Authors: Evangeline Anderson
Masks (2 page)
“That’s what I’ve been telling you for the longest time.” Zoe was already heating up the hot rollers and running a brush through her hair. “But you kept putting me off. I had to beg you to come over tonight.”
“I just thought you were too busy and you always seemed so successful—always on the go. I felt…I guess I felt like we didn’t have anything in common.” Chloe admitted.
“Well, after tonight we’ll have a lot more in common.” Zoe was balancing a brush, a hot roller, and a kit of exotic and expensive-looking makeup all at once.
Chloe winced as the brush snagged in her hair. “Ouch! Watch it. So this means you’ll come in and substitute for me the next time I want a day off from teaching first grade, right?” She was joking, of course. Her twin and a roomful of kids would be a disastrous combination, she was certain. But Zoe was unperturbed.
“Sure, I’ll sub for you. Don’t forget, I’m good at making people mind.” She winked at her sister in the mirror and Chloe felt her mouth go suddenly dry. Could she really do this? Did she want to? The decision was rapidly being taken out of her hands as Zoe painted and perfumed her and hot-rolled her hair into a luscious tumble of honey-blonde waves that Chloe was certain she never could have achieved herself.
“You look perfect,” Zoe said at last. “You haven’t looked this good since you let me do your makeup and hair for our senior prom.”
“You mean the one where Michael Carlson puked down the front of my gown?” Chloe stared at the exotically beautiful stranger in the mirror.
“Yes, that one.” Zoe grinned at her. “Truly a magical night. Now, just one more thing and you’re ready to go.”
“What’s that?” Chloe looked at her apprehensively. What other accessory could this outfit possibly need? A riding crop? A bullwhip?
“This.” Zoe reached into a special drawer and pulled out a mask.
“
Oh
.” Chloe’s voice was low and breathless. The mask was beautiful. It appeared to be made entirely of feathers and it was every color imaginable. Emerald green, glowing gold, deep crimson, and rich, royal blue melted together in a delicate creation. Taking the offered mask delicately in her hand, Chloe saw that it would cover only the top part of her face, framing her eyes in the multicolored feathers and leaving her nose and mouth free. “It’s beautiful,” she said softly.
“It’s magic,” Zoe assured her. The mischievous glint was back in her eyes and she smiled as she settled the mask gently on her sister’s face. “In a psychological sense, anyway. When you’re wearing the mask, you can go anywhere and do anything. You can be the person you always dreamed of being.”
“I never dreamed of being a dominatrix,” Chloe objected. “That was your dream, apparently.”
“It’s yours too, for tonight anyway. Now listen up, let me give you a few tips and then you have to go. The appointment’s at nine o’clock sharp and you still have to get to my office across town.”
“What?” Chloe looked at her through the beautiful mask’s eye holes. “I thought everything was going to happen
here
.” In fact, she’d been counting on it. She’d had the idea that if she got into trouble, she could always make some excuse to leave the “date” for a moment and run find Zoe who could tell her what to do next. The idea of going off to a strange location to meet with a strange man and “dominate” him with no backup was absolutely terrifying.
“Here?” Zoe obviously found the idea laughable. “I don’t think so. This is my home—I never mix business with pleasure.”
Chloe wanted to protest that her twin’s business
was
pleasure, or something like it anyway, but Zoe was already pushing towards the front door and shoving the keys to her Jaguar and directions to her “office” into her twin’s trembling hand.
“Now this should be very easy,” she was saying. “The client doesn’t want too much rough treatment—I know because I screened him on the phone. All you have to do is chain him to the Saint Andrew’s cross and make him call you ‘Mistress’.”
“Chain him to the
what
?”
“Then just tease him a little,” Zoe went on, ignoring the question. “Use some feathers or maybe one of the lighter whips. Don’t worry,” she said, before Chloe could protest again. “Everything is hanging neatly on pegs in the dungeon room. And yes, you’ll figure out what room that is the minute you get there. If you hurry, you’ll have a little time to get acclimated before he arrives.”
“But…but…” Chloe was suddenly realizing that she was committed to doing this crazy thing and she didn’t know the first thing about how to go about it. “Wait a minute, Zoe, I just don’t know—”
“Don’t wimp out on me now—you
promised
.” Zoe glared at her. “Now listen, I’m going to give you the three rules of being a dominatrix—follow them faithfully and you’ll be fine.”
“Three rules?” Chloe was halfway out the door, wobbling crazily on the high boots and feeling more exposed than she could ever remember being in her entire life.
“One,” Zoe said, counting them off on her long, scarlet-tipped fingers. “Don’t lose control of the encounter. You’re the boss and you better damn well let the client know it the minute he walks in the door.”
“But how do I—?” Chloe protested.
“Two,” Zoe continued relentlessly, cutting her off. “Don’t ever have sex with the client, no matter how tempted you are.”
Chloe shuddered. “You don’t have to worry about me breaking
that
rule. But how—?”
“Three.” And now Zoe was actually physically pushing her out the door. “Don’t take off the mask.”
“Why not?” Chloe finally managed to get a word in edgewise, just as the door was almost closed in her face. Zoe peered at her through the crack in the door with an impatient frown.
“Just don’t. The mask lends distance and gives you authority. If you take it off, you’ll be giving up your psychological advantage—giving him the upper hand. Getting too close. Remember, this is a professional encounter, not a romantic interlude. He’ll be wearing one too, by the way.”
“One what?” Chloe asked stupidly, feeling like her mouth was too dry to talk.
