Ice Queen (7 page)

Tyler turned back to the glass floor. “You’re losing your mind,” he said.

Or I’m losing mine.

But Lisbeth’s words suggested another theory to him, despite his moment of frustration.

Perhaps Marguerite was throwing what she knew in his face, in a desperate attempt to cover what she didn’t. What she knew she should face but perhaps could not. Maybe 41

Joey W. Hill

he
had
pushed too hard at Tea Leaves. Maybe he should have chosen a different way to approach it. And maybe he
could
choose a different way.

42

Ice Queen

When Jeremy freed Brendan, Marguerite stood back and watched The Zone employee help him sit up as he checked vitals. Brendan was forced to lean on the other man while the world oriented itself and became what he knew it to be, though she was sure the band of fire across his lower back made his immediate future different. She stood away from him, in front of him, her clothes back in place. She explained the aftercare while he drank the glass of water Jeremy pushed on him. His gaze watched her hungrily, so she made sure her voice was firm, cool, reminding him of her boundaries and what would and would not happen after this night.

She saw the reminder sink in, the acceptance come into his eyes more easily than she would have expected. It suggested that tonight’s experience had changed his reality, taken him to a different plane of understanding of himself and her. Brought him an inner tranquility. The post-euphoria of a successful pain session, she told herself, knowing it was at least partly true. When she gathered up her bag of items and put it over her shoulder, he rose from the bench and knelt before her, despite the pain she knew the position must be causing him.

“Thank you, Mistress.”

She nodded, walked around him without touching him and left the room.

The carpeted hallway outside was blissfully empty. Moving quickly toward the women’s changing room, she nearly ran into the door before giving herself time to pause and turn the bronze door handle.

They offered individual changing rooms along with an open vanity area. She went into one of the rooms, closing and locking the door. Sinking down on the bench, drawing up her feet so no part of her could be visible under the door, she laid her head on her knees, closed her hands around them. Then she let the shuddering take her, rack through her body like a sudden fever.

Why had she done that? Why had she taunted Tyler when every molecule of her focus should have been on Brendan?

She knew why.

But it took several more indrawn breaths for her to say it in her mind. Breathing in, lifting the diaphragm, breathing out, letting the energy channels open, releasing the buildup of nervous tension.

He was right. She wasn’t a coward, though she had never wanted to be one as much as she wished to be at this moment.

She took off the boots, stood before the mirror in her bare feet. When she walked through The Zone, the people there saw what she wanted them to see. When she stood 43

Joey W. Hill

here, she saw someone much younger. Someone she had created the Ice Queen to protect, someone who was not strong enough to survive this world. Pale skin, pale outfit, pale hair. A ghost with the glitter of diamonds to give her life.

God, she was in a mood. Time to go home and treat herself to a cup of chamomile, an herbal infusion. She couldn’t do tea tonight, not as wound up as she was. Reaching into the bag, she pulled out a cream-colored tunic and donned it over the bodysuit, belting it with a sash tied loosely on her hips. She found a pair of short heels for her feet and dropped the diamonds in their velvet box, tucked them back into the bag. When she tied her hair back on her shoulders, she was normal-looking enough for the street, the mundane world, though she had one stop to make first before she could escape to it.

When she stepped out into the hallway, he was sitting on the wide carpeted staircase that led up to the main floor. Because of the excellent soundproofing in The Zone playrooms, there was no audio evidence of what might be going on behind the nearly thirty doors along the hallway. There was an almost hushed stillness in this area.

All the music, voices and light on the main floor above were contained behind the heavy wooden doors at the top of the stairs.

It always made her feel as if she were alone in the great hall of a castle. The vaulted ceilings offered equal visions of pleasure and pain, silhouettes of bodies, the gleaming curves of exposed skin, a ready hand or brushing of lips. Nearly two hundred scenes painted along the arched expanse, a masterpiece created exclusively for The Zone by an anonymous patron, though everyone suspected famed erotic artist J. Martin. Life-sized erotic statuary was placed between every third and fourth door along the hallway, the silent sentinels guarding a world beyond the comprehension of most people’s lives. But not hers and Tyler’s.

