Slow Surrender Page 21

  Warm hands enfolded mine as he moved close to me. “Karina. I know I’ve always insisted on honesty, but that goes tenfold for what I am about to ask. The ball gown. Did you choose it because you wanted it or because you thought I’d want to see you in it?”

  Okay. That was not the deep, soul-searching question I was expecting after his intro. “Both, of course,” I said. “Hey, aren’t you the one trying to teach me life isn’t either/or but and?”

  “Indeed, I am.” His voice was soft and he kept my hands in his. “And I will without any doubt enjoy seeing you in it. I just feel the need to say this: I don’t value you more when you pretty yourself up. I definitely don’t value you more for conformity of any kind.”

  Which prompted me to ask, because my mouth was moving faster than my brain, “Then when do you value me most?”

  He pulled me close and I snuggled against him. “If this statement were merely a prelude to sex, I would say I value you most when you are completely naked and vulnerable to me. However, it is closer to the truth to say I value you most when you’re being honest with me, and with yourself.”

  “Perhaps it’s because when I’m naked and in your bed, it’s easiest to be honest,” I added.

  “You may be right.” He nuzzled my hair. “Few people ever escape all the trappings, costumes and roles that society requires of us to be that naked, to be that honest with ourselves.”

  I tipped my head back and kissed him under the chin. “Which is one of the reasons being with you is special.”

  “Is it?”

  “It isn’t just about the sex,” I explained. “You’re protective of me without smothering me. You make me feel precious without making me feel like a china doll or a trophy. You make me feel like it’s okay to be beautiful in my own way. It’s hard to explain.”

  “No need to explain,” he murmured. “I understand.”

  “I’ve been so disconnected from everyone else. I was never really connected with my boyfriends except by a kind of optimism that we would connect eventually, if we loved each other enough. But you know what? I couldn’t fall in love with someone I didn’t feel a connection with. I could have a romance, a courtship, always hoping for it to happen, but it didn’t with them…”

  I trailed off, realizing I had basically told him I had fallen for him. Saying “I love you” to someone who isn’t ready to hear it is always game-over. Isn’t it?

  Stefan rapped on the window. We were slowing to a stop at the curb on a midtown avenue surrounded by skyscrapers.

  He hugged me, hard. “Bad timing. This is the wrong moment to end this conversation,” he said. “Wait a second.”

  He took out his phone and texted someone. “There. Now they think I’m in traffic, but it only buys us a few more minutes. Karina.”

  “Yes?”

  He shifted so that we were facing each other. He licked his lips as if struggling to find the words he wanted to say. What came out was, “Don’t ever change, sweetness.” He kissed my hands, my fingers, my eyelids, then almost chastely my lips. “And remember I prize your honesty above all things.”

  I think that was his way of saying I hadn’t made a mistake saying what I did. Or almost saying it.

  “Now lie back. I should take the glass out.”

  “Must you?”

  “Your body needs a break,” he insisted, “even if your heart wants to keep me here forever.” On the word here, he brushed his hand down my abdomen.

  I lay back on the seat and he moved the straps aside and slid the dildo free. Then he crawled up my body to kiss me.

  “The next thing that goes inside you is my cock,” he breathed.

  “Could you try it now?” I whispered back. “Just for a few seconds?”

  He growled a little. “That will, I’m sure, leave you unfulfilled.”

  I laughed. “Isn’t that the point of this whole week?”

  “Perhaps. I will be, too, though.”

  “Aren’t you already?” I teased. “The more you tease me, the more you tease yourself.”

  His hands hurriedly undid his trousers and the next thing I felt was the length of him rutting against my inner thigh.

  Then he stopped, his hips jerking up. “This isn’t the time for this.”

  “But—”

  “Hush. I don’t want to rush this with you, Karina.” He spread kisses across my cheekbones. “I treasure you too much to do that.”

  I groaned. “All right. For fuck’s sake. Go to your meeting or whatever it is.”

