Three and a Half Weeks(4)
His expression was stern. “You do recall our last meeting, I hope?”
“Yes, of course. You came into the shop where I work, looking for a gift for your sister. How’d it work out, by the way?”
“She loved it, thank you. However, Ms. Strong—and I have to be honest—ever since that evening, I’ve had trouble getting you out of my mind…“ he perched on the corner of his desk and crossed his arms, “so I asked you here today to consider a proposition I’d like to put forward.”
“Pro…p-position?” I stammered, and it sounded like proper position, turning my cheeks even redder at the sexual allusion. God, I wanted to kick myself.
He acted as if he didn’t notice, continuing smoothly. “Yes. Before I do, however, I must ask you to sign some paperwork, specifically, a confidentiality agreement and a liability waiver. Is that acceptable?”
“A what?”
“A legally binding agreement not to divulge any information you may learn about me, and a disclaimer, waiving rights to litigation should any accidental injuries be sustained on my property. I ask everyone who enters my private realm, either personally or professionally, to sign this type of contract. It’s to protect myself to some extent, of course. Do you object?”
“What kind of accidental injuries?”
Smirking wickedly, he answers, “Accidents, Ariel. A trip over something, a fall down the steps. I don’t intend to harm you, if that’s what you’re thinking. People attempt all manner of things to enable a lawsuit against people of wealth. My attorney insists I protect myself to the extent possible. That’s all. Do you object to signing?”
“No, I don’t, not at all. I was just curious. Yes, I’ll sign it.”
“Very good.” He went around his desk and removed a manila envelope, bringing it over to where I sat. He pulled out a thick wad of paper and handed it to me, along with a pen. “Look through it and sign the last page. You’ll also need to initial each and every page in the upper right-hand corner.”
I skimmed through it quickly, signing and initialing as requested before handing it back to him. He perused it and then nodded, bringing it back to his desk.
Returning, I saw him surreptitiously adjust his trousers and I wondered if Mr. Blackmon might feel a bit for me as I felt for him. Was it even within the realm of possibility? I was so tempted to open the top two buttons of my shirt to see if it made a difference.
Watching him, I estimated him to be about 6’3” and though muscular, he was on the lean side. His clothes fit him just so well; it’s difficult to describe but when you see it, it’s poetry in motion. He wore no jewelry apart from a high-tech looking watch, perhaps a TAG Heuer? (Mariah would be so proud I knew that!) I loved everything about Ian Blackmon that I’d so far been exposed to.
Crossing his long legs after he sat down across from me, he took a minute or two to do nothing but gaze at me speculatively while I squirmed beneath his scrutiny.
I remember my mouth was as dry as the Sahara and my legs were trembling like the San Andreas fault or perhaps even the Cascadia subduction zone. Okay, yes, I worry about earthquakes and tsunamis.
First, it was his turn. He told me all about his privately held beliefs about relationships and the laws of attraction… oh, yeah, and about practicing BDSM and some of the things it involved. The whole time I watched the shining animation in his pretty light eyes as he spoke.
BDSM is something I’ve heard about before, and even read about in juicy parts of Mariah’s naughty books. It’s something I’d always figured might be darkly exciting but never entertained the idea of trying it myself. I did know, though, that Mariah had a boyfriend last year who liked to tie her up and gag her before they had sex. Gagging Mariah made perfect sense to me… but tying her down? It seemed strange but I’m always willing to try things once. First, though, I’d like to lose my virginity in a more traditional manner.
He made the notion of physical attraction and ensuing romance slash sex sound so clinical. “Don’t you believe in love?” I was cheeky enough to ask him.
“Love?” he repeated. “Yes, of course I believe in love… mainly familial love. I love my mother, my father, my siblings… and my dog. Next question?”
Oh, so he was done answering that one? And he’d given me that pat response without even a hint of a smile. My but he was cynical. So in his orderly mind, he kept love and sex as two separate, discrete things. Pity. I wholeheartedly believed in romance and love preceding anything sexual—hence my untried womanly status.