Green-Eyed Monster (3 page)

“No. I don’t want to go back there and just sit. Please, Mickey.” She deliberately used the name.

“Well then, if you want to stay here, you gotta eat. Damned if I’m listening to that belly growling at me all day.” Mickey got up and began banging pots and pans around on the stove. Water ran from a faucet into a kettle. “I like my coffee strong. Can I get you a cup?” The hunger strike was over. Breakfast meant more infantilism as she was fork-fed small pieces of food with sips of juice and coffee. Mouth always agape for the next morsel, she felt like a baby bird.

“Boy, you can sure pack it away.” Crumbs were judiciously dusted from her lips and chin with a paper napkin. “Now, I have to go to work.”

“What? You’re leaving me chained up here alone like some dog? Why don’t you just tie me up in the backyard, for God’s sake?”

“Hey, don’t freak out. I work from home, in the back offi— never mind. Look, I’m taking you back to your bedroom and I’ll put on some music for you, okay? I promise I won’t leave you tied you up in the garage again—damn.”

Oh boy, got myself a real rocket scientist here.
“I already guessed it was a garage.”

“I didn’t expect it to take so long,” came the sullen reply.

“Thought you’d be here and gone in thirty seconds flat. I didn’t know where to put you.”

Mickey sounded upset that things weren’t running smoothly.

It seemed she had stupidly brought her captive to her own home, and now she was getting too caught up in the details of caring for her. Probably down to a massive guilt complex. She absolutely stank at criminality.
Interesting. I might just slide out of this in one piece yet.

“I’ll go back to the bedroom, but please don’t keep my arms behind my back. My shoulders are killing me.”

“All right, but I still have to cuff you to the bed. I don’t want you playing with your blindfold again.” She was led back to the room she’d slept in, smiling inwardly.

She had memorized the route so well she could do it blindfolded.

How ironic. I am blindfolded.

Both hands were again cuffed to the bedhead and an MP3  player placed near her head.

“Here’s some nice, relaxing music. I’ll be just down the hallway. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

❖

Ten minutes later she was screeching over the wail of pan pipes, “If you don’t come in here and turn off this godawful noise, I swear I’ll inhale my own vomit.” Click! There was blessed silence.

“Oh, thank God,” she breathed into the pillow.

“I love pan pipes. How could you not love pan pipes? They’re so relaxing.” Mickey’s hurt voice floated above her.

“You are one sadistic bitch. Do you know that? Are you trying to torture me as well as hold me for ransom?”

“What? Never.” Mickey sounded genuinely hurt. “Well, what do you want to listen to? I’m sort of esoteric. I got
Song of the Whales
,
Song of the Dolphins
,
Meditative Wind Chimes
—”

“You
meditate
? Again, I puke in the general direction of my lungs. What I want is an audio book. Do you have anything like that?”

“No. No audio books.” Mickey seemed put out she had not availed of her soothing, chilled-out music library. “But I could duck out and get one. Any author in particular?”

“Don’t you dare leave me here. What if there’s a fire?”

“There won’t be a fire. I have to go out sometimes. I need to do chores, like buy milk and bread, collect ransoms, pay bills—”

“Collect ransoms. You’re collecting my ransom? How much?

When? How?” She tried to sit up, but her cuffs rattled, keeping her prone. She tried to lever herself into a more comfortable position.

“Here, hang on and I’ll loosen those.” She felt cool, clean breath on her face as Mickey leaned across her to loosen the cuffs. “No. No ransom paying as of yet. But soon. Hopefully, very soon.”

Soft, long hair tickled her cheek smelling of bergamot and rosemary, and making her belly flutter, making her want something. She wanted something. She wanted something. She wanted what?

“I want a shower. I’m lying here smelling myself. There must be some way you can let me wash properly.” The slight hesitation from above allowed her to press home her advantage.

“Come on. I’m sweaty and uncomfortable, and all my muscles ache. Please.”

“What about the blindfold? You really, really can’t see me.”

“What is this, a Beauty and the Beast thing?”

“Huh? No! It’s a pointing me out in court thing.” Her voice was petulant again.

God, but she is so easy to tease.
“Look, lock me in the bathroom again and don’t let me out until I promise to blindfold myself.”