  He kissed me hard and then was out of the car before I could say anything more. Through the tinted windows I could see him buckling up quickly as he walked across the plaza toward a building’s entrance.

  I pulled my robe back on as Stefan lowered the window.

  “Back home?” he asked.

  “Yes.” I leaned tiredly against the back of the seat. Phew. “Do you know anything about this ball he’s taking me to? I think he meant to tell me more about it but I, um, distracted him.”

  “Ah, yes, that.” Stefan was silent for a few moments as he navigated through the heavy flow of traffic on what I could now see was Sixth Avenue. We weren’t far from Radio City. “It’s tomorrow night. We’ll be picking you up at seven o’clock.”

  “That’s it? That’s all you know?”

  “I’m sure he’ll text you more details if necessary,” Stefan said.

  “Come on, Stefan. This is a big deal! I need to know at least what kind of shoes to wear. Will there be actual ball dancing?”

  “I’ve never been permitted inside to see,” Stefan said. “But there is a ballroom—that much I do know.”

  “Is this like a regular thing? Who’s throwing it? He said it would be a bunch of rich, overprivileged people.”

  Stefan snorted at that. “He should be one to talk. But yes. It’s in a very rich person’s private home.”

  “A private home with a ballroom?”

  “Yes. That level of rich.”

  “I’m not even sure I can imagine that kind of money.”

  “I’ll tell you one more thing about the person hosting the party. They’re rich enough to have paid for my college education without blinking.”

  “Really? Where did you go?”

  “Yale.”

  “Yale!”

  Stefan nodded. “And then to bodyguard school after that, which was nearly as expensive, especially when you consider I wrecked a car in the process of learning evasive and tactical driving.”

  “What!”

  He smiled at me in the mirror, with a cat-who-licked-the-cream sort of smile, and I knew he wasn’t going to say more. All right, fine, so the party would be at the house of a person so rich they basically lived on a separate planet from me. I suddenly wondered if a secondhand dress was going to be good enough.

  “Man, now I’m really nervous about this.”

  “Clearly I shouldn’t have told you anything,” Stefan said.

  “Well, I better go do my shoe shopping this afternoon. Not that anyone can see my feet under that voluminous dress. Shoot. I wonder what I can afford.”

  “Does it matter, if no one will see your feet?”

  “Well, you know, if there’s a grand staircase, at some point you have to walk down it, and when you’re holding your skirts out of your way so you don’t trip and fall and break your neck, everyone gets to see your feet then.”

  “Having never worn a ball gown, I can’t say I knew that, but I do now,” Stefan said. “Thank you.”

  “I’ve never worn one either,” I admitted. “That’s something I read in a book somewhere.”

  He chuckled. “I can see why he likes you. You’re real.”

  “And most people aren’t?”

  “No, they really aren’t. They’re exceedingly fake. Although New York is not as bad as Los Angeles. I think many of the people you meet there are actually androids. There’s no other explanation for it.”

  “Have you traveled a lot?”

  “A fa
ir bit. His business takes us all over the world, and yet he’s a recluse at the same time. Otherwise I think we would go more places. Los Angeles, London, Seattle, Milan, Paris, Miami. It’s mostly just New York and London.”

  “What’s London like?”

  “A complete nightmare to navigate. They drive on the wrong side of the road there.”

  Stefan regaled me with tales of vehicular jeopardy all the way back down to my building.

  Thirteen: Leather, Leather Everywhere

  James finally let me out of suspense late Friday night when we talked on the phone. “Look,” I said. “I need to know what shoes to buy, or if this is actually the kind of party where I won’t be wearing them long.”

  His laugh sounded low and rich, even through the phone.

  “Well?”

  “What did Stefan tell you?” he asked.

  “He didn’t tell me anything, which only increased my suspicion that this party is going to be full of shenanigans.”

  “Oh, is that what they’re calling it these days?” he joked. “All right. I’ll clue you in a bit. This is a society of mostly well-heeled people who have some unorthodox ideas about sexual recreation.”

  “There’s that word again! Recreation.”

