Shocking Pink (24 page)

R
aven could barely contain her excitement as she walked along beside David Sadler. The Gatehouse development was fabulous; the kind of project she had dreamed of being a part of. A community made up of wooded cul-de-sac lots starting at three-quarters of an acre. The development bordered a natural stream on one side and a state park on the other. Gatehouse would be made up of homes of no less than thirty-five hundred square feet. The average, David predicted, would be forty-two hundred. Three different models were under way, two of them nearly structurally complete.

“The pool and clubhouse will be there.” He pointed past her to the left. “And over there—” he shifted a bit right “—the tennis courts. Come, I’ll show you through the houses.”

By the time they had finished the tour of the last—and most complete—model, Raven’s head was swimming with ideas, and she longed to be back at her shop, putting those ideas to paper and digging through catalogs and sample books.

The houses had taken her breath away. Soaring vertical spaces. More windows than walls. Vaulted ceilings with exposed beams and banks of skylights. Open-concept rooms that flowed one into the other, separated by columns and partial walls.

All they needed was the touch of a gifted designer. All they needed was her.

“What do you think so far?” David asked as they finished their tour in the kitchen of the last model.

“I’m more than impressed.” She moved her gaze over the room. “I’m blown away. And itching to get started.”

A smile touched his mouth. “That’s exactly what I’d hoped you’d say.” He went to the pantry and opened the door. It was a walk-in, big enough to house enough food for a small army. “In case you didn’t notice, throughout the house we included plenty of roomy closets and other storage spaces. You never know what you’re going to need to hide in them.”

Pathetic, Mr. X. You’ll have to try harder.
She arched an eyebrow, enjoying the advantage of knowing exactly what he was trying to do. “Maybe even children?” she murmured, her tone bland.

He looked surprised, then laughed. “You don’t like children?”

“They’re all right. I’ve never given them much thought.” She went to the bank of windows that looked out over the back of the property. This model was going to have a swimming pool; the ground had been cleared. “What decisions about the interior have you already made?”

“None.”

“None?” she repeated, incredulous. “Surely you’ve ordered flooring and light fixtures and—”

“Nothing.” He turned to her, smiling. He reached out and trailed a finger along the shoulder of her pewter-colored satin blouse. The garment’s flamboyant fabric was countered by its severe design. “I need it all, Raven. Everything.”

She didn’t flinch at his touch; she found it neither pleasant nor distasteful, more a curiosity. It was hard to believe that at one time she had thought this man almost a god. “All? What exactly are you referring to?”

“Window treatments, furnishings, accents. Everything. Potential buyers must walk into this home and see it as it could be, start to finish. We don’t have a lot of time, though.” He gestured around them. “As you can see, this model is about ready and I want to start selling sites as soon as possible.”

“That’s the name of the game, of course.”

“It’s your baby now, start to finish. With my approval of creative and budget, of course. Don’t worry, though, you’ll find I’m easy to please.”

She thought of what she knew about David Sadler and his particular tastes. “I rather doubt that.”

He laughed again, the sound silky smooth. “Any ideas yet? I’d love to hear them.”

“With pleasure,” Raven murmured, only too happy to give voice to the pictures in her head. “We can’t go too formal, not with all the windows in this one. I’d like to bring the outdoors inside even more. Wood floors throughout, with the exception of the kitchen, bathrooms and laundry area, which I see in an earthy-color tile.”

“Buyers like carpeting,” he murmured. “It’s warm. Sensual.”

“No problem. We carpet the bedrooms and the formal living room, a thick pile, something sumptuous. A light neutral. For the walls—” She paused a moment, thinking. “—there’s that wonderful khaki color that’s so popular this year. Combine that with white trim, tinted with the tiniest touch of lavender, and the walls will positively glow.

“We need painted wooden blinds in here, definitely. Maybe throughout.” She narrowed her eyes in thought. “I’m going to check into light fixtures made of that weathered iron. Brass would be too formal, too cold for this house. I’m thinking, too, of subtly distressed walls. I know a fabulous painter who’ll work cheap.”

She turned to David and found him watching her, his expression amused. She frowned. “Is something funny?”

“Not at all. You look excited.” He cocked his head to the side, studying her. “I like it when your eyes heat that way.”

“I love what I do. And as I’m sure you know, this is an incredible house. And a wonderful opportunity for me.” She skimmed her gaze across the bank of clerestory windows above their heads. “What’s the sun exposure for this room, do you know? I’d love to leave those uncovered, but not at the expense of too much heat in the afternoons.”

