Surrender Your Heart Page 2
She seems to read my mind. “I know you won’t need any winter clothes around here, but we might not stay all through the year.”
I reach out and take out a random dress, then a blouse, a shirt…They are all my size. I open one of the drawers, then another. They are filled with beautiful lingerie, bras, panties, thongs.
I turn to her, take in her satisfied smile. She’s been looking forward to this moment, I can tell. I am…bewildered. Shocked. Maybe not as scared as I should be, but all of this is too much to comprehend all at once.
One thing is for certain: Her motives are all but innocent.
“Who are you?”
Let’s sum it up, she went to great length to take me here to a secret place, and she has a closet full of beautiful and, no doubt, expensive outfits for me. She doesn’t seem to think the normal rules of society—or laws—apply to her in any way. Maybe she’s trying to lure me into thinking I’m safe with her when it’s her plan all along to sell me off to the highest bidder after I’m clothed, fed and painted.
“I’m Carter Forbes,” she says, brushing the back of her hand against my cheek. “You don’t have to worry about a thing. You’re with me now. I’ll take care of everything you need.”
* * * *
The headache has vanished without any medication. If I’m still feeling dizzy, it’s mostly psychological, as I’m overwhelmed with the choices. Shower or bath? I can’t bring myself to move, not just because by getting naked, I’d make myself more vulnerable, but because I’m afraid she’s going to take away my old clothes, the last part of me. Silly. She is only getting started, and I still have no idea what her end game is. Carter. The lingerie in the drawers might be an unmistakable hint, but why? Why me?
I can’t handle all these questions, and her half answers now. Besides, my stomach is growling. I am locked in for the moment, so I have to play along best I can to gather more information, hoping it won’t be too late.
She’s not a deranged killer, is she? Just a woman with too much money and time on her hands, and, apparently, some criminal friends. That part still worries me. If she wanted to ask me out, she could have, right?
Carter Forbes didn’t give me a choice in the matter, that was never part of her considerations, I guess. What else will she do without asking me? Maybe the nice suite for the captive is all a show, and somewhere in the basement there’s a dungeon with all the tools of a…Stop it, I tell myself. Just…stop.
I can hear sounds from somewhere nearby, voices, someone setting the table, I assume. Forbes seems like a person who has people for that, so maybe that’s someone I could talk to, tell them about what happened…and then I realize they probably know, setting the table for two, not asking any questions.
She said I could walk around the house and outside if I was good. I’ll be good. Until the first chance for escape that is.
In spite of those many insecurities, it feels surprisingly relaxing to step into the spacious shower and wash of the grime of the day, but each moment brings up more questions. Who took me? Did we drive? Take a plane? If she wants me for her company and life-sized dress up doll, Carter Forbes will have to answer many more questions for me, or—or what? There’s nothing I can make her do. She, on the other hand…This is unreal. It’s the only way I can keep a sane mind, take it step by step. Get out of the shower and into some clothes before she comes back.
I frown at the underwear choices, nothing I would usually choose for everyday wear, though the black panties and bra I choose are surprisingly comfortable. I don’t want to imagine the price of them.
I halt mid-motion.
I almost forgot about the tip, all of a sudden excited. Somebody will remember and think it’s strange, right? The police will come looking for me.
Here I am, wearing lingerie this strange woman bought for me, a skirt and a shirt. In a sudden fit of clarity, I take everything off once more and slip back into my own clothes, blessedly familiar, boring, not as soft, but mine. I don’t want Carter Forbes to think I’m easy.
Whatever that means.
She opens the door a few minutes later, frowning when she sees I haven’t taken anything from the closet. The door is still open, my earlier choices lying on the floor. For some reason I’m blushing. It’s not like I’m the one who did something criminal.
“You didn’t like any of it?” she asks coolly, the different tone sending a shiver down my spine. I refuse to give in to fear. Brave or foolish, I don’t know yet.
“I don’t want any gifts. I’ll give you back the $1000, just let me go.” Then, maybe, I can make myself believe that all of this was nothing but a weird dream.
She shakes her head, no, like one would do with a stubborn child.
“I can’t be here. I can’t,” I repeat, my composure slipping. There’s a hint of emotion in her expression, worry, but she covers it up with a determined, no room for negotiation attitude.
“You must be starving. Let’s eat, and I’ll tell you everything about your new life.”
I could throw a tantrum and see what happens, but somehow I think that won’t get me anywhere. All of a sudden I feel silly holding on to these clothes, an old shirt and pair of jeans I put on after my shower yesterday…the day before?
I don’t know.
As for now, the woman who had me kidnapped appears to be my only tie to reality. Now, I am actually scared. I’m also tired, and yes, hungry, so I follow her without any further protest. She unlocks a couple of more doors and leads me into a private dining room. By now I’m aware that Carter Forbes must have unlimited funds at her disposal, but pardon me if a few hours of being conscious are not enough for me to adjust. The view from the big window is breathtaking. Palm trees, beach and the ocean.
The table is set for two, plates, glasses, food under silver dome lids. I know because it smells so good I’m almost fainting once more. This is getting old. My headache is long gone, leaving behind a feeling of complete confusion. Everything looks shiny and sparkling, including the bottle of champagne on ice. I can’t believe she thinks I’m that easy. I can’t believe how tempted I am to give in.
