Three and a Half Weeks (2 page)

Frosty, a.k.a. Janine, nodded deferentially, jumping to puppy-like attention. “Yes, Mr. Blackmon.”

Mr. Blackmon seemed annoyed by her slavish obedience, frowning at her before turning his attention to me.

After leaving Frosty sitting there bewildered, he escorted me into his spacious office and told me to take a seat.
Told
, not
asked
. Imperious was an adjective I’d definitely use to describe Mr. Blackmon. I looked around for the most uncomfortable chair to sit on, so I could keep my guard up… but there were none. Every piece of seating furniture looked stupidly comfy, inviting one to sink into the lap of luxury and stare up in awe at the exalted assets of the man inhabiting the office. Fine, I’d take the one closest to the door. All of this rumination transpired in about five seconds.

“I suppose you’re wondering why I asked you here, Ms. Strong.”

Did he know his voice was like liquid sex? Merely hearing my name spill from his throat did things to me, deep inside. Why
was
I here? I cleared my own throat. “Yes, I am actually at somewhat of a loss…”

His expression was stern. “You do recall our last meeting, I hope?”

“Yes, of course. You came into the shop where I work, looking for a gift for your sister. How’d it work out, by the way?”

“She loved it, thank you. However, Ms. Strong—and I have to be honest—ever since that evening, I’ve had trouble getting you out of my mind…“ he perched on the corner of his desk and crossed his arms, “so I asked you here today to consider a proposition I’d like to put forward.”

“Pro…
p
-
position
?” I stammered, and it sounded like
proper position
, turning my cheeks even redder at the sexual allusion. God, I wanted to kick myself.

He acted as if he didn’t notice, continuing smoothly.
“Yes. Before I do, however, I must ask you to sign some paperwork, specifically, a confidentiality agreement and a liability waiver. Is that acceptable?”

“A what?”

“A legally binding agreement not to divulge any information you may learn about me, and a disclaimer, waiving rights to litigation should any accidental injuries be sustained on my property. I ask everyone who enters my private realm, either personally or professionally, to sign this type of contract. It’s to protect myself to some extent, of course. Do you object?”

“What kind of accidental injuries?”

Smirking wickedly, he answers, “Accidents, Ariel. A trip over something, a fall down the steps. I don’t intend to harm you, if that’s what you’re thinking. People attempt all manner of things to enable a lawsuit against people of wealth. My attorney insists I protect myself to the extent possible. That’s all. Do you object to signing?”

“No, I don’t, not at all. I was just curious. Yes, I’ll sign it.”

“Very good.” He went around his desk and removed a manila envelope, bringing it over to where I sat. He pulled out a thick wad of paper and handed it to me, along with a pen. “Look through it and sign the last page. You’ll also need to initial each and every page in the upper right-hand corner.”

I skimmed through it quickly, signing and initialing as requested before handing it back to him. He perused it and then nodded, bringing it back to his desk.

Returning, I saw him surreptitiously adjust his trousers and I wondered if Mr. Blackmon might feel a bit for me as I felt for him. Was it even within the realm of possibility? I was so tempted to open the top two buttons of my shirt to see if it made a difference.

Watching him, I estimated him to be about 6’3” and though muscular, he was on the lean side. His clothes fit him just so well; it’s difficult to describe but when you see it, it’s
poetry in motion. He wore no jewelry apart from a high-tech looking watch, perhaps a TAG Heuer? (Mariah would be so proud I knew that!) I loved everything about Ian Blackmon that I’d so far been exposed to.

Crossing his long legs after he sat down across from me, he took a minute or two to do nothing but gaze at me speculatively while I squirmed beneath his scrutiny.

I remember my mouth was as dry as the Sahara and my legs were trembling like the San Andreas fault or perhaps even the Cascadia subduction zone. Okay, yes, I worry about earthquakes and tsunamis.

First, it was his turn. He told me all about his privately held beliefs about relationships and the laws of attraction… oh, yeah, and about practicing BDSM and some of the things it involved. The whole time I watched the shining animation in his pretty light eyes as he spoke.

BDSM is something I’ve heard about before, and even read
about in juicy parts of Mariah’s naughty books. It’s something I’d always figured might be darkly exciting but never entertained the idea of trying it myself. I did know, though, that Mariah had a boyfriend last year who liked to tie her up and gag her before they had sex. Gagging Mariah made perfect sense to me… but tying her down? It seemed strange but I’m always willing to try things once. First, though, I’d like to lose my virginity in a more traditional manner.

He made the notion of physical attraction and ensuing romance slash sex sound so clinical. “Don’t you believe in love?” I was cheeky enough to ask him.

“Love?” he repeated. “Yes, of course I believe in love… mainly familial love. I love my mother, my father, my siblings… and my dog. Next question?”

Oh, so he was done answering that one? And he’d given me that pat response without even a hint of a smile. My but he was cynical. So in his orderly mind, he kept love and sex as two separate, discrete things. Pity. I wholeheartedly believed in romance and love preceding anything sexual—hence my untried womanly status.

“Do you understand now?” He prodded me, not allowing me to sink into my own reveries. “I’d like to enter into an arrangement with you, Ms. Strong.”

I gulped and nodded. Since he’d shared such intimate details of his life, I had to
‘fess up about my being a complete sexual neophyte—a virgin, in more simple vernacular. It might have ended there… but it didn’t. I think he saw it as a challenge. Or perhaps he saw me as one?

“I’m really not sure I’m up for this kind of thing, Mr. Blackmon.”

Now a smirk danced on those luscious red lips as I stared at his face, knowing the moment of truth had arrived. “What gives you pause… specifically?”

I didn’t answer right away, mulling over how to proceed.

“I asked you a question, Ariel,” his satin voice broke into my self-distraction.

