Make Me: Twelve Tales of Dark Desire Read online

  After that, she went home—alone.

  The next day she slept in, shopped for groceries, which now sat rotting in her refrigerator, and worked the closing shift. Had she known it was her last full day of freedom, she would have spent it in a more productive manner: visiting with friends, enjoying a crowd at the mall, or calling her sister. Claire wondered if Anthony returned to the bar that day. She didn’t think so, but she did remember his call that evening…

  *

  —About a week ago—March 16—

  The call surprised Claire. After their talk the night before and her refusal to see him for food, she never expected to hear from him again, yet the call came as the seats around the bar were beginning to fill. Her boss didn’t appreciate personal calls at slow times of the day, much less during busy times. “Hello, this is Claire. May I help you?”

  “Good evening, Claire.” Her heart skipped a beat, immediately recognizing the deep, husky voice that accompanied the handsome, dark-haired, dark-eyed man.

  “Anthony?”

  First a chuckle, then, “I’m impressed. You have a wonderful memory for voices.”

  Well, yeah, when they accompany people like you. “Thank you, I talk with people for a living. I’m surprised you called. Did you forget or leave something?”

  “Well, yes and no.”

  The manager walked toward her. She covered the phone and whispered, “Customer from yesterday looking for something.” He turned away and walked to the kitchen.

  “Okay, if you let me know what it is, I can look around and call you back. First, let me get your number.”

  “Oh, you definitely have my number. First, I think you should know what I left.” Claire waited impatiently. He sounded mysterious, but there were people waiting.

  Finally, he said, “You, Claire—”

  Her cheeks flushed. “Excuse me?”

  “I’ve been thinking about you and would be honored if you’d agree to accompany me to dinner.”

  Claire’s mind scrambled. She tried to think, but the bar was filling with patrons all looking to her for service. Anthony was waiting for her to respond. Last night, he was so handsome and charming. The prospect of someone like him, older and successful, taking the time to call her after a few hours of chatting was flattering. She worked to sound resilient, “I’m sorry, I work until close. That’s too late for dinner.”

  “Someone named Crystal, who answered the telephone earlier, said you work the early shift tomorrow. Or will you turn me down again and send me home heartbroken?”

  Claire sighed. This was outside of her comfort zone, but then again, she didn’t want to be responsible for sending some poor, successful, gorgeous businessman home heartbroken. “I’m supposed to get off tomorrow at 6:00 PM, but if you recall from last night, it isn’t always prompt. I could be ready by 7:00 PM, if that isn’t too late?”

  His tone sounded lighter and quicker, “Wonderful. Should I pick you up at the Red Wing or your place?”

  Oh God, she wasn’t ready for him to know where she lived. “I can meet you—”

  He cut her off. “I’m sure you can, but let me pick you up in style. I’ll see you at 7:00 PM at the Red Wing. We’re going to Chez Czar, until tomorrow, Claire.” The telephone disconnected.

  For the next sixty to seventy minutes, the barrage of orders and customers needing pacification kept her mind from fully registering her actions. She’d accepted an invitation to one of the most exclusive dining spots in Atlanta, with someone she barely knew. She broke her no dating a customer rule and her no going in the same car on a first date rule; however, just maybe, the first date was in the booth at the Red Wing. Then this would officially be the second date—which was totally acceptable. Oh my, what would she wear?

  The next morning, she didn’t have much time; however, after shaving her legs, Claire decided to swing by Greenbriar Mall and see if Macy’s had anything appropriate for an evening with a man like Anthony Rawlings, in her price range. It turned out there was nothing for free, but she did find a simple black dress on its second markdown. It was shorter than she normally wore, but it fit, and she didn’t have time to be picky. After a quick run through Burlington’s, she purchased a pair of simple black heeled sandals. These items, accompanied by a black cotton half sweater, she had at home, would be perfect for a cool spring evening.

  March 17th was a bigger holiday in the bar business than Christmas. Thankfully, Claire’s shift ended at 6:00 PM. She wanted to be gone before the holiday crowd hit the Red Wing. St. Patrick’s Day bestowed a claim of Irish roots on each patron, all anxiously awaiting their share of the green beer. By 6:15 PM, she was officially clocked out, with her register balanced. In the back of the bar, was a small locker room where the female employees kept their purses, coats, and extra clothes. Opening her locker, Claire pulled out the black dress.