“What do you want?”
She smiles, brushes a finger down my arm. I shiver, disconcerted mostly about my reaction. How is that possible?
“Isn’t that obvious? I want to make you feel things you’ve never felt before. I want all of you.”
“Why me?” I will keep asking until she gives me a real answer.
She moves closer, but doesn’t touch me again. She doesn’t have to. Her words have me spell-bound. “I knew it when I first saw you. I had to have you.”
“Gee,” I say nervously. “You could have asked for my phone number.”
She chuckles at that. “Come on, sit down. Before we eat,” she takes the bottle out of the cooler and pours two glasses of the sparkling liquid, “have a sip. Relax. You’re safe here.”
“So you keep telling me. Please excuse me for thinking there must be a catch.”
“There’s no catch,” Carter denies. “That day at the café, I could tell, you were interested. You were thinking about…us.”
One sip of expensive champagne and I throw all caution in the wind. “You’re not only a rich criminal, you’re also psychic. Wow.”
My face is burning, giving me away. Maybe I had been thinking about it, a little fantasy of a single woman that hurt no one. That didn’t give her the right…What if I keep saying yes, to the clothes, the dinner, the champagne?
What if I said yes to more than that?
“I didn’t need to be psychic,” she says, not denying any of the other charges, as their truth is obvious. She starts to lift the lids off the food, orange-glazed chicken, rice, vegetables. Everything looks delicious. Finally, she pours a glass of white wine for both of us.
“First you drug me, now you want to get me drunk? I’m scared to find out where this is going.”
Carter takes a sip of her wine and leans back in her chair. She’s too comfortable with all o
f this, which, I assume, comes from always getting your way. No exceptions.
“Again, I’m sorry, but I can assure you it was just a harmless sedative to make the trip a little easier. The pilot tells me there was a lot of turbulence, so that was probably for the better. It has long worn off by now, so you can have a glass of wine safely. Please excuse the meager meal for today, but I think it will be easier on your stomach. Tomorrow will be better, I promise. I won’t let you go hungry.”
Meager? “Why did you buy all of those clothes?”
“You’re going to need something to wear,” she says, sounding too damn reasonable. “Look, once we have established some rules, we might travel. You’re going to need clothes for different occasions, and I thought you’d appreciate a little variety. I know you’re worried about your job and the university, but I can assure you all of it is taken care of for at least a year. You don’t need to trouble your mind with any of it. You are free.”
“One year! What did you do?” I ask in disbelief.
She shrugs as if it’s no big deal. “You’re taking a leave of absence from your job and studies. I know it takes time to build trust. I don’t want to rush you into anything. In the meantime, you may use the library if you’d like to keep up with your studies, but please, don’t feel like there’s an obligation. I’ll show you tomorrow.”
Taking a year off? It’s impossible. It’s something I have dreamed of before, to let go of all responsibilities. This is the kind of dreams you can’t help sometimes, even though you know they can never come true. What will she expect for all that generosity? Why do I keep asking myself this question when I already know?
I can’t help thinking that behind this clever plan, the implications of which still have me reeling, hides a very lonely woman. The circumstances make it hard to feel sorry for her, and, frankly, I’ve been lonely too. I could fool myself for a few hours, for a night maybe, but…a year? Carter doesn’t seem crazy. In fact, she seems to know very well what she wants and how to get it.
“You expect me to be grateful? I worked so hard to be able to stay in school. Do you really think I would somehow fall in love with you and forget all about this?”
Carter fills my glass again. I hadn’t even noticed I drank all of the wine. “Honestly, love, I wasn’t thinking that far. Why don’t we start with pleasure?”
“I’m not sure if you and I have the same taste in anything. You obviously like to be in control.”
“Maybe you need to let go,” she suggests. “Does that scare you?”
“What are you talking about? You want to tie me down?”
I utterly fail at irony. The tone of my voice makes the question sound more like an invitation, which she noticed. I can tell by the small smile.
“This is crazy.” I can only repeat myself. “You don’t know me. Why would you want to do anything for me?”
She leans close enough to whisper in my ear. “Because you deserve it. Besides, I think you would enjoy being tied down.”
I almost expect her to kiss me, but she pulls back with a satisfied smile. “How about dessert now?”
I nod, to the dessert, not anything else, breathless with an emotion somewhere in between anticipation and dread.
I could try to lie, but I can’t deny my body’s instant reaction. This woman, a stranger, has seen right through me, straight to fantasies I never shared with anyone—and she knows it.
A woman in her fifties serves dessert. She’s not giving me a second glance, going about her work quickly, and I realize I can’t expect any help from her. I’m not sure whether the people who work for Carter Forbes are threatened or bribed into silence. Whatever the strategy is, it seems to work.
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“Oh, I know a few things.”
She knows I get flustered, and enjoys it.
“You think I’m so easy to read?”
“No. I have a lot of experience reading people.”
This is surreal, having dinner with this attractive woman, somewhere in a house on a beach—after she kidnapped me, with the possible intention of tying me down. Jesus.
