BLIND: A Mastermind Novel (20 page)

She stiffened. Somehow, divulging such information in person rather than over the phone was a lot more intimidating. She still couldn’t see him, but there was a fresh level of judgment to consider. He could see
her
. “Why?”

“Because I asked. If you can’t think of a failure, you’re either lying to yourself or purposely trying to deceive me. Trust does not tolerate deception.”

Oh, she had plenty of failure in her life. “I failed my certification exam.”

He tsked. “Go a little deeper, Ms. Farrow. Share something personal with me.”

She swallowed. “I see my unmarried status as a personal failure.”

“Interesting. Why?”

She scoffed. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Not at all. I’m single, yet I don’t see it as a personal shortcoming. It’s more of a predilection.”

“Well, maybe it’s different for men. All of my friends are married and onto trying to have children. I can barely have a successful date.”

“You’re here now.”

“Yes, but this is far from ordinary. I don’t even know what you look like.”

“Are dates defined by your partner’s appearance?”

“No.”

“Then I don’t see how that applies.”

She sighed. “I always expected I’d be married with a family by now. I’m thirty years old. Risks begin to present themselves for women who have children late into their thirties.”

“You have a decade of being in your thirties ahead of you. I don’t think those risks apply just yet.”

“Ah, but you’re forgetting the time it takes to meet someone, form a relationship, establish a mutual desire to take things to the next level, finagle a proposal—something totally out of my hands—have an engagement, enjoy a bit of being married, and the time it takes to conceive
if
there are no unforeseen complications.”

“So, if I understand correctly, you’re stuck in stage one, but should you make it to the later stages of the game, you’d be at the mercy of the man, waiting for him to pop the question.”

“Yes.”

“Seems a little unaccountable on your part, Ms. Farrow. You’ll never get what you want if you’re too afraid to ask for it.”

Her mouth framed an objection, but she took a moment to collect her thoughts. In a calm voice, she argued, “Traditionally, men propose.”

“Yes, but not always.”

“Regardless, I’d have to have a relationship in order for that to happen. Instead I’m sitting in a mysterious place, blindfolded, discussing my personal failures with a stranger.”

“Does the topic bother you?”

“I don’t think anyone enjoys discussing their shortcomings.”

“It depends how one views their shortcomings. Failure isn’t always a bad thing, Ms. Farrow. Many times it helps people better apply themselves and overcome adversity, climb those proverbial walls, if you will. I think it’s a matter of determination.”

“Are you saying I’m single because I wasn’t determined enough?”

“That’s not for me to decide. Let’s discuss your sense of failure. I want you to focus on your current predicament of being single, and contemplate the feelings it provokes.”

Her mind immediately shied away from all those gross feelings of inadequacy. That was it.
Inadequate
. “Failure makes me feel inadequate.”

“We must accept failure as a humanistic trait, otherwise it will control us. Perhaps your fear of such inadequacy has become a handicap.”

“I’m here.”

“Under my conditions, for fourteen nights. Hardly enough time to promenade, fall in love, get
me
to propose marriage since you aren’t accountable for that step, have a long, drawn out, tedious engagement, enjoy married life, and create life.”

Her brow tightened behind the blindfold. “Are you making fun of me?”

“Only a little. I want you to understand the true nature of failure. Mistakes are part of the natural growing process that helps us reach success. You must embrace your failures in order to better recognize success.”

“You want me to accept that I’m incapable of finding a husband?”

“Let’s not be so dramatic, Ms. Farrow. I’m merely suggesting you embrace your mistakes and apply them to your success. Every failed experience with a man has taught you something about yourself. That’s the angle of success. You must consider those lessons, not ignore them. Don’t allow yourself to be emotionally hijacked by the intense emotions linked to failure. Rather, redefine failure as a useful tool, a device that delivers a fundamental lesson.”

A bubble of laughter escaped her throat. This was no joking matter, but she found his personality humorous. “You sure you’re not a life coach or a therapist?”

“I’m sure. Just someone who’s had a great deal of success from failure. I see it for what it is, a driving force to do better.”

“I could see that if I was talking about something simple, like, say, an exam.
”
She pursed her lips in the direction of his voice. “But you asked for something personal.”

“Did you hope to be kissed tonight?”

Her head drew back. Nothing like shining a spotlight on an already awkward situation. That quickly, she completely lost her grasp of what she was saying. “Um, I don’t know.”

“Would you object to me kissing you?”

Her stomach tightened as a jolt of excitement sent her nerves fluttering. “No.”

“Will you consider it a personal failure on your part if I don’t?”

She laughed, but only to mask her discomfort. “I don’t think so.”

“But you’re not certain.”

“I changed my mind. I don’t want to be kissed tonight.”

He chuckled. The room turned quiet with only the soft crackling from the fireplace. Her body lurched with awareness the second his hand touched the back of hers.

Her breathing immediately turned shallow and her tummy heated, causing her knees to press tightly together. When he spoke his voice was even lower than usual.

