“Life’s not fair, Nolan. You’re the one who said it.”
“I know,” he says. Still soft, more erotic, very insistent. “I know that. But this could turn into something good. Just… let me finish.”
I give in. He could force me to stay and I don’t want to push him. I’ll leave as soon as he unties me. I’ll make a break for the bathroom, get my phone, call Nora, tell her where I’m at, and then have her call me back saying I’m needed at home. There’s an emergency. Something, anything to get the hell out of this man’s house.
“I don’t think your nickname should be Mr. Romantic.”
He laughs. Like a great, big, ceiling-echoing laugh. “You got that right.”
“What? What do you mean? You said it wasn’t ironic.”
“It’s not, I promise.” He takes my bound wrists in his hands and laughs again. “I swear. Just let me finish. No one ever fucking lets me finish. They see what they want to see and then they walk out. Don’t walk out, Ivy. I’ve got something to show you.”
I sigh, realize I’m not getting out of here, and give in. “OK, fine. Just hurry up, Nolan. I’m hungry. I want to eat. I want a drink of water. I’m uncomfortable—”
“I’m sorry. It’s just this story is longer than most. This is the last drawing, I promise. And then I’ll show you. And tell you. And then you can leave if you want.”
“You promise?” I ask.
“I promise. But you won’t want to leave, Ivy. You won’t. If you do, you’ll miss it.”
“What will I miss?”
“Mr. Romantic, of course.” He smiles and points to the bed. “Get back in position. This is the one where I really need to concentrate. It’s the most important one.”
“Five minutes,” I say, scooting back up to the headboard and putting my bound wrists above my head.
“Turn to the side. And close your eyes. Like you’re sleeping.”
Or dead.
He moves quickly back to his paper and pencil, looking at me, then down at his drawing. His hand making long sweeps on the pad. One hundred percent of his concentration on the image he’s creating.
And before I can even count out five minutes in my head, he says, “Done.” He rips the final piece of paper off the pad and then bends down to pick up the rest of them, arranging them and sorting them into something only he is aware of.
“You’re going to freak out, I already know that. But I just need you to let me tell it from beginning to end before you do that.”
Chapter Twenty-Five - Nolan
I’m scaring the fuck out of her. Have been for hours. But I can’t stop. Not now. Not with her. I don’t why I’m fixated on Ivy Rockwell, but I am.
“First of all,” I say, scooting up on the bed with her so our bare shoulders are touching. She’s sitting up, leaning back on the headboard, and her hands are in her lap. She’s breathing fast and heavy, but that’s normal for the level of fear she’s experiencing. “It’s a fantasy, OK? Just keep that in mind. It’s just a fantasy.”
“I don’t think I need to see it, Nolan. Just untie me.”
“Just wait,” I say, holding the pieces of paper in my hand so she can’t see the first one yet. “It’s got a nice beginning. And a nice ending.” I wink at her, which elicits a tiny smile. “It’s the middle that people have a hard time with.”
“So you have shown other girls this?”
“You’re getting ahead of yourself. Be patient.”
I have the stack of drawings doubled over, not creased, just so she can’t see the first one until I’m ready.
“Mr. Romantic,” I say. “Just keep that in mind, OK?”
“Got it,” Ivy says, all her patience gone.
“OK.” I unfold the drawings so the first one is visible. “This is us. You and me.”
And it is. I always put a lot of detail in the first one. maybe because I’m nervous about the ones that come after. Or maybe I really am just a big ol’ romantic at heart.
Ivy is wearing a long dress that reveals her curves. Her large breasts, nipples pressed against the fabric because she has no bra on. My hands are the only thing of me in this picture and they are on her hips. “In my head, the dress is yellow.”
“Why yellow?” Ivy says, reaching for the picture so I’ll bring it closer.
“I like it. And it matches the rope.”
She looks at me with lots of questions but none of them come out of her mouth.
“We’re coming home from dinner. We had a nice night. This is our first real date.”
“What did we eat?” Ivy asks.
“Who cares?” I laugh. “We’re in New England, so let’s say lots of expensive seafood.”
“Fancy.”
“Well,” I say, “it’s a fantasy, right? Go big or go home.”
“What color is your suit?” she asks.
This is going well. I have a glimmer of hope. “Black. And my silk tie is yellow.”
“To match the rope,” Ivy says.
“Yes.”
“I have a bad feeling about this, Nolan.”
“Don’t give up on me yet, Ivy.”
She looks me in the eyes and swallows. “Go on.”
I throw that picture off the side of the bed and it floats softly to the floor. “Now we’re in the back yard of a huge mansion. We’re kissing.”
“I can see that.”
“It’s a good kiss, Ivy.” My palm is on her throat, my thumb pressing on her chin, like I’m taking control.
“It’s… OK.”
“OK? You look like you might come any second.”
“Why does my dress look weird?”
“It’s wet. I made you walk into the pool and then step out. You’re soaking wet.”
“Why would I walk into the pool, Nolan?”
“Because I asked you to. And I told you how hard it would make me to see your dress clinging to your body like it is in the picture. Every part of your body outlined by the wet dress. Your nipples hard and peaked. Your mind spinning with anticipation.”
She bites her lip. “Keep going.”
I toss that drawing aside.
“OK,” she says. “What the hell is this?”