“Don’t try so hard to figure this out,” she advises, laying a hand on my arm. “Trust me.”
“Now that’s a little hard to do.” The chocolate cake, however, is impossible to pass up. If I want to formulate and execute and escape plan, I need my strength. That’s an explanation as good as any. “I don’t even know where we are. I don’t know you.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll get to know me.” Her eyes darken, and I wonder if she’s imagining how exactly that’s going to happen. “It’s been a long day for both of us. I’ll let you get ready and I’ll come see if you need anything later.”
“What? It’s bedtime already? I don’t get to play?” It’s probably not wise to act like a brat, but I can’t help it, still too overwhelmed by this rapidly shifting reality.
“You get to play when you are ready,” she murmurs. “Now finish your cake.”
* * * *
This is ridiculous. I slept for most of the day, I’m jet-lagged, freaking out, and not the least bit tired. Back in my suite, I pace the length of the room, back and forth before the futility of my actions catch up with me. I open the door to the walk-in closet, the effect the same as before. I have never seen so many clothes except in a store, and my budget never allowed for a luxury like this. I take out a ruby red gown that would be perfect for a celebrity party or a dinner in a restaurant way beyond my means. The fabric feels soft and enticing. I have to remind myself this is not my life, my reality. It’s a prolonged disconcerting dream and the fairy…a powerful woman who keeps undressing me with her eyes.
Yes, of course, that’s what it’s all about. She’s locking me up, dressing me up for her own pleasure. What pieces did I miss? You can’t come up with all of this and be totally sane, can you? What if she has a torture chamber somewhere in this mansion?
I put on the dress and regard myself in the full-length mirror, my eyes wide with a myriad of mixed emotions—but mostly excited. I’ve never seen myself like this, and in spite of being confused out of my mind I look—amazing. The dress, the underwear, everything is comfortable and fits perfectly.
I can’t be here.
I need to study, go to work.
I take out another dress, this one a dark blue, and choose a pair of silver sandals from the shoe shelf. There’s a transformation taking place already. I’m in it, I’m not sure I like it, but I can’t stop it.
Before I know it, I’m immersed in a fashion show for one, an accidental Cinderella, rescued from her boring ordinary life by…It’s impossible to determine yet, an evil queen, or Princess Charming. I laugh at my thoughts. Maybe I’m going insane.
I jump at the sound of the door falling shut, and a moment later she’s standing behind me, obviously amused at what I’ve been doing.
“I see you’re making yourself at home. Good.”
“I wasn’t…” It’s hard to prove the opposite, with the pile of clothes on the chair, and at least five pairs of shoes underneath. “I’m sorry,” I say, unsure, much aware that I’m only wearing a bra and panties. She studies me, unabashed.
“Don’t be, they’re all yours.” Carter steps closer, and I flinch. “Hey. It’s okay. I want everything to be to your convenience.”
She brushes her hand over my hair, her eyes never leaving mine, fingertips traveling down my shoulder. It’s odd that she touches me like this, tentative, cautious, as if asking for permission. I don’t think she went to all this trouble thinking she would have to ask. If she wants something, she takes it. I’m the living proof.
“What are you going to wear for the night? Or do you prefer to sleep naked? You can. None of my staff is going to walk in here without permission.”
“It’s not the staff I’m worried about,” I mumble, and she laughs. Damn my crazy kidnapper for having such a sexy laugh. Damn me for being so easy. Stockholm syndrome starts early, apparently.
The romance novels are wrong. This is not what I’ve dreamed of all my life—or is it? Crap. “Can’t you let me go? I swear I’ll forget about all this. I even give you my number…Wait, you have it. Did you clean out my apartment?” I step back and stare at her in disbelief—or maybe that disbelief is directed at myself, because her hand on my arm, moving to my back, felt so good.
“I’m afraid there wasn’t much of worth in it,” Carter says. “I had someone get your passport, and a few papers of course. A few clothes, so anyone who goes in there will buy the timeout for a year. I don’t want the police to come looking for you. As for your question,” she finishes calmly, “the answer is no. I can’t let you go.”
“Why?” I’m starting to feel like a four-year-old, asking all these questions. Underneath it all, there are too many emotions that are all but child-like. I’m not ready to face them.
She lays her hands on me again, on my sides, barely above my hips. There doesn’t seem to be enough air in the room for both of us to breathe.
“What if, after some time, you don’t want to leave?” she asks, her lips almost brushing my cheek. “What if you like it here so much you realize this is what you want?”
“Being your guest?” I find the sarcasm hard to muster for a reason, but…I had someone get your passport. That means we’re not even in the country anymore. No one is going to come looking for me, and she knows it. She arranged for it.
“Being mine,” she says. “Breathe.” Her arms come around me, and it’s a wild tug of war, body and mind. How can I trust her? My body turns out to be a traitor, overriding the instinctual fight/flight reaction. When you can do neither, I’ve learned in class, you play dead. The warmth traveling to various places of my body as she holds me against her tells me without a doubt that I’m very much alive.
“You said I could study.” The words come out in a series of gasps, and it’s not for panicking. If I am, it’s for a different reason. “Show me.”