“Well, you aren’t giving me much of a choice, are you? I either play it your way or go to jail. You’ve got my balls in a vise! And so far as I can figure out, you’ve never fucked a woman to death, so it’s not like I’m condemning her to death. Besides, it’s time I got Andrea off my hands and started my own life. And since you're determined to marry her, something you’ve never done with the others, I guess you see something special in her, something worth a lot of money. Exactly what is that?”
“She’s young and fresh and virginal, so I can mold her into the kind of woman I need, plus she will give me the heirs I want.
“Speaking of truths, Benton, the only one you need be concerned with is that I see you for the liar, drunkard and thief that you are. Not to mention a lousy father who, if you believe even half the rumors concerning me, is willing to sell his daughter into bondage with a man you believe a degenerate. That tells me that what I heard about your ultimate plans for Andrea is true. You would have sold her to the highest bidder more than once to finance your habits before long. That makes you little more than a damned pimp.”
“Yeah? So what does buying her make you? Nothing more than a bored, rich john with an itchy dick,” Benton snarled.
“It makes me her savior, though I don’t suppose Andrea would see it that way if she knew of our bargain. And that bargain is the only reason you’re getting off the hook, Benton. It’s a win-win situation for you so long as you stick to our agreement and convince Andrea to marry me and to be the obedient and malleable wife I require.
“But make no mistake, if you come back here thinking to leech off me again, or try to make any claims on your daughter, you will regret it to your dying day, which may not be long in coming. Get it?”
“I get it, dammit. You set me up for a fall from the start, you cocky sonofabitch! Well, the jokes on you. I’m more than ready to move on. I’ve been saddled with her long enough. If it hadn’t been you, it would’ve been some other dude jumping her bones and this way, at least I get my hands on enough dough to get my chance at a life again. You never said that you love her, so I guess all you want is to own her. Am I right? Another piece of property the great Littlefield can claim. And hey, what about my car? Since you got rid of my Chevy, is the Escalade part of the bargain?”
“It is. Just be clear about the consequences if you come back, Benton. Your things have been packed and loaded into the Escalade already. Make any kind of excuse you want for leaving, so long as you convince Andrea to become my wife. And she is not to know of our bargain.”
“When you make a bargain with the devil, you don’t advertise it.”
Having heard enough, Andrea stepped into the room, pale and shaking, not bothering to wipe away her tears. Her voice quivered as she said, “And what—what say do I get in this devil bargain?”
Ivan cursed as he realized she had overheard their conversation.
Benton snapped, “You know better than to eavesdrop, girl! But I guess it’s just as well. Now you know the whole truth. If you don’t agree to marry this bastard and be his private property, I go to jail.”
With a narrowed-eyed glare at Ivan, Benton added the lie, “Or he turns his goons loose on me and I wind up face down in a ditch somewhere. But if you agree to marry him and be his submissive little wife, we both win. You get to live in this fancy house and wear your fancy clothes and I get to start over somewhere, free and clear for a change. You aren’t gonna give me any static about this, are you? You owe me, Andrea. You don’t want me to go to jail, do you?”
“No,” Andrea choked out, as tears threatened.
Ivan muttered a curse. “Andrea, I…”
She interrupted whatever Ivan was about to say with a curt, “It’s all right. I mean, I’m willing to do whatever you say, Ivan, so you won’t send Dad to jail, or worse. And I’ll stay as long as you want me to.”
“You misunderstand, Andrea. I don’t want you to just stay for a time. We will be married and it will be for keeps. Make no mistake about that.”
“Yeah, little girl, you’re gonna have it made,” Benton said, relieved that she was being so compliant. “But a word of advice, Andrea. Don’t trust him, ever. Remember, he’s buying you like he would a piece of meat, girl.”
“Damn you, Benton. Shut up!” Ivan growled.
With tears streaming down her face, Andrea said, “I know that. When I agree to this, Dad, I want you to know that it’s done between us. But according to you, I’ve been nothing but a drag anyway, so that’s no big deal.”
