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“Oh… kay.” I glanced around, wondering where I was supposed to strip. Like, right here?
“Right now, Jolie.”
It was a command, and I had no intention of not following it. He watched as I removed my shoes and socks, then my T-shirt and finally my jeans, his eyes on me the whole time.
“Put them in the box.” He pointed at a metal box, a small trunk, on the floor inside the door.
I set my shoes and my clothes neatly inside it.
“Turn off your phone and put that in, too.”
I did as I was told. I watched him lean down to shut the box, and when I saw that it had a lock, and he locked it, I got nervous. “Uh, Shane? Where’s the key for that?”
He stood up to his full height in front of me and studied me. “Do you want the key?”
“I don’t know. Why did you lock it up?”
“Because for the next twelve hours, I don’t want you to think about anything else. You’re here with me. No distractions.”
I glanced into the room again, at the candlelit table.
“Is this a scene?” I whispered.
“Sounds like you’ve been hitting up Google again.”
“Maybe.”
“I don’t like that word.”
“Google?”
“Scene.It sounds too much like a place where actors perform. Are we acting?”
That intense, focused look in his eyes was not an act. I knew that now. I could feel it, and I wanted to trust this feeling. That when he’d given me that look the first night I met him, in the bar, it wasn’t a scam. He wasn’t pretending. He wasn’t trying to manipulate me, to seduce then humiliate me.
He just wanted me.
He wanted that disheveled girl who ducked in out of the rain with spa slippers on her feet and no idea where she was going. He wanted to take control of her night… and take her to fucking paradise.
“No,” I said. “We’re not acting.”
“Sit down at the table.”
I went over to the dining table, and I felt him following me. There were several covered dishes laid out and two place settings with candles and a bottle of wine. I glanced at Shane, and he pointed out where I should sit. He was at the head of the table and I was at his left side. We sat down, and only then did I notice the black satin blindfold next to my plate.
He said nothing about it, but I knew he saw me looking at it. There was nothing else unusual on the table, and I couldn’t help staring at it.
Then I watched as he took the lids off the covered dishes and filled my plate with food. Some kind of buttery looking roast chicken with herbs, and salad. It looked healthy.
I’d never had a meal with him before. I felt nervous and too excited to eat, but I was hungry.
“Did you cook this?”
“No. I ordered in.”
“It smells good.”
“Eat.”