She walked toward him, a straight line, her gaze fixed just past his shoulder, neither of them smiling. He sat on one of the lower steps, a hand on the dividing handrail, the other on his knee, a masculine pose. An authoritative pose. A still one, because he was a master at stillness, at giving nothing away by body language.

The dark slacks and white dress shirt open at the throat suited him. Stark black and white that didn’t detract from the etched planes of his face, the intensity of his eyes fixed on her. He’d shaved before he’d come tonight, so his jaw was smooth, perfect. Her fingers curled with a sudden desire to touch it, feel that satiny texture that a man had after a shave, to lean in close enough to flare the nostrils and try to identify the aftershave he used. What would it be like, to be part of a man’s intimate life like that?

See how he took care of himself every day? She’d never thought herself interested in such a thing before. The Zone’s front door was a door she literally and emotionally closed behind her every time she left, such that she’d had Mistresses or submissives come into Tea Leaves and it took a couple blinks before she realized why they seemed familiar, or seemed to know her.

She stopped twenty feet from him and resisted the urge to defensively tighten the belt of the sash. Instead she remained motionless, studying the pattern of the carpet that 44

Ice Queen

ran on the stair alongside his hip. What did he carry in his pockets? Keys, perhaps Chapstick or gum. Were there pictures in his wallet?

She wanted to forget everything she’d resolved in the changing room and walk away. This could not go well. She could not do this.

“Was that entirely necessary?”

She didn’t pretend that they both didn’t know exactly what he was referencing.

“If you recognized it for what it was, then yes, I suppose it was.” Not even by a tremor did she betray what was going on behind those pale eyes but somehow Tyler got the impression that the exterior of the formidable woman before him had become glass since she’d left the room she’d shared with Brendan. He’d surprised a street dog in an alley once, a female with glittering eyes and a very impressive set of teeth. Every line of her lean, muscular body had indicated she would be aggressive if pressed but he understood her primal fear of being trapped, helpless.

He’d stepped aside and she had shot out of the alley, escaping his perceived threat.

With the same instinct, he sensed Marguerite was at the end of some emotional tether and was showing her teeth to get him to step aside. And it wasn’t just the emotional drain from an intense session with a sub. It had made him hurt for her, to watch her studiously avoid touching Brendan at the end. Like watching a mother refuse to touch her infant as it came naked and shivering from the womb, turn her back so it would not completely shatter her to give him up.

“Will you come sit by me a second?” He nodded to the spot on the stair beside him.

She looked startled by the mild request, the softer inflection. After a moment, she came up the steps, smoothed her tunic beneath her and took a seat in the informal position as easily as she might settle herself in more elegant furnishings. Of course—he suppressed his grim amusement—she sat on the other side of the railing from him, the one that cut down the middle of the wide staircase.

“You were magnificent tonight,” he said. “This will probably rank in the top three experiences of that kid’s life until he’s on his deathbed.”

“It was very moving to me as well.”

“Watching you is like watching a highly trained horsewoman handle a fractious stallion. Though, admittedly, Brendan’s more like a yearling.” When he smiled, he was surprised to see an answering curve of her lips. She read him well. Knew when he was being sarcastic and when he wasn’t, honest versus passive aggressive or overtly aggressive. But then why was he surprised by that? She had an exceptional ability to read people, which is likely why she’d approached him so warily, sensing his still somewhat roused temper.

“Wouldn’t you like to be that steed for once, waiting for the lightest touch on your mouth, the release of the crop, finding your pleasure at the will of another? Just to see what it’s like for your subs, what you do for them?” 45

Joey W. Hill

She drew her knees up to her chest, locked her hands over them, rocked. “What do you want from me, Tyler?”

Everything.
That one word encompassed it.

“I’ll do it.” She spoke before he could say anything else, startling him. “I’d already changed my mind and decided to do it, just before I came out here. It’s a requirement and I value what The Zone brings to my life. I shouldn’t have asked you to lie. That was wrong. I apologize.”

He inclined his head. “Apology accepted. And thank you.”

“For what?”

“For choosing me.” Most of the Masters at The Zone would have given both of their testicles for the right to top the Ice Queen. She could have chosen any Master or Mistress approved for the mentoring program. It was a thought he preferred not to dwell on.

