tand.”
Which told her that not only did he have a freakishly creepy way of reading her mind, but he didn’t expect her to sleep in his bed. The ball of unease in her belly continued to grow, and as she went into the bedroom to change and get settled, she had the almost overwhelming urge to leave. Simon didn’t seem like himself. It couldn’t be the mask. She’d told him ages ago she was going to wear it this weekend. Could it be the voice thing?
With a heavy sigh, she sat down on the bed right as she heard Simon leave the room and go out into the hallway.
• • •
It wasn’t common for Simon to be so unsure about what he should do, and as he would have guessed, he didn’t like it one bit. He didn’t believe for a second that there was something wrong with Faye’s voice. She didn’t want him to hear it for some reason.
He’d always claimed to like puzzles, but perhaps he’d better stick with the inanimate kind. The mystery posed by Faye was enough to give him a headache. He had to leave the room because he needed to figure her out and he couldn’t do that if she was nearby, watching him through the eyes of that damned mask.
He decided to walk about the complex that was housing the BDSM workshop for the weekend to try to clear his head. Or hopefully, at least start to untangle the mess he found himself in.
What did he know about Faye?
He made a mental list. She lived in an expensive apartment. Maybe somewhere near the Wests. She had a job that made her not want to appear in public, but she didn’t have a problem playing in public. She was fine as long as no one could recognize her. And now, today, one more piece—she had a distinctive voice.
When you looked at all those pieces together, she seemed to point toward some sort of public figure. But that could be anyone from a local TV personality, to a politician’s daughter, to an actress.
He stopped in his tracks as another thought hit him. If she wanted so badly for him not to know who she really was, why was he going against her wishes? She obviously trusted him. Wasn’t that enough? Did it really matter who she was?
But it did, because deep down he wanted her to trust him enough to tell him everything. That was the crux of a successful BDSM relationship, and if she couldn’t trust him with something as basic as her identity, how could she possibly trust him when it came to something physical?
He reminded himself they hadn’t known each other that long. Trust wasn’t a given. It had to be earned. Maybe she’d agreed to this weekend as a way to see how he’d handle himself. If he proved himself trustworthy to her, perhaps by Sunday their relationship would be much stronger than it currently was.
He needed to be patient. And take things slowly. And demonstrate understanding. Because he didn’t want to fuck up this thing with Faye. He wanted to prove himself worthy of her trust.
He walked back to the room, prepared to start.
She was in her bedroom with the door closed. He supposed he couldn’t blame her. Not with the way he’d acted, storming out the way he had without even saying a word to her in good-bye. He knocked on the door.
“Faye?” he called.
The door opened slowly and she peeked her head out. The way she looked at him with those eyes of hers, so curious and trusting. It reminded him of someone, but who? He tried to picture her on television, but the image wouldn’t come. But it did go far in proving that she was a public figure of some sort.
“I . . . uh . . . just wanted to let you know how glad I am that you’re here with me this weekend.” He hadn’t told her that yet, and he could have kicked himself for his lack of manners. No wonder she didn’t trust him enough yet.
“Since we have about two hours before we practice, would you like something to eat? I could order something and we could eat on the balcony. I understand it overlooks a courtyard.”
She nodded. Damn, it was strange trying to communicate like this.
“Why don’t you come into the living room? There are a few menus, and you can point to what you’d like.”
She smiled and took his hand when he offered it.
Yes, he decided. This was progress.
Thirty minutes later, they sat on the balcony. She’d ordered some kind of hot tea, and while he’d have preferred a beer, he never drank before a scene, so he’d ordered coffee. Black. Extra strong. On the table between their chairs was a plate with sandwiches. She didn’t like onion or tomatoes. It was ridiculous how happy he was to learn tiny details like that about her.
The staff was busy below them setting up various stations for the evening. From what Luke had told him, the courtyard was the place to be after dark. A dance floor was being set up in one corner, and close to it was what appeared to be a well-stocked bar. Impressive since the conference rules limited a person to two alcoholic drinks.
But covering the majority of the courtyard was play space. There were padded benches and St. Andrew’s crosses, plus Simon thought he saw what looked like a suspension web being set up in a far corner.
He glanced to his side. Faye sat slightly forward in her chair, as if hoping to get a better look. Her tea sat on the table, forgotten. He looked away so she wouldn’t see him staring, but he couldn’t help wondering if she’d like to play. Maybe tonight after they practiced or tomorrow night after the demo? He wouldn’t mention it to her right now. He’d see how practice went first.
Her gasp caught him off guard, and when he looked at her this time, she’d sat back down in her chair. Was she hiding? Had she seen someone she recognized? He scanned the courtyard, but nothing seemed out of place. If she was a public figure, it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary, he supposed, for her to come across people she knew, no matter where she went.
He was starting to see the benefit of the mask.
A quick glance at his watch told him it was about time they started getting ready. Beside him, she was still sitting as far back in her chair as possible.
“Faye?” he said gently, not wanting to spook her. She looked at him, her eyes wide. “Are you okay?” he asked.
She nodded, but he wasn’t sure he believed her.
“We probably need to start getting ready to practice. That is, if you still want to.” For some reason, it felt necessary to give her an out. “They booked the practice rooms rather tight, so we don’t have a lot of spare time.”
She took a deep breath and stood up. He suspected he couldn’t conceal the look of relief that likely passed across his face. He had been looking forward to finally playing with Faye, in person. But now he had a new goal. She might not let him hear her talk, but he was willing to bet he could work the whip in such a way that she wasn’t able to remain quiet.
She wouldn’t give him her words, but dammit, he’d have her sighs and moans of pleasure.
As they walked back into the room, he stopped her. “I’m not going to request you be naked until we get in the practice room. Wear something easy to take off.” At her nod, he added, “Meet me in the living room in fifteen minutes.”
He went to his own room to prepare. It was only a practice session, but he wanted to give her the full experience. He changed into his leather pants and a black shirt; on his way to the living room, he grabbed his toy bag and slung it over his shoulder.
He stepped into the living room and realized his mistake in telling Faye to put on something easy to take off. The sundress she’d selected was made of some sort of gauzy material that somehow managed to both sway with her movements and cling to her curves. She looked like a walking advertisement for sex. He hated to tell her, but if she’d wanted to stay inconspicuous, wearing that dress wasn’t the way to do it.
They walked to the rooms where practice sessions were being held and arrived right as the couple before them was cleaning up. He recognized the Dom and exchanged hellos with him. The woman was unfamiliar.
As they left, he overheard him thank her for filling in. Apparently, the submissive he was supposed to be working with hadn’t shown up.
“But I know she’s here,” he told the subst
itute.
“I’m available if you need me tomorrow for the demo, Sir,” the unknown woman said.
They started walking toward the door and fell out of earshot.
Just as well, Simon figured. He needed to concentrate on Faye and not on other people’s missing submissives. At the moment, his submissive for the conference was kneeling in front of the cross and she still had her dress on.
He would have taken it off her himself, but he knew better than to finger the delicate fabric. He’d end up ripping it or snaring it somehow. No, delicate fabrics did not belong in his hands.
“You look very lovely, Faye,” he said. “Stand up and strip for me.”
She rose gracefully, the movement causing the material to shift slightly. His fingers itched to touch her.
Soon. He balled his fists to control the urge to touch her all over.