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  I scrubbed quickly, conditioned and moisturized. I even

  I scrubbed quickly, conditioned and moisturized. I even

  shaved my legs, though it seemed utterly unlikely anyone

  was going to be touching them, since I'd turned Austin

  down and Mr. Mystery had only felt me up a little bit. By

  the time I got out of the shower, my nipples had peaked

  into tight, hard nubs that defied me not to tweak them as I

  dried myself with a soft towel.

  In my bedroom I shed the towel and stood in front of the

  bed. The lonely bed. It was king-size, and even though I

  never shared it with anyone, I stil slept only on one side.

  Some habits are harder to break. I smoothed the quilt,

  then puled it down to reveal the crisp, white sheets I'd

  paid too much for. It had seemed like a good thing to do

  at the time, spend money on fancy sheets for my new

  place. I'd regretted it the next time I was hungry, but that's

  the way it goes.

  The window had nothing but a sheer curtain covering the

  glass, but I wasn't too worried about being seen. The

  parking garage across the street was the only building high

  enough to give anyone access to peep at me, and my

  apartment was set a little too far back to make it worth

  anyone's while. Stil, the thought someone could be

  watching me had me covering my breasts with my hands

  watching me had me covering my breasts with my hands

  for just a moment.

  I cupped them, the weight familiar. I'd gotten tits in fifth

  grade but hadn't realy grown into them until I was a junior

  in high school. I couldn't realy remember a time when I

  didn't curve this way. I could recal being thinner, yes, but

  not flat-chested.

  Under my palms, my nipples stayed hard, tight peaks. I

  wished for a man's mouth on them, but had to settle for

  licking my fingers and circling the hot flesh. A whisper, a

  sigh, a moan leaked from my throat. I saw the ghost of my

  reflection in the glass. Faint and insubstantial, nothing more

  to me than a slash of dark where my eyes should be and

  the white, curving shape of my body.

  "I've been watching you." His dark eyes gleam and his

  mouth twists up into a smile I can't resist returning. He

  moves closer and I can smel him, warmth and spice,

  purely masculine.

  He holds out a hand and I take it. His fingers are long and

  strong and entwine with mine so tightly I can't pul away.

  Not that I want to. I want him to tug me close, up against

  his body. I want him to put his other hand on my ass to

  press me against his crotch. And I want him to dip his

  mouth to stroke along my neck and settle his teeth briefly

  at the curve of my shoulder.

  He licks me with a quick flick of his tongue and my

  nipples get hard and tight. He can see them through

  the soft fabric of my blouse. His lips part. He sighs.

  I press my body to his and he kisses me. Hard. He backs

  me up against a wal and pins both my arms above my

  head with only one of his hands. When the other slides up

  my thigh, beneath my skirt, and finds me wet and ready, he

  smiles again.

  Before I know it he's turned me. Pushed me. The bed's

  soft and my cheek presses onto the pilow. My ass feels

  cool in the breeze made when he flips up my skirt. His

  hand cups each cheek, maybe measuring, maybe just

  caressing. I don't know. I don't care. I push myself into his

  touch.

  He blindfolds me. Darkness weighs my eyelids and I close

  them beneath the cloth. He ties my hands; excitement

  surges in every breath from my throat, past my lips. My

  tongue darts out and I taste sweat.

  It's not that I can't move if I realy want to. It's that I'm

  bound to his whim, that I'd have to fight and struggle

  against him if I want to get free. And I can, he hasn't tied

  me so tightly I can't.

  I just don't want to.

  His cock is long and thick. It fils me, al the way. I'm

  stretched from the inside.

  I don't have to do a thing. He takes control, he sets the

  pace, and it's perfect. I don't have to direct him. He just

  knows. Every thrust presses something sweet until I cry

  out.

  I ride the waves of pleasure. I lose myself in it. Up and

  over, writhing on his dick as he slaps my ass once, twice.

  It doesn't hurt bad enough to keep me from coming al

  over his prick and al over my hand.

  It wasn't a unique fantasy, as far as fantasies went. What

  made it different from others I'd had was the man in it

  wasn't an actor or an anonymous quiltwork of features. It

  was Mr. Mystery, of course, and though my own hand

  had done the work, it had been his face that set me off.

  had done the work, it had been his face that set me off.

  And with that in my head, I went to sleep.

  Chapter 10

  The next morning I woke with a craving for oatmeal.

  The power of suggestion, I told myself as I mixed water

  into the contents of the packet I found shoved way back in

  my cupboard, formerly ignored in favor of diet soda and

  junk food. That was al. But when the maple-syrupy

  goodness hit my tongue, I knew that wasn't al it was.

  It had been a simple command. Eat oatmeal for breakfast.

  Sweeten it however you like. Straightforward and

  uncomplicated.

