Wishing Well(42)
Was he toying with her as he had all the others? Or had there been more lies and secrets that blinded Penny despite her presence within the game?
Meadow didn’t know, her heart tearing open, her own secrets boiling to the surface, spilling over because they were too painful to contain.
By the time the first fingers of sunlight were scrabbling up the horizon to scratch at a midnight sky, Meadow remained seated at the table listening to a sadist weave his tangled web. She had to be at the prison in less than two hours, she had to force herself from her seat to get ready to begin the second day.
She showered and dried her long hair, putting it up per prison protocol even though she wanted to let it fall down her back in cascading, soft waves. Dressing with extraordinary care, she intended to seduce Vincent while staying within guidelines of what the prison would allow her to wear. They didn’t make it easy. No skirts, no embellishments, only shirts that weren’t revealing and pants that hid her legs. And while buttoning into place her white, long sleeved top, she knew she would loosen those closures once it was Vincent’s eyes that looked her way.
He spoke easier when beauty faced him, lost his tongue while luring a woman into his sordid games. She should have worn a sturdy bra beneath the top, but had chosen a loose, lacy camisole instead.
The drive to Faiville Prison was made in silence, the sky as dreary as it had been when she’d first arrived the prior day. Armed with the same recorder with fresh batteries and tapes, she walked the same scarred sidewalks from the parking lot to the front gates, flashing a professional smile at the guard who stood waiting to escort her in.
“Good morning,” she said, approaching the same exhausted guard she remembered.
“You came back,” he answered, somewhat surprised if his expression were any indication of his thoughts. “And here I thought Vincent would have chased you off on day one. You must be tougher than you look.”
Laughing softly, she allowed him to go through her things, to check her identification and papers although he knew her already. “Vincent’s not so bad,” she mentioned, desperate for something to say.
The guard shook his head, his lips a line of disapproval. “Yeah, tell that to his victims.” With a wave of his hand, he said, “This way. You should already know where we’re going. Vincent will be waiting in interview room three.”
After being escorted through to interview room three, Meadow discreetly unfastened a button, revealing more of her body so as to addle the mind of a man who wouldn’t be able to look away. If there was one thing she knew about Vincent, it was that a pair of shapely breasts could loosen his tongue before he realized what he was saying.
His gaze trapped hers as soon as she stepped into the room, his green eyes beaming above an white jumpsuit, his shackles rattling as he settled himself into his seat and allowed himself a few moments to survey her body with unhidden approval.
The door slammed shut behind her.
“Good morning, Meadow.” Canting his head to the side, Vincent ran the tip of his lying tongue along his lower lip. “Are you going to set up your recorder and take a seat, or are we going to spend the day simply staring at one another?”
Meadow’s heels clicked across the scuffed, concrete floors as she approached the table. After setting up her recorder, she took her seat opposite Vincent, her hands folding demurely over the surface of the table. “What did you mean it was somebody else’s thunder?”
Laughter burst from his lips, the sound rolling and expanding until it had filled every tiny nook and cranny of the room where they sat. “Did that keep you up last night?” He paused, his smile triumphant. “Meanwhile, I slept like a baby.”
“Quid pro quo, Vincent. I told you Penny’s perspective, now you owe me yours. I want to know what happened the night of the masquerade ball, whose thunder it was that I stole.”
Tsking, he rolled his shoulders. “Such a demanding voice from such a small woman. That turns me on, you know?”
She scoffed, “And here I thought it was a helpless woman that turned you on the most.”
“Not helpless,” he corrected her, “submissive. There’s a difference.”
She wouldn’t take the bait, so he explained his meaning without Meadow bothering to ask. “A helpless woman has no say in how I treat her. She can’t fight or bargain her way out of the pain. A submissive woman on the other hand...”
He flared his fingers adding emphasis to his words. “A submissive woman simply accepts the treatment she’s given. She thanks her master for every strike, every bite, every punishment and every slap. She begs for more of the rough treatment, much like Penelope did when she learned to behave.”
His words couldn’t have cut deeper, even if he’d used a hatchet instead of a scalpel.
Palm slapping down on the surface of the table, Meadow answered, “Your perspective of that night, Vincent. You owe it to me.”
“And I’ll give it to you. All good things come to those who wait.”
Leaning forward, she spoke through clenched teeth. “I’ve waited long enough and we’re running out of time.”
Smiling, he leaned toward her, closing the distance. “Actually, Meadow, our time has just started, but I’ll give in to this demand of yours because I already had my fun yesterday when you left. I knew my words would keep you up all night.”