Detention

by Stephanie Williams

  Brett looked at his watch. “Give us two and a half hours.”

  “Very good, sir.” Hunter returned to the limo and drove off, leaving Brett and Mia standing at the restaurant’s entrance.

  “The Poppy House?” Mia frowned.

  “It’s not what you think. Come on, and you’ll see.” When they entered the establishment, a short, round man approached them.

  “Ah, Mr. Wyndam, welcome back. Your usual table?”

  “No, James. I want one of the private booths tonight.”

  James looked over at Mia, and then a smile crept across his face. “This way, Mr. Wyndam.” With a bow, James turned and led the way.

  As they walked toward the private area, passing decorative wallpaper and plush carpeting, Brett noticed Mia taking in the place. The tables were covered in the finest silk with elaborate place settings. And, of course, each centerpiece was a huge vase of poppies.

  “What do you think?” Brett asked, glancing down at Mia.

  “It’s beautiful. I didn’t know poppies came in so many colors.”

  They arrived at their booth, and James waited for them to sit down before handing them menus.

  “Thanks, James. Just give us a few minutes.”

  “Certainly.” He turned and marched away.

  “Most of the flowers are hybrids. Take those for instance,” Brett said, nodding in the direction of the empty booth across from them.

  “Oh, those are beautiful.” Mia got up and went from table to table, looking at the various colors of poppies. A lot of them were hybrids with colors ranging from pink to tricolor, and some had baby’s breath planted with them in decorative Asian-inspired pots that sat in crystal draining trays.

  “After dinner you can ask the manager for some seeds,” Brett said as Mia returned to her seat.

  “I think I’ll do that.”

  They both looked over the menu for more time than either of them wished. There were so many choices. Finally, watching her struggle a bit, Brett decided to order for both of them. He gently took it from Mia and laid it aside.

  “I wasn’t finished,” Mia said, reaching across the table.

  Brett grabbed her wrist and held it. “I’m ordering for you tonight.”

  “You don’t know what I want.”

  Oh, yeah, I know what you want. “May I suggest the chef’s specialty? It impressed all the top chefs in Paris.”

  Mia thought for a moment. “Well, since you’ve been here before, I guess it’s okay.”

  “Have you ever thought of having someone else take control for once, Mia?” Brett asked as he stroked her hand.

  ***

  Mia wanted to explode. She was so stressed; she figured all her hair would probably jump off her scalp if she took it down from her bun.

  The way he held her fingers was enough to get her heart racing. His hands were strong and slightly callused, yet his touch was like velvet against her skin. With the way he stroked the back of her hand and stared into her eyes, anyone looking at them from the outside would swear they were long-lost lovers.

  What was Brett doing to her? Did he know how seductive he was? Did he know the signals he was giving off? Did he know he was making her so wet that she was considering changing her underwear? What was he up to? This was not just a dinner date to catch up on old times. Brett wanted something, and it seemed to be her!

  James came back with two bottles of wine. “Mr. Wyndam, when Maurice heard you were coming, he had these flown in express.”

  Brett leaned over and looked at the bottles. He nodded his approval, and James smiled so hard, Mia thought his face would crack.

  “Very good, sir.” He whipped two glasses from nowhere and began pouring. After he finished, Brett dismissed him.

  “Hmm, you must be special if the chef flew this in,” Mia said, taking a sip. “This is wonderful.”

  “Excellent, isn’t it?” Brett asked with a look of sheer satisfaction on his face.

  “Yes. I’m not much of a social drinker, but I do know a good wine when I taste one.”

  “I always request the very best for special occasions. That, my dear, is a bottle of Thomas Jefferson vintage wine. It’s believed to come from his vineyard in Monticello.”

  Mia studied the glass after another satisfying sip. It must cost a fortune, she thought, but she made sure to keep her face schooled. “Yes, of course. That was one of my lessons in American history. Remember, he spent his time there during his presidency.”

