Ward: A Dark Romance
Page 3
“He doesn’t have a wife.”
Ignoring the slight skip in my heartbeat at that news, I still tried to brush Jane off. “Fine then. It’s probably just some traditional gift he gives his leading ladies on the last night of a run.”
“This is the first play he’s produced.”
Exasperated, I turned to Jane with my hands open in a placating gesture. “Why? Why? Why do you know so much about him?” All I wanted was her to shut up about the subject and yet with each blow-off statement I made, she came back at me with more and more information about a man I was already way too frightened and intrigued about as it was.
“Ladies! Shhh….”
“Sorry, Sally,” we both monotoned.
“Do you think it means—”
I cut Jane off. “That’s your cue.”
“Damn.”
Straightening her apron, Jane shimmied out onto the stage, saying her lines with a deep French accent.
My eyes shifted to where Richard had been standing. With a sigh of relief, I saw that he was gone. I didn’t think I could have finished the play without flubbing my lines if he remained there staring at me with those eyes of his.
With this being our last night, I had wanted to take it all in. Memorize every moment. Instead, I went through my lines and stage directions like a robot, my mind completely preoccupied with thoughts of the tall, dark man who had possibly taken a sudden and terrifying interest in me.
We had three full curtain calls before the audience applause started to die down and we could all head back to our dressing rooms. The narrow backstage hallways were filled with laughter and ceaseless chatter. Everyone was excited to change and start celebrating the end of what had been a successful run.
Walking slowly back to my small dressing room, I turned the knob with what could only be dread. Shutting the door behind me, all the noise was suddenly muffled and indistinct. Taking one step in, I stared at the long white box as if it were really a pile of swarming snakes. Not for the first time, I wondered if I could just sneak out the backstage door and race home, skipping the party. Perhaps he wouldn’t notice?
It was silly of course. Not only would that seem dreadfully ungrateful to the man who had essentially given me my first big part, but it would also be extremely rude to the rest of the cast who had quickly become close friends.
Giving myself a mental shake, I took a determined step toward the dress box. I was being dramatic for nothing. It was just a dress. Nothing more. It probably didn’t even mean anything.
Reaching out, I carefully opened the lid and pulled back the tissue paper lining.
Oh, my god.
Without even pulling it out of the box, I could tell it was the Night Sparrow dress from The Vampire’s Wife collection. Its distinctive black velvet appliqué floral pattern over sheer tulle was unmistakable. Plus, I knew this entire collection by heart. It had a very Victorian yet modern feel to each dress, which I loved.
“Try it on.”
Screaming, I turned to find Richard standing behind me, casually leaning against the wall as if he weren’t trespassing in my private dressing room.
Before I could say a word, there was a swift knock on the door before it swung open.
“Lizzie? Are you okay?” said Mike as he poked his head in. “I thought I heard a scream.”
“Elizabeth is fine,” answered Richard, each word clipped as if he were snapping them off with the edge of his teeth.
Placing his hands on his hips, Mike tilted his chin out. “Who the hell are you?”
“The man who pays your salary, now leave us.”
Mike immediately cowed but not before he shot me a quick uncertain glance.
“It’s… a… fine, Mike. I was just startled. Mr. Payne and I are saying our goodbyes.”
Still, Mike seemed hesitant to leave.
Richard lifted his shoulders off the wall and straightened to his full height, which was a great deal taller and more intimidating than Mike’s. He didn’t say a word. Just stared with those intense black eyes.
Swiftly abandoning any thought of chivalry, Mike left, closing the door behind him.
Richard’s gaze shifted to me. He took a step forward. With a slight gasp, I stepped back till I could feel the cold cinder block wall press against my spine. Without taking his eyes off me, he reached down and locked the door.
The simple click of the lock sounded more like the harsh metal clang of a jail cell door snapping shut. Trapping me in.
“I despise interruptions,” he said quietly as if that were enough of an excuse to lock a woman in a room with him.
“Thank you very much for the thoughtful gift, sir.”
“Richard,” he corrected.
“Richard, but I’m afraid I can’t accept. It’s too much.”
Leaning close, Richard reached up and once more pulled the comb from my hair. Despite copious amounts of hairspray, the heavy mass tumbled out of the chignon put in place by the makeup department and over my shoulders. He stroked one soft curl before responding. “And I’m afraid, Elizabeth, that I’m not giving you a choice in the matter.” The dark command of his voice showed me it would be extremely foolish to continue arguing. Once more I wondered if anyone ever won when coming up against this man.
Plus, if I agreed, perhaps he would leave. His presence was overwhelming enough when I wasn’t trapped in a tiny dressing room with him. It felt as if there was no air around him. What would it be like to sleep with a man like him? He was probably the type to completely dominate a woman. Press her against the wall, grab her by the wrists, and just fuck her senseless like they do in the movies.
My mouth opened at the salacious image as I stared at his strong shoulders and chest.
Once more, he smirked. It wasn’t a smile. Just a slight tilt of the lips in amusement.
Oh, hell, I could feel my cheeks heat scarlet with embarrassment, as I was absolutely certain he had somehow read my kinky thoughts.