Mirroring his movement, she nodded her head. “So when will we meet at The Zone to do this? How many nights do you think it will take?”

“I’d prefer to have you come to my home on the Gulf for the weekend.”

“I’d prefer to keep it in neutral territory.”

“The Master determines the location. That’s part of what it’s about. You’re giving up control for the sessions.” At her frown, he added, “Look at it this way. I can cover almost all of the required areas in that one weekend. Come at six o’clock on Friday. I’ll leave the directions to my house on your Zone email account. Bring the clothes on your back and a change to wear home Sunday. You won’t need anything else in between.” He rose before she could respond. “And before you run off, I want to show you something, something new to The Zone that hasn’t opened yet. You’ll be the first to see it. I’d like your opinion.”

He offered her his hand. When she rose, declining his touch in favor of the handrail, he kept his hand extended, waiting. “Marguerite, we may have to touch each other this weekend. In fact, I feel fairly confident of it. Consider this practice, a small step. Take my hand.”

“It’s not the weekend yet.”

“Marguerite.”

She sighed, put her hand in his with little grace. He lifted a brow. “Are you cold?” She lifted a shoulder. “I’m always cold. The Ice Queen, remember?” Cold was also a sign of nervousness. Though her face was not revealing it, he realized her body was. Closing his fingers over hers, he started up. He stopped short at the second step to look back. She hadn’t moved, her eyes fixed on their fingers loosely linked over the rail, his tanned masculine skin against her pale, delicate fingers.

“You act like a man’s never held your hand before.” He said it gently, not teasing.

“Last night you said that we would set up rules. I have three.” Her gaze flicked up.

46

Ice Queen

“Let’s hear them, then.” He eased her forward and they were walking up the steps, then the rail was gone and he was walking next to her, their fingers still intertwined. He headed down the opposite wing of stairs, past a barrier that said employees and contractors only, instead of making the left turn that would take them back to The Zone’s open areas. He matched his pace to her stride in the short heels.

“No kissing. No actual sex. And I’d like to do this clothed.” He stopped midway down, looked at her. “The kissing I can allow. Reluctantly.

And as far as sex goes…” His brow lifted. “You don’t do sex? Ever? Where are you from?”

“Kentucky.” She gave him an even look. “The rural part. Where we only have sex with family members. Tyler…”

He lifted a hand. “You have every right to set the limits on sex. But clothes are nonnegotiable. You know they’re an important key to understanding a sub’s vulnerabilities.”

“All right.” She agreed so readily, he realized she’d probably offered the three as a calculated strategy so she could get the one she really wanted. It was a child’s trick.

With an inward smile, he admitted it had worked successfully on him.

“There are some marks on my body that I don’t wish to explain.”

“Like this?” He raised her hand, rubbing his thumb over the scar that looked like a starburst in the center of her hand, turned her wrist so he saw the matching scar on her palm.

“Like that.” She closed her hand into a fist, though he continued to hold it in his grip. “Going through this type of training doesn’t mean I have to bare all the corners of my soul.”

If done right, it does.
But he nodded. “Fair enough. Are you in counseling for anything, Marguerite?” She looked at him sharply but he pressed on. “I don’t want to harm you emotionally, any more than I would physically. You’re obviously carrying dark things around. I’m not sure The Zone exactly qualifies as a therapy center.”

“You’d be surprised,” she said sweetly. “Besides, what’s a shrink going to tell me?

That the world’s a beautiful sunlit meadow flanked by some truly wretched dark forests and if I take enough of his drugs I can stay inside that meadow, or at least as close to the perimeter as my vampire soul will let me get? Thanks. No.”

“Vampire soul?” He lifted a brow. “You don’t drain life, dearest.” He tightened his grasp so she couldn’t draw away. “On the contrary, I feel more alive when I’m around you.”

“Where are you taking me?” Marguerite grasped for something safe, since he seemed determined to drag her into murky waters.

“This is the new wing. We’re hoping to open it up for rental sometime in the fall.

This foyer will be the twin of the hall we just left. The same artist will be doing frescoes, sculptures and a ceiling mural with different scenes, an original work just like that one.