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  a sheet of the fine paper. I let it slide through my fingers. I

  put it to my face and smeled it, that inexplicably delightful

  scent of fresh paper.

  Miriam had been right about my need for this paper, how

  if I bought it I'd find something important to write on it.

  She'd been right, too, about the pen. The writing

  instrument, I reminded myself with a smile. I wasn't a

  surgeon or even an artist, but that pen was perfect for this.

  Its weight shifted just right in my fingers as I put it to the

  paper. The ink scroled every stroke without blots or skids

  or spots left blank. Now I only had to find the perfect

  words to write.

  I knew I should do what my high school English teacher

  had caled a "sloppy copy." None of the letters that had

  passed through me first had contained scratch-outs or

  misspelings. They hadn't exactly been poetry, but they had

  been neat and clean. My pen hovered over the paper as I

  thought of what I needed and wanted to say.

  I was working too hard on it, overthinking. The sense of

  I was working too hard on it, overthinking. The sense of

  responsibility had pushed back even my arousal. I'd

  actualy bitten down on my lower lip hard enough to sting

  as I thought.

  I put down the pen and pushed back in my chair. I got up

  and poured myself a glass of orange juice that I sipped as I

  leaned against my counter and stared at the paper and pen

  on the table.

  One thing I knew that Eric's previous unseen mistress had

  never seemed to grasp. He had a sense of humor about al

  this. It might also satisfy him sexualy, and he might crave

  the hand of command as much as I briefly had, but in the

  end, he was no leather-masked pussy boy slavering to lick

  a woman's boots. He was not a cliché, and I couldn't

  make this one. I wouldn't. It was already more than that,

  to me, and had been from the first moment I'd taken the

  words meant for him as my own.

  Juice finished, I paced. The first note had been easy,

  written on a whim. The second hadn't been much harder.

  Now, though, now…I wanted so much for it to be perfect

  I was paralyzing myself. In the end, I thought of his sense

  of humor and the list he'd written. I took my pen, and I put

  it to the paper.

  it to the paper.

  Have tacos for dinner.

  "Paige!"

  I'm not the blushing sort, but heat flooded me when I

  turned and saw Eric waving at me from the elevator. I

  paused at the Manor's big glass front doors to hold one

  open for him, and he folowed me out into the spring-

  breezy morning. "Hi, Eric."

  "Going for a jog?" He wore black track pants and a tight

  black T-shirt that showed off his biceps.

  I looked down at my sneakers and workout clothes, then

  up at him with a grin. "You'd think so, wouldn't you?"

  "I guessed wrong?" He put a hand over his heart and

  staggered a step. "Don't tel me you're going to the

  Embassy Bal."

  "Nope. But I don't jog. I can manage a fast walk, though,

  if you're up for it."

  "Fast walk it is," he said agreeably.

  "I don't want to hold you back." I faked adjusting the tie at my waist to give my hands something to do while I

  watched his reaction.

  He didn't give me much of one, just a shrug and an easy

  smile that lit his dark eyes. "Nah. I used to run a lot, but it's hard on the knees. A fast walk can give you a good

  workout too without being so tough on the joints. I see a

  lot of injuries from people pushing too hard. I don't want

  that to be me."

  We crossed Front Street to the sidewalk just beyond. The

  Susquehanna River was running high with the last of the

  winter's melt and a few days of rain. It sweled, greenish

  brown, high up the concrete steps that had been set into

  the bank. Halfway across on City Island, I saw the bright

  red-and-white stripes of the bathhouse awnings at the

  public swimming beach. I'd dip a foot in that water.

  Maybe. But there was no way I'd ever swim in it.

  "Left or right?" Eric said as he stretched one long leg, then the other.

  Left would take us toward downtown and eventualy, the

  highway, but we could walk down along the river if we

  wanted instead of up here. Right would take us past

  residential neighborhoods and the line of mansions that had

  once been private homes but now mostly housed offices.

  Oh, and the Governor's Mansion, which for some reason

  never failed to fascinate me. I guess it was because such

  an important building seemed out of place right out there in

  the open, where anyone could stand in front of the fence

  and look in. I felt the same way about the White House the

  one time I'd been to D.C.

  "Right." I nodded that way and watched him stretch. I

  made an effort at doing the same, but since I never

  stretched before any workout, it was half-assed.

  Eric eyed me with a grin but made no comment. "Ready?"

  "Sure."

  There had been a heyday of walking when I was around

  eight or nine. We'd been living in a cluster of trailers, too

  few to realy be caled a park, with my mother's then

  boyfriend, Bob. My mom had been laid off from her job in

  the packing department at the Hershey factory, and for the

  first time I could ever remember she'd formed a group of

  girlfriends who did the sorts of things moms did on

  television. Lunches where they dished over their men, and

  television. Lunches where they dished over their men, and

  trips to the mal where they walked and shopped but

  hardly ever bought anything. Though my mom had never

  carried an extra pound and wouldn't until after she had

  Arty, they'd formed a group to walk around the

  neighborhood to help get in shape. It was more an excuse

  to get away from us ever-present kids as they gossiped,

  but I'd often watched them from the concrete front porch

  as they passed by on their rounds and wondered what

  made them laugh so loud.