  It had taken away the issue of what to have for breakfast,

  a problem I faced every morning as I rushed around trying

  to get ready and spent precious minutes staring without

  enthusiasm into my refrigerator. I didn't have to think about

  what to have, or waste time concerning myself. Eat

  oatmeal for breakfast, the list had said, and I did.

  I'd eaten oatmeal every day as a kid. Sometimes for

  dinner, too. My mom bought it in bulk from an Amish

  market. Great huge tubs of big, roled oats. Not the fancy

  kind with Benjamin Franklin or whoever he was on the

  kind with Benjamin Franklin or whoever he was on the

  front. The kind you had to slow cook. Funny how I hadn't

  thought about how easy, filing and tasty oatmeal could

  realy be until I got that note.

  Even though the mail almost always was delivered or in the

  process of being delivered before I had to leave for work,

  many times I didn't care to brave the crowd flocking

  around the mailboxes and just waited to pick it up after

  work. Until recently, I'd never had anything exciting to

  pick up.

  This morning, though, I muscled my way through the

  crowd and puled my mail from the box. My heart

  pounded as I flipped through the junk and bils. I had a

  postcard from my dentist reminding me I was due for an

  exam.

  And a new note.

  Today, you wil be strong and know you are beautiful.

  Wow.

  I closed the card, returned it to the envelope, and slid it

  through the slot of mailbox 114. I didn't stop to hide what

  I was doing, not caring if anyone saw me do it, though at

  I was doing, not caring if any
one saw me do it, though at

  that moment the flock of tenants had flown away and I

  was the only one there. I peered through the glass window

  at the card in its cradle of other mail and wondered how

  such a simple command could have completely stolen

  away my breath.

  Paul traveled often, so it wasn't unusual for me to go

  several days or a week without seeing him. On the days he

  was in the office, though, he never failed to come out to

  greet me when he heard me arrive, or if I'd managed to get

  to my desk ahead of him, he always stopped to say good-

  morning. But not today. I heard him muttering into the

  phone through his closed door, but he didn't come out. He

  had, however, left something for me on the desk.

  A list.

  It didn't tel me to be strong or know I was beautiful, but I

  couldn't stop thinking about that as I read the chores and

  tasks he'd left for me. He hadn't given me anything out of

  the ordinary. It was only my reaction that was different.

  I would never have said we had a close relationship, but it

  was always cordial. On the day he'd taken out my splinter,

  it might even have gone beyond that to warm. Too warm

  it might even have gone beyond that to warm. Too warm

  for Paul, apparently, because he barely looked at me when

  he came out of his office around eleven, his coat on and his

  briefcase gripped so tight in one hand his knuckles were

  white. I sat up straighter at my desk.

  Strong and beautiful.

  "I'l be gone until about four."

  He didn't need my permission, of course, so it was stupid

  to say, "Okay."

  That was al he said. Tension like gum stuck to the bottom

  of a sneaker stretched between us. He wouldn't look at

  me.

  This pissed me off.

  I hadn't asked him to treat my wound. I hadn't made him

  touch me. And I wasn't going to sic him with a sexual-

  harassment suit or anything asinine like that, either.

  He nodded, his gaze cutting away from mine. "Bye."

  "Goodbye, Paul."

  I could see the crimson creeping into his ears even from

  my seat at the desk. He didn't acknowledge me after that,

  just left. That pissed me off, too.

  I hadn't become an executive assistant because I'd

  dreamed of it ever since I was a little girl. I became an

  executive assistant because nobody seems to have

  secretaries anymore. And because it was the cheapest and

  fastest business degree I could earn that would qualify me

  for a position in the range of salaries that would alow me

  to move the hel out of Lebanon and start a new life.

  I never intended to stay at this level forever. I'd taken the

  job with Kely Printing because of their employee-

  education program. I had to work there for a year before I

  could start taking night classes toward my MBA, a cost

  the company would partialy reimburse if I qualified, and

  I'd make sure I did. I wasn't an executive assistant

  because I didn't want to be something else. Just too poor.

  And until today, I'd never felt bad about what I did, this

  one step up on a ladder that had many rungs.

  The list he'd left hadn't been written with fine ink on

  creamy paper, just scribbled on the back of a paper

  already printed on one side in handwriting so fiercely

  already printed on one side in handwriting so fiercely

  indecipherable that reading it was like cracking code. It

  wasn't a long list but even so, it was a list and I looked at it for a long time.

  That piece of paper, those numbered sentences, effectively

  broke my day into chunks. They provided a purpose, a

  path, a pattern. I didn't need Paul to give me that; I was

  more than capable of prioritizing my daily duties, and yet,

  staring at the instructions gave me a sense of

  accomplishment before I'd even completed a single task.

