MasterStroke (21 page)

“Really, dear, it’s very cruel to mock your elders,” Marcella declared as she marched through the door. The shopping cart was left beached in the hallway as Marcella propelled herself through the apartment, shucking out of the puffy coat to reveal a slim, almost bird-like figure in a white blouse with the collar turned up, an emerald green cashmere sweater and tailored black slacks with black boots.

Sandrine always marvelled at how closely she resembled Audrey Hepburn in later life. There was a physical frailty about her that made it seem like she could be blown aside by a strong breeze but this contrasted with a personality that was fiery and quick to react when slighted.

“Now it’s very chilly out there, Sandrine dear, and you’re being a very poor hostess in not offering me a drink,” she exclaimed in a tone of reproval that suggested she was only partly joking.

Sandrine motioned towards the coffee table where a silver tray awaited with bottles of cognac and single malt whiskey, a crystal brandy balloon and a cut-glass tumbler.

“Wasn’t sure what you’d like after your arduous journey,” she replied.

“It wasn’t easy, believe me. Having to waddle along bent over like an old hag. They say getting old is hell. I’m certainly not looking forward to it.” Her bright eyes twinkled with amusement.

Sandrine looked her over. As far as she knew, Marcella was on the other side of seventy although she had all the spark and energy of a thirty-year-old. Just exactly what Marcella considered old was anyone’s guess.

“Thanks for doing this,” Sandrine said as she slipped into the red puffy coat and zipped it up to the neck. She sniffed as she did so.
Something smells really bad in this room and I think it’s me
, she thought.

Marcella noticed the look of distress that crossed her young friend’s face.

“Sorry, it was the best I could do at such short notice. The neighbour across the hall is a hoarder and I’m not sure how long it’s been sitting in the bottom of a damp garbage bag.”

Sandrine found the same smell, only more intense, coming from the wig as she slipped it onto her head and anchored it with the red hat.

“Same with the wig, dear. So sorry.”

“It’s only for a few minutes. Jack is waiting two blocks away. The shades are drawn so nobody can see in. You should walk past them every now and again so they know somebody is in here. I’m not sure when I’ll be back but it shouldn’t be late. I’ll call and let you know.” She walked across to Marcella, who wrinkled her nose as she leaned in for a goodbye kiss.

“Oh dear girl, you do smell a little on the stale side. Don’t forget the old lady bent-over walk when you reach the sidewalk. With the coat and hat and shopping trolley and that overall Delta Dawn thing happening, those Russians will never suspect it’s you.”

Sandrine kept her head down and progressed at a slow but steady pace as she left the front entrance, images of all the bag ladies she’d seen around the city informing her gait. As she reached the corner of the block, she hurriedly looked left and right, ensuring there was no oncoming traffic, and marched across.

By this time, her heart was thudding in her chest; she had no idea whether her elaborate charade had been unmasked or if she was being followed. She just had to hope she’d joined the invisible ranks of the homeless and destitute. The occasional passerby gave her a wide berth and, within a few minutes, she’d made the next block and turned the corner to what she hoped was safety.

“In a way, I’m hoping that’s not you,” Jack’s deep, extremely arousing voice announced close by. With her head down, gazing intently at the pavement and her shuffling feet, she had no idea where he was. “Keep going up the street for the moment. I need to check you’re in the clear.”

She was almost on the next corner when Jack returned.

“It’s all OK. Relax, you’ll strain yourself.”

As she stood up, something cracked in her lower back and she gave a little whimper of pain. Seeing her in full regalia, he started laughing, an involuntary reaction that increased to the point that he was soon choking.

“Serves you right, being so mean to me.”

“How did you come up with this idea?” There was a measure of awe in his voice.

“You’re not the only one who can think up cloak and dagger moves,” she said. “Anyway, it was Marcella who is really responsible for the outfit.”

“Smells like she mugged a wino. Should have bought an outfit from Goodwill instead.”

“Not enough time. She borrowed this lot from a neighbour.”

Jack looked her up and down. From the amusement on his face, he looked ready for another chest-bursting round of hysterics.