“You’re quite beautiful, Raven. In an icy sort of way.”

She laughed, unoffended. “Was that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Definitely. I like all types of women.”

He wasn’t flirting with her, she knew. He was toying with her, trying to unsettle her. She fought back a laugh. The man was so obvious. Really. How had she ever thought him a master player? How could she ever have looked up to him?

“I’ll bet you do.” She turned and crossed to the unfinished cooking island and the rolls of blueprints there. He followed her, stopping so close behind her she could feel his breath stirring against her hair.

“What would it take to thaw you, Raven Johnson?”

“It’s not possible.” She turned and met his eyes, again noticing what an extraordinary blue they were. “Ask any man in town. Raven Johnson is one coldhearted bitch.”

“I’m not any man.”

She laughed, giving him points for balls and persistence, if not for style. “No, you’re not.”

“It’s a control thing with you,” he murmured. “You’re afraid to let go.”

“Not afraid. Uninterested.” She shrugged. “Sorry, Mr. Sadler. But I like being on top.”

He tipped his head back and laughed. “I could accommodate you. A strong woman doesn’t scare me.”

As long as that strong woman didn’t mind being trussed up like a Christmas goose.
“I doubt that. Every battle can have only one commander. And that’s always me. And, unless I’ve missed the mark completely, you fancy yourself the one in charge.”

He rested against the island and folded his arms across his chest. “Comparing love and war? Interesting.”

“Love is war. I learned that a long time ago.”

He stared at her a moment, then chuckled. “Going to bed with you would be interesting, I think. How about it?”

“I must say, David, that’s one of the most romantic propositions I’ve had, but I think I’ll pass. Just for curiosity’s sake, though, if you did get me in bed, what would happen then?”

“That would be entirely up to you.” He smiled. “Maybe a dream come true.”

Or maybe a nightmare.
She turned back to the blueprints and spread one out. “What’s this?” she asked, moving her gaze over the schematic. “Not a house.”

“The pool house. Nice, isn’t it?” She murmured her agreement and he continued. “I didn’t want just another one of those innocuous, almost shedlike pool houses you see in all the developments.” He reached around her and peeled off the next blueprint, one of the clubhouse’s elevation. “I integrated it and the clubhouse with the architecture of the neighborhood. They’ll look like the houses, only smaller.”

“And the inside?”

“Pretty typical. Functional.”

“All an illusion, then.”

“Mmm.” He traced his finger along her scar. “How’d you get this?”

“Knife fight.” At his expression, she laughed. “Car wreck. When I was six.”

“A plastic surgeon could take care of it.”

“Why would I want to do that? It helps me remember.”

He frowned. “The accident?”

“No, my mother.”

“Funny thing to remember your mother by.”

“Not for me. She made a lot of mistakes, and she ended up dead. The scar reminds me of her mistakes.”

“So you don’t make the same ones?” He made a sound of appreciation and shook his head. “I’m going to enjoy working with you, Raven.”

“Are you certain about that, David? Because I’m telling you here and now, you’re not going to get me in the sack.”

“Don’t be so sure of that. I always get women in the sack. It’s what I do. It’s a gift.”

“Is it?”

“Mmm.” He leaned toward her. She smelled the spicy scent of his aftershave and the cool mint of his mouthwash. He met her gaze evenly but didn’t smile. “I’m a lady-killer, Raven Johnson. I suggest you don’t forget it.”

J
ulie lay on her back on the bed, naked, her bound hands anchored to the iron headboard with a rope.

David sprawled on his side beside her, fully dressed, in complete control. He trailed a feather along her collarbone, then lower, over and around her nipples, then down to her belly. He dipped it between her thighs.

She gasped and arched up off the bed. The rope tightened. He drew the feather away.

Julie whimpered for more, and David laughed softly. “Beg,” he murmured, hiding the feather behind his back. “Beg me for what you want.”

“David,” she whispered, her cheeks hot with shame. “Please.”

“Please, what?”

“The feather. More.”

“Not good enough.” He smiled and brought the feather to her lips. She smelled herself on it. He leaned closer. “Tell me where you want me to touch you, Julie. Tell me how you want me to bring you pleasure.”

“My breasts. Touch them.”

He complied. She sighed and pressed her head back into the pillow, the sensation like a delicious whisper against her skin.

“My belly and thighs.”

Again, he followed her instructions. Only this time he inched lower, across the tangle of tight blond curls at the apex of her thighs. He dipped between them, then darted away.

