Authors: Nina Lane
“What does that mean?”
“It means they’re aware of certain things that go on at
La Nouvelle Vie
,” Gabriel explained. “It’s perhaps forty or fifty people—”
“I don’t care how many people there are!” Lydia was becoming more agitated with every passing second. “You can’t invite anyone here. If keeping anonymity requires so much work, how can you just let people in?”
“Lydia, listen to me. There is no danger of anyone discovering who you are. If there was, do you think Preston would plan an event? For that matter, do you think Kruin would ever allow it?”
Lydia was somewhat mollified at his mention of Kruin. For all her fear of the enigmatic man, she possessed a strange and absolute trust in his ability to protect her.
“Do you?” Gabriel insisted, his hand tightening more strongly around hers.
She shook her head. “No, I suppose not.”
“It’s to be a masquerade ball,” Gabriel said. “Full costumes and masks are required, so no one will recognize you. In fact, none of the guests have ever known you. And believe me when I tell you they don’t want to be recognized either. They’re all very easy candidates for blackmail should any questions arise.”
He rose, stroking a hand reassuringly over her hair. “Don’t worry, Lydia. It’ll be entertaining and enjoyable, but nothing to fear. You might even try to look forward to it.”
He smiled and headed back into the house.
Lydia tried to imagine what it would be like to actually have contact with people beyond her dark triad. In such a short time, the sheer intensity of emotions that drenched the plantation had conspired to bind her irrevocably to this place and the men who inhabited it. She couldn’t even conceive of interacting with anyone else, let alone a group of strangers.
With a shudder, she rose and went back into the garden. She spent the rest of the afternoon planting pansies and pulling weeds from the flower beds.
Before arriving at the plantation, Lydia had never been interested in nature or gardening. Her family always hired people to take care of their vast grounds, and Lydia hadn’t understood what pleasure there could possibly be in digging, planting, and mucking around in the dirt.
Of course, she had been a different person then. In just a few weeks,
La Nouvelle Vie
had presented her with a myriad of things she would never have otherwise known. She had not only been introduced to the dark, blurred borders of her own sexuality, but also to the manifold pleasures of food, to the joy elicited by words of praise, to reading again, and to the sheer enjoyment of gardening.
Lydia now found intense satisfaction in clearing out weeds from the flagstone paths, organizing flower arrangements for the beds, sprinkling vegetable seeds into holes she had dug with her bare hands.
With her newfound enjoyment of gardening, Lydia could not help but wonder what other hidden pleasures lay in store for her.
“Dinner, Lydia.”
Lydia glanced up with surprise at Gabriel, who had emerged onto the veranda again. Dusk had already settled over the sky, and crickets were beginning their merry evening song.
“I’m sorry. I lost track of time.” Lydia gathered her gardening tools into a box and went to join him. “Do I have time to wash?”
“Yes, but don’t tarry.”
Lydia hurried into one of the downstairs bathrooms to wash streaks of dirt from her hands and face. She glanced at herself in the mirror, then stopped for a moment, surprised by how her face seemed to have changed.
She looked younger, of all things; the faint lines of stress generated by years in the corporate world had eased into more rounded and delicate features.
The hard, cultivated look in her eyes, the crease between her eyebrows, the firm set of her mouth—all had been replaced by a smooth, yielding countenance. The persistent, violet shadows of fatigue beneath her eyes were gone. Her sharp cheekbones and jawline had filled out slightly, lending her a far softer expression that seemed to suit her growing subservience.
Lydia pressed her hands against her hips and belly. There had been a time when she was a slave to the treadmill and a weight-training regime, but here she had succumbed to the tantalizing temptations of food. She had gained a bit of weight, which partly accounted for the fuller look of her face, but obviously it suited her well.
Lydia couldn’t remember a time when she had ever looked at herself in a mirror and been entirely uncritical of what she saw. Not until now.
She left the bathroom and went into the front hall toward the dining room. Kruin was descending the staircase, a leather briefcase in his large hand.
Lydia stopped and watched him, her heart thudding over the sheer magnetism of his demeanor.
Kruin paused at the foot of the stairs. “I believe you’re late for dinner.”
“Yes, I was just going in.” Lydia brushed her hands nervously over her skirt. “I wanted to ask you…Gabriel told me earlier about a gathering Preston is planning.”
Kruin nodded. “You have no cause for concern, Lydia.”
Hearing the words directly from him eased away more of her apprehension. “But what if they discover something about us?”
“The people involved know nothing about who we, or you, really are. Nor will they ever find out. And they are far more worried about their own reputations than they are interested in us.”
“So why do they come here?”
For the first time, a slight smile curved Kruin’s mouth. “For the same reason you did. They know they will be safe. You will not be jeopardized in any way, Lydia. Your anonymity will not be compromised. I promise you that.”
His vow spilled over her like a warm, soothing ray of sunshine. Lydia let out her breath in a long sigh of relief, feeling her entire body ease.
“All right, then. Thank you.”
He nodded and continued on his way to the front door, pausing to put his broad hand on her shoulder and give it a squeeze of reassurance. The simple gesture both surprised and delighted Lydia, for Kruin had never touched her unless he was either punishing her or enjoying her body. She watched him leave, feeling pleasure spread through her.
Entirely reassured, she hurried into the dining room where Gabriel and Preston were already seated. They both rose at her entrance.
“Good evening, my dear.” Preston held out Lydia’s chair. “Kruin won’t be joining us this evening. He had other things to attend to in town.”
“Yes, I just saw him leave.”
Preston took his place again and reached for his wine. “So Gabriel tells me you’ve been amusing yourself with the garden.”
“Yes.” Lydia smoothed her napkin over her lap. “I hope that’s all right.”