  “To be perfectly honest, I can’t see how anyone could pay attention to your lectures, Mia.”

  She looked at him. He was making circles on the table with his middle finger as he surveyed her with that smirk. Okay, Mia, it’s now or never. You need to ask him what he’s up to. He was seducing her; that much was clear. But why?

  Oh, God!

  For a brief moment, the possibilities flashed in her mind. He is twenty-five. A grown man.

  Then just like that, Brett at seventeen flashed before her.

  NO!

  Well, there was only one way to straighten this out. Confront him. “Brett, what are you up to? It’s obvious you want more from me than just catching up on old times.”

  “It’s time you pulled your head out of the sand,” he said, leaning back in the booth and smiling even harder.

  “I…Brett….”

  “There is more to this. I want to get to know you better, and I don’t mean as principal/student. But as a man knows a woman.”

  Mia’s mouth went dry. His voice was hypnotic. Just those last words made her body pulse in a way that frightened and thrilled her at the same time. She felt alive for the first time. Not even Tim had reached her in this manner.

  “After dinner, I want you to come home with me.”

  “No, we can’t!” I can’t.

  She began to scoot out of the booth, but Brett’s leg stopped her as he stretched it and caught her.

  “Mia. Haven’t you heard of a nightcap?”

  “Is that what you’re asking?”

  “Of course. What did you think?” He took another sip of wine.

  Chapter Seven

  Once Mia got over the initial shock of being asked back to his place, Brett let the conversation drift to more benign matters, and dinner proceeded. They mainly talked about his senior year and all of his classmates. It was the usual what-happened-to-whom and didja-know-about-so-and-so. Brett was surprised when Mia pulled an old yearbook out of her oversized tote. It held fond memories for them both, and some sad ones, too. When they first opened the book and came to Frank Sampson’s picture and the dedication he gave Mia, she got a little teary-eyed. Brett learned she hadn’t looked at the yearbook until that moment. He had to revisit this Frank matter with her, but now was not the time.

  Once dinner was over, he paid the bill and took her to see the manager for her poppy seeds and decorative pot. She took her time and picked out a beautiful baby-blue hybrid. By the time they stepped outside, Hunter was there with the limo. Once inside the car, Brett scooted close to Mia.

  “Did you enjoy dinner?” he asked as he played with the ornamental pin in her hair. It was all he could do to keep from grabbing her and throwing her down on the wide bench seat.

  “Brett, please!” She swatted his hand away as if it were an annoying gnat. “I don’t understand this fascination you have with my hair and hands. And, may I add, it is improper.”

  He gave her a wide grin. “I was just fixing it for you. Your pin was crooked.”

  She turned toward him with a look of skepticism. He smiled at her and stroked her cheek with his finger. “Mia, have you ever had someone take care of you?”

  “Honestly!” She scooted closer to her door. Were it to suddenly open, she could easily fall out.

  “I mean, have you ever let someone take over, take care of your needs?” He slid his fingers slowly down her arm, enjoying the feel of the silk blouse against her skin.

  “You asked me something like that back at the restaurant,
and I still don’t think it’s any of your business, young man.” She moved her arm. “You have a thing about touching people, don’t you?”

  “No, I have a thing about touching you.”

  They arrived at his house within twenty minutes. Hunter bowed to both of them, said his goodbyes, and left.

  Now for the moment of truth. Brett put his key in the door.

  He had engaged in BDSM on several occasions with various women, but never felt anything more than simple attraction with them. He never wanted anything further, and if the women pushed for something more, he sent them on their way. Some saw him as immature and not wanting a relationship. He just hadn’t wanted relationships with them. Big difference.

  There was Jacqueline, one of the sorority sisters he’d met at Kinsley. They were an item for the first six months. When he felt comfortable enough with her and found out she liked kink, he took her to a club. It was shaky at first, but then she got into it—too into it.