  “Well, it’s an interesting word, because many of them do seem to approach it like a hobby or a sport. Others are committed to the alternative lifestyle. Oh, what am I saying? Many of the same people are both highly committed to an alternative lifestyle and also, well, you’ll see. Besides, it makes perfect sense to get the exhibitionists and the voyeurs together for their mutual benefit.”

  “I suppose it does. You still didn’t answer the question about the shoes. Will there be actual ballroom dancing?”

  “Yes. We have some appearances to maintain, after all.”

  “We do?”

  “Oh, I don’t mean you and me. I mean this secret society overall. Think of it as an extended form of group foreplay. There’s a veneer of aristocracy atop the whole thing. Which perhaps makes it all the more fun when the veneer cracks.” He paused. “I’ll bring you shoes.”

  “Wait, did you just say you’ll bring me shoes? You don’t even know my size.”

  “Of course I do, sweetness. Did you forget I rented our ice skates?” He quoted my own words back to me. “You’re an ‘eight, sometimes seven and a half in styles that run big.’”

  “All right. And I guess that means my secondhand ball gown is all right?”

  “I assure you it’s fine. And don’t forget the tiara.”

  “Hey, I thought a little more about what we said in the car today.”

  “Which thing we said?”

  “The bit about how it isn’t necessary for me to pretty myself up for you. Or my own self-esteem, for that matter. Wearing a pretty dress when you’re a single girl, it doesn’t work.”

  “Doesn’t work?”

  “Think about it. If a girl dresses really cute, is she really going to impress that boy she thinks is cute? Or is she only going to attract a lot of unwanted attention from men? I’ve never been big on all the unwanted attention. I mean, seriously, it’s gross most of the time. I’m not interested in those guys, young or old, so getting compliments or appraising looks can be downright creepy. And then there are the actual creepers who do shit like hover around trying to see your tits. Ugh. Why why why would I want to do anything to encourage that?”

  He made a murmur of agreement.

  “I don’t put on makeup. I don’t style my hair. I don’t wear cute shoes. I don’t wear frills or skirts or anything the color pink. Because it only leads to trouble. And I wouldn’t want to date any guy who only noticed me because of how cute my hair was.” The guys I had dated weren’t much better, I thought. “Here’s what’s different, though. I want to be pretty for you. I wish I was prettier, in fact.”

  “Karina, you are far prettier than you give yourself credit for.”

  “That’s not the point. The point is that for you, I pretty myself up because we both enjoy it. We have fun with it. I don’t mind exposing my femininity, literally or figuratively, when I’m with you. Heck, I don’t even mind other men watching me and appreciating what they see, as long as I’m with you.”

  “A large number of voyeurs will be present in the crowd tomorrow,” he said.

  “They can look all they want, because they’ll know I’m yours,” I said. “Isn’t that right?”

  “That’s exactly right,” he said with some vehemence, which made me feel warm and tingly inside. “Now, about tomorrow, would you like to go back and see Mandinka? She does beauty above the waist as well.”

  “Oh, that’s a thought.”

  “Would you like to bring your roommate? She could get a facial or a pedicure herself, too.”

  “Well—”

  “Don’t insult me by offering to pay for it,” he said. “I’ll set up appointments for you both. You might want to bring the dress and change there.”

  “This’ll be fun!” Once again, he’d thought of everything. Instead of me stressing over whether my hair and makeup were right, I’d have Mandinka work her magic. Everything was going to be just perfect.

  * * *

  I broke the news to Becky that we weren’t going shoe shopping after all. She was in the kitchen fighting with our toaster, which was fussy about actually toasting both sides of the bread sometimes. “He’s buying me shoes,” I told her.

  “Great! How much do you think we can spend?” She pulled the toast out with a fork and put it back in facing the other way.

  “No, no. I don’t mean he’ll pay for it. I mean he’s getting the shoes for me.”

  “But I got you a bag!” she protested. “What if your shoes don’t match?”

  “No one will see my shoes under the dress,” I pointed out. “What bag?”

