CHAPTER THREE
I handed Mandy four crisp hundred-dollar bills. “This should pay up what I owe you for back rent.”
She took the bills apprehensively. I could tell part of her didn't want to take the money, but she wasn't dumb enough to give it back. This was the only chance Mandy would get for a while to be paid in one lump sum. “Six-hundred dollars should still buy you a nice dress,” she said finally.
“I think a flat-screen TV would be nicer,” I suggested.
“Jen.” Mandy gave me a sardonic look.
“What? He didn't say I had to give the money back to him if I didn't go to the ball.”
“I know, but you can't just blow him off like that.”
“Why not? It's the answer to my prayers. Did you read the part in the note where he said he'll cease pursuing me? It's absolutely perfect. Once this stupid ball is over, I can stop holding my breath at work.”
She sighed. “I suppose you're right. Still, I think you should go.”
“Why?”
“Because it would be fun.”
“Jack Kemble's fun is going to ruin my life, and I rather like my life the way it is now, don't you?”
“It's just sex,” she muttered before walking away with the money in hand.
Just sex? Not hardly. How could I just have sex with my boss—someone who had complete control over my financial well being?
I shoved the other six-hundred dollars in my pocket and then picked up the rest of the contents from the envelope and took them to my room. My first instinct was to throw them all in the garbage and be done with it, but sentiment stopped me. It would be a nice souvenir for later, maybe something to tell my children or grandchildren about, if I ever had any. The time I rejected multibillionaire Jack Kemble.
Days and weeks passed as normal. There were no more gifts from my secret admirer. Then again, I suppose a grand was the ultimate gift in a non-reciprocating relationship. Thoughts of buying that television were still on my mind, but I hadn't done it yet. How surprised Mandy would be to come home and see it sitting in our living room. And how disappointed she would be in me for not bending to Jack Kemble's will.
There was a business trip the week before Halloween. The thought of being alone in a hotel suite with Jack made me more nervous than usual. It would be the perfect time for him to mention the gifts, and to inquire if I had any thought toward going to the Masked Ball. When he did break down and ask, “Got any plans for Halloween?” All I could think of to say was, “Going to the bar with friends. What about you?”
“I have an engagement to make,” Jack replied with no change in expression or mood. It was very cryptic, but I dare not ask anything further.
Halloween was quickly approaching, and I needed to figure out what I was going to do. Mandy had to work that night, which greatly limited my options. Luckily, Eric invited me to a party. He sounded excited when I accepted the invitation, as if he hadn't expected I would.
It was nerve-wracking that I had to work on Halloween, but I dealt with it well enough. Every time Jack Kemble crossed my path, I watched him in my peripheral vision to see if he looked at me, but he never did. The way Jack acted like nothing was going on agitated me, but I supposed he was an expert at it at, having banged all the girls in the office.
The day ended, and I left work to head to the costume store. I thought about the six-hundred dollars in my purse as I waded through the sea of people to pick through the leftovers. While I wanted to be something skanky, like Catwoman or a naughty cop, my mind kept going back to thoughts of the Masked Ball, and guilt at the fact I wasn't going. The least I could do was be the princess, even if Jack wouldn't see it. Since none of the Disney princess costumes were appealing, and most were sold out, I went for a more adult twist. It was a gorgeous costume. Sexy, but not too sexy. The main piece was a brocade corset dress in pale blue with white venise lace trim, golden embroidery, puffed sleeves, and a lace-up back. The skirt was large, like a ball gown, held in place by a tulle petticoat. While the front of the skirt was only long enough to cover half my thighs, the back cascaded down into a sheer gold bustle. It was the most gorgeous Halloween costume I had ever bought. After adding a matching blue and white headband, long white gloves, white thigh-high stockings, and a pair of golden stilettos, my bill came out to just shy of three-hundred dollars. The girl in the picture was a blonde, but I refused to buy a blonde wig with the costume, out of spite. As a last-minute edition, I grabbed a mask off one of the shelves. It was royal blue with gold sequins around the border and glitter around the eyes. While it didn't really match the rest of my outfit, it was the closest I could get with the dismal selection left over by last-minute shoppers, so I figured it would do . . . not that I'd actually use it. It would be going in my memento pile with the rest of the contents from the envelope.
When I got home, I took time getting ready. I mimicked the hairstyle of the girl on the costume package as best I could, forcing my long brown hair into a curly updo held in place by bobby pins and the headband. By the time it was all said and done, I looked rather ravishing, I thought.
