Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Still dumbfounded, I close the door and walk the flowers into the kitchen. They're gorgeous pink peonies, along with roses, orchids, hydrangeas, and lilies.
A card sticks up, and I pluck it from the bouquet, flipping it open.
Alina,
I'm sorry I had to leave last night, but I promise, it was necessary. I wanted to stay. I wanted to hold you in my arms and listen to you breathing while you slept, but it wasn't the right time.
I will be back, angel. You're mine, and I'm yours.
Don't forget it.
D.
PS. I'll be picking you up at 7 for dinner. Be ready.
The words are typed, like a form letter, and not at all personalized, but they make me weak in the knees all the same. He's coming back for me.
But, as quickly as the joy sweeps through me, it fades. He's still basically a stranger! A stranger I let between my legs, who made me come so hard I saw stars, but still … Alarm rises in my mind, a thousand dark thoughts about who Derrick might actually be filtering through my brain one by one.
Feeling unsteady, I lower myself onto a stool at the breakfast bar. I need to know more about him, but how? Opening a note on my phone, I make a list of what little information I have. His name is Derrick, he lives in Cape May, and he has some sort of connection to Sage and Salt. It's a paltry amount of information to work with, but it's all I've got. The only thing that I can do is put all the facts together and try to find a clue.
Grabbing my laptop, I open a new browser and type Derrick, New Jersey. Turns out there are a lot of Derricks in this state, so that goes nowhere.
Next, I look up Sage and Salt, and while there is a website with an online menu, there's little else to work with. I expect some sort of story about the cafe that might give me some clues, but the website is as minimalistic as possible.
I continue searching for nearly an hour, looking up every Derrick I can find, and checking out every online version of other restaurants in the area similar to Sage and Salt. None of it leads me anywhere, and the only thing that I end up with is a headache.
Closing the laptop, I sigh. This isn't going to work. Not if I want to know more about him before he comes back. And I do. I want to know his last name, how old he is, where he lives, what he does for a living. Anything. Everything.
And he's not going to give them to me easily.
As a matter of fact, a suspicion forms in my mind. Derrick isn't going to open up easily, and the more I think about it, the more it seems clear to me that the only way I'm going to get answers is if I push him. If I resist him.
It's risky and probably stupid, but it's my only option.
So, as the time nears 7 PM, I take a deep breath and send up a quick prayer that whatever I'm doing works.
Because if not? I don't know what will happen.
With absolutely zero information on where we're having dinner, I go with a flowy sundress, a cardigan to keep away the autumn chill, and a pair of ballet flats. At exactly seven, the doorbell rings, my waiting finally over.
I have a plan. It's not the best or even the smartest plan, but I'm going to stick to it.
Bracing myself, I open the door and find Derrick on the other side. He's dressed casually, a button-down shirt and slacks, and a leather jacket, and the sight of him makes my mouth water. God, he's gorgeous.
There's something hanging from his hand, too. Something that draws my eye more than anything else.
A blindfold.
"No," I say.
Derrick quirks an eyebrow at me. "I'm going to ask nicely, but not twice. Will you please wear this?"
"I..." I trail off, staring at the strip of black fabric, and feel heat lick through my body. It's an odd feeling—the way that the idea of wearing the blindfold, of being helpless and deprived of vision, sends shivers through me. "Why?"
"Because I'm a very private man, angel. And I'm going to be taking you to my home." He steps forward, fingers tracing over the line of my neck and jaw, making me inhale shakily. "It's not that I don't trust you, Alina. It's just a precaution."
"But..."
"But nothing. You're going to trust me, and when we get there, the blindfold will come off. And if you're a good girl for me, there's a reward."
Reward. Just like when I obeyed him before, and he told me his name.
The word, paired with the way he's looking at me, his dark eyes hot on my face, makes me want to agree immediately. There's something about the way he says that word, the way it rolls off his tongue, that makes my knees weak. My carefully laid plan, all the resistance I built up crumbles and blows away in the wind.