High Score (9 page)

She waved at him, but he didn’t notice. Even flipping her headlights on and off got no response.
He must be daydreaming
, she thought. His attention was obviously somewhere else. Before she caught up to him, three other cars slipped in between them. Near the outskirts of town, the other cars swerved off on their own routes, and she closed the gap.

Thor, wearing a black leather jacket, rode his motorcycle as though he was part of the powerful machine. Even at this distance, his machismo surrounded him like an aura.

About two miles out of town, he turned into a driveway and parked next to a ranch-style house. She rolled to a stop behind him and cut her engine and lights. When she got out, he stood facing her with a smile slowly spreading across his face.

“I was just thinking about you!” he said.

“I tried to catch you at the store, but missed you.”

He strode forward to meet her and opened his arms. She slid into his embrace as naturally as if they’d never quarreled.

Tipping her head back in order to see his face, she gave him a narrow-eyed look. “I left you a half a dozen messages. I had hoped you would call back, but finally gave up waiting.”

“It wasn’t a dozen.”

“So? Who’s counting? I needed to talk to you, to apologize for the misunderstanding.”

“I’m the one who’s sorry. I was rude to stomp out like I did.”

“You had a good reason.”

He nuzzled her neck. “I like how you smell…peaches and cream.”

The feel of his arms tightening around her made her breath catch. His jacket hung open, so she snuggled closer, slipping her arms inside to circle his waist. She inhaled his male scent. The sheer power of his raw magnetism set her trembling. Why did she find him so irresistible? Was it because their relationship was forbidden? From the time she’d been a child, she’d known that stolen cookies tasted much better than any other kind. Was that what tantalized her so?

He stepped back and ran his gaze up and down her form. “I like you in that outfit. Open your jacket and show it off. Mmm, very feminine!”

She’d forgotten he’d only seen her in casual clothes. The long, blue sheath dress was one she usually reserved for special occasions. “Rita threw a shower for me this evening.”

“Ah, yes. I remember. Did you have strippers?”

“No. Like you told us—there’s none to be had around here. Except for the Bad Boys.”

“Sorry about that.” With an arm around her waist, he led her toward the front entrance of the house. “Shelley, the reason I didn’t return your calls was because you have a fiancé. Your wedding date is set.”

Shame slapped her like a cold, wet rag. “I know. I shouldn’t even be here.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad you’re here.” He stopped and pulled her into his arms once more. “I’ve thought about nothing but you. How you feel, how you taste…” He covered her face with kisses—her cheeks, her eyes, her lips.

How she wanted to forget everything and lose herself in the joy of being with him, of pressing close to him, of filling her senses with him. But her conscience protested. She placed her palms against his chest and forced some distance between them. “You must think I’m…horrible.”

“No. I don’t think that.” He lifted her chin with gentle fingers. “It didn’t feel right instigating a meeting with you. But now you’re here, I don’t want to let you go.”

“I shouldn’t have come, but I owed you an explanation. I don’t blame you one bit for being mad at me.”

“I was disappointed,” he admitted. “But I’ve given it some thought. Now I know the score, I think I can handle it.” Keeping an arm around her, he herded her toward the porch steps. “Come inside. We can talk there.”

He unlocked the door, ushered her into the entry hall, and hung their jackets on a coat rack.

“You have a nice house.” She glanced around at the Americana-style furnishings in the living room. Nothing she saw suggested the owner sold sex toys and risqué books.

“Thanks. Sit down. Would you like something to drink?”

“Okay.” She sank onto the sofa and laced her fingers together on her lap to keep from wringing them nervously.

He walked over to a liquor cabinet next to the fireplace. “Brandy?”

“That’s fine.” Every nerve in her body had become as taut as a string in a bow. A war raged inside her. Her life had careened out of control. No, more accurately, her mutinous emotions had gotten out of control.

She’d come to apologize, but she wasn’t really as sorry as she should be. Two-timing Dickie was wrong, she knew that. And she should never have let things go as far as they had with Thor. But every nerve and cell in her body clamored for more of him.

What am I going to do?

Rather than pouring drinks immediately, Thor knelt at the hearth. “Maybe I should get a fire going in here. It’s a bit chilly.”

A trio of thick oak branches nestled atop the kindling in the fireplace, just awaiting a match. Real wood, not ceramic logs stacked over a propane burner. He touched off a wad of paper under the kindling, and very quickly, tongues of flame began wrapping themselves around the branches.

A large black cat strolled out of another room and jumped up on the sofa.

Failing in her efforts to relax, Shelley sought a diversion by petting the cat.

“That’s Spook.” Thor brought over a tray with glasses and a decanter of liquor.

Spook rubbed against her, purring loudly. She scratched the cat behind its ears.

“You’re an enigma, Thor,” she said, accepting a glass of brandy. “My grandmother would be comfortable in this house. You have a cat. You seem so…”

“Ordinary?” He grinned and lifted the cat down to the floor to make room for himself next to her. Once seated, he stretched out his long legs, crossing them at the ankles.

“No, I didn’t mean that. It’s just the disparity. This house is the antithesis of—”

“It’s in the basement.”

She frowned, perplexed. “What’s in the basement?”

“The room I decorated just for special guests. Want to see it?” The wicked gleam in his eye set off alarms.

“I don’t know. Do I?” She laughed nervously.

He stood up, extending a hand toward her. “Bring your drink with you. You’re going to love this. It’s my pride and joy.”

Feeling both curious and wary, she rose and followed him down a short hall. A staircase headed downward, disappearing into darkness. He flipped a light switch at the top, but the black paint on the walls absorbed most of the light. Apprehension sent a tingle up her spine. He wouldn’t have a dungeon down there, would he?