The party started at eight, but I didn't get there until nine. While I drove to it, I thought of Jack Kemble. The Masked Ball started at eight o'clock too. Had he waited on the staircase for me, hopeful that I would show up? Was he disappointed that I hadn't? Or had he already replaced me with someone else? Part of me hoped he had. It was the only thought that could ward off the guilt I felt for not attending.
The party was being held at Eric's friend's house. I straightened my gown before ringing the doorbell. Inside, the festivities were well underway with people talking and laughing louder the necessary. Most of them were probably already drunk. A man answered the door, shamelessly looking me up and down while I told him I was Eric's friend. Seconds later, Eric appeared to usher me inside.
“Hey Jenny.” He threw a heavy arm around me shoulder, and I breathed in the putrid stench of his breath. It reeked of alcohol. “That's an amazing costume.”
Eric was dressed up like a pirate. His normally spiked brown hair was smoothed down and covered with a black tricorn. One of his brown eyes had a black patch on it, and he had spray painted his short manicured beard red and twisted it into two points that were held in place by tiny rubber bands. The costume Eric wore hung off his broad body, perhaps a size or two too big. I glanced at his chest through the oversized V in his white shirt, smirking at the black chest hairs that had been drawn on among the mix of brown ones that were already naturally there. He looked like an idiot.
“Thanks,” I muttered as Eric led me through the crowd to the kitchen. The house was small, too small to hold the amount of people who were there. If the neighbors didn't call the cops by the end of the night, I'd be amazed.
He reached past a talking couple to grab a beer from the fridge, handing it to me before we edged our way back out into the living room. “It's crazy here, isn't it?”
“It's busier than I thought,” I admitted.
“Darrel, the guy who's throwing the party, invited everyone from work. I work with most of these guys.” He turned his attention to greet a man with glasses who was passing by on the way to the kitchen.
I felt like a sardine, so close to everyone else that I almost couldn't breath. “Can we go outside?”
Eric nodded and then followed me to the back door. The crowd outside was only half as large as the one inside, and while it was still loud with chatter, at least I could hear myself think.
“Wow. Just wow,” I said as I turned to Eric, stopping in a more secluded part of the yard and looking back toward the door.
“I didn't realize it was going to get this busy,” he told me.
“Well, it's not a party if there aren't people.” I shrugged, taking a long sip of beer. It tasted bitter and gross, a brand I wasn't used to drinking. Still, free was free and I wasn't going to turn down a free drink.
Eric opened his mouth to speak, but as soon as he did one of his co-workers came up to mingle. It seemed to be the story of the night. We would be alone for two seconds before someone else would come join in on the conversation, making me feel like an outcast. They tried to engage me, but what did I really have to say to people I didn't know.
Luckily, someone decided to bring an ice chest out onto the back porch, so I drank and drank and drank while Eric and his friends chatted the night away. Despite my sobriety leaving me quickly, I couldn't force myself to have fun. Usually, alcohol could turn any situation into a hoot, but not tonight. My mind kept drifting back to Jack Kemble. Was he having as bad of a Halloween as I was?
“Are you alright?” Eric asked when he noticed me sulking to myself.
“I'm tired,” I lied. “I think I'm going to go home.”
“Do you need me to drive you?” he offered.
“No. I think I'll be fine.”
“How many beers have you had?”
I lost count at seven. “Four.”
“Alright,” Eric hesitated. “Are you sure you don't want me to call you a cab or something?”
“I'm fine,” I insisted, standing on my tip-toes to kiss him on the cheek. He wrapped a heavy arm around my waist, trying for a kiss on the lips instead. In my inebriated state, my reaction time was poor, and he landed right on the mark. The kiss was sloppy and wet, but Eric didn't press beyond my lips, not that I would have allowed it. I used what strength I had to pull away.
His eyes softened. “Let's get out of here. Come back to my place with me.”
“No thanks. I really just want to go home. I'm not feeling too well.”
“I'll take care of you. We can spend the rest of the night together. It will be fun. Just me and you.”
“I really want to go home, Eric,” I said again.
“Alright,” he surrendered sullenly. “You drive safe though, okay?”
“Alright.” I nodded, giving him a smile before I pushed my way through the crowd and headed toward the front door.