Lowering my head, I allowed my hair to fall over my shoulders like a curtain to conceal my blush.
Just like he did earlier, he placed a finger under my chin, lifting my head.
“Elizabeth, I’ve asked you to try my gift on. I don’t like repeating myself.”
As if following his commands were second nature, I immediately reached for the dress. Turning in indecision, I didn’t know what to do next. He was blocking the door… the locked door.
“I’ll just change in the next room and be right back,” I offered as I hugged the dress to my chest like a shield.
Nodding his head toward the dressing screen, he replied, “You’ll change here.”
Looking over my shoulder at the dressing screen, my stomach tightened. It was a flimsy prop from some play the theater put on ages ago. It was probably brought in here for when they had larger productions and actors had to share dressing rooms. Swallowing hard, I slinked behind the screen, mortified when I realized it barely reached up to my shoulders.
Turning my back on him, I kicked off my shoes and started to work loose the braided frog fastenings down the bodice of my two-piece dress. Shrugging out of the bodice jacket, I grabbed the dress, intending to pull it over my head to cover my body as quickly as possible.
“You don’t need a corset for that dress.”
Refusing to look in his direction, I put the dress down with shaking hands. Aware of his heated gaze on me, I reached back and desperately tried to untie the tight corset lacings.
When I went for my first costume fitting, I was beyond thrilled to learn Mary wanted to use real corsets for an authentic feel. She was a big believer in the power of a full costume bringing out an actor’s best performance. ‘You can’t sit, move, and speak like a true Victorian wearing a sports bra,’ she would say. I loved the idea of such authenticity, which you rarely got in most budget-strapped theater productions; unfortunately, at this moment, I was damning her to hell for it.
“I think I need to go—”
“No need.”
I cried out and pitched forward at the touch of his warm hands on my bare back. Mortified, I realized I was now bent over with my ass pressed against his crotch. I straightened so quickly, my head bumped against his chest.
Richard wrapped his arm around my waist to steady me.
The world seemed to stop and tilt.
His body felt warm and strong as it pressed against my own. He felt all male. From the protective press of his arm around my waist to the musk scent of his cologne to the sexual threat of the moment.
You know that feeling that at any moment a man could overpower you and take whatever he wanted and there was nothing you could do to prevent it? And for some strange fucked-up reason you are completely turned on by the idea?
Trying to break the spell, I shifted my body forward. For the barest of seconds, his arm resisted before sliding away. Before I could object further, I felt a tug on the corset laces. The room was silent except for our mingled breaths and the occasional snap of a lace being sharply pulled through a metal eyehole. Outside, you could still hear the din of all the other actors getting ready for the cast party while the backstage crew started tearing down props and storing lights. Yet it seemed like an entire universe away.
The moment the corset began to loosen I self-consciously covered my breasts. Despite my tall, lean frame, I had big breasts. I hated them. If I was curvy at least it would balance out my body, but because of my slim hips no matter what I did or wore I always looked top heavy.
With the laces undone, the corset slipped down my hips.
“Thank you.” My voice sounded low and scratchy as if unused to speaking.
I waited.
He didn’t move.
The heated touch of his fingers was once more on my skin.
“You lied to me,” he rasped.
My heart stopped. His voice held the usual calm and controlled tone without any hint of anger or accusation yet… there was something about even the idea of this man thinking I had been deceitful that sent me into a full panic.
Before I could respond, I felt his body lean in closer. His fingers still tracing a path down the side of my back and along the curve of my waist.
“You said these corsets didn’t hurt, but I see red marks marring your beautiful skin.”
In my anxiousness to appease him I turned to face him; I immediately realized my mistake. His eyes darted down to my chest. While my arms were covering my nipples and the underside of my breasts, the position pushed them together and up.
“Oh, my god!” I exclaimed, absolutely mortified.
Before I could turn back around, his hands darted out to grab my shoulders, holding me in place.
Keeping his dark eyes on mine, he moved his hands down my arms to grasp each of my wrists. He tugged.
I resisted. “No,” I whimpered.
Ignoring my weak protest, he pulled my arms free. My breasts felt heavy as they fell slightly the moment the support of my arms was gone. Refusing to look down, I could feel my nipples tighten. He pushed my arms behind me, securing them with one large hand at my lower back. The movement pulled me toward him, pressing my half naked form against his chest.
His other hand cupped my jaw before weaving his fingers into my hair. Tightening his hand into a fist, he grabbed a handful of curls and used them to force my head back.
I cried out from the sting of pain as tears pricked my eyes. He almost seemed pleased with my reaction.
My lower lip trembled as I begged him, “Please. Don’t.”
It’s not that I found him unattractive or didn’t think having sex with this man would be an amazing, mind-blowing experience; it was just that he was… too much. It was too much intensity. He had too much power… too much strength. I felt as if I were being dragged underwater. I couldn’t breathe.
The fact is… he scared me to death.
First his lips lightly traced my jawline; I could feel my body slightly relax from the unexpected gentle touch. My mouth fell slightly open.
