Secret Shared: A S.E.C.R.E.T. Novel (19 page)

“Nice to formally meet you, Miss Mason. I can assure you that Ms. Mendoza’s painting will be going to a very good home. I am a big fan of
all
her endeavors. So you can imagine how sad I was to be left off the list of bidders, and how grateful I am that you did not hold that against me.”

“Who
are
you?” I asked, cautiously weaving my hand through the crook of an arm he offered. “And what was all
that limo subterfuge? The not speaking English? Showing up unregistered? Was that really necessary? Surely you could have—”

“Dauphine, my dear, I will explain everything in good time. But we must leave now, before curiosity overtakes the room, swallowing us both. People will begin to ask questions. About me, about you and about the … group you represent.”

“What do you know about that?”

“I know enough to ask you … if you’ll accept the Step.”

Of course! So he is one of them. He’s one of
us
!

As a crowd gathered to photograph
Red Rage
before it was packed and shipped, he ushered me up the steps to the theater’s exit. Now it was all making sense, though my heart continued pounding.

The foyer was empty, save for a half-dozen bored drivers checking their watches. Dante pulled me sharply in the opposite direction, through high glass doors covered in lace curtains. Suddenly, we were alone in a beautiful narrow hall painted ivory, lined with columns and wainscoting in the same golden hue as my bracelet. He let go of my arm, his whole body now facing me.

“So?”

“So …” I said, inching backwards until I collapsed onto an overstuffed settee beneath a bust of some famous composer. “Did you really just spend fifteen million dollars on a painting?”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“To impress you. Did it work?”

I shifted over so he could sit beside me.

“Possibly.”

Clearly, this was a man for whom everything came easy. But I wasn’t quite sure I wanted to be one of those things. He leaned in, his face inches from mine. His nostrils flared like an animal’s picking up the scent of fear … and liking it.

“I’ll ask you once again: do you accept the Step?”

He lifted my hand and was about to examine my bracelet when I snatched my wrist from him, hiding it behind my back. He was sexy, and he knew about S.E.C.R.E.T., but there was a dark air about him that kept tripping me up.

“What’s your real name?” I asked. “And how come you didn’t know where the auction was if your banker was here, the blond one?”

“She was following us, having not received an invitation either. Now, I’ll be happy to answer the rest of your questions, Dauphine. But there’s really only one that matters. Do you accept the Step?”

His mouth now at my ear, he gathered a lobe between his lips, gently sucking it. A current flowed through me, my body turning to lava. Everywhere he touched me, the skin beneath melted. He was moving fast, so fast I’d soon be unable to stop him, even if I wanted to.

“I’ve been wanting to do this since I laid eyes on you at the hotel,” he whispered, parting my knees, his hand making its languid way up my thighs.

I froze at the sound of chatter coming from the lobby.

“I locked the door. No one will find us in here,” he said, my skirt now pulled almost all the way up to my hips.

I placed a hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him.

“Where are you from?”

He dove in again, his mouth finding my neck. He was having none of my questions. I was delirious with desire, my instincts beginning to dull because of his talented mouth.

“Dauphine, accept, and I’ll tell you everything.”

“I will accept,” I murmured, eyes closed, “
if
you tell me … what Step I’m on.”

His eyes searched for my bracelet again, but I’d cleverly tucked my arm behind me.

He straightened up, tugging the cuffs on his sleeves.

“It’s not a hard question,” I said. “Why don’t you check the charm, the one you brought to give me afterwards? That will tell you the answer.”

He paused for a moment, then said, “You know the rules, Dauphine. If you don’t accept, I can’t show you the charm.”

I went over the S.E.C.R.E.T. acronym in my head. He was
Compelling
, that’s for sure. And this would have been a
Romantic, Erotic
interlude. Perhaps it would have left me feeling
Ecstatic
and
Transformed
. But there was just one problem: I didn’t feel
Safe
. That was what it all boiled down to. If Step Five was about overcoming my fears, his refusal to answer my questions kept me from feeling that.