“A mask!” Zoe said and slammed the door in her face. Then she opened it a tiny crack to say, “You’d better hurry, you know. It’s eight forty-five and you can’t be late if you want to keep the upper hand—Mistress Sensua.”
Chapter Two
The upper hand! I
’
ve got to keep the upper hand
, Chloe remembered. Rule number one was never lose control of the situation. But in order to lose it, she’d have to get it in the first place, she reminded herself.
“Good evening, Mister Jacobs, um, I mean, Mark.” She drew herself up to the full height afforded by the boots while mentally kicking herself. A frantic cell phone call to Zoe during the drive to the “office” had gotten her the client’s name, but she wasn’t sure if a real dominatrix would have used it or not. Should she have called him “slave” instead?
Luckily, the client didn’t seem to mind her little informality. “Good evening, Mistress,” he said softly. “I’ve been looking forward to this for a very long time.” He stepped forward, crowding her, getting in her space.
Chloe could smell his aftershave—something spicy and dangerous, just like the blue eyes that stared down at her from the black leather mask. The mask covered his eyes and the sides of his face, but left his mouth and nose free, as the one she was wearing did.
“So, how exactly is this supposed to go?” he asked. He was looking at her and Chloe had the feeling he was raising one eyebrow sardonically behind the black leather. Suddenly she knew what he was doing. He was taking control of the situation away from her before they even got started. Rule number one was about to be broken and they hadn’t even gotten through the door yet!
She lifted her hand and felt the cool brush of feathers against her fingertips as she straightened her mask. It seemed to give her courage. Chloe took a deep breath and stepped forward, looking the client in the eye.
“I’ll tell you how this is going to go,” she said in a low, stern voice she barely recognized as her own. “It’s going to go exactly how
I
say it should go. So get inside and…and assume the position!” She didn’t know where she had gotten that—maybe
Clan of the Cave Bear
? But it seemed to have the desired result.
“Yes, Mistress.” The deep voice was a little more respectful this time. Chloe felt a surge of triumph as she slammed the door shut. She turned to see the large man—she supposed she might as well keep calling him Mark—leaning with his hands against the wall of the front hallway. He had his arms and legs spread like a man waiting to be frisked by the police.
Abruptly her triumph turned to despair. Now that she had him in this position, what in the world was she supposed to do with him? Mark seemed to be wondering too. He turned his head to look at her and his direct blue eyes seemed to ask,
Well
?
“Face the wall!” Chloe barked, feeling like a twisted sort of drill sergeant. She could see this client was going to be a lot more trouble than Zoe had foreseen. If she gave him any room at all he was going to ride roughshod over her, exactly the way all of the other blind dates her twin set her up on had. Just the thought of all those alpha male assholes gave Chloe a shot of much-needed confidence. This time
she
had the upper hand. It might even be fun—if she could figure out what the hell she was supposed to do.
Well, she decided, staring at the broad shoulders of the man currently spread against the wall, he was in the position to be frisked, so she might as well frisk him. Would that establish her authority? She certainly hoped so.
She stood on her tiptoes to reach him, starting at the firmly muscled arms and working her way down. She could smell his aftershave again, along with a natural musk that must be just him. Was he nervous enough to sweat? If so, she might be doing better than she’d thought.
“So,” she said, hoping she was doing a thorough job of searching him. “Did, uh, did you bring any toys with you tonight, Mark?”
“If I did, I’m sure you’ll find them.” His low voice still sounded a little too amused for Chloe’s taste. If he was still making wisecracks, she wasn’t in control of the situation.
She tried to think what Zoe would have done. Maybe if she couldn’t scare him into submission, she could get his attention some other way.
Chloe stopped the brisk patting search she has been doing and let her hands linger on the broad chest in front of her instead. She wondered briefly if Mark had a smooth or hairy chest.
Why not find out?
A good question—wasn’t she the one in charge here?
Since his back was to her front Chloe had to practically plaster herself against his wide back in order to unbutton his crisp dress shirt, but somehow she didn’t mind. From his low, masculine groan that her action had elicited, she assumed Mark didn’t mind either. His spicy, dangerous scent filled her head as she spread the shirt to find a smooth, muscular chest leading down to powerfully sculpted abs. She wondered what line of work Mark was in. Whatever it was, he certainly kept himself in shape.
“Are you enjoying yourself, Mistress?” His smart-ass tone threw her, breaking her concentration on his muscled chest.
“I’ll ask the questions,” Chloe snapped, deciding abruptly that it was time to move on. She still felt a definite lack of control in this situation and it made her nervous, shattering the fragile self-confidence she’d managed to build. But she couldn’t stop searching him now or he’d be the winner of this little confrontation.
She let her hands slide lower, past the waistband of his pants to the bulging crotch.
Oh my God, is he for real?
She hadn’t been with very many men—okay, two. She’d only been with two other men. But Mark more than measured up to any other guy in her experience. In fact, she could barely believe what she was feeling was real. It was a damn good thing rule number two was “never have sex with the client”. She was pretty sure she wouldn’t have been able to handle what Mark was packing.
“Uh, Mistress, that’s all me, not a toy.” Mark’s deep voice still held a hint of amusement though it was sounding rather strained now. “And you might want to think of it less as a ‘toy’ than a loaded gun. One that’s going to go off if you’re not careful.”
Chloe felt a deep blush heat her cheeks. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said before she could stop herself. Then she mentally kicked herself again. A real dominatrix would never apologize, would she? A real dominatrix would know what she was doing. A real dominatrix wouldn’t let her client fluster her so much that she lost the upper hand…
Apparently Mark had the same idea. Abruptly, he turned to face her and Chloe found her wrists caught firmly but gently in his large, warm hands.