Mr. Drake was quiet, seemingly lost in thought as he drove me home. My apartment was a bit of a drive away from the restaurant, and soon I found myself nodding off, try as I might to stay awake.
I awoke to strong arms carrying me through a hallway I didn't recognize. I murmered against a soft jacket, and noticed a chandelier out of the corner of my eye. Where the hell was I, and why was I being carried?
The smell of Mr. Drake's aftershave wafted over me, and for a moment, I wanted to pretend I was asleep again, if it meant I could snuggle against him without him stopping me. But I'd raised my head off his muscled shoulder and the moment had passed.
"Where am I?"
"You were sleeping so peacefully, I didn't want to wake you. I brought you to my home instead. I thought you could use the rest."
He stopped and set me down at the entrance to a lavish bedroom. Rich wallpaper gave the room a warm feeling, surrounding the four poster bed covered in lush linens that dominated the room.
"You brought me home with you?"
He gave me a lopsided grin that made my heart do a little flip. "Are you worried I won't be a gentleman?"
I gave him a shy smile. "You have been all night. Why should I doubt you now?"
He showed me the bathroom attached to the guest room, and I stared at the silky white bathrobe hanging in the corner, as well as the toiletries laid out.
"I called ahead while you were sleeping and let the staff know you were coming," he offered, as if he had no idea how strange it sounded to me. "Please. Make yourself comfortable."
I sat on the bed, smoothing my hands over the sheets. They must have been some ridiculous threadcount by the luxurious feel of the cotton. Why should I be surprised that even his guest room had the best of the best in it? He has a staff for God's sake!
"Thank you, Mr. Drake." I smiled up at him, wondering what this night meant, if anything.
"Please," he said, "Call me Chase when we're not at work."
I smiled up at him and tried the name on for size. "Chase … "
"Goodnight, Isabeau."
He closed the door behind him, leaving me with more questions than answers.
I awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of footsteps outside my room, then a door creaking open. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and climbed out of bed. I pulled on the short silk robe, loving the way it felt against my na**d body, and tip toed to the door. If Mr. Drake was up, what was he doing? I glanced at the clock. It was nearly 3 a.m.
I eased the door open and glanced down the hallway. There was a black door at the end of the hall standing ajar, and I heard the sound of ice cubes clinking against glass. I knew I shouldn't snoop, but curiosity burned inside of me. Would one little peek hurt? After all, my host had said to make myself comfortable …
I moved quietly down the hall, padding barefoot on the thick carpet until I was just outside the door. I peered in, my eyes still adjusting. The only light came from a fireplace on the far wall, but I could see Mr. Drake's profile as he sat in a highbacked chair, and slowly raised a glass to his lips. Something lay across his lap, but I couldn't quite make it out. He lowered the glass and raised the whatever it was to his face. It looked like cloth, torn at the bottom …
I gasped out loud as it caught the light. It was my shirt from that day in the office. The one he'd torn undressing me.
Mr. Drake whipped his head around at the sound.
I didn't move in time, and our eyes locked through the crack in the open door.
"What are you doing?" His voice was harsh, and I winced at the tone.
I stepped into the room, tugging the robe tight around my body. "I could ask you the same question."
He looked down at the shirt in his hands, then let it fall to the floor. "You were supposed to be asleep."
The look in his eyes then, a mixture of sadness and regret, made me do something I never thought I'd do. I crossed the room to his chair, took the glass out of his hand and set it on the mantle, before saying exactly what was on my mind-what had been on my mind ever since that day in the office.
"Why won't you punish me any more?"
My voice was soft, almost drowned out by the crackling of the flames, but I knew that he'd heard.
"Isabeau … It isn't that simple."
///
"What's complicated about it?"
I put my hands on my hips, and noticed his eyes raking over my curves, barely concealed by the thin robe.
"If you don't want me, I understand." My voice cracked a little, despite my wishes, and I looked down, unable to meet his eyes.
He stood, then, towering over me, darkly sillhouetted against the flames.
"It's not that. God, Isabeau … you can't know what you do to me."