When I got behind the wheel of my car, I realized I shouldn't be driving. The house was moving in front of my windshield, swaying lightly back and forth. How I wasn't sick I didn't know, but I was grateful for it.
I reversed out of the driveway and then headed down the street. My mind was still stuck on Jack Kemble, though I couldn't understand why. Was that the reason I really wasn't having fun? Did I feel so guilty that I was punishing myself over it?
At the first stop sign that I came to, I reached over to dig through my purse. The ticket to the Halloween Masked Ball was inside. I pulled it out and then glanced at the clock on my console. The ball ended at midnight. It was now eleven o'clock.
Jack Kemble was probably long gone, but I was bored and didn't feel like going home. My curiosity was getting the best of me. Yeah, that was it. I had never been to a masked ball before. It would probably be splendid.
With excited nervousness pumping through my veins, I punched the address into my GPS and headed toward the venue. When I arrived, the overwhelming size and splendor of the place about made me turn my car around. There was a private gate I had to go through before I climbed up a steep hill to a building that looked something like a miniature version of the White House. It was ridiculously large, with towering white columns and two stories of evenly spaced windows, all of which were lit up like sunny beacons in the night.
By the time I pulled up for valet parking, a hard lump had formed in my throat, and I was regretting coming. It was too late to turn back now though. The valet was knocking on my window, and I killed the engine to get out of my car and hand him my keys.
Swallowing my fears, I strode up the walkway and presented my ticket to the doorman. My brain screamed to turn back. This is not the place for you. You'll just embarrass yourself. But my unsteady legs kept moving forward.
The first room was a hall with a red carpet rolled down the length of it, leading to a table with an ornate vase that stood in front of a large mirror. I watched my reflection as I stepped forward, following the sound of classical music coming from around the corner. One foot in front of the other. If you don't like it, you can always leave, but you've already come this far. You have to go the rest of the way.
A woman and her date stepped out from behind a set of double doors at the far end of the hall. They both laughed merrily at each other until their eyes landed on me. Both of their expressions sulked as they took in my costume, judging me. I tried not to look directly at them, assessing them with my peripheral vision instead. Even with their masks on, I could tell they were both well to do. The man was wearing a classic black and white two-button side-vented tuxedo. His date adorned a full-skirt ball gown with a sweetheart neckline. I knew it probably cost more than my car, though the pattern was absolutely hideous. On a black background, ropes of gold snaked up the train and bodice, twisting with no rhyme or reason, overlapping and coiling on top of itself at points. If that was high fashion, she could keep it. I listened to the way the fabric of the woman's train scratched against the floor as she passed me. Then they were behind me, and I was in front of the double doors, preparing to step into a whole new world.
My lungs inhaled all the aromas of polished floors, fruity champagne, and burning wax as I stood in the doorway. The ballroom was absolutely massive, reminding me of something out of a movie. Dozens of women in lavish gowns glided across the white marble tile as they danced with their dates. On one side of the room was a long buffet table piled artfully with hors d'oeuvres. Sectioned off in the corner appeared to be an entire orchestra providing music the attendees danced so brilliantly to. Off to the side were several sets of doors that led outside, which seemed miles away from where I was standing. And then there was the infamous staircase that had been mentioned in my Romeo's letter. He was not there though, and for that I was thankful.
Taking a deep breath, I forced myself into the room. You'll walk to the back, to gaze out on the balcony, make a pass down the hors d'oeuvre table, drink a flute of champagne, and go home. This is not the place for you, I told myself. You do not belong here.
Eyes were upon me as I crossed the room. I felt like a peasant in the midst of royalty, a black sheep that had wandered into the wrong flock. Women scoffed at me and serving men avoided me. With each step, I felt farther out of place, and it took everything in me not to turn around and run the other way. One foot in front of the other.
Finally, I made it to the other side and out onto an elongated porch. I could hear people talking and laughing above me on the balcony. Those around me went silent at my approach, whispering their disapproval. I knew it was time to turn around, but I couldn't force myself to do it . . . not without running and crying like a mess. Why had I come here? Whatever magical moment I was seeking was not to be found. My confidence had faded, and I was now just a scared child among strangers. The curiosity was strangling the cat.
For a moment, I wondered if I could walk around the building instead of going back inside. That would just make me look more suspicious though. I had to gather up the courage to go through the ballroom again, somehow.