“More.” The breath shuddered past her lips. She spread her legs and undulated her hips, telling him without words what she wanted. “Lower, David.”

“Bad girl, Julie.” He drew his hand away. “You know you have to be specific. Tell me what you want me to do with this feather.”

“Touch me…there. Between my legs.”

He laughed and leaned toward her, his eyes alight with amusement. “More specific, honey. Tell me what you want me to touch.”

She opened her mouth, but couldn’t utter the words. She had never had to ask for what she wanted, not specifically, not with words. She had asked generally—I want to make love, fuck, screw. But not…this.

He shook his head and sat up. “Why can’t women name their own body parts? I don’t get it. Vagina. Cunt. Pussy. Snatch. They all mean the same thing. They’re all beautiful. Say it, Julie. Use whichever you like best. Tell me what you want.”

“I want…” She sucked in a deep breath, ashamed but aroused. Aroused in a way she had never been before. The sheet beneath her hips was wet with her own juices. Her entire body quivered, as if she were some sort of live tuning fork. “Please touch my…vagina.”

“Nope.” He laid the feather on the nightstand. “I don’t want to now.”

A strangled sound of shame and fury flew to her lips. “You bastard! You promised.”

“That was your interpretation.” He laughed again, mocking her. “Besides, I can do whatever I want. You’re quite incapacitated right now.”

She arched her body up off the bed, fighting against the rope, tears of frustration stinging her eyes. “I hate you! Untie me, you son of a bitch!”

He acted as if he didn’t even hear her outburst. She redoubled her efforts, though the rope tore at her wrists. She twisted and kicked, the whole while cursing and pleading, begging and threatening. Through it all, David just watched her, a small satisfied smile on his mouth.

His amusement infuriated her. His smug arrogance. When he untied her, she would kill him. She would take the rope and torture him. Picturing that, she fought harder, until her muscles and lungs screamed protest, until she was panting and sweating and spent. She went limp, the fight draining out of her.

“If you’re quite done,” he murmured after a moment, “I have another surprise for you.” He opened the nightstand drawer and took out a square of fabric. He opened it carefully, lovingly. She saw that it was long and gossamer. And black.

A black silk scarf.

Her heart stopped. Fear took her breath. She stared at the fabric, frozen, remembering the past, remembering Mrs. X.

“I’m going to blindfold you now.”

“No.” She shook her head, panic pounding through her. “No, David, please…not a blindfold. Anything…anything but that. I’m afraid of the dark.”

His lips curved up. He leaned over and took one of her nipples into his mouth, sucking at it as a baby would, longing for nourishment. Pleasure speared through her; the sound of it trembled on her lips.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, lifting his head, “you shouldn’t tell me what you’re afraid of. Now I have to do it.”

“No!” She twisted away from him, kicking at the bedclothes with her feet.

“Enough of that,” he said, slapping her thigh sharply. She cried out as pain ricocheted through her. “I don’t want to punish you, but I will. Do you understand?”

She nodded, tears welling in her eyes, spilling over.

“I want you to do this. I expect you to do it. For me.” He let out an impatient-sounding breath. “Now, can you be a good girl?”

“Yes,” she answered, voice shaking.

“That’s my girl. Close your eyes.”

She did, though her every instinct shouted that she not. He laid the fabric over her eyes. “Lift your head, my love.” She did, and he expertly and quickly tied it behind her head, making her darkness complete.

He kissed her then, deeply, passionately, as if he wanted to swallow her whole. “You look beautiful,” he murmured, drawing away. “Thank you, my darling.” He moved his hands and mouth over her, worshiping, praising. “Thank you.”

Seconds ticked past. Julie’s fear trickled away. The total black became erotic. It enveloped and surrounded her, like a womb or dark sea. Reality slipped away; she was left with nothing but David’s hands and mouth and the velvet black.

He brought her to the brink of orgasm again and again. Each time he stopped short, she cried out, begging for release. And each time, he refused to give it to her.

He brought his face to hers; their breath mingled. When he kissed her, she tasted herself.

“I know you, Julie Cooper,” he murmured. “I know who you are.”

But who was he?

Mr. X?

He moved away from her. The mattress dipped as he got off the bed. She waited a moment, for him to speak, to move, to reveal himself to her. He did not, and a sliver of fear pierced her tranquil dark womb.

“David?” she whispered. “Where are you? Say something.”

Silence. She turned her head from the right to the left, panic bubbling up inside her. “David…please.”

