve made love, argued, and agreed to be
together for the next ten days at least. You could have told the
truth at any time.”

Tired of being scolded
for a simple mistake, I crossed my arms. “I didn’t know how.”

“Of course you did.
You chose not to. We had an agreement, remember? No secrets.”

No
secrets.
Suddenly it all seemed so outrageously one-sided.
“You weren’t honest with me, either,” I said, but tone low but
clipped. “You didn’t tell me about your role in bringing me
here.”

“I did, last night.”

“Ten days late. And
you danced around the truth when you could have told me about this
woman, whoever she is. If we agree to no secrets, it can’t be
required for me and optional for you.”

I saw a hint of a
smile. He read the note again and tucked it inside the pocket of his
jacket. “Maybe you’re right,” he said.

“Maybe?”

“I didn’t want to
scare you off by mentioning her or my contact with your editor. I’m
sorry. I should have told you anyway.”

He’d agreed so
quickly, I felt almost deflated. “Thank you.”

Head tilted, he
considered me for a minute. “You’re not like any other woman I’ve
known. You have a mind that demands constant vigilance.”

“I demand fairness,
Marc. That’s all.”

“Being submissive
means things won’t be fair.”

“Physically, maybe
that’s true,” I said. “But you said it yourself last night –
we’re equals in every other way. Shouldn’t that mean we’re
honest with each other?”

The fire in his eyes
had died out, leaving a cool gray hue. “Yes, it should. Your point
is well taken.”

The waiter brought our
appetizers. I looked down at my plate, a beautifully arranged
half-circle of seared scallops with pea puree. Gathering what little
nerve I had left, I took a bite and swallowed. “What was her name?”

His eyebrows lifted.
“Do you really want to know?”

“Yes.”

“All right,” he
said, leaving his plate untouched. “Her name was Lydia Forster. We
were together about eight years ago. I didn’t love her, I wasn’t
even that drawn to her, but she let me act out my desires with her.
It was selfish and immoral, and I’d give anything to take it back.”

“Why did she write
the note?”

His jaw tightened, but
his expression didn’t change. “Because our relationship destroyed
her.”

“Destroyed her? What
do you mean?”

“I didn’t know how
fragile she was and I didn’t care. I was too young and
self-centered. She became so dependent on my dominance, she couldn’t
function without it. I realized she had deeper problems that had
nothing to do with me. When I ended it, she broke things in my
apartment and called Eleanor at three in the morning. She wanted me
to beat her. She offered to find other lovers for me. It was
demeaning for us both. After she went back to England, she sent a lot
of angry letters that I absolutely deserved. I read every one but I
didn’t respond. I didn’t think it was good for her to keep in
contact with me.”

I put my fork down. It
was almost too much to take in at once. Just the thought of him
touching another woman made me feel sick. “Where is she now?”

“Still here, as far
as I know,” he said.

“She’s
here
?”

Yes,” he said,
slicing into his beef carpaccio. “Married with a daughter. I saw
her once at a party, but that was a few years ago.”

“Why do you think
what happened was your fault?”

He let out a short,
heavy sigh. “Our relationship had to be a factor. After that
happened I really saw my similarity to Sade. I didn’t stop being
dominant because I was afraid I might become like him – I already
was
like him. I still
am.”

I took his hand across
the table. “You’re nothing like him, Marc. You know, you’re not
the only man in the world who likes ropes and whips.”

Turning up his palm, he
threaded his fingers through mine. “My family history changes
everything. I have a responsibility to understand my motivations. I
can’t act with no thought for other people, no matter how tempting
it is.”

The waiter came to
clear our plates and refill our wine. Once he was gone Marc retreated
to safer topics, asking me questions about articles I’d written and
the college I’d gone to in Boston.

When I tried to steer
the conversation back to him he said, “We’ve dwelled on me
enough.”

And just like that, the wall was
back up, higher and harder than ever before.