“Oh… um, I, uh, I’m new to all of it. Not to BDSM,” I quickly added. “I mean, I
am
new to BDSM, too, brand new, in fact… but I’m also new to sex.” I became a blithering idiot.

“You’re new…” His words dropped off and the look of first confusion and then astonishment that descended over his face was priceless and nearly comical. “How new?”

Cheeks flaming, I nonetheless grinned, trying to keep the moment light. “Very?”

He was incredulous. “To clarify: are you actually telling me you’re a virgin?”

I nodded. “I think so.”

Poker face. He tapped his lips in thought, keeping his cards close to the vest. Seriously close: I couldn’t read his expression. He began to speak again after a minute or so. “At twenty-one, nearly twenty-two…” a look of horror hijacked his face and his voice dropped in volume, “…you are twenty-one or so, right?”

“Oh, yes. I’m nearly twenty-two.”

Relief eased his tense features. “And you’re still a virgin?”

“Is it a problem?”

“No, no problem, but…”

And now I saw the fire in his eyes.

“…you didn’t see fit to
mention it
before
I invited you to join me in my chamber of sin?”

“You didn’t see fit to tell me your real name is Dorian,” I countered, trying to make him smile. His birth name was on the contract I’d signed. Right now, though, he didn’t have names on his mind—or humor. His light eyes pierced through any armor I might have worn and
I couldn’t identify what was going on in his head.

He was genuinely
freaking me out. Was this really all about sex or was there more to it? I felt drops of perspiration sliding down the back of my neck. I’d be willing to bet folding money that Frosty didn’t sweat buckets like I was doing right now and certainly Ian didn’t either. Clearly I was out of my element. ‘“Mr. Blackmon,” I said, my hands reaching for my hair and, twisting it up, secured it with a pencil I’d filched from the low table between us, “I think it’s time I took my leave. It’s been an…
interesting
… afternoon.” I stood up.

“Women?”

“What?” I frowned in confusion.

“Do you prefer women?”

“Oh… no.”

His
eerie eyes held me captive—they looked as if they were backlit from inside his skull. They were trained on me as if I were an exotic specimen of something, or maybe even that fish out of water, with the bulging eyes. Without responding to my intended farewell, he stood up lightning fast, strode over to me, and grasped my shoulders, peering into my eyes and possibly my soul. “Beautiful Ariel, was there no one who ever made you hot and bothered enough to pull up your dress?”

There was
now
, I wanted to tell him. Was it the insanely personal topic of conversation between strangers or his close proximity that was like a heady drug? I felt myself swoon a bit. “No. I’m always more annoyed than hot and bothered.” I gasped the words out since I had very recently run out of breath. He was so close I could hardly draw in oxygen.

His eyelids dropped to half-mast. “Perhaps you’ll allow me to introduce you to the pleasures of the flesh, then?”

“Perhaps,” my word huffed out on a current of hoarded breath.

“Tonight?”

I could see the glint of excitement in his eyes at the prospect. It made me excited, too. “Tonight,” I agreed and immediately began to question my sanity.

Our so-called date that evening had begun with a very romantic ride in his catamaran at dusk. I watched him at the helm, the briny breeze blowing through his dark hair while his eyes remained focused on the horizon ahead and the task at hand. While I gaped at his perfect profile, his lips curved into a small smile as he rode the waves. I suspected he liked the thrill of speed and wondered if he was an adrenaline junkie in disguise as a suit.

After, we drove to his house in his very fast, very sleek sports
car.

“Ella, allow me to show you around,” he said, and whil
e taking my jacket his fingers grazed skin and whoosh. It felt as if an electric spark snapped and crackled up my arm.

As I walked around the palatial estate, gaping at and running my fingertips over surfaces and fabrics, my attention was diverted from Mr. Blackmon for a few moments. Turning around suddenly to ask him a question, I caught him staring intently at me. He was leaning against a wall on one hip, showing off those long, luscious legs, and he had his middle finger through his heavy sterling key ring. He was rhythmically swinging his hand, so the keys would spin around his finger. For some weird reason, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from that masculine yet elegant hand and its perfect, sinuous rhythm… until he laughed, a deep-throated, sexy chuckle that liquefied my insides. It broke the spell.

“Do you approve?”

Do I approve of what?
“Of?” I squeaked.

“My home, of course.”

Glancing around at the cavernous room, I nodded slightly. “It’s amazing.” And, naturally, it was. Gleaming mahogany-colored hardwood flooring stretched across the expanse of the great room, whose walls were in very masculine tones of pearl gray, taupe, and chocolate. Beautiful pieces of sculpture dotted the room, as well as a few impressively large-scaled paintings. Expensive Persian rugs were spaced precisely on the floors, and the sofas and chairs had clean lines and simple but luxuriant fabrics.

Finishing my tour of the place, he happily (and even proudly!) boasted that it sat on land that originally hosted an insane asylum. The asylum was later converted into condominiums and houses were built around it to form the gated community, in which he bought the largest one with the highest elevation of the whole campus. Naturally.

I looked out the conservatory window and marveled at what lay before me. The view alone was worth millions and I wondered why an insane asylum was ever sited at such a place. The palatial house sat high in the sky overlooking Portland, like a snow globe hovering in the clouds, looking down in judgment on the city skyline.

Well into my second glass of vino, I was already significantly tipsy—but it was all good, since he’d very recently trampled on my fantasy with aplomb, a feat akin to delicate daisies being crushed under the biggest steel-toe boots possible. This, what I considered to be our second date (my visit to his office sort of being the debut), but actually our first, was when he gamely introduced me to his medieval torture chamber that he charmingly called his
dungeon
.

Pushing himself off the wall, he strode over to where I was standing. “Come, Ella, let’s have a drink in the library.”