Wrapping my arms around myself, I tried to ignore the whispers at my back. Turn around. One foot in front of the other, I told myself, but I was paralyzed with irrational fear. Maybe if I hadn’t drunk as much, this would have been easier. As it was, my emotions were so out of balance I was on the verge of bawling. I needed to get it together before I could go back through the building.
After a few minutes of gathering my courage, I took a deep breath and turned around. A wall of tuxedo stood before me, and I let out a short gasp as the man in front of me grabbed me by the forearms. It must be a bouncer or a guard preparing to throw me out, I thought immediately. But then my eyes darted up to the ones behind the mask. They were pale blue, like a soft winter sky, familiar.
“This wasn't the type of dress I had in mind,” he muttered, obviously displeased.
“Mister Kemble.”
Jack shushed me. “This is an anonymous party, remember.” More likely than not, he just didn't want anyone to know he knew me. After a long sigh, his lips quirked into a smile. “I didn't think you'd come.”
“I didn't think I'd come either,” I admitted.
“Well, now that you're here, would you care to dance?”
I was surprised. “You would really dance with me looking like this?”
“I would dance with you if you came wearing a suit and tie.”
My mind went back to the ballroom, thinking of how amazing all the ladies looked in their gorgeous gowns, sweeping across the floor effortlessly. It would not be the same for me. Aside from looking like a slut, I was too drunk to be steady, and I didn't want to embarrass Jack any further. Even if he said the event was anonymous, the masks didn't hide much.
“Let's just go,” I replied. “It's late anyway.”
“But you just got here. You really want to go home?” He sounded upset, and I instantly felt guilty for showing up at all.
“Yes.” I avoided his gaze.
He sighed, “Alright. Let's go.”
With Jack at my side, the walk through the ballroom was a little less nerve-wracking. I kept my eyes to the floor, avoiding the awkward stares. Once outside, he sent the valet for his car. When I asked about mine, Jack shushed me. “The least you can do is come over to my place for a while.”
“I'd really just like to go home and go to bed.”
“You can spend the night.”
I frowned at what that meant. Then again, I had pretty much surrendered myself to him by showing up. “What about my car?”
“I'll have someone pick it up and drive it over to my place.”
“You know I can drive it myself.”
“I'm surprised you even made it here in one piece. I know you're drunk.”
Can he smell it on my breath? Of course, he can. It's not like I just had one or two. “I could stand to drink more,” I grumbled, not wanting to remember the night.
“We can do that. Just tell me where you'd like to go.”
“Do you have anything to drink at your place?”
Jack grinned. “I think I can come up with something.”
The limo pulled around, and the valet opened the door for us to step inside. As soon as we were both seated, Jack poured me a glass of champagne. It was a welcome coolness to my dry lips.
He removed his mask and smirked at me while I chugged down the glass. “You were thirsty.”
“It's been a night.”
“It's not over yet.”
That's what I'm afraid of.
After a long silent drive, we pulled up through a set of wrought-iron gates. The mansion loomed before us, a monster of red brick, larger than any one person would ever need. I tried not to look too impressed. After all, Jack was sickeningly wealthy. It would be stupid to expect anything less.
“So this is your castle,” I joked as he helped me out of the limo.
“I prefer to just call it home,” he replied nonchalantly.
My eyes darted around curiously, taking everything in, or at least what I could see through the darkness of night. It seemed like every lamp in the two-story structure was on, casting light down on the small perfectly manicured front yard and walkway below. Shrubs hugged the side of the mansion, surrounding it like a short wall of greenery. Vines climbed up the red brick in places, giving it a romantic feel, though I knew the things that went on inside were far from romantic.
As Jack opened the door for me, I walked into what felt like yet another movie set. The entryway was more expansive than any that I had ever seen, and the floors and furnishings within were immaculately clean. I couldn't imagine how many people it took to keep up with it all, the cars and the yard and the mansion with its ridiculous number of rooms.
“Come.” Jack took my hand and led me across the mansion. It reminded me of a mullet, with the front part for business and the back part for pleasure. The first living room seemed to be the area where he would entertain important guests on plush furniture surrounded by priceless art and sculptures. The back living room had a more casual feel. Game tables separated two sitting areas, one in front of an enormous fireplace, and the other in front of a bar.
“It's hard to believe this is a house,” I muttered under my breath.
“Well, it is.” Jack urged me to sit on a bar stool and then walked around to play bartender. “What's your poison?”