“Of course. We want you to satisfy all your urges here.” Preston smiled, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Lydia broke her gaze from his as Gabriel began filling her plate with food. She hungrily devoured her spinach-and-feta-cheese salad, followed by grilled, marinated shrimp; fresh vegetable couscous, and eggplant pureed with garlic and sesame tahini sauce.
Preston, who chose all the wines that accompanied their meals, refilled Lydia’s glass with an expensive Lebanese red wine that bore hints of blackberries and oak.
Lydia thanked him quietly before returning her attention to her food. She had learned the less she said during meals, the better the chance the men would allow her to eat in peace. She had just finished her last spoonful of a sinfully delicious chocolate-mint flan when Preston pushed his chair away from the table with a decisive movement.
Lydia’s heart plummeted, knowing instinctively what was about to transpire. She met Preston’s blue eyes steadily, trying to remind herself of Gabriel’s praise the other day despite her loss of sensual control.
“Lydia, darling, won’t you accompany me upstairs?” Preston requested, his lips twisting.
Lydia glanced at Gabriel, whose expression revealed nothing until he gave her a nod of encouragement. Nerves twined around Lydia’s insides as she laid down her napkin and stood.
Preston stepped aside to allow her to leave the dining room before him, then he directed her up the stairs. Lydia thought he would guide her into her bedroom, but instead he instructed her to ascend the second flight of stairs. With a growing sense of dread, Lydia realized he was conducting her to his own bedroom.
Having no idea what to expect, she breathed a slight sigh of relief when she stepped into Preston’s bedroom and found that it looked the same as it had when she had been peeping about the house.
She almost smiled, wondering if she had subconsciously expected Preston to have turned his room into a torture chamber.
She stopped near the doorway as Preston entered the room. He snapped his fingers and pointed to the foot of the bed.
“Go and stand there.”
Hating the fact that she was beholden to his orders, Lydia crossed the room slowly and stopped at the foot of the bed. She waited uncertainly, hearing the click of the door as Preston closed it.
She realized then that they were alone for the first time in weeks, without either Kruin or Gabriel to counterbalance Preston’s malicious streak. A fiery apprehension rose in her as she recalled that she was due for several punishments.
Lydia’s breathing shortened. She grasped one of the bedposts to steady herself, then remembered to spread her legs apart. She had once dreaded the idea of receiving one of Preston’s punishments with Kruin and Gabriel in the room, but now she longed for their presence.
“Lydia, do you remember that boy in our neighborhood who made all the girls want to cream in their panties?” Preston asked conversationally as he pulled open the doors of the closet and began rummaging around. “He was always in trouble, tall fellow with longish brown hair. Wore a leather jacket, rode a motorcycle. The classic bad boy. What was his name?”
His evocation of the memory was so unexpected that Lydia almost couldn’t speak. She swallowed hard, fighting the erotic images that pushed at the back of her mind. “Um, A-Alex. Alex Walker.”
“Oh, yes. You knew him, didn’t you?”
“I…not really.” A touch of panic sparked in her blood. If Preston truly had been keep track of her for all these years, delving into her past, then there was no telling what he might know about her.
She gasped when he suddenly clutched a sheaf of her hair and gave it a sharp tug, sending pain radiating over her scalp and yanking her neck back. He moved so that he was in her line of vision, his eyes like chips of ice.
“Don’t lie, Lydia,” he admonished, his voice steely. “There were rumors, you know.”
“What…what rumors?”
Preston’s mouth twisted into an unpleasant smile. “That Alex Walker was the one who finally popped your sweet cherry.”
Color flooded Lydia’s face at the coarseness of his words. She tried to pull away from him, but he gave her hair another hard yank, causing tears to spring to her eyes.
“Well?” Preston asked. “How true were those rumors?”
“T-true,” Lydia gasped. “They were true.”
“Tell me,” Preston commanded.
“Preston, please, I can’t…”
“Tell me!”
“I…I was eighteen,” Lydia choked, stunned by the rush of sharp memories.
God, Alex had been one of those young men who exuded eroticism with every movement. He had also been several years older and far more sexually experienced. Lydia had been no different than any other girl who wanted to explore the full force of her burgeoning sexuality.
“Did you seduce him?” Preston asked, his voice infused with husky curiosity. “Did you go braless in front of him? Did you wear skirts so short he could practically see your little pussy? Is that what you did?”
Lydia tried to nod, but his grip on her hair was so tight she couldn’t move. “Yes, I…I wanted him to notice me. He worked at a garage repairing cars. I’d stop there several times a week, hoping he would at least pay attention to me.”
Her arousal spiked at the memory of those days. She had strutted around shamelessly like a naughty slut, sometimes without any panties so that Alex might catch a glimpse of her pert bottom or even the curls of her sex. Her naked breasts pressed against thin blouses and T-shirts, usually white in color so the dark circles of her nipples showed through the material.
The garage where Alex worked was located right next to a junkyard filled with smashed, old cars and trucks. The place was filthy, stinking of gasoline and motor oil, littered with crushed cans, cigarette butts, rusted car parts, and broken bottles. Several beat-up cars were always in the garage, their hoods flipped up to expose their grimy innards.
And Alex, he was always in torn jeans and an old T-shirt, both his clothes and his skin stained with black grease and oil. Just walking toward that place, catching a whiff of gasoline and rust, had caused Lydia’s entire body to surge.
“And when did he finally decide to fuck you?” Preston hissed crudely.
Lydia tried to close her eyes, but another sharp tug from him warned her not to shut him out. She forced herself to look up at him, reminding herself that every insubordination was cause for further punishment. The expression in his eyes, a mixture of harsh amusement and satisfaction, hit her with the power of a physical blow.