“Now that everything is out in the open, let me say again, Benton, that our arrangement is absolutely final and binding,” Ivan declared, barely able to contain his fury.
“And I hope you use some of the compensation I’m paying for a stint in rehab, to dry out. But whatever, neither your daughter nor I wish to see you again. Is that clear?”
Even though he’d never been the kind of father she could be proud of; had never actually considered her feelings first ever, knowing Benton had so callously handed her over to a virtual stranger, twisted like a knife in Andrea’s heart.
Her flash of anguish came out in words of contempt.
“You’ve told me a thousand times that I owe you because you gave me life. Well, now I guess I’m the reason that life, or at least the lifestyle you seem to crave, is being handed to you on a silver platter, so after today, we’re even and done, Dad.”
As though to justify his inexcusable actions, Benton whined, “Andrea, you’re acting like you’re a victim and you’re not. You’ll have it made now, with everything you could possibly want. Milk it, girl. Grab your share of this bastard’s pie. Live the high life.”
Ivan sat down at the desk to write Benton a check with the admonition, “Don’t think you can return in a few months saying you’re broke and I’ll come across with more money, Benton. It won’t happen. Is that clear? This lucrative ‘get out of jail free’ check is a one-time only thing. You get your freedom and enough money to do whatever the hell you want and I get a malleable wife.”
Those words slammed into Andrea’s psyche with sickening force. She thought she might throw up as she witnessed her father’s eagerness to accept Ivan’s check, no doubt a sizeable payment for her life in bondage, which was how she suddenly thought of her future.
The stark truth of it all struck her hard as Andrea interpreted Ivan’s brusque statement.
Ivan doesn’t love me. He simply wants a convenient bed partner, a ‘malleable wife’ to birth his children and be at his beck and call while he continues to play the field.
She wondered how much money her father had considered her worth. She wanted to ask how much that check was, but she didn’t. Instead she stood in mute acceptance of her role as Ivan’s bought and paid for private whore, which, to her horror, she suddenly realized for all intents and purposes, she was going to be.
That’s what I get for dreaming so big!
She met and held those steely gray eyes Ivan fixed on her, trying to convey without speaking, her pain and disappointment. She hoped he could read her contempt and hear the words she did not have the courage to speak out loud.
I’ll be your wife, Ivan Littlefield, and I'll share your bed but not my heart, not the way I would have had you simply asked for it.
Andrea did not even look at her father as he took the check, tucked it in his pocket and left the room without even a backward glance.
When the door had slammed behind Benton, Ivan pulled Andrea into his arms, crushing her against him, taking that deep kiss he had dreamt of since he’d decided to make her his. He felt her small body yield to his stiffly.
Frowning, he released her, searching her face, cloaking his emotions as he commanded, “Now turn around and let me inspect you.”
She did as he said.
“Good. Now open your mouth and let me check out your teeth.”
Incensed, Andrea was about to protest when she recognized he was teasing, a fact verified by his half grin as he stared into h
er defiantly flashing eyes and whispered seductively, “First time I’ve ever seen a green fire. Darling, relax, you’re to be my wife, my treasure, not my slave.”
She listened as he elaborated what he would expect of her when she became his wife, ending his speech with, “To avoid the paparazzi crush, we’ll be leaving early in the morning to attend to the many things we have to do before going to the wedding chapel. First we’ll get your hair done, and then go shopping for your wedding gown and other essentials.
“I’m sorry you had to overhear that conversation between Benton and me, Andrea, but at least now, with the truth out in the open, we can proceed on a firm basis of what is expected of you and what I am willing to give in return to our union. So, any questions?”
There was a lot Andrea wanted to ask; so much she didn’t even know where to begin. There were so many things she did not know about the infamous Ivan Littlefield.
What she did know was that Ivan was a man who got what he wanted and like everything else he had set out to own, she was now his exclusive property. And tomorrow she would become his wife.