“Perhaps me kissing you would have nothing to do with you and everything to do with me. A kiss should be driven by passion, an expression of absolute need seeking an outlet through affection. Should we not kiss, it wouldn’t be a failure. Rather, it would be a necessary component in the manifestation of something great. Every brick counts when building something impressive, Ms. Farrow. As I stated earlier, every action, every request serves a purpose. Never disregard my motive.”

She hadn’t been concerned with kisses, but having his lips on hers suddenly became her greatest desire. His hand drifted away, stripping yet another layer. This man was a genius with women. He had to have a background in psychology. His proficiency with rationed words twisted her thinking in a totally different direction. He was emotionally stripping her.

“Do you understand, Ms. Farrow?”

She swallowed back her plea that he kiss her and nodded.

A finger ghosted over her lips, mimicking the pressure of a kiss, and she sucked in a swift breath.

“Not your failure. My choice.
”

She wanted to lean forward and chase his fingers with her mouth, an impulse she’d never had with a man before.

“Your blush is back, Ms. Farrow. Tell me, is it because you’re afraid or because you’re aroused?”

Her face tightened. Arousal mingled with embarrassment. She whimpered and he chuckled.

“I’ll assume it’s the latter. Did you enjoy yourself tonight, Ms. Farrow? I know we had a bumpy start, but I found the evening pleasant.”

She nodded. “I’m glad I came.”

“Me too.”

Were they finished? She didn’t want to say goodnight as she was finally starting to calm enough to enjoy their visit.

She wanted
…
so many contradicting things. Home. The security of her house. His mouth on hers. His touch. To get rid of this damn blindfold.

“Good. I’ll help you with your coat.
”

With a sound of fabric rustling, she sensed him standing. The second his hand closed around hers she turned her palm to his and squeezed. There was a moment of unspoken communication. She was thanking him, but still unsure for what. He clasped her fingers more firmly, the motion full of what she interpreted as affection.

He led her toward the door and she analyzed the change in her disposition. There was no hesitancy to her steps, no fear he might lead her into danger. Perhaps next time she’d demonstrate enough trust that the blindfold wouldn’t be necessary.

“Lift your arm, please.
”
He guided the sleeves of her coat over her shoulders. Her chest lifted as he carefully closed the buttons, grazing the curve of her breast ever so slightly. At the casual touch of his fingers she’d lost a bit of her composure, her body intensely responding to such a subtle caress.

“You left your purse on the chair. I’ll go get it. Stay here.”

She left her purse? Holy cow, her guard had lowered severely. She hadn’t realized.

His steps drew nearer and her purse looped over her shoulder. “I’ll need my phone back, Ms. Farrow.”

What was wrong with her? She’d been holding the phone in a death grip this entire time and had totally forgotten its presence. Stupidly, she held it out and he relieved her of its weight.

A finger brushed over her cheek. The heat of his nearness seeped through her clothing, his scent intoxicating and implacable. She wanted to lean into him just to memorize it, finding the purposeful caress so much more meaningful than the accidental one.

“Goodnight, Ms. Farrow,
”
he whispered, his breath tickling the hairs slipping past the blindfold.

“Goodnight, Mr. Stone.”

The door clicked open and cool air coasted over her skin. In the distance a car door opened followed by the crunch of gravel. Pennyworth.

“Ms. Farrow’s ready to go home now, Pennyworth.”

“Yes, sir. Ms. Farrow.
”
The chauffeur’s hand curled softly over the sleeve of her coat and Mr. Stone stepped back.

As she walked away, the increasing distance between them was cataloged with fundamental goodbyes of her past, moments so definitive they’d be impossible to forget or recreate—her parents driving away after moving her into her first dorm, her grandmother’s final words, and watching her first class graduate middle school. How had he become so significant?

Frustration built as she was led down the stairs. Her eyes prickled as she fought back the urge to tear away the mask and see him. It was all very disconcerting and unprecedented. Perhaps it was best she was leaving.

Gravel crunched under her feet and the car door opened, the quiet purr of the engine enough to cut away all proof that he was still in observing distance. “Watch your head please, Ms. Farrow.”

She quickly turned, unsure if he lingered or not. “Thank you, Mr. Stone.”

“It was my pleasure, Scarlet.
”
He was there. Validation he’d waited, looking on until she left, filled her with such comfort it gave her the courage to climb in the car.

She slid into the seat and buckled her seatbelt. Mr. Pennyworth took his place and they were soon on their way. Replaying the night in her mind, she shivered, knowing there would be many more. Pennyworth was quiet for several minutes and soon enough her wish was granted.

“You may remove the blindfold now, Ms. Farrow.”

Odd, part of her didn’t want to. Shaking off the confused desire to stay in the dark, she slid the mask off her head and blinked, as even the dim interior lit only by the night sky and dashboard lights, seemed too bright.

They were already in her neighborhood. Pennyworth looked exactly the same. She’d foolishly expected his appearance to be altered from the start of the evening.