Forbidden Fantasy

by Tiffany White

He turned his gaze from the box of powder to her. His eyes grew heavy, their pupils soft and wide.

  “Undo the camisole top,” he instructed hoarsely.

  “If I do, will you answer my question?” she countered, hesitating.

  “Yes.”

  Zoe began undoing the three tiny faux pearl buttons fastening the front of her delicate lace camisole. When the buttons came undone, she stretched forward … dipping her back to rest her weight upon her hands in a catlike pose, the sleek action causing her breasts to bob free of the constraint of the camisole, playing an erotic game of peekaboo with the bit of sheer fabric and lace.

  Undulating onto her knees on the soft bed, Zoe played to the blue eyes watching her, getting high on the power of her femininity. She lifted her hands to her hair and mussed it sexily, all the while reveling in the effect she was having on Grey. Rotating her smooth shoulders, she shimmied out of the white camisole, letting it slip onto the bed.

  Grey swallowed dryly. His eyes raked her pink and creamy prettiness as he dipped the soft powder puff into the round, deep box of scented dusting powder. Tapping the excess from the puff on the side of the box, he began smoothing the fragile puff over Zoe’s tender skin, dabbing the scented powder across her collarbone, then across the lush tops of her breast.

  The atmosphere in the room was still and intense. Finally he made a stab at returning to their abandoned conversation. “As I recall it, you were asking me why I had a penchant for locking you away in this room when I’m not with you?” He looked up from his handiwork and smiled at her stammered reply.

  “I…ah…yes….”

  The soft powder puff in his hand was a magic wand. It tickled and aroused at the same time. The sensations… What Grey was doing made it almost impossible for her to concentrate on anything but his actions.

  “Well,” he began, redipping the powder puff, “I believe we’re in agreement that you more or less ran away from your husband. That is what you told me over dinner in Paris, isn’t it?”

  She nodded, not looking at him.

  “Let’s just say I don’t want a repeat performance. I wanted to make sure you would stay for a week. I didn’t want to return to find you’d run out on me … or your feelings.”

  “And that’s why you keep locking me in?” she inquired, aware that her tone acknowledged the fact that more than mere physical restraint was involved.

  “That’s why,” he said, dabbing her nose playfully with the powder puff, leaving a smudge of white powder. If she looked into a mirror, she knew she’d appear to have been baking. But she didn’t have to look into a mirror to know she was cooking. The warm flush of her skin gave the fact away to Grey, as well.

  “Okay, so you wanted to make sure I would stay for a week, as we agreed. But what about taking my clothes and leaving me with nothing, well, almost nothing, to wear?”

  He chuckled. “If I didn’t lock you in without something to wear, you’d find a way to escape. But without clothes you’re less inclined to try.” He leaned close, whispering naughty words about how she looked wearing next to nothing. His hands were busy, playing at her breasts, until a dull ache began to build at the juncture of her thighs above the white lace-topped stockings. Her eyelashes fluttered closed against her rosy cheeks.

  When his hands stilled, her eyes opened once again, but her breathing was quick and shallow as she studied him consideringly.

  “Suppose I locked you in a room with nothing to wear, kept you as a playmate …” she said, half threatening, half playful.

  “I’d love it,” he answered all too readily. “Wouldn’t you?”

  “It’s … ah … the things are … I don’t know.”

  “I think maybe you do like it, but you think you shouldn’t.”

  “And I think you’re avoiding my question,” she said, sitting back on her heels.

  He flashed her a guilty look. “Smart. Why do I have to be attracted to a smart woman?”

  She laughed at his display of mock sorrow. “You’re still avoiding the question.”

  “Okay, okay. The truth is, I want you naked or wearing something that compels you to think about your body, because I want …”

  “Yes …”

  “I want to free you …” he said on a sigh.

  “Free me?” she repeated, looking at him with patent disbelief.