  There was no laughing as Eric and I walked. I'd set the

  initial pace, but his legs were much longer and we ended

  up walking faster than I usualy did. Pride kept me from

  asking him to slow, and I didn't have breath left for chatter.

  We passed office buildings and finaly, Green Street,

  where Harrisburg went from city to neighborhood most

  drasticaly. We passed bikes and other joggers, most

  heading the opposite direction. I was glad for the pace that

  made talk impossible. Eric didn't seem the chatty type,

  anyway. Arms swinging, he didn't walk so much as lope

  along the sidewalk.

  Somehow I didn't care about the sweat ringing my armpits

  or dripping down my cheeks. I hadn't bothered with much

  or dripping down my cheeks. I hadn't bothered with much

  makeup either, and no woman looks her best in

  sweatpants. With any other man I'd have been cataloging

  my flaws and wishing I'd at least swiped my lips with gloss,

  but with Eric it simp
ly didn't matter.

  Because I knew he had made himself come at my com

  mand, and it didn't matter what I looked like or wore. I

  had power over him. He didn't know it, but I did.

  It took a lot of the pressure off in a major way. I didn't

  have to worry if he liked me or what he was thinking. I

  could find out any time I wanted, just by writing him a

  note. And if I decided I didn't like him, this never had to

  go beyond a walk along the river.

  "How far do you want to go?" His question came close on

  my thoughts, startling me.

  I looked at my watch, calculating the distance we'd gone

  and how long it would take to get back. I was going to my

  dad's supposedly to watch the boys while he and Stela

  went to some charity fund-raiser, though I knew my real

  task was to figure out what burr had gotten into Jeremy's

  britches. Stil, it was only lunchtime. The sky had stil been

  slightly overcast when we left, but now the sun had come

  out. The first realy good weather of the spring. I didn't

  want to waste it.

  "Another half a mile." I swiped the back of my hand across my face. "And I need to stop for a drink, too."

  "Fair enough."

  We walked on, slowing. The sidewalk ended just ahead as

  the bank fel off much harder down to the river. Across the

  street were a couple of restaurants.

  "Let's stop at Taco Bel," I said suddenly, unable to resist.

  Eric gave me a quick glance, but though I sought a smile or

  some sign he was thinking about the last note I'd left, I saw

  nothing to give it away. He nodded, though, and when

  there was a break in the traffic, we headed across to walk

  on the other side of the street.

  The pause had slowed us both, so by the time we crossed

  the parking lot to the restaurant I was cooling down. The

  sun, so fiercely bright, had gone behind some clouds again,

  and the wind off the river whipped us. It felt good, though,

  drying my sweaty face. Eric held the door open for me.

  Once again, the gesture from anyone else wouldn't have

  Once again, the gesture from anyone else wouldn't have

  given me a second thought, but I wondered if he'd done it

  to be polite or from some other, secret need.

  I was going to drive myself nuts thinking of this stuff, so I

  shoved it aside as best I could and concentrated on the

  menu board. It had been so long since I'd been to Taco

  Bel they'd added a whole list of new items. I'd practicaly

  lived off fast food for years because it was cheap, but

  nothing up there realy looked appealing even when I

  figured in the fact I'd walked al the way here and would

  walk back.

  "Go ahead," Eric offered.

  I ordered a large diet cola and there was a moment of

  awkwardness when he insisted on paying and I tried to

  stop him but ended up conceding with a laugh. It was nice,

  that gesture. I hadn't expected it.

  "A soda's not going to break me, Paige." Eric flipped a

  twenty at the cashier, who stared at it suspiciously and did

  some strange things to it with a marker.

  "Thank you, anyway." I took the drink, which I hadn't

  realized was going to contain enough soda to fil a

  realized was going to contain enough soda to fil a

  fishbowl. The sweetness and carbonation hit the back of

  my throat in a bubbly, fizzy splash of utter joy.

  Folowing me to a table toward the front, Eric laughed at

  my sound of delight. "That's the sigh of a true addict."

  I lifted the humongous cup. "Is it that obvious?"

  He waited for me to sit before he did. Pleasure, not

  exactly sexual, purred through me. I could definitely get

  used to this. He set his tray on the table and took the seat

  across from me. Our knees bumped.

  "Only to a former caffeine addict." He unwrapped his taco

  and spread out the paper with his fingertips. "You sure you

  don't want anything to eat?"

  "I'm sure." The greasy meat and cheese might look good

  but I knew I'd pay for it later. My stomach couldn't handle

  that sort of junk anymore. I had the notes to thank for that.