  After changing her clothes and stuffing her Red Wing T-shirt and jeans back into the locker, she looked at herself in the mirror. Twisting and turning, her uneasiness came out in her reddened cheeks. This wasn’t her. She was jeans, T-shirts, and tennis shoes. Pushing forward, she added eyeliner, mascara, and lip-gloss. That, accompanied by a quick brush through her hair, was as good as it would get.

  Judging by the hoots from both sides of the bar when she entered the front of the Red Wing, she did all right. “Check you out, hot stuff. Where ya going all dolled up?” This flirting tone was one of the many voices from Claire’s manager repertoire.

  Feeling playful, she decided to respond all Southern belle, “Why, sir”—the syllables drawn-out—“I don’t know what you mean.” He raised his eyebrows and stared. “Well, goodness gracious, I do have a little ’ole date with a tall, dark, handsome stranger.”

  A few minutes later, a shiny black Porsche pulled up to the front of the bar. “See y’all later. Don’t wait up.” The coworkers behind the bar did some more hoot’n and holler’n as Claire smiled and the voices faded into the sounds of the night on the other side of the door.

  Anthony got out of the driver’s side. His perfectly tailored light-colored Armani suit validated the purchase of her new black dress. Chivalrously, he kissed her hand and escorted her around to the passenger’s door. At the time, Claire believed that the simple act was the most elegant gesture she’d ever experienced.

  Being a four-star authentic Italian restaurant in the heart of Atlanta, Chez Czar had a reputation for being continually booked. Claire wondered how they could possibly have reservations on such short notice; however, as soon as they arrived the hostess greeted them warmly and guided them to a premium table.

  When the waiter arrived with menus, Anthony immediately asked for their best bottle of Batasiolo Barolo. After the waiter departed, Claire began to look at the menu. She couldn’t help notice there were no prices. What did that mean? When she looked up from behind the large leather-bound folder, Anthony was looking at her—not his menu. Once again, Claire felt her cheeks flush. “Do you already know what you want?” she asked.

  “I believe I do.” He reached for her menu. Claire released it, although she hadn’t had a chance to really see her choices. The whole no price thing had her a little be-fuddled. “And, I can’t see you behind that big menu.” Claire smiled. She’d never met a man like Anthony. She felt like she had his full attention, which was nice, but a little unsettling. When the waiter returned with the wine, he poured a small amount into a glass. Anthony tasted the liquid and replied, “Ahh, yes.” The waiter poured two glasses.

  Claire wondered if this was the type of service people talk about on cruise ships. Goodness knows people weren’t treated like this at the Red Wing or Applebee’s for that matter. Before she realized what happened, Anthony had ordered dinner. Tentatively, she replied “Well, thank you.”

  “Don’t you like Caesar salad and shrimp linguine?” he asked, dismayed.

  “Oh, I do. It’s just, no one has ever ordered for me without first asking me my preference.” Claire thought to herself, But then again, I
have never met anyone like you.

  The tips of his lips moved upward and his eyes shone. “If you don’t like your food, we can certainly send it back for something else.”

  As soon as the linguine arrived at the table and the aroma of garlic and butter penetrated her senses, Claire knew the taste would be even better. When the shrimp touched her tongue, she relished the seasoned flavor. Anthony was incredibly charming and polite. After dinner, as they waited for the valet, he gently placed his arm around her waist. He was much taller than she realized at the Red Wing. Leaning down to her ear, he whispered, “May I kiss you?”

  Feeling the unstoppable sensation of his stare, Claire only nodded. When his soft and full lips touched hers, she momentarily felt the rest of the world disappear. It ended too soon as he pulled away and smiled; Claire’s cheeks flushed. Once they were alone in the car, he asked, “Are you ready to go back to the Red Wing, or should I take you to your home?” As Claire contemplated her options, he offered her a third alternative, “Or would you like to join me in my suite, perhaps for some more wine, or we could call room service for dessert?”

  Smiling, she responded, “I like dessert.”

  The hotel’s foyer was exquisite—marble floors, large glowing chandeliers, and huge floral arrangements. Claire tried to not look around. She’d never entered such an exclusive establishment. His suite at the Ritz Carlton was as large as an apartment. Once inside, he remained suave and sensual with deep dark brown eyes. His glance transfixed her, giving her the sensation of chocolate, dark and melted. Although she didn’t know him that well, she agreed to romance and sexual pleasures. Something about him made her break all her own rules. He was prepared, romantic, and attentive.