“She should consider moving to a better part of town,” he said drily. “Keep moving. The car is just around the corner. And stay in character, please. People will just think I’m giving my grandmother a ride home.”

“Not funny,” Sandrine hissed and she continued pulling the cart behind her in a virtual crouch. The sound of Jack’s near-hysteric giggle was annoying her.

“That reminds me. I haven’t seen
Rain Man
in years.” He took the cart from her and placed it in the back of the SUV then patiently guided her into the passenger seat. The grin on his face refused to go away. At first, she was incandescent with anger but she’d caught a glimpse of herself in a shop window a few minutes before and the truly bizarre nature of the situation began to assert itself.

By the time Jack pulled out into traffic, she was trying without success to stifle her own giggles.

“You can take the wig off now. Unless you intend it to form part of some kinky sex fantasy.”

She tossed hat and wig into the back seat. Her hair was a mess and refused to go back into place. The cabin of the SUV was warming up so she unzipped the puffy coat. The smell intensified with her rising body temperature. Sandrine wrinkled her nose and looked across at Jack who was attempting valiantly to keep a straight face.

“It was a good idea. Seems the Russians didn’t twig to it at all. Perhaps, though, you went a little heavy on the
Eau de Garbage
.”

Sandrine tossed back a dead stare.

“You’re a funny guy, Jack. Find this amusing?”

“Immensely. But I am impressed by your creativity.”

The journey was uneventful. Within fifteen minutes, they were at Jack’s warehouse apartment. The coat, hat and wig were left in the car but Sandrine’s clothes smelt musty and she asked Jack if it was OK if she had a shower. He gave her a full-length black satin dressing gown, a vintage item with elaborately embroidered red Chinese dragons curling along the front and back panels.

“Would you like a drink?”

“Yes, please. Surprise me. I’ll be back soon,” she answered, taking her over-sized shoulder bag with her as she left. He leaned in to kiss her but she deflected it with a tight smile. “Sorry, I have to wash off this smell. It’s not exactly conducive to romance.”

In the large main bathroom, she stripped off and examined her body in the full-length mirror while the shower started to steam up the room. Her pale skin was soft and warm, her nipples hardening. She ran a hand across her breasts, tracing the contours, teasing the nipples, pinching once, twice, until she gasped involuntarily. It was impossible to be naked in Jack’s house without remembering his feel, his smell, his urgent insistence.

She was so highly aroused, the intensity burrowed deep into her body and ached and she was enticingly dizzy. With her eyes closed, she imagined how he looked naked and the vividness of the vision was startling in its clarity. How he towered over her, his wide shoulders and narrow hips, his muscular arms, the thick curl of his chest hair, the tautness of his legs. Everything about him spoke of power. The veins ridging the back of his large hands, the solid knuckles and long sensitive fingers. She had no idea how he maintained his tan in the middle of winter but it was just another point of beauty on this intensely beautiful man.

And his face! The raven black hair, slightly waved and with a dark comma perpetually poised to fall across his forehead, way too long to be fashionable but which lent him a certain foppish air. The sharp angularity of his cheekbones and his mouth – such a wonderful, wonderful mouth that forever sent shivers through her – that could be thin and cruel when set in concentration yet with a softness that was heavenly. Those lips, whether fastened teasingly on her clit or kissing her mouth so hungrily, had her swooning with desire. And his eyes, cycling hazel through green with flecks of the purest gold, that darkened an intent gaze into carnal need.

The thoughts, memories, replays of earlier days and nights, carried her to a warm place where her heart hammered maddeningly against her chest and left her short of breath. She caught her reflection in the mirror and wasn’t surprised to find she had a hand between her legs, slim fingers circling the tiny hard bud of her need, slipping deep inside her hot liquid core, stroking, teasing, nerve endings singing with the intimate attention, building her to a point where she began to shiver and clench. Then she stopped suddenly, not seeking release just yet, saving it for the one thing that her mind now focused on most of all – the heavy hanging majesty of Jack’s hardness, the pulsing, throbbing violence promised by his beautifully long thick cock.

The thought of it filling her, parting her lips and spearing up inside her made the room lurch unexpectedly and she grabbed the edge of the washbasin to steady herself.