  “Yes,” he answered softly, then went on to explain. “I want to free you from all the shoulds, from your preconceived idea about what I want—what you want. I want us to explore who we are—to explore intimacy.”

  When she started to object he interrupted. “Yes, I know you were married, but just because you were married, it doesn’t mean you’ve been intimate with a man.”

  “And you think we can’t do this clothed and talking?”

  He shrugged. “Later, perhaps. But not now. Now we would only remain strangers hiding behind our clothes, behind convention, behind the walls we’ve built. Walls every person builds to protect themselves—a wall that while keeping others out, keeps us imprisoned.”

  She heard the pain and loneliness behind his words and reached out to put her hands upon his in a gesture of comfort. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you? Why? You don’t strike me as the sort of man who’s given to deep introspection. Why this need to search for more?”

  He sighed again. “You’re right, of course. I’m not introspective, not usually. Leťs just say that one day it was brought home to me that everything I thought I knew, I didn’t know at all. Growing up, I accepted things easily—the views of my parents, my teachers, employer, even just the culture of the times. It was okay, I suppose, when it worked. But then suddenly it didn’t work anymore. So, like you, I’ve set out to find myself.”

  “And have you?”

  “I think I’m on the right path,” he said with a warm smile.

  “And you think I can help you?”

  He nodded. “I think we can help each other. Don’t you?”

  She sat looking at him thoughtfully until he spoke again.

  “What? What are you thinking? Are you thinking about the marriage you left behind? Could you go back to the man you left, to the stable routine? Do you miss the security?”

  His questioning became more impassioned. “Or could you put your lot in with a man like me?”

  “A man like you?”

  “A man like me. A man uncertain of what he wants in life, except for you. A man who makes no guarantees about his future, except that he wants you in it, helping him to shape it.”

  “Sometimes I do miss the security of my old life,” Zoe said, answering honestly.

  “Then you’re sorry you left?”

  “No. I had to leave. I’m sorry I hurt my husband. He didn’t deserve to be hurt, not really. He was a good man who wanted to provide for me and keep me safe from the dangers of the work he did. But by keeping me safe, he locked me out of his life.

  “And since I had no life of my own without him, I began disappearing before my own eyes. I knew it wouldn’t be long before I started disappearing before his, and I couldn’t bear it. I was a mirror he looked into, and I could no longer reflect what he wanted to see.”

  “Perhaps it was him. Perhaps he saw all too well. Maybe he knew he was losing you and didn’t know how to stop it. Maybe that’s why he hid from you, buried in his job. Because he didn’t know how to hold on to you, he held on to the only thing he knew how to do, was good at.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe he’d just lost interest, grown past what I could give him.”

  “Did it occur to you that you might have grown past him? Past the macho life-style he demanded. He might not have known how to deal with the independent woman you were growing into and was threatened, but didn’t know how to tell you. I don’t want to make his mistakes, Zoe. I want everything between the two of us to be allowed. No secrets. No walls.”

  Zoe didn’t say anything for a long while. “No secrets … no walls
…” she agreed finally.

  Her mood changed then as she grew playful. Winking at him, she took the powder puff from the box of loose powder, then teasingly dusted the insides of her thighs above the stockings. After returning the puff to its box, she used her hands to rub the smooth talc over the contours of her body. Her eyes drifted shut once again as she enjoyed the feel of her own touch, stroking ever so lightly. Slipping her fingertips beneath the thong bikini, she lowered it.

  “Open your eyes.”

  Zoe answered Grey’s command, to see his own eyes devouring her. “You were right,” he said. “This clandestine mistress business is pretty exciting.”

  She smiled, reaching to pull up the bed linen, all of a sudden feeling like the modest maiden.

  He leaned forward. “No,” he said, taking the linen from her hands. “We agreed, remember. No secrets … no walls.”

  Brushing her lips with a kiss, he moved his mouth to whisper into her ear. “I want you to turn over,” he said, reaching for the box of powder.