“
You
know the rules too, Dante, or whatever your name
is. If I don’t accept the Step, we stop here. It’s over. I’m saying no. Who are you anyway? You sound like you’re from the South—in fact, from Louisiana.”

“Well, now,” he huffed, standing. “For someone who refuses me, you sure demand a lot.”

“It would seem so,” I said, pulling my dress down over my knees. My chignon had fallen out in our brief tussle, so I undid the barrette holding it in place, releasing my hair.

“
Red Rage
indeed,” he said, admiring my hair, reaching out to caress a tendril. I pulled away. “I would be happy to have my driver take you back to your hotel.”

“That won’t be necessary,” I said. “I can make it back on my own.”

“Then … I shall be on my way.”

He stood and walked away, unlocked the door, and quietly shut it behind him as he left. Who in the hell was this man and what had he just tried to pull? I waited a few more seconds before heading back to the theater, where a handful of people still surrounded the painting. Was it too late to rip up the transfer of ownership? I had to try.

The auctioneer was locked in quiet conversation with the banker, Isabella.

“Excuse me,” I said, interrupting them. “Before I leave, can you tell me if it’s possible to stop the transfer? It’s just … I feel I might have made a mistake in selling the painting to an unregistered bidder.”

They looked at each other as though they had been discussing this exact thing.

“The problem is that you would now need his signature too,” said the auctioneer. “He officially owns that painting.”

“And he was a very keen buyer,” Isabella added, in clipped but perfect English. “I did not realize he was unregistered; otherwise I would not have participated on behalf of Señor Castille.”

“Señor who?”

“Castille,” she said. “Pierre Castille. I assume he is well known in your city since his family owns half of it.”

“A small part of this one too,” chuckled the auctioneer.

Pierre Castille?
Of
course
I knew the name. But I hadn’t recognized his face out of context. There weren’t many photos of him; he was private for someone so wealthy, but if you lived in New Orleans, that name was tantamount to royalty.

Why the hell would Pierre Castille, Pierre the Heir, the Bayou Billionaire, infiltrate a private auction, drop fifteen million dollars on a painting, then try to seduce me on a settee in a theater in Buenos Aires? What had I gotten myself into?

I felt the blood rise to my face. Cassie and Matilda were going to hear about this. Perhaps it was a sign. Perhaps stopping at Step Five was appropriate. I asked for directions to the cab stand and made my defeated way outside. I’d conquered enough fears, I thought, glancing down at my bracelet. Even half complete it looked quite pretty as it caught the glare off passing cars in the nighttime.

As I sat in the cab back to the hotel, my heart was still pounding, my skin feeling seared where Pierre Castille had touched me.

THE LAST TIME
I was invited to the Mansion I was naked beneath a full-length coat and led upstairs blindfolded, where a sensuous feast (and lover) awaited me. This time was a little different. It was Matilda waiting for me, looking somber on the porch in the middle of a hot August Saturday. I already knew what preoccupied her. After I had gotten off the phone with an angry Dauphine the night before, I’d had a hard time sleeping, so I called Matilda and told her about the auction, and Pierre’s stunt.

“I cannot believe Pierre,” I said, greeting Matilda on the porch. “Dauphine’s shaken.”

“I don’t blame her. In the almost forty years that we’ve been doing this, we’ve had trouble with only one man: Pierre. I should have trusted my instincts when he first joined, but we were all dazzled by his charms.”

“Well, there’s one consolation in all of this: his fifteen million will keep S.E.C.R.E.T. running for a long time,” I said.

“
If
we keep it.”

I had never questioned whether we’d keep the money. But the way Matilda was talking, giving it back suddenly seemed a possibility.

“Anyway,” she continued, “whether we keep the money is a decision for the whole Committee, not just me. I’m heading to Dauphine’s house now.”

“Should I come? Can we postpone this … session?”