Enough! Not now. Save it for Jack.

Sandrine stepped into the shower, soaping her body slowly and languidly. After a few minutes, she towelled herself dry, put the merest dab of perfume in the space between her breasts, then dressed in the item she’d brought along especially for the evening. She checked herself in the mirror, made a small adjustment and tied the black satin robe tightly around her waist.

Jack was spread out on one of the leather couches, head propped on a pillow. Charlie Parker played softly in the background. The lights were down low, glowing luminously. The room was warm and Sandrine was flushed from the shower and the heat radiating from her stomach.

There were two martini glasses on the coffee table. The one closest to Jack was half empty. He smiled and inclined his head towards the other, filled almost to the brim with clear liquid, beads of condensation speckling the glass, a slim spiral of lemon rind resting in the bottom of the glass.

“Hope you like it,” he said, his eyes slowly wandering her body.

“I’m sure I will but there’s something else I need right now,” she answered, picking up the glass and drinking it down in one hungry gulp.

He arched his eyebrows. Sandrine untied the robe and slipped it off her shoulders. It pooled at her feet.

She was naked except for her stiletto heels and a red bustier of lace and ribbon with whalebone ribbing that cinched her waist almost impossibly small. The top was cut in an extreme balconette, leaving her breasts bare and pushing them up as if in offering. The bustier ended just on the curve of her waist and she wore no panties.

Sandrine was pleased to see Jack’s eyes widen in surprise, darkening as her gazed at her. The bulge in his jeans slowly swelled and lengthened. She idly ran her fingers across her pubic bone, fluffing her sparse auburn hair.

“Anything, whatever you want” Jack said, his voice thickening.

“Take me to the Games Room, Jack. Show me how to play.”

Chapter Twenty Eight

Jack paled. He looked stricken as if Sandrine had slapped him across the face without warning. It was hardly the reaction she was hoping for, although it was one she expected.
Typical man!
He hid his wounds so well but she’d opened them wide and she could almost see them bleeding afresh in front of her. Her heart ached for him at this instant but she knew exactly what she had to do. As reluctant as she was to experience what was in that sordid room, she was well aware of what she was doing.

“You must be joking,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

Sandrine cupped her breasts and squeezed the erect nipples hard, pulling them, twisting cruelly until the sensation overwhelmed her. Pain shot through her body but it also betrayed her by releasing a flood of moisture from within. She knew, standing in front of him, that Jack could see the wetness glistening between her legs. Her thighs felt damp and cool.

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” she said gently, taunting him with her nakedness.

He shook his head emphatically but couldn’t hide the excitement that was swelling in his jeans.

“I don’t want to hurt you, darling,” he murmured quietly.

“I don’t want to be hurt. I trust you. I know you won’t hurt me. But I want to know how it feels. I’m ready. Be my master. Teach me.”

She walked around the coffee table and knelt in front of him.

“Teach me what excites you.”

He stood, towering over her so she had to angle her head far back to meet his eyes. With her waist constricted by the bustier, her breasts swelled with each breath she took. She knew that, from where he was standing, the view would rivet his attention.

She unbuckled his belt and unzipped the jeans. The smell of his cock, earthy and pungent with a hint of spice that overwhelmed her and set her mouth watering, filled her senses.
Oh god
, she thought as she pulled it free with her small hand.
So hard. He wants this, wants me, as much as I want to please him totally. With no boundaries. I’m ready for this.

The Games Room represented a part of his life that he associated with the other woman who had hurt him so much. What was it about her that he couldn’t let go? That his heart refused to release? The only way she could see to exorcise his demons was to replace the darkness with light, the bad memories with good.

She was scared of what awaited. Sandrine recognised she was a coward who avoided discomfort at any cost so pain was something completely alien to her.

Would Jack really want to torture me? Make me cry, scream out, bleed? What if he lost control?
She was sure there were instances where people had been injured or worse doing exactly what she proposed.

Yet there was no other way. While a piece of Jack was locked away, far from her reach, there would always be a barrier between them. She had to overcome it, banish it forever, even if it meant confronting her own dark fears. It was a matter of trusting Jack not to hurt her.