  She hesitated, then did as he requested, watching him over her shoulder as he dipped the puff into the box to fill it with loose powder, then began dusting her bottom.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, laughing.

  He put on his best French gendarme’s accent and informed her, “A good detective, chérie, always dusts for prints.”

  She looked at him with wide eyes. “But Detective, there hasn’t been a crime….”

  He stopped and looked at her for a long moment. “Yet…” he said. “But I think you should know the suspense is killing me.” Putting the powder puff back into the box, he rose from the bed.

  “You’re going to have to make a choice, you know,” he said, opening the door and leaving her alone in the bedroom once again.

  9

  ZOE SAT NAKED in the middle of the rumpled bed, unable to sleep.

  Grey’s words haunted her.

  He was right; she was going to have to make a choice. During the past six months she’d been busy exploring who she was. Busy becoming a modern independent woman. Busy enjoying her new friendship with Lauren-Claire.

  Busy.

  Purposely too busy to consider the future.

  While she had proven to herself that she could survive on her own, she’d repressed the longing she had for loving. It had taken a stranger to open her up by daring her to come with him on a journey…a journey with no sexual boundaries.

  He had shown her she’d been living a lie, hiding from herself. First in endless classes during her marriage, now in living from day to day in Paris, her life on hold.

  Even these past few days with Grey had been busy ones.

  They’d been pleasurable and exciting, but they were still only an idyll. A side trip away from making a decision about her life.

  About what she wanted.

  Not what the sweet, insensitive guy she’d married wanted. Not what the bold, mysterious stranger in the other room wanted. Not what Lauren-Claire thought she should want. Not even what the proliferation of women’s magazines said she should politically and correctly want.

  What she wanted.

  Did Grey really think there was a chance she would return to her marriage? And what was Grey’s fantasy? What did he want from her?

  She sighed, her thoughts in turmoil. The room was cooling. She glanced at the fireplace; only a few glowing embers remained in the grate. The fire, like their lovemaking, had flamed and cooled. Throwing off the sheet she sat wrapped in, she went to the armoire. But it was empty, except for a few pairs of tissue-wrapped stockings and … Her eyes fell on the locked oblong box.

  She gave in to temptation and carried the box back to bed with her, picking up a nail file on the way from the purse Grey had returned … passportless.

  It took some doing, but she managed to pry open the box. She wasn’t certain what to think when she saw its sole contents.

  She was certain, however, of what had happened to the pair of silver handcuffs that had disappeared from the Porsche’s rearview mirror.

  Slamming the lid of the box shut, she set it away from her. The handcuffs were a sign of submission.

  It occurred to her then that her relationship with Grey was not much different from the one she’d had with her husband. In both instances, she was not—had not been—the one in control.

  It was time.

  It was past time.

  Tossing aside the sheet, she got up and went to the bedroom door. Turning the knob, she was surprised to find the door unlocked.

  About to slip out, she stopped and went back to the bed. Opening the oblong box again, she stared down at the handcuffs consideringly. A sly smile crooked her lips as an idea took shape in her mind.

  Not letting herself think about the wisdom of her actions, she picked up the pair of handcuffs. Pausing for a moment to get her bearings, she decided to investigate the bedroom adjoining hers on the left as the most likely place to find Grey. She had that feeling of being trapped in a Gothic novel again as she stealthily crept down the hall, lest a floorboard creak and give her away. She looked down at herself and amended her image to “modern Gothic novel”; she was a tad under dressed without the traditional, flowing white nightdress. She supposed she could have virginally wrapped a sheet around herself, but knowing her luck, she would probably have tripped on the trailing sheet and catapulted down the stairs, breaking something valuable besides her person along the way.

  Inching along, she came to the door of the adjoining bedroom. As she reached for the knob, the handcuffs in her other hand jangled and she jumped. It was a definite drawback that birthday suits didn’t have pockets, she thought, looking down at herself for someplace to put the handcuffs while she sneaked into what she hoped was Grey’s room.