  Eric contemplated the taco. "I love tacos. They're life's

  perfect food."

  I laughed and sipped my drink. "If you say so."

  "You don't like tacos?" he asked, stil not biting into his food.

  "Oh, I love Mexican food. Just not from Taco Bel."

  "So why did you want to stop here?" He pushed some

  stray lettuce into the taco shel.

  I was caught, though he couldn't know it. "I like the extra-

  huge drinks."

  Eric nodded as though what I'd said made sense. I

  excused myself to use the restroom. I wasn't eating

  anything, but I stil wanted to wash my hands and face

  after the walk. My phone vibrated from my pocket and I

  puled it out to find an unexpected picture text message.

  A taco.

  No message, just the photo, but I knew it at once as the

  one in front of Eric. I fel back to lean against the stal's

  metal wal, my phone clutched to my heart. I wanted to

  dance. I wanted to laugh. Then I washed my hands quickly

  and patted my face with a wet paper towel. I hesitated

  only a minute before typing a reply. Fast food wil rot your

  guts. Next time when I give you a reward, I expect you to

  guts. Next time when I give you a reward, I expect you to

  treat yourself to something worthwhile.

  The words felt stilted without my paper and pen and the

  luxury of time. Standing in a public bathroom that reeked

  of disinfectant, it was hard to conjure up an image of

  myself as a wickedly commanding mistress. Yet there was

  no denying the thril rippling through me when I hit the send

  button.

  Eric had finished his taco by the time I got back. If he

  thought anything of how long it had taken me, he didn't

  mention it. He baled up his wrapper and tossed al the

  trash as I picked up my cup.

  "We could start back," I said just as his phone erupted in a jangle.

  "Excuse me," he said and waited the bare half second for

  me to nod my assent. He flipped open the phone and his

  eyes scanned the message. He smiled and tucked it back

  into his pocket. "Ready?"

  "Can we go back a little slower?" I lifted my cup.

  "Sure." Eric roled his head on his neck then patted his

  stomach with a grin. "If you want."

  The darkening sky and sudden chil breeze kept us from

  dawdling, but the conversation made the time pass just as

  fast as if we'd been running. I forgot for a moment or two,

  listening, that I was deceiving him and that I knew his

  secrets. Eric had a great sense of humor and was smart.

  God, was he smart, but not in the way that made me feel

  stupid. He talked about a lot of subjects, always leaving

  room for me to comment. And he listened, realy listened

  to my answers. By the time we got back to the Manor the

  first drops of cold spring rain were spattering, and I was

  half in love with him.

  "I need to go in," I said at the front door. "Thanks for the soda."
/>
  "I'm going to head down the other direction. Get another

  mile or so in. It's my day off," Eric explained. "I need

  something to work off some of the stress, you know?"

  I could help him with that, but I couldn't exactly say so.

  "Sure. See you around."

  He waved and left me at the door. Upstairs in my

  apartment, I stripped out of my clothes and ran the

  apartment, I stripped out of my clothes and ran the

  shower, where I scrubbed away the sweat and thought

  about Eric. I had the unfair advantage, no doubt about it. I

  tipped my face into the spray, thinking of his smile and

  laugh, and then the stroke of his fist on his cock. I knew

  things I had no right to know.

  I couldn't decide if I liked him better because I knew, and

  I had no way to tel. I'd noticed him before I found out.

  Maybe that meant it was fate. Or coincidence. Or stupid,

  dumb luck. Maybe if I hadn't put two and two together I'd

  have already forgotten about him. Or at least fucked him.

  But I hadn't done either of those things, so I did this,

  instead.

  Your time is no longer your own. Every minute belongs

  to me. No matter what else you're doing, I expect your

  thoughts to be of how your actions would please or

  displease me. To this end, I expect a full accounting of

  your evening from 6:00 p.m. until midnight. Hourly,

  you will text your whereabouts to me and your

  activities of the past hour.

  Chapter 23

  "You have our numbers, right?" Stela was running late, as usual.

  "Yep."

  I'd arrived on time with a handful of gossip magazines I'd

  picked up to get me through an evening of watching the

  Cartoon Network or listening to Tyler's commentary on

  his latest video game. My dad had promised me dinner but

  that meant a couple of frozen pizzas already heading

  toward burned in the oven.

  She hopped on one foot to slide the strap of her shoe

  higher on her heel while she fumbled with an earring at the

  same time. The woman was incredibly coordinated. She

  got both ends of her situated and put her foot down, then

  looked at me. "Have you lost weight?"

  I looked at myself. "I guess so. Some."

  Stela did a slow circle around me, staring. "You look

  good. That skirt is nice. Ann Taylor?"

  Leave it to Stela to look at my ass and see a brand name.

  She didn't need to know I bought it at the Salvation Army.

  "Yes."