Under His Spell (2 page)

“I never said any such thing.
 
But anyway, it’s my business.
 
It’s between me and him.”

His lips tightened for a second as he
gave a look of frustration.
 
“We
keep getting off track.
 
I’m trying
to tell you how much I care about you.”

“I get it.”
 
She grinned, not knowing what else to
do.
 
Every cell in her was wanting
to get away from him.
 
“I really,
really get it.”

Blake stepped forward yet again, trying
to come close to her.
 
“I haven’t
even told you the real one hundred percent truth, though.”

“You don’t need to.
 
I understand.
 
Please, please.
 
Let’s continue the conversation
tomorrow, I’m so drained right now.”

He licked his lips.
 
“I love you, Kennedy.”

Oh.
 
My.
 
God.

She hadn’t seen this coming.
 
Her mouth opened and closed.
 
Her heart beat rapidly, her eyes felt
like they were going to pop out of her head.
 
“Blake, you hardly even know me.”

“Okay,” he said, raising his hands as if
he was guilty of a crime.
 
“Okay,
maybe that was too much.
 
Maybe I’m
not in love with you—but I’m falling in love,” he said.
 
“I’ve never ever felt so much for a
person.”

“That’s sweet.
 
It really is sweet.”

“And all I can do,” he said, reaching out
his hand again, and this time touching her wrist lightly with his fingertips,
“is hope that maybe someday you’ll see that there’s something really awesome
about a nice guy who worships the ground you walk on.”

She took a deep, deep breath and let it
out.
 
He’d sort of backed her into a
corner and she couldn’t easily maneuver away, so his hand was still on her
wrist as he gazed lovingly into her eyes.

“It’s a lot to take in right now,” she
told him.

“I know.
 
But you see, I had to say it.
 
I couldn’t not say it anymore.”
 
He smiled unevenly.

She knew that this was the time to come
clean with him.
 
Kennedy could no
longer afford to lead him on just to spare his feelings.
 
It had gone way too far.
 
“Blake,” she said, trying to be soft
with him, “I can’t say that I have those kinds of feelings for you.
 
I just…I just don’t have them.
 
I’m sorry.”

She expected to see grave disappointment
in his eyes, an expression of despair, rejection, maybe even anger.
 
But none of those things happened.
 
Blake just looked at her.
 
“Somewhere inside you, Kennedy, you do
feel something for me.
 
Maybe you’re
not one hundred percent aware of it, but I can feel it coming from you.”

“Blake, you can’t go on thinking this way
about me.
 
It’s not healthy.
 
You’re a great guy and you should look
for someone who’s available and sees that.”

He grinned.
 
“You just said it, so obviously you do
see that about me.
 
Now why would I
go and look elsewhere when the most amazing woman ever is standing right in
front of me?”

Just as she was about to respond to that,
there was a loud buzzing sound from nearby.
 
“That’s my cell,” she told him.
 
“I should get that.”

The buzzing stopped, so evidently it was
a text message.

And that’s when Blake did the strangest
thing yet.
 
He went and looked at
her phone, walking to the table and picking it up, looking at the message, his
brow furrowing, eyes clouding.

“Blake, that’s my phone!” she
yelled.
 
She held out her hand and
walked towards him.
 
“Give that to
me right now.”

He looked up at her and his mouth drew
into a firm line.
 
“No,” he replied.

“No?”

Blake moved away from her, walking so
that the couch was between them.
 
He
glanced at the phone again.
 
“I’m
not going to let you do this to yourself, Kennedy.”

“Do what?
 
Get my messages?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

“Don’t call me dumb, Blake.
 
I’m starting to get really angry,
now.
 
I don’t feel well, you barged
into my apartment—“

“You let me in,” he reminded her.

“Yeah, and I was crazy for letting you
in.
 
Now I regret that.”
 
She extended her hand to him.
 
“Give me my goddamn phone back, right
now.”

Blake glanced down at the cell
again.
 
“Don’t you understand how
bad he is for you?”

“If that message is from Easton, it’s
personal, and also…” she felt rage and anxiety flow through her body.
 
If Easton was contacting her, she needed
to respond immediately.
 
The last
thing she could afford to do was get caught up with Blake and not respond in
time, proving herself a failure at this relationship once again.
 

“I need my phone, Blake.
 
And I swear to God, if you don’t hand it
over right now, I will never speak to you again.
 
Never.”

She glared at him, and when he looked
back at her, his eyebrow quivered.
 
“Okay, okay,” he said, leaning across the couch and placing it in her
outstretched palm.
 
“Here’s your
phone.”

Kennedy didn’t look at the message right
away.
 
It felt like an invasion of
privacy for Blake to see her facial expression when she read it.
 
Instead, she held it tightly in her hand
and continued to stare down Blake.
 
“You need to leave my apartment now.”

He hung his head.
 
“I’m sorry if I crossed the line.
 
But I worry so much about you.”

“Let me worry about me, Blake.”

“I get it.
 
I’m sorry.”

No,
you don’t get it
, she
thought.
 
You don’t have a clue
.

“I’m not feeling well and you should
leave so I can go to bed,” she said.