  “Look at this. I thought you’d need a place to put your cell phone and stuff.” She went to the shelf by the door to dig in her own purse, which was larger than most tote bags I had ever seen, and pulled out a plastic shopping bag wrapped around something. “Tada.”

  I discarded the plastic bag and was left holding a very cute blue satin purse, square, on a long string. It fit my cell phone and a few other things perfectly. “It’s awesome!”

  “Can you text him a picture of it and tell him to get something that will match?” she asked.

  “I’m sure if what he gets me matches the dress, and this matches the dress, then it’ll all match,” I assured her.

  “But I was looking forward to going shopping with you.” She sighed and sat on the futon. “All we’ve done is work work work all week.”

  I didn’t mention that I’d done some other things, too, but I did say, “It’s okay, Becks. We’re going to spend some time together after all. He booked us spa appointments.”

  She sat up straight. “Spa appointments?”

  “A pedicure and facial for you and pedicure, hair, and makeup for me,” I said. “At the place he sent me once before. They’re really nice there.”

  “Ooh! I’m liking him more and more. Will he be there? What am I supposed to call him?”

  I realized I wasn’t so sure. “I don’t think he’ll be there,” I said. “And I’m not sure what you should call him. I call him ‘James,’ but even his staff doesn’t use that name. It’s…only for me.”

  “Oooh. Special.” Becky’s eyes widened. “Well, obviously I can’t call him that. If I’m going to thank him, I want to be able to say, ‘Thank you, Mister So-and-So.’ Or whatever would be appropriate. Wait, are you telling me you still don’t know his last name?”

  “I know who he is. He’s J. B. Lester, the glass artist, but no one’s supposed to know that’s him. I haven’t asked what alias I’m supposed to give people who aren’t in the know!”

  Becky blinked. “Huh. Isn’t J. B. Lester a pseudonym? I can’t say ‘Mr. Lester’ if that’s supposed to be a secret, too. Especially if it would get you in trouble for telling me!”

  “I d
on’t think he’ll be there,” I repeated. I was sure that he’d told me the truth, that his name was James and that he was the glass artist J. B. Lester, but he still hadn’t told me the whole story.

  “So, what happens in a facial?” Becky asked.

  “I haven’t the slightest idea, but it’s supposed to be fantas—”

  “Do you smell something burning? Oh no! The toast!” She ran into the kitchen and unplugged the toaster, just as wisps of black smoke were starting to curl up from it. Her toast was fine, but the toaster itself was done for. “Well, I guess I can spend the money I was going to spend on shoes on a new one of these.”

  We arrived at the spa at five, right before closing. This time Mandinka and another woman were there for the two of us. The big surprise was that Becky knew the other woman.

  “Mistress Mischief!” she exclaimed when she caught sight of her. “Oh my gosh, I had no idea this was where you worked. Karina, this is one of my friends from the LL fan club.”

  The woman had jet-black hair but very pale skin. “You can call me Jesse here, Becks,” she said as she led us to the changing stalls.

  When I gave a questioning look, Becky said quickly, “Oh, see, lots of folks have fan names. They’re usually two words with the same letter, like Lord Lightning. So, um, yeah.” She was blushing a little.

  Jesse let the cat out of the bag. “Becky’s fan name is Baroness Babelicious.”

  “We were drinking at the time,” Becky said weakly as she shut the curtain, but we were all giggling about it by then, even her.

  Becky had a facial while I got shaved, and then we both got pedicures, which made Becky shriek and giggle because of how ticklish her feet are. After that, all three of them hovered around me to do my hair and makeup. Okay, Becks mostly kibbitzed and made play-by-play commentary like, “Oh, that shade makes your whole face glow” and “Oh my God, so glam!”

  They put the tiara on to sculpt my hair around it and ended up adding little jewels to my face and eyes. They also did something I’d never seen before. I mean, my idea of makeup was you brushed some red powder on your cheeks. They used a kind of bluish shadow not just on my eyes but also on various places on my face and down my neck and cleavage.