Read The Master's Exploits: Night One Online
Authors: Jessi Bond
The Master's Exploits: Night One (8 page)
I laughed, stretching my legs out in front of me. A few moments ago I’d been on the verge of walking out, going home and trying to forget about Dalton and his captivating voice. But now, all I wanted to do was stay here and get to know this strange man a little better.
“So that’s how it is, huh?” I said, smiling at him. “You just have to play games.”
“I guess so,” he said, eyes sparkling. “But isn’t it better this way? When you read the whole Wikipedia article before you crack the cover on the new book, don’t you always wish you hadn’t?”
“Not always,” I countered. “Sometimes it saves me from a very disappointing book.”
“Well.” He straightened some pens on his desk. “If it helps any, I always strive not to disappoint.”
My throat tightened a little.
He’s flirting with you. Don’t let this go any further, Grace, you’re going to regret it.
The last thing I needed in my life was yet another emotionally unavailable man who was
really
in love with someone else. Dalton could try to convince me otherwise, but Madison was still under his skin. I could tell. I’d seen it enough times, with enough failed relationships.
Why couldn’t
I
ever be the one they couldn’t get out of their head?
“Maybe I will have some more wine,” I said, shaking my head to clear the unpleasant thoughts.
Dalton’s face changed slightly. “Actually,” he said, “I’m sorry, but I have some work to finish tonight. I didn’t think it would take me this long to get through the story.” He frowned, slightly, glancing at the clock. “My apologies - same time next week?”
The abrupt chill in the room wasn’t just my imagination. I was sure. Taking a deep breath, I stood up, gathering my purse and notebook. “Please don’t apologize,” I said. “We’re doing this on your timeline.”
“Thank you,” he said, his face an impassive mask with no hint of mischief or flirtation. I much preferred the playful Dalton, even if he occasionally made me squirm.
Standing there, helplessly, I wondered if there was anything I could say or do to get the old mood back. Had I done something? Or had his story affected him more than he expected?
“I’ll see myself out,” I said, finally.
Dalton just nodded.
He didn’t show any signs of getting up from his chair, so I did exactly that. The hallway leading to the front door was long, with many doors, and my fingers itched to open one. But I knew he’d hear me, and anyway -
those
weren’t the rooms I was interested in.
Once I reached the living room, I spent some time lingering there. Imagining the scene he’d described, letting my fingers run over the back of the leather sofa. I wondered if it was the same one. How often did a man like Dalton replace his furniture?
Not that often, apparently. As my fingers ran across the seams, I was surprised to notice some wear, some of the stitching coming loose.
And that was when I noticed the door.
It was next to the kitchen, glossy wood planks, one of those wrought-iron pull-ring handles that somehow universally indicated what I’d find behind it.
Stairs.
Going down.
And I was pretty sure it wasn’t a root cellar.
Before I knew what was happening, I found myself standing in front of the polished wood. It was a beautiful door, but it stood out like a sore thumb. He wanted it to be noticeable. He
wanted
people to see it and wonder what might be behind it.
I glanced down the hallway again, but sensing no movement, I risked tugging the handle just a little.
The door swung open, silently. Like an invitation.
As my foot landed, I prayed the first step wouldn’t creak. It didn’t. Holding my breath, I pulled the door closed behind me so I could slowly flick the light switch.
The room was exactly as he’d described it. And then some. The bed in the corner, the array of toys on display - some beautiful, some diabolical, mostly both - and the massive St. Andrew’s cross, so much more imposing than I’d imagined.
I was drawn towards it like a magnet. Laying my hand on the supple leather, I closed my eyes for a moment and tried to imagine how it would feel pressed up against my naked body.
With an effort, I shook myself out of my trance. Against the wall, I saw two doors.
That’s them. That’s the rooms.
Again, my feet seemed to move of their own volition, and I approached one of them. My hand was on the knob when I heard him speak.
“They really are locked.”
I nearly jumped out of my skin, but managed to turn around slowly, and somehow, miraculously, I wasn’t blushing.
“Just wanted to make sure you’re a man of your word,” I said.
“I am.” He leaned against the doorjamb, smiling, and I felt a tiny thrill. The real Dalton was back.
“Well,” I said, adjusting my purse on my shoulder. “I’ll get out of your way, now that I’ve satisfied my curiosity.”
He let me halfway up the stairs before he called up after me:
“
Have
you?”
I paused, and turned around, just far enough to glance down and see him, still smiling, one lock of jet-black hair fallen over his eye.
“No, actually,” I said. “Not even close.”
I could feel his eyes on me, all the way to the top of the staircase.
***
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