How
many times do I ask him to leave before I simply scream bloody murder?

But then his shoulders sagged as if he’d
been physically deflated.
 
He headed
for the door, moving slowly, frustrating her even more.
 
Until he got the heck out, she wouldn’t
feel comfortable reading the text message.
 
And she wanted to read it more than anything, in that moment.
 

Part of her considered kicking Blake
right in his slow-moving butt and forcing him out the door.

Finally, he made his way into the
hallway, turned and looked at her imploringly.
 
“Understand that my heart is in the
right place, Kennedy.
 
That should
count for something, shouldn’t it?”

“I don’t know, Blake.
 
And right now—I don’t really
care.”
 
She swung the door shut in
his face and bolted it.

After closing and locking the door,
Kennedy finally was able to read the text message.

It had been from Easton after all.

Meet
@ Cactus 7pm sharp

Kennedy breathed a sigh of relief, glad
that she would have plenty of time to get dressed, put on makeup and ready
herself before going out to meet Easton.
 
Blake hadn’t interfered in the end, which was some small consolation.

But she was still vaguely disturbed by
her neighbor’s behavior and the things he’d said to her—he’d proclaimed
his love!
 

She couldn’t quite get over that fact.
 
Blake thought he loved her, but it made
no sense.
 
They’d spent a total of a
few hours together and she’d shown no sign of being interested in him in that
way.

As Kennedy got dressed in the clothes
she’d set out for just such an occurrence as this invitation Easton had sent
her, Kennedy tried to get her mind off of the Blake problem and back to what
she really cared about.

Pleasing Easton.

Tonight, she hoped, might serve as the
night that made their relationship official.
 
Perhaps, he would even consummate the
relationship by taking her purity, her virginity.

Kennedy got wet just thinking about it,
even though she knew it was highly unlikely.
 
Easton didn’t seem like he was pushing
for that right now.
 
He was still
trying to establish trust, testing her, making sure she wasn’t going to cause
him to regret taking her on in this fashion.

Looking at herself in the mirror, Kennedy
liked what she was seeing.
 
She was
wearing a light cotton sweater that showed off just enough cleavage to be
enticing (she hoped), a form-fitting black skirt that hugged her curves, and
bright red heels that added just the touch of flirtation and seduction,
promising a wild side.

The makeup she’d applied seemed to hide
most of the tiredness, and upon looking herself over closely, Kennedy was
convinced that she looked perhaps as good as she’d ever looked.

Her confidence rising, Kennedy slowly
snuck out of her apartment, intentionally tiptoeing like a scared mouse, not
wanting to give Blake any reason to come out and bother her again.

Thankfully, his door was closed and she
was able to escape without further incident.

***

Cactus was an upscale wine bar located on
the Upper West side.
 
Kennedy had
never been there and didn’t know anything about the place, other than what she
read on their website on the cab ride over.

Besides, she didn’t particularly care
where she was meeting Easton—all she cared was that it was actually
happening.

He’s
giving you another chance, Kennedy, on the very same day that you blew your
last opportunity to impress him.
 
Don’t blow it again.
 
Whatever else you do, follow his instructions to the letter.

The little pep talk didn’t quell her
growing case of nerves very much.
 
She
wanted so badly to make Easton see how dedicated she was to serving his needs
and wants, treating him as a master.

At the same time, she was
scared—scared that she couldn’t possibly live up to Easton’s impossibly
high standards.
 
She wasn’t a
gorgeous model, she wasn’t sexually experienced, and she wasn’t naturally predisposed
to surrendering control to another person.

On paper, she wasn’t an ideal candidate
for the position at hand.
 
Everything Easton seemed to want in a woman, she was mostly the
opposite.

And moreover, she was terrified of
failing, failing him and failing herself.

The cab ride was far too long, had given
Kennedy much too much time to psych herself out.
 
By the time they pulled up to Cactus,
her heart was racing, she was sweaty and her stomach was churning.

The last thing Kennedy felt was
sexy.
 
Instead, she felt like a big
fraud who was about to be completely exposed.

Easton was a master, he was so good at
reading her—he would look into her eyes and instantly know that she
wasn’t ready.

It was hard to get out of the cab and
step into the cool night air, hard to force her stiff legs to walk, difficult
to affix the smile to her face, to pretend confidence where there was none.

When she opened the door to the
restaurant, she looked across the room and saw Easton sitting at a small table
with a candle lit in the center of it.
 
He was waiting, he had a glass of red wine in front of him and another
poured and waiting for her.

The host stepped forward and asked if she
had a reservation, and Kennedy told him that she was meeting someone, her voice
shaking slightly with tension.
 
She
began walking toward the table where Easton sat waiting, and as she walked, her
high heel slipped on the slick floor and Kennedy’s ankle rolled slightly.

Suddenly she’d lost her balance and was
falling, sprawling forward, gasping.
 
The fall felt like it took ten years.

As it was happening, she was completely
mortified by how she imagined she must look, arms pin-wheeling, knees buckling,
mouth open in a grimace of terror.
 
And everyone was watching, all heads would be turned, staring at the
clumsy buffoon as she hit the deck.