Then she heard the snap of a lighter, the hiss of the flame touching tobacco. A moment later, she smelled the smoke. “David—”

“But you don’t know me, baby. You don’t know me at all.”

A chill washed over her. “Don’t say that, David.” Her voice trembled. “I don’t like it.”

“Does it frighten you?”

“Yes.” She pressed herself against the mattress, realizing suddenly how vulnerable she was.

“Do you trust me, Julie?”

“Come back to me,” she whispered, voice quivering. “I don’t like being alone.”
Alone. In the dark. A lock clicking into place.

“Do you trust me?” he asked again.

“Yes, but—”

“No buts. You either trust me or you don’t. You’re either with me or you’re not.” He returned to the bed and sat on the edge. The cigarette smoke stung her nose. He moved slightly and she felt the heat from the lit tip of the cigarette at her breast, her nipple. If she drew in a deep breath, the tip would touch her, she would be burned. She shrank back against the bed, making herself as small as possible.

“You can’t have it both ways, Julie. What’s it going to be?”

The spot of heat became intense. Her eyes burned with tears. Fear swelled inside her. Fear of the dark and of helplessness. Fear of being alone. Of losing David.

She couldn’t live without him.

He moved the cigarette closer. Julie bit down on her bottom lip to keep from whimpering. She trusted him. He wouldn’t hurt her. She believed that. She cried it out to him.

“Good girl.” He got off the bed and crossed the room. She followed him with her head if not her gaze. She heard him move something on the dresser, then realized what it was. An ashtray.

“Think back, Julie. Think back fifteen years. Tell me what you saw.”

“Saw,” she whispered. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do.” He circled the bed. “Leah Robertson.”

For a fraction of a second, she didn’t know what or who he was talking about. Then the realization filled her head.

Her blood went cold.

As if reading her thoughts, he laughed. “I told you, I know who you are.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, heart thundering. No, he wasn’t. She knew he wasn’t.

“Tell me, Julie. I read all the newspaper reports, I saw the news clips on TV. Now I want to know everything from you. When you looked through that window, what did you see?” He trailed his fingertips across her mouth, as if coaxing words to spill out. “Were you aroused? Did you wonder what it would be like to be her? Did you fantasize about them? About being her? Did you masturbate afterward? Hiding the truth from your friends and family? Afraid…knowing they wouldn’t understand.

“You hated yourself,” he continued. “Didn’t you, my love? You thought there was something wrong with you, that you were bad. Sinful.” He brought his mouth to hers, tenderly, lovingly, all but drinking from her lips. “I understand. I can make you happy, Julie. I will. But you must give me everything I ask for.”

Tears welled in her eyes. They spilled over, soaking the silk scarf. He did know her. Everything about her. How could he see into her soul this way? How?

“I could do anything to you right now. Anything I wanted, anything that is pleasurable to me. You’re helpless. Like that Leah Robertson was. Does that frighten you?”

Don’t hurt me, David. Please don’t hurt me.

She didn’t speak the words aloud, but he heard them nonetheless. “Trust,” he whispered. “Tell me, Julie. Tell me what you saw. You and your little friends, so fresh and pink and unspoiled.”

He leaned closer; he lowered his voice more. “Shocking, wasn’t it, my love?” He brought his hands to the apex of her thighs, to her pink, her sex. He curled his fingers around her, possessively, lovingly.

She gasped and arched; he laughed, low and deep in his throat. “Tell me, my sweet. Tell me what you saw.”

Julie reached into her memory and pulled out fragments of moments, images that had haunted her all these years. With her mind’s eye she saw Mrs. X, alone in the dark. Naked and helpless. She saw Mr. X bending her over a chair, taking her from behind. She saw the woman’s mouth on his penis, the rope slithering over her skin, coiling around her breasts.

As she remembered, she told David, haltingly, at times overcome with tears. Finally, her memories were spent and she fell silent, trembling, panting as if she had run miles without a break.

“Do you know what I like, Julie? Can you imagine?”

She turned her head in his direction. “Who are you?” she asked. “Tell me who you are, David.”

He was silent. Still. Then she heard the distinctive sound of a belt being unbuckled, a zipper being lowered. He climbed onto the bed and straddled her. “Someone who knows you.” She opened her legs, and he thrust into her. “Someone who loves you.”

She couldn’t hold him with her arms, so she wrapped her legs around him, gripping as hard as she could, digging her heels into his lower back.

“Imagine for me, Julie. Imagine what I like.”

She did, but the only thing she could imagine was a woman dangling from the end of a rope.

The woman was her.