  It surprised him, I think, when he came back to the office

  just after I should have left. I hadn't dawdled, but the list

  had been very long and some of the tasks I hadn't yet been

  trained for. I'd figured them out, though, my fingers tap-

  tapping on the keyboard as I filed in data spreadsheets

  and saved files and sent e-mails. I was shutting down my

  computer as he disappeared into his office.

  I took my time gathering my sweater and water bottle. In a

  moment Paul reappeared in his doorway. Paul had not

  loosened his tie or taken off his suit jacket, not at the end

  of the day. He looked tired.

  "Paige. I wasn't expecting you to stil be here." He slid his

  "Paige. I wasn't expecting you to stil be here." He slid his gaze from mine in a manner so blatant I couldn't have

  missed it. "I got al the files you sent."

  I could've let it pass, pretended something wasn't strange

  between us. Maybe I should've, but his attitude rankled.

  "Is everything al right? I mean, I did everything you asked

  for, right?"

  He nodded, but when he spoke, his voice was gruff and he

  avoided looking at me. "I've been very pleased with your

  performance."

  I thought of what Brenda had said, about how the girls

  never lasted long. Wel, I needed this job and I'd be

  damned if I was forced out of it. I could find another job if

  I wanted, but it would be when I wanted. Not when Mr.

  Johnson decided to make me miserable enough to quit.

  But there was more to it than that. Strength and beauty.

  Flaws and strengths. Lists. It was bound wrists and a

  blindfold and being told what to do without having to think

  for myself.

  We stared at each other until he looked away.

  "Thank you," Paul said. Then he went into his office and

  "Thank you," Paul said. Then he went into his office and

  closed the door behind him.

  The misdelivered note handwritten in fine ink on gorgeous

  paper wasn't anything like the one Paul had given me. So

  why, then, had they both become so inexplicably linked?

  Kira caught me on my cel phone as I drove home. Our

  conversation didn't last long, and while she might not have

  felt the strain, I did. We hadn't been best friends for a long

  time, but like al my other old habits, Kira was a hard one

  to break.

  Her cal took my mind off Paul and the lists, but got me

  thinking about Austin again. I wasn't sure that was an

  improvement. She didn't apologize for inviting him to the

  Pharmacy with us, but she didn't bring up Jack's name,

  either, so I guessed that was sort of a draw.

  I let her talk on and on even though I didn't have much to

  say. She didn't notice, or ignored, my lack of replies, until

  finaly she hung up before I could remember to tel her I

  stil had her purse. Typical. Kira was always careless with

  what she had, no matter how much or how little.

  At home when I wanted to drive for a while to clear my

  At home when I wanted to drive for a while to clear my

  head, I could have my pick of backcountry roads, winding

  through cornfields and cow pastures and woods. I could
/>   drive for hours, literaly, without crossing a major highway.

  I could open the windows and let my hair blow in the wind

  with the radio cranked up loud, singing along. I could lose

  myself on the ribbon of asphalt and make time stand stil.

  Not here. I could've found a rural road if I went out of my

  way, but it would've taken more effort to do it than it was

  worth. Instead, I suffered stop-and-go traffic through

  urban neighborhoods with my windows roled up and my

  doors locked. Harrisburg wasn't a big city, but anyone

  who didn't think it had crime was a fool.

  The song came on the radio just as I puled into the

  parking garage. I'd just started listening to the public radio

  station out of Phily. The Cure had done a cover of

  Hendrix's "Purple Haze" with a lot of funky backbeat and

  some sort of weird Star Trek effect. It was an old song

  and not one the local stations played.

  I was transported.

  "You ladies here to see the guys, right?" The guy

  behind the counter gives us all a knowing wink as

  behind the counter gives us all a knowing wink as

  though he's seen our type before. "Bachelorette

  party?"

  It's not. It's an anti-bachelorette party, a divorce party, I

  guess you could cal it. I've just signed the paperwork

  dissolving my marriage to Austin. For the first time since I

  was seventeen years old, I'm a single woman.

  I have good friends. I can be glad of that. Kira couldn't

  make it tonight, but I've got Nat, Misty, Vicky and Tori.

  Laurie and Anna made it, too. It was my idea to come to

  see the boys dancing at the nudie bar, but they al joined

  the band and jumped on the wagon as soon as I suggested

  it.

  The bouncer leads us past a stage with two poles on it

  where two bored-looking girls teeter in slutty shoes and

  wiggle lethargicaly. There's nobody in the club yet, though

  there's seating for a couple hundred horny men. We folow

  the bouncer to a back room, al of us giggling like maniacs

  and more than a little nervous.

  It's not what I expected. I'd seen the Chippendales dance,

  but this…this is a smal room painted entirely black with a

  smal stage in the center, a single, silver pole rising to the

  smal stage in the center, a single, silver pole rising to the

  ceiling. A couple smal tables and a couch I don't want to

  sit on ring the stage. There's no music. There's nobody.

  Until the curtain at the back of the room parts and a young