Gagged (26 page)

He sounds
surprised
.
 

“Aurora?”
 

But it’s not just recognition of my name that I hear in his question. It’s not just a single word inquiring if this is really me on the phone, or why I might be calling.
 

No. He knows something else, but not all of it. He knows
just enough
of something to make him wonder what he’s
not
seeing. It’s like he’s caught a flash of someone running from the corner of his eye and now wonders not just where that person has gone or who it was — but instead wonders why
anyone
is here at all because he’s supposed to be alone — and what his visitor is up to.

“Why do you sound so surprised to hear from me? Today is my turn.”
 

“It’s not that. It’s … ”
 

My lips form a salacious smile. Oh, to hear the powerful Caspian White squirm. He’s always so assured of everything. He’s always struck me as a man who knows every possible contingency before anything happens. Everything about our encounters so far has been engineered. He positioned himself in that coffee shop because he knew I’d see him and knew I’d be angry enough at him in the moment to follow — something he knew because he’d arranged Jasmine’s appointment and figured out where I’d be, but also because he knew
me
, from culling through my confidential LiveLyfe data. He knew James and Jasmine would hit it off because he knew James and Jasmine, again from their private data. He knew I was loyal, and that where Jasmine went, I would follow. He knew he could lure me. He knows something of my past, and which of my buttons to push even better than I do.
 

But he didn’t know this.

He didn’t know his sister would call me behind his back.
 

He didn’t know how well Lucy and I would hit it off.

He knew his company phones were tracked, but not who might share that data with the girl he’d left behind.

Now I know something that Caspian doesn’t.
 

And now that he’s had his turn to do things his way, it’s my turn to show him mine again.

Watching my phone’s screen while I talk into its end, I say, “Pull over. Into the park up ahead.”
 

But the dot on the screen goes right past.
 

Caspian says, “Those flowers … by the entry gate … ”
 

And so I feed him a line he once said to me.
 

“You have no idea how hard that was to coordinate. Turn around. They’re yours.”

On the screen, the tracking dot stops.
 

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

A
URORA

I
HANG
UP
,
FEELING
SUPREMELY
unsure of myself. Like a dog who’s chased cars all her life and finally caught one, but now I’ve no idea what to do when it’s hanging from my jaw. Lucy told me Caspian comes out this way sometimes when he wants to get away and think, so I watched until his car started moving, figuring he’d take his time, and beat him to it. Found the park. Shoved the flowers I’d bought — all white, of course — at the gate and rang his bell. Just to fuck with him. To hear surprise in that smug man’s voice, for once.
 

But now he’s here.
 

My ploy, for what it was worth, has worked.
 

But now it doesn’t feel so clever. Now it’s just a neat trick. Now it’s a callback. But in addition to sounding distracted, Caspian sounded slightly angry. Like I’d caught him in the middle of his fury. Now here I am, at the park with a goddamned picnic blanket like something from a Christian magazine, and my rushed, probably sweaty preparations don’t seem nearly as cute.
 

He’ll probably be annoyed I interrupted whatever he was up to.
 

He’ll probably be mad that I tracked his phone, and angry at Lucy for helping me do it.
 

And when he asks how I pulled this off and I tell him about Lucy, he’ll probably be mad about that, too. Caspian is a private man. He likes knowing everything personal about everyone else, but you
never
snoop on him.
 

I’ve done the wrong thing here.
 

Jasmine was wrong. Of course she was. I’ve taken advice from someone who is nothing like me. I’ve taken advice from someone who makes sport out of solving children’s cereal box mazes in the morning and then takes it up the butt, in public, in the afternoon. This had seemed like a fine and dandy idea when I’d thought of it — to turn the tables on the man who knows it all, to meet him on my terms rather than waiting for him and submitting — but the reality is leaving me clammy.
 

The man on his way here now is a titan of business. He’ll be as pissed at my choice of venue today as he was two days ago. When I pried too far then, asking about the scars on his arms that don’t strike me as anything even a Becky Jeffries might have done, he got angry and left. And then what happened? He strung me up by my arms, undressed me, turned me on, then left me to my humiliation.
 

And this is the way I answer him? By arranging a picnic in the park?

What the hell is wrong with me?
 

I look at the blanket. It’s red and white checked. I even brought a
basket;
Jasmine had it in one of our closets. The whole thing couldn’t be more kitschy or clichéd. Could I
be
more of a virgin? Why didn’t I gather some daisies to put in my hair?

There’s only one main road in the park, and now I see Caspian’s Bentley moving slowly along it. This isn’t a big place, with just the one lot. Ahead is another playground, which I imagine Caspian expects me to subject him to again. To the right is this small, mostly concealed thicket, far enough from the playground that I’m sure we
won’t
be bothered by kids or their sounds, but right now I don’t know if I’m bold enough to leave my comfy hiding place and wave him over.
 

What was cute and clever now strikes me as boring.
 

What was daring will surely provoke his anger.
 

I’ve stuck my nose into Caspian’s business, and this was a man who circled me in a room of brutal toys, scaring me enough to make me nearly pee my pants.
 

Except that by the end, I wasn’t wearing pants. Or a skirt. Or panties. I was blindfolded and restrained in the middle of the room with all my girl parts out, silently begging for him to touch me.
 

Until he basically told me to fuck off and left.
 

What’s wrong with you, Aurora? What makes you think he even wants to see you? Yesterday was revenge for you sticking your nose into his business the day before … and you answer his anger by doing it again?
 

I’m behind a tree. Hugging the bark.
 

Five minutes ago, I’d been sure yesterday was foreplay. He wanted me for sure, but I disappointed him somehow. Or he’s building to something, but it was definitely a step moving us forward.
 