I should hate him. I should let him know I will willingly submit to his demands only because I am forced to; that I will never trust him again.
Her lips quivered as Ivan looked at her. She felt inexplicably drawn into the gray depths of those eyes as he leaned to settle a kiss on her trembling lips.
When they parted, Ivan whispered, “We are about to seal the deal, Andrea. Tomorrow you will be mine forever. I will teach you things you have only dreamt of and life will be as good as you choose to make it. Forget about life as you’ve known it. Everything will be different now, just as I promised you it would be, beginning with your nineteenth birthday.”
As he held her, Andrea wondered, what will you expect of me, Ivan? And what might the consequences be if I disappoint you?
She suddenly recalled the part of that overhead conversation where her father had alluded to Ivan’s kinky sex habits and her heart skipped a beat.
Chapter 5
May 24th—The Birthday Bargain
With her fate decided, Andrea awakened the morning of her nineteenth birthday filled with anxiety and haunted by the way her father had abandoned her to whatever fate Ivan might decide was her own. Snatches of the disturbing dream that had tortured her during the night echoed in her memory.
In that nethermost, misty world, Ivan, now in complete control of her very life, had quickly tired of her after he had claimed her body, and had cast her away when she failed to please him. With her father gone, she saw herself wandering, ragged, alone and lost.
Fully awake now, Andrea was fighting back tears, remembering what Ivan had said about what she could expect. He had declared that when they married, it would be forever, an unbreakable bond.
But will he feel that way once he has had his way? Am I just another challenge for him? Just a game he intends to win before going on to the next one?
Her glance fell on the new Gibson guitar he had bought her, propped in the corner. She remembered his saying that it was a pre-birthday gift because her old pawnshop guitar was a disgrace and if she seriously wanted to pursue songwriting or singing one day, she should have a decent instrument.
Andrea remembered his stern expression when he’d handed her that guitar, that expression masking his true feelings she felt sure, because he wanted to please her with the gift but did not want to appear soft in her eyes.
As if he ever could. There is a gentle heart beating in Ivan’s chest, I just know it. Yet he is afraid to let it show. I wonder if he ever will.
Ivan’s knocking on the door startled her from her morose reverie. She glanced at the clock. It was not quite 6:00 a.m.
For the first time since she had come to live in his house, Ivan took the liberty of entering the bedroom he had originally assigned to her with the promise that it would be her private sanctuary.
He smiled as she sat up, flushed and hurriedly grabbing for the sheet to cover the thin T-shirt she always wore to bed. His eyes slid over her in undisguised lust before he said, “Time to get up, Andrea, and get ready. We have a full day ahead of us and we need to get an early start to avoid the eternal paparazzi. They usually don’t show up at the gate until around ten for their daily vigil. So, I’ll give you fifteen minutes to get yourself together, and then meet me downstairs. I’m afraid this morning you will have to forego breakfast in lieu of a protein shake and an energy bar since our schedule is demanding.”
“Fifteen minutes?” She asked incredulously.
“Twenty at the most,” he said with a slight smile. “So, get a move on. Don’t worry about what to wear, just slip on something presentable but comfortable, and don’t bother with your hair, just pull it back into that ponytail you usually sport, because our first stop will be at a salon where a stylist will set it properly.”
As soon as he had left the room, Andrea bounded nervously out of bed, tended to her toilet, showered, secured her hair in the ponytail he had suggested, dressed in a pair of jeans and a blouse, put on a slash of pink lipstick and miraculously was downstairs within the twenty-minute time frame.
Though her stomach rebelled at the thought of that protein shake, she knew better than to argue the point with Ivan. She downed it and put the energy bar in her pocket then followed Ivan outside to his Rolls Royce Phantom black limousine that had been pulled up in front. Ivan’s driver and personal bodyguard, Ned Garrett, came around to open the door for them as they exited the house.