Silence.

“Please, I’ll even squirt soap in my eyes.” A chuckle floated down toward her.
Good, she’s in a good mood. Just push it a little bit more.
“I’d really appreciate it.”

“Let me think about it. Look, I want this to work out for both of us. I know it’s tough on you, but I just want us to get through this as easy as possible.”

So it’s “us” now? Suddenly we’re a team trying to get ourselves through this? Oh, darling, I have news for you. There’s only ME, and MEAT in my team.

“Please? I’m tired and stinky and achy. No amount of painkillers will make me smell nice. Come on. Give me a break?” She decided to try to play on Mickey’s good humor. It worked.

More chuckles.

“Okay, I’ll go get the bathroom ready. But you have to abide by the rules. Believe me, Ginette, it’s important.”

“I’m not risking leaving you alone after last time, so you’re having a bath, not a shower.” Mickey uncuffed her from the bed. She was led to the warm and steamy bathroom.

“Get your clothes off and I’ll get you some fresh ones.” Self-consciously, she stepped out of her jeans and panties and pulled her T-shirt over her head. She wore no bra. The day of her kidnapping she had been lolling around the house finishing off a few bits and pieces of office work, and had dressed in her favorite faded Levi’s and an old T-shirt. Now she felt so exposed, standing there vulnerable and naked, not knowing if her kidnapper was looking at her. Perhaps Mickey was not even noticing or caring.

In her permanent blindfolded state, she was becoming hypersensitive to Mickey. Her movements, tone of voice, the implied meaning in that soft twang. She was trying to understand every little nuance so she could decode her, undo the riddle of the woman who had seized her and then spent time and effort trying to make up for it.

It surprised her she even cared about Mickey’s reaction to her body. It had been a long, long time since she had thought about herself in a sexual manner. To do so now must be her subconscious’s way of coping with her current state of vulnerability, to eroticize it, to try to compensate for her loss of real power.

“Be careful as you step in.”

A hand took hers and led her to the edge of the tub where she cautiously stepped into perfectly heated water. No sooner had she gingerly lowered herself than one wrist was cuffed to the safety hand bar on the side of the bath. Her other was left free.

“I’m going to wash your hair. I got real nice shampoo and conditioner here. Then I’ll leave you alone to wash the rest of yourself and wallow or whatever. Shout when you’re done and I’ll come back and help you out.”

“Okay.”

No sooner had she said the word than the blindfold was removed and warm water began to pour from a pitcher soaking her head. Mickey kept out of sight behind her.

It felt so good. Her hair was thoroughly soaked, and the same aromatic shampoo she’d smelled on Mickey was applied.

Gentle hands began to massage the suds through her short hair and flit across the tight muscles of her scalp. She bit back a little moan of contentment as the fragrance and the kneading fingers worked their magic on her tension. She didn’t want to reward Mickey by letting her know how much she was loving this. It had been so long since she’d been pampered outside of a clinically officious spa.

Again, warm water flowed over her, washing away the lather only for a second application to begin. Firm fingers worked from her crown to the base of her hairline and hesitated for a moment before continuing to knead and massage down to her nape and across her stiff shoulders. This time she could not suppress a long, satisfied moan. She was only human, after all, and this was so delicious.

“You’re very tight all across here. Not surprising in the circumstances, I suppose, but I can loosen the muscles up nicely now that the water and steam have relaxed you a little.”

“Do you do this for all your kidnap victims?” A little sigh escaped.

She received a warm chuckle. “Oh yeah, some of them feel so pampered I have to chase them out the door.”

“Oh, so you’re a serial kidnapper. What do you do? Work for the mob?”

This was greeted with a derisive snort. “No way would I want to do this for a living. You’re hard enough work as it is.” More water rinsed her hair clean. Then a heavenly scented conditioner was applied and briskly worked into every hair from root to tip.

“This stuff is great for your hair. It sure smells good, too.” Mickey seemed to be enjoying the experience.

“You’re good at this. Are you a hairdresser, then? I mean when you’re not snatching people off the streets?” Best not waste the moment in idle luxury when more information could be wrung from this intimate and informal setting. She was already successfully breaking down Mickey’s sorry little boundaries.

