Page 86 of Beautiful Liar

23

CLOSE UP

Iwake up sore. No surprises there.

My legs shake when I try to walk from bed to bathroom. The bath I had last night went a ways to soothing the throbbing between my legs, but it wasn’t a miracle cure by any stretch. There are faint red marks on my inner thighs and around my waist. I wince as I pee and touching my swollen lips brings back a flood of erotic memories of what Q did to me last night. What he plans to do to me today.

The orgasms he drew so effortlessly from me. The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind to put together the sequence of fake moans and groans leading to fake orgasms I mastered back at the Villa.

This was supposed to be a technical exercise. A clinical exchange of body for money. But I knew the moment he touched me that he had the ability to make it something else.

It’s that something else that lingers on my mind when I dress in yoga pants and a Lycra tank and head outside to the designated exercise area. I’m a few minutes earlier than the appointed nine o’clock workout, so I walk to the end of the sun-splashed terrace and eye the high wall signaling the end of the wing. A similar wall rises up on the other side of the great room, but there’s a huge garden, and pool, and a gate that leads down a steep path to a jetty overhanging the water. I haven’t ventured down the garden yet, but from the high position of the house, I can see the craggy rocks against which the waves pound.

The walls do an effective job in obscuring just how big this place it. I also haven’t found a door that leads outside besides the ones that bring me to the garden. Which means my only escape, should I need one, is via the water.

I’m a gilded, well-fed, diamond-wearing prisoner, with absolutely no clue where I am.

In some ways I’m reassured that if I don’t know where I am, neither will Clayton or my father. But I know that’s a pipe dream that has no basis in reality, but for a moment I let it wash away a little of the fear that clings perpetually to me.

I stop pondering the wall and let the view of the water soothe me. I have my first hundred thousand. Nine more days like last night and then I can allow myself to think of the possibility of a future.

Maybe in New York.

Maybe Quinn Blackwood.

I startle when I realize I haven’t thought much about him since arriving here. It’s almost as if when I’m with Q, I stop thinking about enigmatic CEO with the wastelands of hell in his eyes. And when I’m with Quinn, the man with the hypnotically sexy mechanical voice ceases to exist. I don’t deny that they both have profound, albeit different, effects on me. But one is a finite means to an end.

While the other…

I settle on the top step and fold my hands across my knees. To be honest, I don’t know what Quinn Blackwood is. Or whether he’s even anything to me.

But you want to find out…

“There you are. You ready to get limber?”

I startle and glance up at Fred…or Freddie. Or was it Eddie? Fitness Trainer. Here to prepare my body for another night of fucking. My face reddens as I nod.

If he sees my reaction, he chooses not to comment. He nods approvingly at my half-finished bottle of water, and we get started.

After we’re done I head back in. Stephanie’s laying out breakfast in the kitchen and I wolf down a plate of bacon, eggs and hash browns, topped off with a glass of juice. She’s stacking groceries in the fridge when I finish but stops and intercepts me as I head to the sink with my plate. For some reason my head snaps up to the camera above the fridge.

It’s blinking red. I hand over my plate without protest. As I turn to leave, Stephanie’s voice stops me. “I’ll be up in an hour to help you get ready.”

My eyes widen. “In an hour? I thought I wouldn’t be needed until tonight.”

“My brief is to get you ready by noon,” Stephanie replies.

My gaze returns to the camera. It continues to blink. I feel him watching me. “I see.”

I leave the kitchen and head up the sweeping stairs with my heart rate uncomfortably higher than it was twenty minutes ago. One hour. Then I’ll be in that room with him again.

The nerves that climb up my spine should be because I’ll be stepping back into the unknown. But I recognize part of the emotion as excitement. In the hallway leading to my bedroom, another camera blinks at me. My steps slow to a stop. I want to say something, but I can’t think of anything to say that won’t betray the slow sizzle burning in my pelvis. Like the cameras back in the Midtown penthouse, these burn into me.

I swallow and lower my gaze. As I enter my room, I swear I can almost hear him purr, “One hour, Lucky.”

***

I retrace my steps to locked double doors. This time, my outfit is a black lace slip with a matching thong. No garters or other undergarments. My finger and toenails are painted red to match the red soled black heels on my feet, and between my breasts hangs a blood red ruby on a gold chain. The stone is twice the size of my thumb. I’m almost too scared to look at it or even touch it.

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