My eyes scanned over the selection, an entire wall lined with shelves dedicated to dozens of bottles of liquor, some of which I had never even heard of before. “It seems you have a lot of poisons to choose from.”
“Everything you'd find in a regular bar, you'll find here, plus more.”
“Are you usually the bartender at your parties?”
“No. I usually hire someone else to do it, but I do know how to mix a drink or two.”
“Well what can you make?”
“Margaritas, bloody marys,” he paused, thinking. “Buttery nipples, martinis.”
“Bloody mary. That's what I want. Get to it, stud. Maybe I'll tip you if you don't fuck it up,” I teased.
Jack laughed. “You're so cold.”
He turned and went to work on our drinks, and while he did, I watched him with nervous anticipation, knowing it was only a matter of time before things took a more intimate turn. This was all leading up to one moment, the moment when we crossed the employee/boss boundary into something more, something we could never come back from. My stomach twisted from the thought. After tonight, everything would change. He'd look at me with different eyes, and I'd know I had just been an objective, conquered to move on to the next. Why was I thinking about this? Why did I care? Like Mandy had said, it was only sex. Jack Kemble was too far out of my league for it to be anything else.
Jack turned to me, setting my drink up on the bar. I was surprised at the artful skill with which it had been prepared. The rim of the glass was perfectly salted. A stalk of celery pointed at me, and two olives gazed up like green eyes.
“So what do you want to do now?” Jack came around to climb up on the bar stool beside me with martini in hand.
“Drink,” I replied dryly, taking a long sip of my beverage.
“Besides that. I have a pool table and a movie theater and a bowling ally.”
“That's just ridiculous,” I muttered.
“Well, there's never a lack of something to do, at least.”
“I suppose that's true.”
“When you're done with your drink, I'll give you the grand tour,” he offered.
“Sounds lovely.” If there was any excitement in my voice, it was feigned. I knew the only room that he was really interested in showing me, the infamous dungeon. That's where it would all go down. It was the only room in Jack's mansion that really mattered in our relationship.
When he finished draining our beverages, Jack took our glasses to the sink before offering me his hand. Gingerly, I took it, feeling the heat of his palm. The physical contact sent an electrifying shiver throughout my body. Soon, I would be feeling these same hands all over me, his nimble fingers taking me to new heights. While the sensible part of me dreaded it, my body yearned for it. Yes, Jack Kemble, I want you inside of me. My lips will never speak it though. Never. You will never know if I enjoy the things you to do me.
The tour was every bit as awkward as the rest of the night had been, for me at least. Jack displayed the same confidence he always had, taking me from room to room with a voice full of pride. Between the bowling ally, the gym, the indoor pool, and the theater, I didn't understand why he ever left his mansion.
“Your house is like a self-contained city,” I commented.
“All it lacks is the people,” Jack replied with a smile.
Next were the bedrooms, all ten of them, each one decorated with a different theme.
“And this is your built-in hotel,” I joked. “Have you ever been able to fill all these rooms at the same time?”
He took a deep breath, thinking. “No.”
“Then why have so many?”
“You never know when you're going to have to host a large party of people for an extended period of time.”
“I'd assume the people you'd host would be wealthy enough to afford hotel suites.”
“Yes, but I always like to be hospitable.”
“This is a waste of space,” I muttered. “Unless you're planning on having a butt load of children someday.”
“I'd like a boy and a girl someday,” he admitted.
“When you're so old you can't get it up anymore without Viagra and your wife is some fresh young model,” I said harshly. Stupid, stupid alcohol. It was hard enough for me to hold my tongue when I was sober. When I was drunk, it was even worse. Jack was leading me into the last of the ten rooms. He opened his mouth to speak, but I quickly interrupted. “And this is Jack Kemble's bedroom where no woman ever sleeps.” I pushed past him to go inside. The only reason I could tell it was his was because it was much larger than the other nine had been.
“Where'd you hear that?” Jack's voice rang with annoyance. Apparently, my rudeness was pushing buttons. Maybe I'd get lucky, and he'd ask me to leave.
“I never hear any of the girls in the office talk about it.” I opened his closet door and saw that it was large enough to be a whole other room. One side of the wall was lined with suites, perfectly pressed and waiting to be worn. The other side was casual attire, organized by season and brand name. “Do you do this, or does your butler?” I glanced wickedly over my shoulder at Jack, pulling out clothes hangers and mixing his clothes out of order.
“I don't have a butler,” he said before stepping forward to grab my wrist. “Stop that.”
