Thor'sday Night - Paranormal Erotica (16 page)

He raises his wineglass to his lips without
taking his eyes off her. ‘I see.’

‘You do?’

‘You like being dominated.’

‘Yes, but that’s not like me. I mean, my real
personality is—’

‘Stubborn, strong-willed and independent.’

She smiles. ‘You forgot intelligent.’

‘That goes without saying.’ He doesn’t
smile.

‘Thank you.’

‘In any case, entirely different laws operate in
the bedroom than in the rest of the world, Carmen. You’re not a
better, or a worse person because you like… certain things. What’s
important is that you’re not afraid of him, and that you enjoy what
you do together because you know it’s just a game. You do feel safe
with him, don’t you?’

‘Yes, I trust him completely. But the point is,
I can’t help wondering,’ she takes another sip of wine, ‘I can’t
help wondering how I’d react if another man I was attracted to
acted that way with me.’

A different waiter sets a large oval plate in
front of her. Black squid-ink fettuccini glistens beneath a red
marinara sauce topped with a generous variety of shellfish. In
contrast, Mike receives a handful of ravioli sparingly drizzled
with pink sauce and adorned with an inedible sprig of parsley.

‘I’m obviously going to need a doggie bag for
most of this,’ she says.

‘Just start eating and see how you feel.’

She obeys him.

He finishes before she has even dented her food.
‘You said something in the gallery about fate and freewill being
interwoven, Carmen.’

‘Mm…’ Her mouth is full.

‘Swallow, that’s a good girl.’

‘Yes,’ she agrees breathlessly, ‘like all the
twining, serpentine beasts in Viking art.’

‘But didn’t they believe they couldn’t change
their fate at all, that no matter what they did, they would die
where, and when, and exactly how it had been decided at the moment
of their birth?’

‘I thought you said you didn’t know anything
about the Vikings, Mike.’

‘I saw that in a movie. Is it true?’

‘I guess so. It explains why they were so fierce
in battle. If nothing you do has the power to change what happens
to you, then there’s no point in being afraid, you might as well be
brave. After all, cowards stayed poor, and warriors either died in
battle and went straight to Valhalla, or they got rich. They’ve
unearthed amazingly large silver hordes never recovered by whoever
buried them for safekeeping.’

‘Those were the days,’ Mike says wistfully. ‘No
virtual money or ethical gray zones, just kill or be killed, die
poor and hopeless, or achieve immortality as a rich warrior. No
half-ass compromises. No permits to file, no paperwork, just your
sword.’

She laughs. ‘I have no problem seeing you in a
cape made of wolf pelts, standing at the bow of your ship and
shooting a flaming arrow into the mist yelling “Odin!”’

‘You saw that movie?’

‘What movie?’

‘
What you just
described is a scene from the Thirteenth Warrior,
Carmen.’

‘Really? I never saw it. That’s a scene from a
dream I always have.’

‘You mean a recurring dream?’

‘Yes. I had it again yesterday, only this time I
remembered more details. I was crouching on the deck of a ship and
you – I mean, the man in the wolf cape – was there. I can’t tell
you how many times I’ve seen that arrow burning through the mist. I
can still feel its hot trail in my chest when I wake up, you know,
that feeling you get when you’re trying not to cry? It really
upsets me that I can’t remember more.’

‘Hmm. Shall I have them bag that for you?’

‘Yes, please, it’ll make a great dinner.’

‘Isn’t one of your boyfriends taking you out
tonight?’

‘I don’t think so.’

He motions for the waiter. ‘Do they know about
each other, Carmen?’

‘Yes, sort of.’

‘She’d like to take that with her, and I’d like
an espresso with the bill. Would you like some coffee, Carmen?’

‘No, thank you.’

‘So, are they planning to fight a duel for
you?’

‘Jay doesn’t want me to see Will again. He’s
made that quite clear.’

‘And how do you feel?’

She shrugs. ‘I can’t make head or tail of my
feelings lately, Mike. They’re like that Viking doorway, all
tangled and at each others throats.’

‘You know, Carmen, I like talking to you; you’re
very expressive.’

‘Thank you, Mike.’