It was just the sign of weakness he needed. The kind of moment a predator always seized. That barest of seconds when its prey forgot it was being hunted and let its guard down.
His mouth fell on mine. His tongue swept in, taking possession. Our kiss didn’t taste like mint or whiskey or even tobacco… it had the harsh metallic tang of blood. The force of his lips pressing against my own cut the soft delicate inner skin with the edge of my own teeth.
Feeling the hard press of his cock against my naked stomach, I was powerless to stop him from taking whatever he pleased, even once he released my arms to grip my head and push me against the wall. I tried to fight him off, beating my fists against the top of his arms, fighting against his grip on my head, which he used to keep me in place for his assault.
This wasn’t a kiss… it was him staking claim.
Finally, he released me. Sliding along the wall, I tried to place as much distance as possible between us in the small room. Pressing the back of my hand against my now bruised and swollen lips, I sobbed, “Why? I don’t understand.”
And I didn’t. I had seen him occasionally on the set and out in the audience during rehearsals and the run of the play. Always he was cool and detached, playing the businesslike, rich executive producer. Not once had he ever approached me or even given me a look of interest.
“You will.”
Taking a step back, he picked up his coat and unlocked the door. Without even turning around, he commanded, “I will return in five minutes to escort you to the party.”
There was a brief burst of loud noise as he opened the door, then the room once more fell silent.
Except for the screaming in my head.
Chapter 4
Lizzie
I didn’t even think of escaping. Deep down I knew it wasn’t possible. I’d never get out of the theater without someone stopping me or asking where I was going or why I wasn’t headed to the party. Plus, I had no idea if Richard was standing just outside my door and I was way too intimidated to peek out to check.
Obeying his command, I finished dressing. I did think about appearing in the off-the-rack cocktail dress I had planned originally to wear but an image of him dragging me back to the dressing room and stripping the clothes off me was extremely vivid in my mind. I knew it wasn’t just a possibility, it was a foregone conclusion if I tried to defy him.
After putting on matching black lace bra and panties, I slipped The Vampire’s Wife dress over my head, and felt the cool silk slide down my body. It was a street-sweeping dress so the length pooled on the floor about me. Usually a slim-fitting bodice would be too tight across my larger chest but this fit perfectly. As if it had been tailored just for me. Under the sheer tulle was a champagne silk shift, so the dress gave the impression of bare skin barely concealed by the black velvet flowers. Inside the box I found a pair of high heels and a pair of gloves that perfectly matched the dress. The gloves stretched all the way up my arms till they reached the dress’s puffed sleeves.
Looking in the mirror, I saw the dress gave mixed signals. On one hand it was seductive with its fluted hem cut and black lace over skin appearance but on the other, I was fully covered, from my toes to my chin, in fabric. I immediately thought of a Victorian gown, designed to entice and show off a woman’s curves and yet equally meant to convey a sort of icy distance, an aura of being a pretty object not meant to be touched by others.
With shaking hands, I rifled through my purse for some makeup. After touching up my foundation and mascara I realized I didn’t even need lipstick. My already full lips were stained a bright cherry red from the forceful press of his mouth.
After what I was sure was precisely five minutes, there was a discreet knock on the door. I opened it to see Richard standing there with a fur wrap in his hand. Placing it on my shoulders, he offered his arm. “Shall we?”
Stifling a sudden desire to break into almost psychotic laughter over the formal politeness of his gesture given what had transpired between us, I gave him my arm.
Ignoring Jane’s questioning look as we passed, I allowed Richard to escort me to the cast party.
The party was being held at The Brewery. It was right next to the Barbican Center so we walked the short distance. As soon as the tan brick building was in view, Richard guided me to a separate private entrance.
He had rented out the Sugar Rooms for our event. The Brewery restaurant is on the site of what was once one of the oldest breweries in England. The Sugar Rooms were where they used to store the sugar to make the beer. Now it was a beautiful space with vaulted ceilings, polished oak floors, and large Georgian windows that overlooked the courtyard.
For tonight’s cast party, it was obvious Richard had spared no expense. The room was flooded with green and pink lighting, the colors from the poster for The Lady Protests. Each table was covered in gold linens with large arrangements of white roses.
Most cast parties were ad hoc affairs at a nearby bar where we passed a hat to collect money for the cheapest pitchers of beer we could get and platters of communal food like wings and pizza.
It was obvious this was an elegant affair put on not only for the cast but also investors, the press, and the board of the Barbican.
Begrudgingly, I was pleased I was wearing such a stunning designer gown instead of my department store sales rack number. I wanted to continue acting in London and perhaps even have a secondary career as a costume designer and for that to happen I needed to be noticed. Arriving at the party on Richard’s arm in this gown certainly got me noticed.
Deliberately putting his kiss out of my mind, I decided to set a more professional tone. Perhaps send him the signal that I considering this a working relationship and nothing more.
“The room looks gorgeous,” I offered. My voice sounded high and strained like I was trying too hard to sound normal… which I was.
“Thank you. I will pass along your compliments to the event planner.”
Awkward silence. I looked about the room for someone to save me.
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