For a moment, I was afraid. Jack really sounded angry. Being drunk was making me stupid—stupider than normal. In annoyance, he guided me out of the way, so he could put his clothes back in order.
“Hasn't anyone ever told you not to touch what isn't yours?” he grumbled.
“I was just playing, Jack. Lighten up. One of these days you're going to get an aneurism from not getting your way.” I leaned against the door while he finished undoing my dirty work.
Jack opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. When he was done, he took me by the hand, leading me out of the bedroom as if to make sure I wouldn't mess with anything else. It irritated me a bit, but I didn't try to pull away.
The final door Jack took me to had a keypad next to it. It seemed to be the only door with extra security, and I knew exactly where it led. I had heard stories of this room, knew before I had even come to the mansion that it required a code to go inside. This was the dungeon.
“This room is a bit special,” he warned me.
“I know what this room is,” I said as I watched him enter a number into the key pad. By that time, Jack had released my hand, and I had wrapped my arms around myself. This was the moment I had been waiting for . . . and dreading. I knew what came next.
The key pad beeped before the door soundlessly slid open. A light came on automatically to illuminate the contents inside. Jack gestured for me to walk in before him, but my feet stayed firmly planted.
“Is it what you expected?” he asked, assessing my expression.
“It is,” I admitted, looking across the room to the queen-size bed with handcuffs welded into the frame. It was the only piece of furniture that took on the guise of something normal. Everything else was very obviously built for BDSM. There were manacles hanging from the wall, a Saint Andrews cross in one corner, a custom-made wooden sawhorse in another corner. There was even a stockade.
“You can go inside. I'm not going to close the door behind you and trap you,” Jack told me with a smirk.
“I'd rather not.”
“You don't like BDSM, or have you not experienced it before? I could teach you some things, if you're interested.”
“I like how you assume I'm some naive virgin.” I rolled my eyes. “I know plenty about BDSM, probably every bit as much as you do.”
“Then this room should be of interest to you. I doubt you've seen a better dungeon before.”
“It's not this room that I don't like. It's what it represents,” I confessed.
“And what's that?” Jack turned to me. His pale blue eyes looked strange, defensive, as if he expected me to insult him further.
Maybe I should just give in, I thought. It's the least I can do for screwing everything else up. Let him tie you down, spank you, whip you, have his way with you. Let him press himself between your thighs, claim your mouth with his. Let him dominate you and pleasure you. It was known Jack Kemble was an incredible lover. Despite my body telling me to go for it though, my feet refused to move, and I was afraid to open my mouth. Instead, I took off down the hall at a fast walk.
“Where are you going?” Jack called to me, hastily closing the door and setting the alarm before giving chase.
My feet carried me as quickly as they could without running, my hands reaching behind my back to unlace the bodice as I went. There was a thick lump in my throat that refused to be swallowed. If we were going to do this, we would do it my way.
By the time I rounded Jack's bedroom door, the bodice was loose enough. I turned to face the door while my hands feebly unzipped the skirt. Jack made it to the doorway, and he stared wide-eyed as the bodice slipped down over the swell of my breasts, freeing them. Stupid body, I thought bitterly, knowing my nipples were betraying every word of rejection I had ever spoken. In truth, they were waiting for those warm hands, the wetness of Jack's mouth, the feel of his skin. My entire body coursed with desire . . . and fear.
When Jack didn't move, I pushed the dress down over my hips, leaving me standing knee deep in petticoat and the stiff bodice. Above, the only thing that could be seen was stockings and underwear and skin. Nervously, I wrapped my arms around myself, cupping my hands over my bare chest, my nipples pressing hard against them. I tried to look sultry, slightly bending one knee and giving Jack my best pouting lustful look.
“I wasn't expecting this,” he confessed. The front of his pants were already becoming tight, and I felt my cheeks flush with sudden embarrassment. There was no going back now.
Do something, anything, I silently begged, but Jack didn't move. He simply stared, for once at a loss for words.
Too nervous to stand there like a deer in the headlights any longer, I stepped out of the petticoat, bending over to toss it aside so that it was out of the way. As I did, I let my breasts fall from my hands. They felt especially heavy, but that was probably just the alcohol. My entire body felt heavy from it . . . and hot. I always got hot when I drank.