“No. This is a job for the head of the Committee and time is of the essence. I may be able to convince Dauphine to stay in S.E.C.R.E.T., but if not, I hope I can at least convince her to accept our apologies. Meanwhile,
you
, my dear, have an exciting task at hand that also needs to be completed. Are you sure you’re ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Nervous?”

“Yes.”

“Has Jesse contacted you?”

“I’m seeing him tonight.” I couldn’t help but beam a little.

Matilda didn’t echo my enthusiasm; instead, her tone shifted back to one of concern.

“After all that’s happened, and how wrong I was about Pierre, I do hope I’m not wrong about Jesse too.”

“I don’t think you are,” I said, wondering why she continued to plant these doubts about him.

I followed her into the Mansion, up the stairs, then down a long, cool corridor, where she stopped in front of a narrow door. She unlocked it. Inside the small room was a single
grey club chair facing a wall of glass. Matilda pulled the chair out for me. The room on the other side of the glass was dimly lit but spectacular, with two floor-to-ceiling windows to my right, draped in thick burgundy curtains, cupids carved into the wooden valences. Ancient oil paintings of beautiful women in shoulder-baring gowns hung along the ivory-colored walls. The bed itself was a piece of art, each poster carved to look like a willow trunk, fronds decorating the oak fascia. In the center of the room sat a tufted chair, armless, with gilt legs, the seat and back embroidered with burgundy roses.

I felt more nervous than I had during one of my own fantasies.

“This is the Emperor’s Room,” Matilda said.

“So this is where the training happens?”

“Some of it, yes. You ready?”

I nodded, took a deep breath and gave her my most confident smile. I was about to watch Mark Drury’s first training session with Angela Rejean. He’d passed all the tests, submitted to two prior sessions and aced his interviews. Now, before engaging in a fantasy with Dauphine, he had to pass final muster with Angela.

“It can be emotional to watch former lovers, Cassie. It takes fortitude.”

“I’m fine,” I said, as much for myself as for her. “He’s for S.E.C.R.E.T., for Dauphine. Not for me.”

“Good.”

“Does he know I’m watching?”

“No. He knows
someone
from S.E.C.R.E.T. is watching, but we never say who. He was quite excited.”

“Does Angela know she’s being watched?”

She gave me a wry smile.

“Cassie, honey, this is her
thing
. All right then. Enjoy yourself. But study carefully too. We have to evaluate him—look for ways he can improve, to enliven a woman’s fantasy experience. He has to find pleasure in pleasing. And he needs to learn how to make a woman feel completely desired, which is, without a doubt, the greatest aphrodisiac. I’ll funnel any advice to him. Patience keeps coming up as an issue for him. Good luck,” she said with a smile, adding, “you’ve come a long way, Cassie. Call me later. I’ll let you know how it goes with Dauphine.”

“Thank you. Truly. For everything,” I said. “And I hope Dauphine stays. There’s still just so
much
.”

“I’ll tell her just that.”

She shut off the light and left, closing the door behind her. I was alone in my little dark room, unsure of what to do. I crossed and uncrossed my legs, waiting for the session to begin on the other side of the one-way glass.

A few moments later, Angela emerged from an ivory door flush with the wall in the Emperor’s Room. Her normally straightened hair was arranged in a relaxed, sassy Afro, and she was wearing a white, wraparound dress, cut low, the material thin, almost translucent, her dark nipples alert. She wore six-inch pumps that set off her brown muscled calves to perfection. She ignored the glass, which would look like
a mirror on her side of the room. She walked over to the marble mantel of the fireplace and leaned on it provocatively. There was a lot you could envy about Angela, but her calm, cool demeanor was at the top of my list just then.

From a door to the left, off the same hallway I had just navigated with Matilda, Mark slowly emerged, wearing a grin that only grew bigger when he took in his next “trainer.” He looked so cute and clean in his chambray shirt tucked into baggy cords, his hair damp. I could almost smell his green apple shampoo.