‘I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite like
you. You keep surprising me.’

‘Thanks, Mike, I really needed to hear that. I
was beginning to feel, I don’t know, like I wasn’t really worth as
much as I thought I was. But what you said, about different laws
operating in the bedroom than in real life, makes a lot of sense. I
just hope I can manage to draw the line. With me, everything tends
to bleed into everything else.’

‘It’s called being a woman.’ His coffee arrives,
along with the check and her doggie bag. ‘I live with one,
remember?’

She would rather forget.

‘This dream of yours,’ he downs the espresso,
‘how often do you have it?’

‘I really can’t say. A lot, more than normal
lately.’

‘Do you think it means anything?’

‘I don’t know, but I do believe our dreaming
mind is much wiser than our waking consciousness. There’s all sorts
of fascinating new research about how we can learn in our sleep,
and how important it is for our mental health to dream.’

‘That’s interesting.’ He glances at the check.
‘We’ll have to continue this conversation another time.’ He pulls
out his wallet, quickly counts out some bills, and slips them into
the black folder.

‘Thanks, Mike, that was delicious.’

‘It was my pleasure, Carmen. We should do this
more often. It’s nice getting out of the office.’

She follows him up.

Outside the sky is strikingly blue and there is
not a cloud in the sky.

‘It’s a shame to waste a day like this inside,’
Mike remarks as they walk towards the car.

‘It makes me wish I lived in a building with a
pool,’ she agrees.

‘I’ve got one at home. How would you like to
spend the afternoon soaking up some rays,’ he opens the car door
for her, ‘and I don’t mean the radioactive ones from your monitor.’
He smiles.

She returns his smile but gets into the car
without answering. She doesn’t dare believe he was serious, and she
has no desire to run into Linn.

He gets in beside her. ‘Well?’

‘You mean it?’ she asks stupidly.

‘I usually mean what I say.’

‘That sounds great.’ She hates herself for
sounding so trite, but she feels as though her brain is shutting
down, unable to handle the electrical storm of all the wild hopes
and fears charging through her.

‘Good. I’ll take you to pick up your car, then
you drive home, put on your swimsuit, and come on over. I live
right here in the Gables. Do you have a pen and paper?’

‘Um, I think so.’ She quickly fishes through her
purse, and finds an old grocery list and a pen. ‘Okay, shoot.’

He gives her his address, and neither one of
them says another word.

By the time they arrive in Seaside’s parking lot
after battling the lunch rush hour, she has managed to calm down.
The thought of his wife being home, or showing up at any moment, is
sobering enough that she is able to convince herself he is only
being nice, that he is a mature married man who doesn’t have sex on
the brain like she does. She is suffering from the very enjoyable
delusion lately that every man wants her, which obviously isn’t the
case, especially a man with a wife as beautiful as Linn.

‘Thanks Mike,’ she opens the door, ‘lunch was
delicious.’

‘As I said, it was my pleasure. I’ll see you in
a little while.’

Carmen rushes into her bedroom, a surprised and
sleepy Sage on her heels. She throws her purse on the bed,
intending to slip right into her swimsuit and run back out to the
car, but when she catches sight of herself in the full-length
mirror on the back of her closet door, she pauses to admire
herself.

She couldn’t be more different than Linn
Peterson, and Mike probably enjoys the contrast.

Staring at herself, she kicks off her boots,
peels off her skirt, her pantyhose and her underwear, then turns
around to get a good look at her ass.

It is crisscrossed with faint red paddle marks,
wordless statements that cannot be completely understood or argued
with, only accepted and prized in a mysterious way. She imagines
men must feel this way about scars gotten in wars, or as the result
of excitingly dangerous recreation.

Facing the mirror again, she peels off her shirt
and bra, and tosses them away carelessly.

More than ever, her body feels like a horse her
soul is riding through life. It has a will of its own, and needs
she has to fulfill so its muscles don’t atrophy and its spirit
doesn’t whither away. She has to nourish it properly, exercise it
and discipline it, but most of all, she has to have the right man
to ride her. Her body has to belong to someone who will also love
and care for her, someone who will hold the reigns of her thoughts
and feelings skillfully in his hands. Jay Westgate? William Reed?
Yet she is picturing Mike Peterson as she cups her breasts in her
hands.

