The Dark Forest: A Collection Of Erotic Fairytales(67)

He no longer mattered as a man. As a person.

Besides, he had a reputation to uphold. The pressure to perform, therefore, no longer ended when he walked off the stage. He constantly had to be on his guard, be careful that they left his side satisfied and with nothing but good things to say about him and the way he had treated them. The non-disclosure agreements he had everyone sign protected him from anyone going to the press, but he knew what girls were like. They loved to gossip. And gossip spread like wildfire, especially among fans, especially with the Internet.

The end result was that, these days, Zainon felt more like a show pony than a man. While he made no secret of his kinky side or dark desires, he was never really able to indulge himself. God forbid he might leave a bruise or anything else which could later be turned against him. The media was full of famous men who had bedded the wrong woman only to be facing charges of rape afterward, and no way to defend themselves against false accusations.

Refusing the coke Thorn was holding out to him, already set in neat lines on a silver tray, Zainon took a slug of whiskey and sighed, scanning the room. Performing always made him uptight, on edge, in desperate need of release. His gaze roved over the people scattered about, singling out the women as he thought how sad it was that so many of them were pretty much the same when it came down to it.

And then he saw her.

A petite blonde, standing by herself several feet away. A tight black miniskirt showed off slender, bare legs, and a black lace corset molded her shape perfectly. From where he was standing, her waist looked tiny. But despite her gorgeous figure, what immediately drew his attention were the eyes behind that silver half mask. It was impossible to read her expression from where he was standing but it looked like she was staring directly at him. All around her, people were moving, dancing, making out—yet she remained as still as if she’d been carved out of ice. And Zainon had the feeling he’d seen her before.

Then he remembered: she’d done exactly the same thing earlier that evening during his performance. While the crowd had heaved and shifted, a constantly moving mass almost as if it were one living thing, she had stood absolutely and utterly still. It gave her an almost ethereal aura.

Zainon was fascinated.

Noticing her empty hands, he picked up a glass of champagne off a nearby tray and wandered over to her.

Up close, she was even smaller and more still than he’d first thought. Even when he said hello, she simply stood there, gazing at him from behind that glittering mask.

“Would you like a drink?” He held out the flute.

She took it wordlessly, and he noticed her fingers were trembling.

“Are you all right?” he tried, when no other response seemed forthcoming.

The girl nodded before taking a large gulp of champagne.

“Do you have a name?” he asked.

She nodded again.

Exasperated, he pushed a hand through his hair. He was used to women being shy around him—at least initially—but this was something else.

“Want to go somewhere quieter?” he said, immediately kicking himself for the way it came out. Sounds like a seedy pick-up line and you don’t even know her name yet.

To his astonishment, she nodded. Without hesitating, he held out a hand and she took it. The moment her fingers touched his, a jolt of something he couldn’t quite identify shot through him. Deciding to wait and analyze that later, he led her away.





Chapter Four





The hand gripping hers seemed huge. It was warm and firm, and Ella couldn’t stop staring at the way her slender fingers seemed to disappear into Zainon’s. Bolts of electricity shot up through her arm and made her tingle all over.

She was still in shock. Zainon Matthews was touching her—actually touching her—and there was a bizarre sense of unreality as she let him lead her around, past the other partygoers, past the tall, bald man she had encountered earlier, and through a nondescript door in the back.

She knew she should say something—what must he be thinking of her?—but somehow she wasn’t able to. Desperately afraid that if she tried to speak her voice would be nothing more than a croak, she simply gazed at him, as if she were still at home, lying on her narrow bed, looking at her poster of him.

“There,” he said, closing the door behind him. “I told Ben not to let anybody in, so we won’t be disturbed.”

Had he? Ella hadn’t noticed him exchanging words with anyone. Then again, she hadn’t noticed anyone or anything else. Her hand still tingled where he’d held it.

“It’s much quieter here,” Zainon went on, “one of the perks of being the host; you get your own private playspace.”

She followed the movement of his arms and looked around. The room wasn’t very big but there was an overstuffed sofa against one wall and a dressing table with mirror against another. One corner had a small washbasin and mirror. A couple of tall lamps cast a cozy glow over everything. While the music and other party noises were still audible, they were muffled.

“Come and sit down,” he said, collapsing onto the couch and patting the seat beside him. “Did you want another drink?”

Numbly, Ella shook her head, walking over to where he was sitting and perching tentatively next to him.

There was a long, awkward pause.

“Christ,” he said at length, pushing a hand through his black hair. “I’ve seen star struck people before but you are something else!”