Turning from Jack, I kicked off my shoes, dropping the sexy pretense until it was time to remove my stockings. One at a time, I slowly rolled them down my thighs, then off of my feet, tossing them on top of my costume. Each second felt like an hour, and I couldn't understand why Jack hadn't moved in yet. I had turned so I couldn't see him coming, half expecting him to walk up behind me and place his hands on my hips, or feel the smooth curve of my ass.
When the stockings were off, I hooked my fingers into the waistband of my white silk panties. I was especially slow pulling them down, wanting Jack to appreciate every centimeter of bare skin I exposed to him. They clung between my legs for a moment before I tugged them free, letting them fall the rest of the way to the floor.
Why hasn't he touched me yet? Does he not like what he's seeing? Is Jack even still behind me? I was too afraid to look. Ever since I had begun undressing, all I could hear was the rustling of my clothing and the sound of my own heavy breathing. Everything else had faded away.
Figuring that if Jack was going to make a move, he would have done it already, I pulled back his comforter and crawled beneath the covers. In my peripheral vision, I could see Jack was still there, unwavering. It was as if my body had been the head of Medusa, and I had turned him to stone. It felt strange and uncomfortable that he hadn't done anything—hadn't said anything.
I kept my eyes to the ceiling, avoiding Jack's at all costs. He moved around to the other side of the bed and began taking off his tuxedo jacket. Though I had seen him remove his clothing dozens of times before, this time it was different. Jack's fingers fumbled at his tie, and though he was facing away from me, I could sense nervousness emitting from his body. He paused occasionally, as if he were contemplating something, but then continued all the same, pulling his tie from around his neck, thumbing the buttons on his shirt. The stiff white thing slid over his shoulders, revealing tan flesh, flesh that would soon be moving on top of mine. My stomach fluttered from the thought. Then when his shirt was tossed haphazardly onto the dresser, I heard the deafening sound of his zipper being pulled down. Every one of my senses seemed amplified from the heat of the moment. Wasn't alcohol supposed to have dulled them instead?
Jack stripped down to his boxers and climbed into bed, though he made no attempt to touch me. As stiff as boards, we laid side by side, both staring up at the ceiling like virgins afraid to take things a step further. It was one of the most awkward moments of my life, but also one of the most exciting. I was naked in bed with wealthy famous ridiculously attractive Jack Kemble. How many women could say that? Unfortunately a lot, though not at that exact moment. For the rest of the night, he was all mine. I just needed the courage to . . .
“You're a strange woman.” He broke me free of my naughty thoughts.
“I know,” was all I could think of to say.
“Good night, Miss Strayer.” Jack clapped his hands twice and the lights turned off, covering us in darkness.
Good night? What did he mean by that? I waited, still as a statue, my heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and confusion. He would make a move soon, I just knew it. After a few minutes, Jack's hands would be roaming my body. But for as much as I thought about, I never felt it. The only time he moved was to maneuver into a more comfortable position. Shortly afterward, I heard him snoring, and my heart sank into despair.
Silently, the tears began to cascade down my face. Was it disappointment in myself that I was feeling or embarrassment? Maybe I was upset because Jack had rejected me for once. I had plainly offered myself to him, and he had turned me away. My pathetic plan to seduce Jack in his bedroom had failed, and now I looked a fool.
Everything in me wanted to slink out of bed and go home, but I didn't know where my car was, and if I called Mandy to come pick me up, he would probably catch me trying to make my escape. The only option was to lay there and wait for morning to come, to face what had happened and hope I could still salvage some shred of dignity.
Despite my drunkenness, the alcohol did not lull me into restful sleep. My body was too uncomfortable in the strange bed, my mind constantly reeling about the night's events. Every moment awake was far worse than any nightmare my subconscious could have conjured up.
Somehow, I managed to sleep long enough to wake the next morning to an empty bed. I hoped Halloween had just been a bad dream, but when I realized where I was, overwhelming dread filled me. My head felt like seven hells, and my body was sticky with perspiration from sweating out the alcohol. Not to mention the fact that I smelled like a bar. I was even more embarrassed Jack had to wake up next to me like that. At least, I had managed not to vomit on him during the night.
With a spinning head, I sat up to slip back into my costume. Putting on the costume was tedious business, and every move made me feel like I might retch. As soon as I finished lacing my bodice, I stumbled to the bathroom to empty my body of stomach acid and bile. Some princess I made, I thought to myself as I stared at my smeared makeup and mussed up hair in the mirror. I absolutely disgusted myself, and was sure Jack was disgusted with me as well. How could I possibly face him?