Sage meows, breaking Carmen’s trance-like gaze
into her own inscrutable dark eyes.

She pulls out her bikini. Compared to the thongs
and tiny patches of cloth women are wearing these days on South
Beach, her suit is almost modest. It leaves something to the
imagination, which in her opinion is sexier than exposing
everything for just anyone. It came with a gauzy cotton ‘shirt’
open in front, and a pair of white high-heeled sandals completes
the ensemble. She grabs a towel, retrieves her purse from the bed
with Mike’s address in it, and rushes out of the house without even
petting Sage.

It doesn’t surprise her that Seaside’s vice
president lives in a Coral Gables mansion. She drives by it three
times, cursing beneath her breath at all the tropical foliage
hiding the wall that separates the house from the street and makes
it impossible to see any numbers. She decides which house it is by
a process of elimination, and is rewarded by the sight of Mike’s
Porsche in the driveway.

She pulls up behind it wondering what kind of
car Linn drives, and trying not to make too much of the fact that
Mike’s wife doesn’t appear to be home.

She rings the bell, and then concentrates on
looking casual and relaxed.

A middle aged Hispanic maid in full uniform
answers the door. ‘Si?’

‘Vengo a ver a Mike.’

The woman smiles and lets her pass, as if anyone
who speaks Spanish is okay in her book, whoever they are. ‘Mike
est
á
en la picina.’ She gestures towards
the back of the house.

‘Gracias.’

‘De nada, niña.’ She walks away, leaving Carmen
to find the pool and the master of the house, all by herself.

She passes through two large, shadowy rooms, and
their expensive magazine-like décor, not to mention the powerful
central air conditioning, leave her feeling strangely chilled and
anxious. The third, sunlit room seems almost homey by comparison,
and its French doors are open onto the poolside.

She slips her sunglasses back on, and steps
outside.

Mike has started without her. He appears to be
swimming laps. Using his powerful arms and shoulders to advantage
he reaches the other end of the pool in just a few strokes, does a
flip turn like a professional swimmer, and heads back her way.

She tosses her purse and towel onto a chair,
flings off her shirt, and stands at the edge waiting for him.

He touches the wall with his fingertips, erupts
out of the water, and sees her. ‘Carmen!’ He smooths his hair back
as he stares up at her.

She slips off her sunglasses and smiles down at
him. ‘You’re not supposed to exercise right after lunch,’ she says,
tossing her shades onto the chair behind her and bending over to
begin untying one of her sandals.

He steps right up to the wall, and starts
working on the other one.

The water dripping from his hands tickles her
toes, but the last thing his touch makes her want to do is laugh.
‘Thanks.’ She kicks them off and walks over to scalloped steps
leading down into the water.

He watches her.

She smiles over at him again even though his
expression remains uncharacteristically sober. Or maybe it’s his
water-darkened hair that is making him look dangerously
different.

The temperature of the water is ideal, just a
little cooler than the sunlit air, and her body dives into it
happily.

She surfaces feeling exhilarated and
relaxed.

Mike is gone.

She screams as he grabs her ankles and she falls
back into the water, where she senses him swim past her large and
swift as a shark.

He surfaces a few feet away.

She laughs and splashes him.

Smiling finally, he dives towards her again.

She tries to swim away, but doesn’t get very far
before she feels his implacable grip on one of her ankles, and she
goes under again.

He pulls her towards him, and surfaces with her
caught in his arms.

Her own arms around his neck, she clings to him
breathlessly. His body is slick and hard and inescapable. She wants
to keep laughing to prove this is only a game, but she can’t. She
looks towards the house wondering where the maid is, wondering
where Linn is, and really only caring about what she’ll see when
she looks into his eyes.

They are a much deeper blue than the water below
them and the sky above them, darkened by thoughts, and by desire,
by the self-awareness physical elements aren’t blessed, or cursed,
with.

‘You shouldn’t have confided in me, Carmen. You
don’t know me, I only pretend to be a nice person.’