  The handcuffs ended up in her mouth when she found the door unlocked but stuck, requiring both hands to shove it open discreetly. Trying not to think about the picture she made, she wrestled the door open without making any distinct creaking noises.

  She put her eye to the narrow opening and peered into the room.

  French doors stood open directly opposite, mocking her with their easy access from a balcony until she recalled her state of undress. A mahogany chair, slip covered in white sheeting, was splashed with moonlight.

  She could just make out the topiary container plantings, so popular in France, standing sentinel on the balcony. The window treatment at the balcony doors contained the same floral design as the walls. A large cylindrical basket of logs sat beside the fireplace, an exact match to the one in her bedroom. While a fire was laid out, it hadn’t been lighted.

  Her eyes turned farther to the left, only to be startled by the life-size, sculptured Roman torso near the draped bed. The lanky figure sprawled across the bed on his back was not headless, however.

  She was sure of that, because he was snoring softly. Looking at the bedside table, she saw an open bottle of wine and half-full glass. She’d driven him to drink.

  Good.

  Thankful for the rug covering the sound of her feet as she crossed the room, Zoe watched Grey’s face, carefully monitoring the sound of his snoring as she crept up to the head of the bed, where his head lay on a mound of floral-patterned pillows.

  She took the handcuffs from her mouth and looked down at him. He was shirtless and shoeless, his disreputable jeans low on his lean hips, displaying his very flat belly, which moved almost imperceptibly with each breath he took as he continued to snore, sound asleep.

  His arms were splayed over his head, conveniently near the brass headboard. All she had to do was be careful not to disturb his sleep. She didn’t want to find herself on the receiving end of her brilliant idea.

  Taking a deep breath, she eased herself onto the bed.

  He didn’t stir. Good.

  Reaching over his head, she very carefully slipped the handcuffs between one of the posts on the brass head board and brought it back out,
securing it in a U shape. Leaning back, she allowed herself to breathe again.

  She looked down at him, his steady, light snoring assuring her he was still asleep. His dark hair had fallen across his forehead, and a shadow of night beard covered his square jaw. Moonlight played on his sharp cheekbones.

  He didn’t look innocent, even in sleep.

  She had to be very, very careful.

  Swallowing dryly, she lifted the arm nearest her and moved it to the handcuff dangling by the bedpost. He didn’t move as she slipped the cuff around his wrist and locked it. She eased her hand away from his and let it fall back against the brass headboard.

  Now the other wrist. She considered getting off the bed and going around to the other side, but decided getting on and off the bed once again was actually more likely to disturb his sleep.

  Leaning across him, she held her breath, reaching for his free hand.

  He moaned and she froze, her heart pounding in her ears.

  “Mmm … you smell good …” he mumbled, nuzzling his face between her breasts. “I’ve missed you, baby….”

  Within moments he was snoring softly again.

  How could a man do something so sexy and not wake up?

  She was awake—really awake. And forcing herself to remain absolutely still. When she was convinced he was once again sleeping soundly, she made quick work of securing his other wrist in the handcuff. He was now her captive.

  Backing off the bed, she stood upright, her knees nearly giving way. Steadying herself with one hand on the brass headboard, she finally allowed herself the release of a deep sigh.

  He wasn’t going to be pleased—not pleased at all. But that was okay, because now it was time for her to please herself.

  Going to the armoire on the wall opposite the bed, Zoe selected one of Grey’s shirts. It was sizes too big for her. The hem hit her at midthigh when she slipped into it, and the cuffs hung down way past her hands. She rolled up the sleeves as she left the bedroom, leaving the door open in case he woke up … though she imagined she would be able to hear him when he awoke.

  In the kitchen she warmed some milk and raided a tin of tea biscuits, carrying them upstairs with her, then couldn’t resist looking in on her handiwork one last time before retiring.