  Yes, BDSM was a lifestyle, but for Brett, not a way of life. He wanted to be romantic, too. Take her out on dates, a carriage ride, to Europe. Jacqui had wanted whips and chains every time their clothes came off.

  That’s when he’d realized he needed more.

  BDSM, like any other fetish, was something to participate in on occasion, something that was behind closed doors or shared with a select few. It was role-play, something to add to an otherwise normal relationship.

  Jacqueline, on the other hand, wanted to be his sub twenty-four-seven. She wanted a relationship that consisted of him having her on a leash, literally, even in public. The more she pushed him, the more Brett’s interest waned, and Jacqueline quickly found another man.

  Brett had been relieved. At this point in his life, he wanted something permanent, loving.

  And he wanted that kind of relationship with Mia, if she would have him. He hoped and prayed he wouldn’t scare her off.

  “I’m glad you decided to come back to my place, Mia,” he said as he opened the door and allowed her in. “Would you like the grand tour?” He closed and locked the door, then followed her down the long foyer.

  “My, this is a huge house,” she said, looking up at the massive chandelier. “This space alone can hold a small dinner party.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind the next time I have one.” He chuckled. He motioned for her to step into the next area. “This is the living room.”

  “Sort of elaborate. French Provincial?” Mia asked as she ran her hand over a velvet settee.

  “Original handmade pieces, mostly,” Brett said, watching her closely as she approached his souvenirs from Ghana.

  Mia continued assessing the room, looking over his art collection and various artifacts. “Is the rest of the house this extravagant?”

  “Yes, from the basement to the attic.”

  “But you’re only here for the summer,” Mia said, quirking her brow.

  “I’ll be coming back for visits,” he quickly said as he stepped behind her and took her gently by the elbow. “Or I might decide to stay,” he whispered in her ear. God, her fragrance was driving him crazy.

  Mia tried to pull away, but he held firm.

  “Let me show you the rest of the place.”

  She continued trying to release herself from his grip, but he purposely tightened his hold and just stood behind her.

  “Brett, I can walk on my own.” She laughed.

  He could tell she was uncomfortable, so he let her go and gestured for her to proceed to the next room. “This is the formal dining room.

  “I see.” Mia walked around, looking over the table, the china cabinet, and the service buffet. They were in the Georgian style, all dark woods and elaborately carved. “Kind of a schizophrenic decorating style, don’t you think?” Mia mused.

  “I happen to love both styles. I couldn’t decide on one, so I choose both,” Brett said with an amused smirk.

  “Brett, I know this isn’t any of my business, but did you buy this place for investment purposes?” She turned toward him.

  He couldn’t help but grin. “In a way, yes.”

  “Do you have a—” She waved her hand in front of her face. “Never mind.”

  “Yes?”

  “I was just wondering if you have a roommate, like a girlfriend or something.”

  Brett laughed as he walked toward her. He stopped within inches, looking down at her. He wanted her more than anything else in the world. “I live alone. Is that what you wanted to hear?” His voice took on a mysterious, seductive tone that surprised him. Cool it, man.

  “I don’t care one way or another.” Mia quickly turned and walked away.

  “Really?”

  “You’re a grown man. You can do what you please.” Mia occupied herself with the fringe on a lamp.

  “I’m glad you recognized that, Mia.”

  She jerked her head up and looked at him with wary eyes.

  “Here, let me show you the den.”

  Mia followed him as far as the doorway but moved no further. She looked around the place and nodded her head. “This is real nice. I must admit, as varied your décor is, I like your taste.”

  “I’ll give you the number of my decorator,” Brett said from behind a huge recliner. “Let me take you upstairs now and show you the master—”

  “Bedroom?”

  Even though her voice had a hint of panic in it, it also had a hint of curiosity. Interesting.

  “The master bath.” Brett studied Mia for a second. She was visibly shaken.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply anything.”

  “Yes, you did, Mia. What if it was the master bedroom? What are you afraid of?”

  She folded her arms and took the defiant stance he was all too familiar with. “I’m not scared of anything. It’s just that you’ve been very….” She hesitated.

