I Married a Master(30)
Author: Melanie Marchande

She shrugged, uncomfortably. "I don’t know, Jen. I don’t think there’s always an easy answer for that."

"Sorry, is that…rude?" I turned my gaze back down to my hands, feeling foolish. "I just don’t know. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m not saying I’d ask someone to give it up, I just want to understand. Is it recreational fun, or is it part of somebody’s sexual identity?"

Maddy half-smiled. "I think you’re asking the wrong person."

Shaking my head, I pushed my chair back. "I can’t possibly ask him any of this. We barely know each other."

"He doesn’t seem very shy," Maddy said, standing up. "I think it’s worth a shot, if you really want to know what makes him tick."

Chapter Twelve

Jenna

What makes him tick.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. But I needed to know, for some reason that I couldn’t quite explain. The questions had wormed their way into my brain and wouldn’t let go until I had answers.

Later on, I found myself slipping into my nicest dress, brushing my hair, touching up my makeup. Just like I was preparing for a date. Like I had to impress him. Hell, the guy had already proposed to me. What was I after, exactly?

We hadn’t agreed on a time, so I waited as long as I could. Staring at the blank wall where I should probably have a TV, but I still hadn’t bothered to buy one. When the anxious vibrations in my chest reached a fever pitch, I dumped my essentials into my nice purse and headed for the door.

Halfway there, I saw him across the street. Hands in his pockets, dressed like he was yesterday, before he started slowly unraveling. I wondered if he’d been into work today, even though it was a weekend. Probably. He certainly hadn’t spent the day staring at a blank wall and worrying about what he was going to say when we saw each other.

"I was coming to pick you up," he explained, when I reached him on the sidewalk. "Realized I didn’t have your number."

There was something hesitant in the way he spoke, like he was biting back something he really wanted to say. Probably what the hell? Because unless he’d dug into his browser history and figured out what I did, what I saw, there was no particular explanation for why I suddenly ran off just as the sun was coming up.

"Yeah," I said. "I realized that too."

I wasn’t going to mention that I realized it because I was planning on canceling. It was too late for that now.

He was like something out of a catalog, walking beside me, long strides showing off the perfect cut of his pants. Even though it was still balmy outside, he wore his jacket to complete the look. I had to admit, if he was going to play dominant, at least he dressed the part. There was something about a well-dressed man that primed you to say yes, Sir.

Social conditioning. But in his case, there was something more to it.

Even with his tie off and his sleeves rumpled up past his elbows, he exuded a certain authority. Maybe especially like that. Because it was clear, then, that he wasn’t just relying on some kind of costume. He was born into this role. He commanded hundreds, maybe thousands of people, on a daily basis. People couldn’t say no to him. He snapped his fingers, they obeyed.

He didn’t know how to be any other way.

We reached his place in silence, and it wasn’t until I was in the massive foyer that I realized I had no idea what to say to him. But apparently, I didn’t have to. He headed for the library and gestured for me to follow him – a little twitch of his fingers, but unmistakable, and needing no words.

Without questioning, I followed him.

He sat down behind his desk, and I took my seat across from him. I felt like I’d been called into the principal’s office. It was tempting, terribly tempting, to just get up and run away. I didn’t want to talk about this. I didn’t want to explain myself, or hear his justifications for why he was the way he was.

"I know you left for a reason," he said. "So, just tell me."

Taking a deep breath, I watched him carefully for his reaction. Now or never.

"I saw something on your computer."

There was a moment of heart-stopping silence before he reacted.

He grinned. "You were snooping."

"I wasn’t snooping." Immediately, I felt defensive, folding my arms across my chest. "I just pulled up your bookmarks. I was curious."

"In what universe does that not count as snooping?" He raised his eyebrows. "A man’s bookmarks are private. That’s like somebody looking through your purse."

Cringing, I shrunk slightly in my seat. I knew he was right. If I caught him doing something similar to me, I’d kill him. So much for Maddy’s assertion that he’d be the one on the defensive. I made the choice to delicately ignore his implication that I wouldn’t understand the concept of privacy, unless he drew an analogy to something uniquely feminine.

Ugh.

"Who lets somebody use their computer without logging into a guest account first?" I challenged.

He just smirked. "Somebody who trusts his fellow humans."

I couldn’t stop myself from rolling my eyes. "Am I supposed to believe that’s you?"

"What, do you think I set this up?" He made a who, me? gesture with open palms. "You’re the one who asked to use my computer."

"No, you offered," I corrected him.

He smirked. "Yeah, I did. Silly me. Thinking you wouldn’t go digging through my bookmarks like you were looking for blackmail material." Leaning back in his chair, he looked at me, his face growing serious. "I know what you saw, Jenna. And I know it pissed you off for some reason, because you tried to sneak away at the crack of dawn. But I don’t know why, and I can’t know unless you tell me."

Really? Was it not obvious to him?

I was still struggling to find the words to explain something so basic. How could he not get it?

"Was I not clear enough about the strictly platonic nature of this arrangement?" he prompted. "It shouldn’t matter to you if I’m into balloon-popping or eyeball-licking." He paused. "I’m not, by the way. In case you were wondering. The point being that even if I was, it wouldn’t matter, unless you have a policy against doing business without people whose paraphilias don’t exactly match up with your own."

I could feel my lips pulling into a thin, disapproving line. It must look terrible, like I was some kind of disapproving schoolmarm judging him for things that were none of my business. But I couldn’t just pretend like it didn’t bother me.

"At least licking someone’s eyeballs isn’t demeaning," I said.

He blinked, but his expression didn’t change. After a moment, he stood up, walking into the hallway. I stared after him, wondering if he was really just going to pretend like I hadn’t spoken.