After dessert and
coffee we returned to the apartment. Marc showed me photographs of
his trips to Brazil and South Africa, and I showed him pictures of my
assignment in Alaska. I could almost see the heat wavering between my
thigh and his as we sat together on the sofa. Any minute now he would
kiss me, unhook my garters, and take me to bed to ruin me.

Except that he didn’t.

“Well, I’ve got
wall-to-wall meetings tomorrow,” he said, squeezing my knee and
getting up. “I should get a few hours of sleep.”

I brushed my teeth,
then he brushed his. He got into bed wearing boxers and an old Oasis
t-shirt that showed the muscled slope of his chest. I took off
everything but the panties I’d worn all day just for him. He
watched, eyelids low, as I slipped under the sheets.

“You have amazing
skin,” he said. “Like alabaster. It emphasizes the rose color of
your nipples.”

At his words, blood
rushed to my abdomen. Already I was slick and open for him. If the
sound of his voice excited me this much, I might explode when he
touched me.

I slid up next to him
just as he reached for the lamp and switched it off. “Good night,”
he said.

“You’re going to
sleep?” He wasn’t serious. He couldn’t be. He was baiting me to
see whether I’d argue or submit.

“I have to be sharp
at work. Do you need anything? Water? An extra duvet?”

I could hardly force
out an answer. “No. Thank you.”

After giving me a kiss,
he slung an arm across my stomach and fell instantly to sleep, his
breathing slow and even. I stared at the ceiling, miserably aroused,
humiliation scouring my insides.

This was worse than
being cuffed to the bed. At least then I’d made the choice myself.
I’d proven how strong I was.

But tonight, I was
weak. Weak and tormented by questions.

Why wouldn’t he make
love to me? Was it punishment for keeping Lydia’s note? For
demanding honesty? Was he getting tired of me?

“Marc,” I
whispered. “Are you awake?”

He didn’t move. Maybe
he hadn’t heard me, or he just refused to.

Pride in shreds, I lay
seething under his arm. The worst pain of all wasn’t deception or a
night on the floor, but being ignored. And there was nothing I could
do, no safe word that would wake him up and change his mind.

No matter what we’d
said at dinner about honesty and equality, he was in charge and we
both knew it.

That was how my body
wanted it. Or so I’d believed until now.

He woke me the next
morning by sitting on the bed and resting his hand lightly on my
shoulder. “Hey,” he said, stroking my hair back from my forehead.

I blinked away the hazy
vestiges of a dream, something about wandering through his father’s
chateau at night, searching for an unlocked door. “What time is
it?”

“Almost eight.”

When I smiled, he
smiled back. My heart lifted in my chest. The Marc I knew I was back
again.

He was dressed for work
in a slim suit and black shirt without a tie. His hair was still damp
from the shower and he smelled faintly of bergamot soap. He looked so
deadly handsome, so sleek and dangerous, I wouldn’t have been
surprised if he’d awakened me to say that he was an assassin.

“Are you leaving for
the office?” I asked, stretching out my arms toward him.

“In a few minutes.”

“Come back to bed.”

“My first meeting is
in half an hour,” he said, unhooking my hands from around his
waist. “I just wanted to tell you that we have plans for tonight.
We’ll eat dinner up the street and then go out.”

“Okay. Where are we
going?”

“Across town.”

I smiled sleepily. “Mm,
sounds mysterious. What are we doing across town?”

“You’ll see when we
get there,” he said, glancing at his heavy stainless steel watch.

“You can’t give me
a hint?”

He sighed, shaking his
head impatiently. In an instant, my hopes that last night was over
were dashed.

“What?” I asked,
going up on my elbows. “It’s normal to ask where we’re going,
isn’t it?”

“Maybe in an ordinary
relationship, but our relationship isn’t ordinary. Did you forget
our agreement again?” His eyes gleamed, their centers sooty and
dilated. He seemed on edge, but amused. He was getting sadistic
enjoyment from goading me.

“I didn’t agree to
never ask questions. I didn’t agree to stop having my own mind.”

Eyebrows raised, he
adjusted his left cufflink. “You know, I’m starting to wonder if
you can ever be subdued,” he said in an offhand tone.