Now, I’m sure of the opposite.
 

He doesn’t like me at all.
 

Caspian hates me.
 

If I give this man half a chance, he’ll use all his gear on me whether I want it or like it or not.
 

I’ll sneak out. I’ll wait until he leaves, and then I’ll go home and tell Jasmine it was a big mistake, in this twisted wager, to even consider taking my turn.
 

Instead my hand raises as if it has a mind of its own.
 

I call Caspian over as he steps out of his car, dressed immaculately as usual.
 

And then I wait for him, trembling.
 

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

A
URORA

C
ASPIAN
SEEMS
DIFFERENT
.
 

I
CAN
see it in the way he walks. The way his arms swing less mechanically as he crosses the lawn toward me. He usually walks as if every step has meaning. Caspian doesn’t meander or stroll, even for a single pace. But watching him now, I’d swear he’s just a well-dressed man crossing a swath of grass. Not a man headed to a meeting he’ll dominate. Not a man with a powerful agenda on his mind.
 

When he gets closer, I see a difference on his face as well. There’s the same blue eyes, but they’re not quite as hard and piercing. He has the same neatly combed blond hair, a day’s worth of very light stubble. The same strong chin. The same classic handsome bearing that, if I’m being honest, melts me. His mouth isn’t smiling; the man never really seems to smile unless it’s mocking or arrogant. But that mouth isn’t as firm and frightful today.
 

My body is tense. It relaxes. Just a little.
 

“Clever,” he says. But the word doesn’t have much bite. And as he arrives, Caspian looks me over from top to bottom. I’m wearing a simple summer sundress: light pink, subtle floral print, cute open-toe sandals. He’s not trying to hide what he’s doing, drinking me in without shame. He surveys our surroundings. “Another park? You’re going to turn me off to the charitable life from the start if it’s going to be all outdoors and sun.”
 

I find my voice. “What are you, a vampire?”
 

“I don’t have the appropriate wardrobe.”
 

I blink at him. Was that a joke? Did Caspian White just make a joke?

“So I guess I sit. On the blanket. With the picnic basket. Please tell me I don’t have to sing you songs and strum a lute.”
 

“It was just an idea.”

Without sitting, he looks at me. Through me. “I didn’t think I’d hear from you.”

“Thought I’d give up so easily?”
 

“I thought I might have scared you away.”
 

“Were you trying to?”
 

“I guess I wanted to see if you were tough enough to return. If I was right about you.”
 

I look Caspian over. I still can’t place the change that I can sense but not articulate or see. He still looks more than inappropriate in the park. He’s getting dirt on shoes that might have cost a thousand dollars. He doesn’t look relaxed; his blazer is unbuttoned, but his posture is still halfway formal. I know I surprised him and it’s still possible he’s angry at me, but he looks neutral, and barely here.

“If you were in the middle of something … ”
 

“I was. Thank you for saving me from it.”
 

“We don’t have to stay here if you don’t want. Even if it’s my turn.” I don’t know why I’m retreating. Maybe because he seems so ridiculous in these places.

“It’s fine. It’s fair.”
 

“But you clearly don’t like It here.”
 

“Just like you didn’t like it in my penthouse yesterday.”
 

We stare at each other for a few long seconds. In the distance, far off and now barely seen as we move into the thicket, we can hear life on the playground. The breeze is light and lifts the edges of his hair. I hear birds. It reminds me of a perpetual spring.

But Caspian’s words, along with his implication, echo in my mind.
 

Just like you didn’t like it in my penthouse yesterday.
 

But the horrible thing is that after a day’s worth of thought, I realize I sort of did. I liked it in the way I like tall roller coasters or scary movies or jumping into a frigid lake for the hell of it. It definitely wasn’t pleasant by my usual definition. But I’m curious what might have happened if we’d continued. Whether I want it to or not, my body, right now, thrills at the recollection of being at Caspian’s mercy, of being bound and blinded, knowing he could do whatever he wanted. I wonder what it would have been like with my feet tied as well. If he’d slapped my skin, just lightly.
 

If I wasn’t a virgin with all the baggage of my first sexual encounter still stuck between me and the sort of edge walking a normal person could face if she wanted.
 

It feels like an unnecessary wall between us. Caspian plays at the advanced level but I’m still rolling dice like a novice. I can’t imagine what awaits because my virginity is in the way. Jasmine always told me as much, even going so far as to suggest a casual, meaningless lay to “get it out of the way already.” I always thought she was being unnecessarily crass. Virginity was a choice. Only now, meeting Caspian and weighing his words and arguments, have I begun to see it as a penance I’ve been forced into — no different than a tormentor tying me down with restraints and a gag of innocence.
 

He knows I enjoyed yesterday, in my own way. Because Caspian knows me better than I know myself.

And if that’s true, he might actually be saying he enjoys this — this ridiculous 1950s postcard moment I’ve set up in the park with my virgin’s picnic — rather than resenting it. Not fully, and not natively. But still doesn’t hate being here — in his own way.

He folds his leg and sits. He’s so large and finely dressed that he makes the setup look like an arrangement of toys. As if I’d been setting up for a garden tea party with my stuffed animals and now Big Daddy has come to join me.

“So what’s on the agenda? Lunch?”
 

“There’s actually no food in the basket.”
 

Caspian opens the top. “Did Yogi Bear get here first?”
 

I give him a look — half squint, half-reluctant smile.
 

“What?” he asks.
 

“It’s just not something I’d have expected you to say.”
 

“About Yogi Bear? I used to love Yogi Bear.”

“What else?”

“My father got these DVDs of
The Smurfs.
You’re probably too young to know
The Smurfs.
Hell, I am, too.”