Blindfolded Innocence (43 page)

Brad emerged from the garage and we walked up the back steps.
 
I glumly carried my shoes in my hands, my wet bare feet leaving tracks on his stone floor.
 
He unlocked the door and held it for me.
 
"Thanks," I mumbled, entering the house, which was freezing cold.
 
Jeez.
 
And I came here to warm up?
 
I rubbed my arms with my hands.
 
"Where's the shower?"

He paused in the wide hall.
 
"You want to use mine or the guest shower?"

"Whichever one's nicer.
 
And no, you won't be joining me in it - in case that makes a difference."

He scoffed playfully.
 
"Julia, give me credit. I am a gentleman!"

"Sure.
 
Where's the shower?
 
I'm about to turn into a popsicle."

"Upstairs.
 
The master is on the left.
 
I'm pretty sure you'll be able to find the shower once you get there."
 
I moved past him, trotting up the wide staircase, leaving wet footprints behind me.
 
When I hit the top of the stairs my feet hit plush carpet and I wiped my wet feet on the carpet just for spite.
 
It was marginally warmer up here and I paused on the landing, my eyes locking on the thermostat mounted on the wall.
 
I stood on my tiptoes and looked at the display.
 
Whoever had installed the thing had put it ridiculously high up.
 
68 degrees.
 
Good lord.
 
And this level was warmer than the bottom floor?
 
I reached up and pressed the up arrow until it read 74.
 
I then went exploring.
 

The second floor had a master, second bedroom, office, and media room.
 
The whole floor had the impersonal, perfect feel of interior designer stamped all over it.
 
I stood still, trying to get a feel for the house.
 
It just didn't seem like Brad.
 
I went into the master - a huge room with blackout shades that put the room in darkness.
 
I flipped on some lights and looked around.
 
This room had more of a masculine feel - a heavy California King bed with lots of pillows and a cream duvet.
 
Some incredible landscapes were framed and illuminated with small lights.
 
I wandered over and looked at them closely, marveling at their beauty.
 
"Peter Lik" was signed on the corners of the photos, a name I didn't recognize.
 
But, the real focal point of the room was above the bed.
 
A nude woman, photographed on her side, her eyes looking directly at the camera, her mouth in a sexy pout.
 
She had large breasts and big nipples, a flat stomach and a small patch of hair between her legs.
 
She radiated confidence and sex.
 
I wandered into the master bath and stared at my drenched appearance in the large framed mirror above the double sinks.
 
My hair hung damp and stringy, my face pale.
 
I had big black splotches under my eyes from my mascara, and any other makeup had washed off.
 
My white cardigan looked dingy and the silk blend dry-clean only Banana Republic sheath dress underneath was wrinkly and stuck to me in weird places.
 
Ugh.
 
Remind me not to look at the vixen back in Brad's room.
 

I shut the bathroom door; thought for a minute, then locked the handle.
 
I stripped, not even bothering to lie my clothes flat, and opened the shower door.
 
Brad's shower rivaled the Bellagio's - a huge steam shower with two rows of body jets, a rain head, and an adjustable handheld.
 
I figured he'd probably be showering somewhere else in the house, so I resisted turning on every nozzle and instead stuck with just the rain head, turning it on full force and giving it a minute to heat up.
 
While I waited I looked around, my nosy tendencies in full force.
 
The bathroom had marble and granite covering every surface, and was decorated in navy blue and cream.
 
He had a large, jetted tub and a toilet room.
 
I wandered into the toilet room to pee and stopped short.
 
A gun of some sort was sitting on a windowsill in the room.
 
I approached it gingerly, picking it up in my hand and feeling the heft of it.
 
I set it back down, peed quickly, then left the room.
 
Who needs a damn gun in the bathroom?
 
Back in the bathroom I saw about 40 towels, all plush white, rolled into neat coils and stacked in a large shelving unit set into one wall.
 
I pulled two towels out and, seeing a towel warmer installed into the lower half of the unit, opened it up and set both of the towels inside.
 
Turning the dial to 15 minutes, I pressed Start, then got in the shower.
 

I stayed under the hot spray for 10 minutes, my head pressed against the cool marble, the water massaging my back and head.
 
Finally, I quit wasting time and opened Brad's giant jug of man soap, squirting a big blob on my hand and soaping up my body.
 
I looked through the three lonely bottles in his rack and choose the only option for shampoo - some Italian sounding brand that looked expensive.
 
The man didn't have conditioner, so I settled with clean hair and turned off the shower. I opened the door, grabbed a hot towel out of the warmer, and wrapped my body in it.
 
I turned, headed to the sink, and almost ran into Brad.

His big arms caught mine as I started to scream.
 