Another laugh echoed around the bathroom. “No. Just wanted you to feel a little fresher is all. You’ve got lovely hair.

It’s an easy length to work with, I mean,” she finished a little awkwardly.

So it was fair to say Mickey’s chosen line of work was a million miles away from the hair and beauty industry, despite a natural ability with her hands. Which, of course, was unimportant information and should be disregarded.
Such a nice touch, though.

A final rinse left her hair feeling refreshed and squeaky clean.

Already, she felt like a million-dollar ransom. She congratulated herself on her own cliché. Behind her, she heard Mickey dry her hands on a towel, and to her surprise, move around in front of her, despite her blindfold being removed. She looked up to see a tall, dark blond, and very curvaceous Mickey Mouse. Blazing blues peeked out from the eyeholes in the plastic kid’s mask.

“Well, Mickey, so we meet again,” she drawled. “The last time was at Cinderella’s Castle. I believe I was ten years old. I still have the photograph, and I fully intend to hand it over to the authorities once I’m free. You’ll be hunted down like the rat you are.”

“Squeak,” came the response, accompanied with a mischievous flash from behind the plastic eyeholes.

“So why the hell can’t you wear that all day and let me go without a freakin’ blindfold?” she demanded, annoyed at the obvious simplicity of her suggestion.

“Because it’s too sweaty and my nose gets a heat rash. Now wash yourself with your free hand and call when you want out.

There’s loads of hot water, so feel free to top up the bath.” Mickey turned and left, leaving the door open. Every inch of her long, denim-clad legs, her broad back gliding down to a trim waist, and her gorgeous curvy butt was ogled on the way out.
Nice, very nice. In the police lineup, I’ll get to look at a long line of big, beautiful bottoms.
She began to lather her shoulders, singing at the top of her lungs a cavalcade of popular Disney tunes.

❖

A few yards up the hallway, Mickey sat hunched over her PC in the back bedroom-cum-office, groaning at the off-key refrain.

Her captive was proving to be more of a handful than expected, at a time when she needed to concentrate on the complexities of her plan. This little lady’s orders just kept rolling in. Mickey was beginning to feel like a short-order chef.

An hour later, the bath had been topped off four times. How long did it take to get clean? Even seals came out of the water to bask sometimes. Glowering at the screen, Mickey was unable to concentrate for more than five minutes at a time.

“Mickeee, the knots you tie are trickeee.” Splash, splash, splash. The shameless butchering of Disney tunes had been going on forever, and now it seemed she was making her up own songs.

I’m gonna drown her! I don’t care about the money, I’m gonna drown her.
Flinching at a particularly jarring note, she frowned even deeper over her reading glasses. All the attention she had been struggling to give to a particularly complex financial maneuver shattered with a lusty call from the bathroom.

“Mickeee, there’s no more hot water.”

With a heavy sigh, Mickey rolled back her desk chair, dumped her glasses, and pulled the mask down over her face. On the way to the bathroom she picked up clean boxers and a T-shirt from the bedroom dresser. This is worse than having a toddler.

She was crazy to think this would ever work.

The song started up again. “Mickeee, Mickeee, Mic—” Mickey burst into the saturated bathroom and bellowed in sheer exasperation at a morning’s work totally lost. “If you don’t shut up, I’m leaving you in there till you’re a prune.” Silence ensued as her yell echoed off the tiled walls. Big green eyes looked up at her through a tufted fringe of snow blond hair. The naked little body with knees pulled up tight in the name of decorum glowed pink and wet.

She’s adorable sitting there like a little water sprite. Shit!

Where did that thought come from? She is not adorable. She’s a total pain in the ass.

“Well, hello to you, too. Can I get out now please? The water’s getting cold.”

Mickey set down the clean clothing and pulled the key from her pocket. She released the cuffs from the bath handle.

“I’m gonna let you dress yourself. I’ll be in the hall with the door open, so don’t go getting any smart ideas, okay? The window is locked.”

“Okay, perv,” she muttered under her breath.

“Hey. I heard that. I’m
not
a perv.”

“Yeah, lurking outside ladies’ bathrooms wearing a Mickey Mouse mask.” She imitated Mickey’s Midwest drawl perfectly.

“Fersure you’re no perv.”