  “Go on,” he said, mimicking her stance.

  “You’ve been very…physical with me.”

  He burst out laughing. “Mia, what’s a little touching between old friends?”

  “Brett! You know what I mean.”

  He continued laughing while walking toward her. When he saw her stiffen, he walked past her. “Come upstairs with me.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but the thought of her climbing those steps with him, the possibility of her joining him in his bed, made his hormones go into overdrive.

  “The master bath, right?”

  “Yes, the master bath.”

  ***

  Mia had never seen anything like it. She ran her hand over the walls. The coolness of the marble was refreshing, especially in contrast to the hot, humid Cincinnati night.

  It varied in color, shape, and texture, depending on where it was placed. The floor leading to the tub and shower was rough like rock, whereas the walls were smooth, shiny, and slick. The colors were earth tones and peach, with some deep mahogany as an accent. This was something out of a magazine.

  The shower looked as if it could hold a small army. Ten brass showerheads graced the walls and ceiling. And she was digging the giant whirlpool tub!

  “This is absolutely gorgeous, Brett.”

  “I thought you might like it. That’s why I wanted you to see it.”

  “I’m glad you did. It gives me some ideas for mine. Of course, my bath is nowhere near the size of this.”

  “Come on. I’ll fix us something to drink.”

  They headed back downstairs and through the living room. Brett walked over to the massive farmer’s table, threw down his wallet, then turned and faced her.

  Watching the way he moved was like watching Mother Nature’s finest work. He was a gorgeous and graceful specimen, but Mia already knew that from his high school days. The way he ran the football field was nothing less than miraculous. It was as if he were a machine. No one could touch him. She was always surprised he hadn’t received a football scholarship.

  He was just eighteen then, but now with the maturity of a young man, he was dangerous to every str
aight woman who crossed his path, including herself. She couldn’t stop the torrid scenarios that kept invading her thoughts every time she looked at him.

  The one thought that kept playing over and over in her head was him taking her in her office with her back against the wall, all the while he was plunging into her and—

  “Mia?”

  “Huh?”

  He kept staring at her with that smirk of his as he stood by the refrigerator. He was so damned sexy. “I said name your poison. Tea, coffee, juice, wine?”

  “Wine?” she asked, shaking her head. “Not after the two glasses I had at the restaurant. I’ll have juice, thank you.”

  He smirked again with an added chuckle. God, he’s cocky. “Always have to be in control,” he said and took out a large pitcher of orange juice.

  “Excuse me?” Mia began tapping her foot on the beautiful marble tile. He must have stock in a marble company.

  “I said you’re a control freak.” He handed her a glass, then went to the copper espresso machine to make himself some coffee.

  “I…I don’t know what you mean.” Mia took a sip and noticed that her hand was trembling.

  “I think you do.” Brett turned and leaned against the counter.

  Mia took a good look at him. As handsome as her ex-husband and Tim were, they had nothing on this man. They were cardboard cutouts by comparison.

  Brett was a dream. He was a big man, but still not the typical jock. His build was strong, lean, and athletic. Devilishly handsome, he was the epitome of the All-American male. Blond hair, blue eyes, full mouth, and an aquiline nose that gave him that classic look. However, he still had the annoying cockiness of a teenager. “Please, Brett, get to the point.”

  “I’ve asked before if you wondered what it would be like to lose control, to hand over power to someone else. You’ve avoided answering me each time.”

  Brett gazed at her with the intensity of a cobra. She needed to get out of there but fast!

  “Because it’s none of your damn business,” she said with as much control in her voice as possible. She turned to leave.

  “See? Right there!” Brett left the counter and stepped quickly toward her. “You try to remain as in control as possible, and as soon as you lose it, you put up a wall, either by walking away or closing yourself off. With the exception of tonight, even your clothes are used as a barrier. You’re the quintessential old-fashioned schoolmarm, except for—”