Seeing it was him, my screams died down, and I instead reached out, punching him in the stomach, aiming for the solar plexus.
 
I must have missed, because he didn't flinch and instead smiled down at me.

"Seriously?" I asked, moving past his body and making my way to the sink.
 
"Did you NOTICE that the door was locked?
 
Ever heard of privacy?"

"Sorry babe," he said, shrugging out of his dress shirt and unzipping his suit pants.
 
"I should have mentioned that that lock is broken."

"OR, you could have knocked.
 
Novel idea, I know."
 
I started washing my face and avoided looking at him, knowing he was now naked, standing at the shower door. I heard the door open and close, and I relaxed, rinsing my face and patting it dry.
 
"Who's Lady Godiva in your bedroom?"

"That's Stephanie.
 
A girl I used to date."
 
I didn't say anything.

"I should have taken it down by now, but haven't found anything to replace it with, or taken the time to think about it."

"How long did you date her?"

"About a year.
 
Off and on."

"Did she, ah..
 
you know…" I trailed off, not sure what the proper lingo was.

"Yeah."
 
Brad's tone was casual.
 
"We had a few threesomes, two with girls, one with a buddy of mine."

"And she liked it?"

There was a long pause.
 
"Julia, the entire point of the threesome is for the women's pleasure.
 
That's what gets me off.
 
I wouldn't have done them with Stef if she didn't like it."

"So why did you break up?"

"We enjoyed sex, but not much else.
 
We were too different."
 
There was a squeak as he turned the nozzles, and then the sound of water stopped.
 
He cracked the door and hot steam billowed out.
 
I opened the warmer and grabbed the extra towel that I had put in there.
 
I looked away and held it out for him.
 
He stepped out, pausing and looking at the outstretched towel.
 
Then he flashed me a gorgeous grin and grabbed the towel, flicking it out and wrapping it around his waist.
 
I tried not to, but caught a glimpse of thick meat hanging between his legs and inhaled sharply.
 

"Okay." I said.
 
He tilted his head at me, confused.
 

"Okay?"

"Okay.
 
I thought about it.
 
I'll try it one time.
 
Then I'll decide about us."

CHAPTER
31

A giant grin broke out on his face.
 
"Really?"

"Yes.
 
But if I want to back out at any time, I can.
 
And if I have a billion stupid questions, you have to answer them all.
 
And-"
 
he silenced me with a firm kiss, grabbing my waist and lifting me up to him, moving his hands to my ass so that I was forced to wrap my legs around his waist, our wet skin touching.

"Yes.
 
Whatever you want, yes.
 
You make the rules."

He gave me another kiss and set me down gently, trying to bust a move by pushing me towards his bed and pulling on my towel, but I spun out of his reach and ran to the closet, him tackling me halfway there.
 
We went to the floor and he pinned me, resting his weight on his elbows on either side of me and giving me a long, deep kiss, then rolled off of me and jumped up.
 
I propped myself up on my elbows and smirked up at him.
 
"I need clothes.
 
Mine are soaked."

"Hmmm… Everything I have is my size.
 
How about a big v-neck tee?"

"As long as it's clean, I'll take it."
 
I frowned, rethinking that.
 
"Actually, do you have a sweatshirt too?
 
Your house is really cold."
 
He offered me his hand and hefted me to my feet.
 
Turning on the light in his closet illuminated rows and rows of Italian suits, pressed shirts, and polished shoes.
 
The back half of the closet held his casual clothes, and he grabbed a Gold's Gym sweatshirt and plain white tee, tossing them to me.
 
He pulled a shirt over his head, and some gym shorts on.
 

"You seriously don't have a stitch of women's clothing in this house?
 
No niece, ex-girlfriend, or friend has left any clothes here?"

"If they did, Helga or Martha put them somewhere.
 
I'll have to ask them where in the morning."

"They’re your maids?"

He paused, in the middle of flipping through some shorts.
 
"Helga is, part-time.
 
Martha more runs the house.
 
If you call her a maid she'll bit your head off and I'll be eating burnt food for a week."

The walk-in closet had a granite counter and I hoisted myself up on it, pulling the shirt and sweatshirt on once I was seated.
 
"What time does Martha get in each day?"

"Typically around 6:30; really whenever she gets out and about.
 
She lives above the garage, in the carriage house apartment."

I stopped swinging my legs.
 
"She lives here?
 
Why don't we just borrow some clothes from her?
 
It's only like, seven o'clock."

He raised his eyebrows and looked at me.
 
"I'll wait for you to meet Martha.
 
She's not someone you want to borrow clothes from on her time off.
 
She commits 40 hours a week to me and has made it very clear that living on property does not make her available to me after hours.
 
I have to respect that."