Despite my illness, I fixed myself up as best I could by washing my face and brushing the tangles out of my hair with Jack's comb, allowing it to cascade over my shoulders in a wavy mess. I was far from attractive, but at least I was presentable. Hopefully, I could make it downstairs without having to throw up again.
It had taken all the effort that I had just to put the dress back on, so I decided to gather my stockings and shoes and walk downstairs barefoot. Some of my bad mood seemed to have carried over from the night before, because I was annoyed with how large the mansion was. If I found a phone before I found Jack, I'd use it to call Mandy and have her come pick me up. With the way I was feeling, I couldn't be bothered to hunt him down.
The aroma of cinnamon helped me find my way to the kitchen. Someone had recently been cooking, though not recently enough. All the counters had been wiped down and the dishes put away, all save one that was sitting on the breakfast bar, piled with scrambled eggs and small sausages and cinnamon toast.
“Hello,” I called out, assuming a chef would emerge from the shadows. No one came though, and the longer I looked at the plate, the more my stomach twisted with hunger.
In search of silverware, I pulled open the drawers and looked through them until I found a fork. Then I pushed myself up onto a bar stool and dug in, greedily stuffing my face full of egg. It was cold but still tasted good.
“You're up,” Jack's voice came from behind me. The sound of it made me want to cringe.
“Mhm.” I swallowed hard, refusing to look at him.
“I thought you'd be hungry, so I had Sergio make you a plate. Was it still warm or did you have to microwave it?”
Thank God I hadn't made a bigger ass of myself by stealing Jack's food too. “It was cold, but I don't care.”
My stomach rumbled in fury as I took too big of a bite, and for a moment, I thought I might vomit everything I had eaten back up.
“Water, juice, milk?” Jack asked as he rounded my field of vision. He looked perfect in a pair of gray pajama pants and a loose-fitting T-shirt.
“Water . . . or milk. No, water,” I decided finally. Milk might upset my stomach more.
Jack reached up into an overhead cabinet for a glass and then filled it up from the dispenser in his refrigerator door before coming over to place it next to my plate. “It was quite a night last night.”
My entire body tensed, not wanting to talk about it. “Yup.” I shoved a sausage in my mouth, hoping to deter further conversation. Jack pulled himself up onto the bar stool beside me, and we sat in awkward silence until I finished chewing. “Where's my car?” I asked finally.
“Robert brought it over.” He dug my keys out of his pocket and set them on the bar.
“Good stuff. After I eat, I'll be on my way.”
“You don't have to go so soon. I bet you don't feel too hot.”
Actually, I felt like I was burning up, but I understood what Jack meant. “Even more of a reason to go home and get settled in my own bed.”
He took a deep breath. “I'm not mad about what happened last night, in case you're wondering.”
“Good.”
“I know you had too much to drink and probably weren't very aware of the things you were doing and saying.”
“Yeah.” Could we just stop talking about it? I remembered more than I cared to discuss.
“We didn't have sex either, if you're worried about that.”
“I know.”
“Oh, well, just wanted to make sure you did.”
“I appreciate it.” The question was why hadn't we had sex, but I didn't dare ask it.
“I don't want you to feel awkward.”
It was a bit too late for that. I was quickly losing my appetite, not just because of the hangover but also because of the discussion. With tension mounting, I decided to push my plate aside and take my leave. “Well, thank you for having me,” I told Jack. “Sorry the night was so strange.”
“It's fine. It was interesting, to say the least.”
“Indeed it was.”
“Did you get all your things?” He slid from the bar stool to walk me to the door.
“I think so,” I replied, going through a mental checklist, not that I had brought a lot with me.
At the door, Jack gave me an awkward hug, pulling me a lot closer to him than I found advisable, given my odor de alcohol. His muscles felt hard beneath my fingertips, which were only bold enough to brush the surface of his T-shirt.
After giving me a brief set of directions, Jack opened my car door and ushered me inside. Before I had even pulled out of his driveway, the tears were flowing down my cheeks again. There had been many times before when I had screwed up with Jack, but this was the ultimate. My pride was crushed, and there was a dull aching in my heart, though I didn't know why. Maybe it was because I knew I could never face him again. The happy life I had enjoyed for the past several months was now over. Everything I had worked for had disappeared at the bottom of a bottle. I would never see Jack Kemble again.