Wishing Well(44)
With pure truth in my heart, I said, “Je t’aime, mon frere.”
He nodded his head, still refusing to meet my gaze, and also refusing to tell me he loved me back.
. . .
The night passed uneventfully, my thoughts trapped by a certain brunette that had made herself as scarce as I had over the past few days. Like a rabbit avoiding a hungry wolf, she’d scattered each time she caught a glimpse of me inside the hotel, my desire deepening because it was the frightened ones that drew my notice, the shy women that would fully bloom beneath the direction of a skilled hand. I knew in my heart that by the time I was finished with Penelope Graham, her body would sing and she’d lose her inhibitions to become exactly what any sensual man would want in a slave.
The ball had already started on the first floor by the time I dragged myself away from my piano to dress in my tuxedo and mask to make an appearance among the wealthy crowd that could afford the cost of entrance. I had no intentions of staying at the ball for long, but looked forward to the time I could remain incognito watching a woman find her way within an event unlike anything I assumed she’d experienced before. From what I knew of Penelope, from the behavior I’d seen, she was not raised among the privileged and elite; she’d gone from humble beginnings to the streets. Observing her when she didn’t know which man was me would be a pleasure because she wouldn’t tuck tail and run away.
The only question was: Would she wear red, or would she wear green? I wasn’t worried that she’d choose the wrong color. Her behavior over the last few days had been telling.
Tugging my black jacket into place over my black shirt and black bow tie, I settled my mask over my face, tying my hair back at the nape of my neck to keep it carefully out of place. The ends brushed my collar and I considered trimming the length as I left my suite and made my way to the elevator, admiring my reflection in the polished bronze doors as I was taken to the lobby and to the ball.
Music reached out to whisper against my ears and draw me in its direction, the sound growing louder with each step I took toward the large ballroom. I didn’t see Penelope immediately once joining the party, but after circling the event a few times to make sure everything was moving along as expected, I spotted her within a small crowd to the right of the dance floor, a broad smile stretching her beautiful face.
My breath caught in my chest to see the color dress she’d chosen, my body rigid and tense to know that tonight would be my first taste. I couldn’t wait to strip the dress from her perfect body, could barely contain the urge I had to bend her over and spank her perfect ass until all the rebellion had deserted her mind. She’d calmed down some since I first brought her to Wishing Well, but there was still that streak of defiance and disobedience I knew she carried inside.
But first, I would watch her, I would study her and observe her to see if she blended well within a crowd of people who were nothing like her. I would see how often she glanced about attempting to find me. And then, after the show was done, the dancing over, the night winding down as the guests continued to drink champagne, I would lead Penelope to her room on the fifth floor and show her what to expect from a man with my tastes.
Two hours wasn’t too long a time to wait.
Taking a woman by the hand, I invited her to dance, and as I led her through each spin and dip, I kept Penelope within my peripheral vision, enjoying how she sipped from her champagne flute watching the event. I was wrong to think her humble beginnings would keep her from blending in ... it was her striking beauty that drew every man’s eye that accomplished her inability to go unnoticed. Let them look, let their eyes take their fill. Penelope would be guided by my hand tonight.
The music in the ballroom grew silent as the lights of the chandelier dimmed. Professional dancers dressed in their finest costumes took their place on the floor as the crowd parted to give them adequate space. After this show, after allowing Penelope to watch a dance that would awaken the desire inside her, I planned to lead her from the ballroom up to her room and show her how pleasure could mix with pain.
Standing back, I watched the dancers move into place, I felt my heart kick beneath my ribs, felt the music flow through me as the lighting in the room shifted to focus on the dance routine. Their bodies moved in a perfect beat, their costumes provocative and appealing, but by the time they ended their coordinated moves, Penelope was nowhere to be seen.
Glancing around, I wondered where my beautiful girl had run off to, thought that perhaps she’d gone to use the restroom or to find another drink. When she didn’t return for another half hour, suspicion gripped my thoughts. Had she gone to her room alone? Had I spent too much time enjoying watching her when she didn’t know it was me?
I needed to find her. Needed to tell her that she wasn’t a mistake at all, but a sadistic man’s dream.
Leaving the ballroom, I walked the halls to the restrooms, and not finding her, I took an elevator to the fifth floor. Rage tore through me, blinding anger, as I turned a corner.
Tuxedo in place, mask in hand, a man walked down the hallway from the direction of Penelope’s room - a man that should never have left his cage. Beneath the burning heat of my fury, ran a cold line of fear.
“Maurice,” I said, my voice soft, my mind unwilling to believe I was watching my brother walking around without me there to control him. My heart stumbled, skipped, images flashing through my head of broken women and the blood that spilled. “Is she?” I couldn’t finish the question, my terror too intense.