“What is it?” Tentatively, she followed him down the steps. “A museum displaying gadgets once owned by the Marquis de Sade?”

He laughed. “Not quite. I have probably the largest collection of ceremonial phalluses in the west. Plus, some other interesting antiques.”

He turned a corner into the main room and flipped another switch. Spotlights glowed inside showcases filled with objects, none of which she could identify from a distance.

“You do have a museum!” she said. “Am I psychic or what?”

“Definitely psychic.” He preceded her into the dimly lit room.

The black walls and carpeting isolated the highlighted displays, making them appear as though floating in space. To keep from tripping over something as she walked through the shadows, Shelley slipped her hand into the crook of Thor’s elbow. He led her to the nearest showcase.

“Oh, my gosh!” She gazed in awe at an array of dildos lying in the showcase.

Some were long and thick, others were short and stubby. All of them triggered a feeling of unease in the pit of her stomach.

“That one is carved from ebony,” he said, pointing to the first item. “The next one is green steatite, polished to a smooth finish. That one over there is made of bone—very old.”

“Who made them?”

“Ancient people. Some of these are hundreds of years old. They come from all over, Asia, Africa, South America. The steatite phallus is Native American, as is the wooden one over there.”

“I’m going to ask a stupid question. What did they use them for? I mean, are they actually, ah, sex toys?”

“I’m not certain about all of them. But mostly they were used in ceremonies. Or so the experts believe.” He opened the sliding door in back and withdrew the carved wood phallus. “The Indians used this one during a special rite of passage for a bride before her wedding. The Shaman broke through the girl’s hymen, thus increasing the chances of a more pleasant wedding night for the couple. Possibly, the groom didn’t know any more about procreation than the bride, so the Shaman had to instruct them.”

“Interesting.” The thought of having the large phallus shoved up inside her made Shelley want to cross her legs.

The look of quiet wonder on Thor’s face as he gripped the phallus in his fist and stroked the smooth wood with the fingers of his other hand made her think he would make a good Shaman—or would enjoy playing the role of one.

“In a way,” she said, “it’s odd that our modern society doesn’t do more to initiate a bride and groom before their wedding.”

“I agree. By the time they seek counseling or go to a divorce lawyer, it’s too late. According to surveys, many women never experience orgasm. If there wasn’t such a stigma against viewing adult material, people could overcome a lot of their inhibitions by reading books and watching videos, not to mention experimenting with sex aids. Sexually satisfied couples have better luck building strong marriages. That’s my opinion, for what it’s worth.”

“Makes sense to me.”

Thor grinned and held the phallus up to catch the light. “Since you’re soon to be a bride, maybe I should initiate you into marriage?”

She backed away. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Yes, I am.” He laughed. “If I was going to initiate you, I wouldn’t use this. Who knows where it’s been?” Carefully, he replaced it in the case.

“What’s this?” Shelley asked, gesturing down toward the floor where she’d spotted a strange piece of furniture made of carved wood and pads of heavy woven fabric. “I almost tripped over it!”

“A spanking chair from the Middle East. See how it works? You lay across this padded bench and rest your head down there. Your knees are locked in place here. Those are wrist straps. Once you’re secured in place, your skirts are raised, exposing your rump. They might use a whip or quirt, like one of these hanging on the wall, to inflict a just punishment.”

“Just?” Picturing how helpless she would feel in the contraption made Shelley’s toes curl. “Doesn’t sound particularly
just
to me. Humiliating, maybe.”

“Humiliation serves well as punishment sometimes.”

“Who do you suppose got spanked on that?”

“Maybe children or slaves or…naughty wives.”

“What a chauvinistic attitude!” She gave a sniff of disdain.

“Of course it is. The world has been chauvinistic much longer than not. In fact, there’s only a small percentage of women today who enjoy equality with the men in society.”

“I suppose you’re right. Do you think they still have spanking chairs in use today?”

“Probably.”

Shelley shuddered. “Why do you own a thing like that? It’s not a sex aid.”

“You’d be surprised how many people get turned on by a good spanking.” Thor gazed into her eyes. “Like you, for instance.”

“I do not!” She pressed a hand to her chest. Underneath her palm, her heart hammered wildly.

“Your breathing changed when I started talking about spanking women. Your eyes took on a look of…fascination.”

“You imagined it.” She stared at him, unable to break visual contact or to control her quickened breathing. Was he some sort of hypnotist? Why couldn’t she move?

He smiled slowly. “I suspect you would love to try it out.”

She wanted to deny his claim, but felt paralyzed or drugged. A strange lethargy crept up her limbs and pervaded her body.

He carefully took the drink out of her hand and set it on the showcase. Taking her by the shoulders, he gently swiveled her toward the strange chair. “Lie face down across this bench. Rest your head right there.”

The next thing she knew, her cheek was pressed against the cushion meant for that purpose. She hadn’t felt any pressure from his hands, pushing or maneuvering her into place. No, he had told her what to do, and she had simply complied. It was like she had no will of her own. She felt oddly calm, considering what she feared was going to happen. No, not fear.
Anticipation
.

Why was she going along with this ridiculous game?

Her head was only a few inches off the floor. Her hips, however, were much higher, supported by the padded bench. Thor’s hands were warm on her legs as he slid her narrow skirt up her thighs past her hips, then spread her knees to lock them in place.

Shelley sighed, feeling helpless yet relaxed. Thor was going to do something to her—she wasn’t sure what. He’d spoken of whips and quirts in terms of punishment, but if he changed his mind and decided to do something else, she wouldn’t be able to stop him.

He moved in front of her, tugging her hands into position and strapping her wrists to the wooden frame. They didn’t hurt unless she tried to pull loose.