Parked behind, waiting to follow as usual was the Escalade with Ivan’s other two personal bodyguards inside.
Ivan helped Andrea into the limo and then settled in beside her. Ned shut the door and went around to the driver’s side. As he slid beneath the wheel and started the engine, Ivan informed him of their first stop. Ned acknowledged the order then powered the darkly opaque window divider back into place to ensure their privacy.
The entourage traversed the estate’s long, winding driveway, approaching the impressive twelve-foot high ornately designed gate that slid open in command to Ned’s pushing a remote control button.
Andrea realized Ivan had been correct in assuming the absence of paparazzi that early because no one was there.
True to his word, Ivan first took her to a salon, which, he informed her, had been opened early exclusively to accommodate them.
Her hair was trimmed and done up in an appropriate, sophisticated upsweep. As befitting a bride, she was told. And while she fidgeted nervously, Ivan sat watching the entire process with a critical eye, even supervising the way her make-up was professionally applied, the beautician receiving Ivan’s explicit instruction as though she had no say in the matter.
Which, Andrea realized, she did not.
“Excellent job,” Ivan said as the stylist spun her around from the mirror for his final inspection and he handed the woman a generous tip.
From there they went to yet another opened exclusively for her inclusive wedding gown boutique, which carried not only the gowns, but all the accessories, such as designer shoes, bags, lingerie and traveling outfits for after the ceremony, where Ivan instructed she be completely outfitted.
The Manolo Blahnik wedding shoes Ivan personally picked for her to wear had four-inch high heels. When he handed them to her, Andrea confided nervously, “I’ve never worn such high heels before.”
Ivan, much to her chagrin before the boutique owner, made her put them on and practice walking in them until she was sure she wouldn’t fall over her own feet. Then he said, “You can bring the gown out now.”
Andrea’s mouth fell open at the sight of that gown, brought out for a final fitting. She realized the magnificent shoes he had picked perfectly matched it. The gown was an exquisite, off-the-shoulder Bellantuono sheath, a pristine vision of antique lace over creamy satin, stunning in its elegant and classically simplistic design.
Ushered into the fitting room, Andrea tried it on and was startled when she heard Ivan’s voice behind he
r as she turned from the mirror.
“I want to see how it fits.”
She stood while the waistline was pinned, the alteration lady commenting, “My, my, I thought surely I had taken in the waist enough but I didn’t take into account your tiny dimensions, my dear.”
Hearing that, Andrea glanced at Ivan, realizing he must have commissioned the making of the gown specifically for her long before she had agreed to become his bride and as their gazes locked, she almost remarked about that. And she almost said that it was bad luck for a groom to see the bride in her wedding gown before the marriage, but she remained silent, suddenly struck with the stark truth, Ivan Littlefield makes his own luck.
When Ivan instructed her to turn so he might have a 180-degree look, Andrea obeyed without comment, blushing furiously when he leaned close to her ear to whisper, “The only thing I want you wearing beneath this gown is the pair of lacy panties I just purchased.”
Ivan chuckled at Andrea’s obvious discomfiture as the pinning ministrations were completed and the alteration lady stepped back to announce, “You do look beautiful. You will be an exquisite bride.”
“Thank you,” Andrea said shyly, mentally struggling to deal with the fact that Ivan had so meticulously planned everything, right down to the very garments he expected her to wear, including a pair of delicate, lacy gloves, which he handed to her with the wry comment, “Since time is of the essence this morning, and we have so much to attend to, there wasn’t time for your acrylic nails to be applied at the salon, so these lacy gloves will serve not only to lend an air of aristocracy to your ensemble, but will effectively hide your chewed nails.”
Realizing how completely Ivan was in control of everything added to Andrea’s trepidation, and as she listened to the boutique owner assuring him the dress would be immediately altered and brought to them within three hours, she was seized by doubt.
Can I ever hope to please Ivan? He knows exactly what he wants and how to get it. What will happen to me if I displease him?
Obsessive Surrender Page 5