  After midnight Claire lifted her head to meet Anthony’s soft gaze. “I really need to go home.” Claire enjoyed the soft 700-count sheets a little too much. “I don’t want to disturb you, so I can get a taxi downstairs.” When she started to shift away, he gently reached for her arm.

  “If I promise you a ride in the morning, would you consider some more dessert?” Anthony’s expression, as well as another of his features, informed Claire he wanted her to choose the dessert.

  She knew she wasn’t scheduled to be at work the next day. “I don’t want to disrupt your schedule. I’m sure you’re busy.”

  “I promise this is not a disruption. And maybe after more dessert, we could have another glass of wine. There is still some in the bottle from room service.” The last time she looked at a clock, it was 1:15 AM.

  Even at that moment, Claire didn’t realize the consequence of their napkin agreement.

  As Claire lay on the sofa recalling the events that led her to this place and this situation, she couldn’t recall traveling. She remembered a car but couldn’t recall any other part of this house. She couldn’t remember any other memories of Atlanta. That time—1:15 AM—was her last conscious memory of her life.

  From the other windows near the bed, she saw only trees. Because she couldn’t see more of the house, Claire decided she must be at the end of the dwelling. Even if her windows opened, they were high off the ground. If she tried to jump, from this height she’d break something. Each morning the skies lightened to shades of gray and in the evening they darkened too soon. Keeping track of days became difficult.

  Staring out at the unfamiliar landscape, Claire questioned her location. She told herself when Catherine returned she’d ask where they were. Catherine didn’t come—the young non-English speaking man came and went. Day after day, no one came to talk to her. The food came and the room was cleaned. Clothes were miraculously washed and returned to her closet or drawers, but no person was ever seen. She was alone. The isolation was hell. It may not leave physical markings, but there was no question, in Claire’s mind, it was a neater form of Anthony’s abuse.

  Although Claire wasn’t a TV watcher and the TV in her suite didn’t receive many stations, she did check the news each day to learn the date. On April 2, she finally heard a repeated knock at the door.

  During her thirteen days of isolation Claire learned a few key things. First, after two or three days she realized the weather channel would do local weather. The first time she sat to watch, she stared stunned. The midnight announcer, Shelby, graduated from Valparaiso the year before her. Claire watched in disbelief. Why was Shelby on the Weather Channel while she was being held prisoner in a house in Iowa? The local weather came from Iowa City, Iowa.

  Claire discovered her windows faced southeast. This was discovered on one of the few days during which the sun actually shone. Though the hours of sunshine grew in length by minutes each day, the outside still looked cold. With the insulated windows and warm fireplace, Claire’s only knowledge of outdoor temperature remained Shelby and her coanchors.

  As a means of escape, Claire turned to reading. The built-in bookcases were filled with current bestsellers. There were series and individual books. When she was a child she loved to read, but life had become too busy. That no longer seemed to be a problem.

  Claire also discovered a small refrigerator continually stocked with water and fruit. No one asked what she wanted to eat and truly she wasn’t hungry. There wasn’t anything for her to do to build an appetite. Each day she showered, dressed, and primped a little. Her initial rebellion became meaningless with no one to rebel against. One positive with each passing day, her bruises faded from red, to blue, to purple, to green, to a now very indistinct yellow.

  The knock came again. Food usually entered after the first knock; this person was waiting for an invitation. Claire didn’t think it was Anthony—he didn’t knock. Could it be Catherine?

  Slowly, she approached the door, and asked, “Yes? Who’s there?” The anticipation of actually hearing a voice stimulated her as she waited for a response.

  Disappointment to a noble soul is what cold water is to burning metal. It strengthens, tempers, intensifies, but never destroys it

  —Unknown

  Chapter Five

  ‡

  “Ms. Claire, may I come in?”

  Claire’s heart leaped. The woman she barely knew was the one person Claire prayed would come to her each of the last thirteen days. Excited to use her voice again, she said, “Yes, Catherine, please come in.” It wasn’t as though Claire could open the door from her side. Claire heard the beep.

  Catherine opened the door and smiled sadly at Claire. Claire wanted to hug her, but something in Catherine’s eyes said, “No, not now. I wasn’t able to come up here before.” It was as if she spoke, yet her lips never moved.

  “Ms. Claire, you seem…well rested. I have a message for you.” Claire nodded, anticipating the message from Anthony. “Mr. Rawlings will be coming to see you tonight. He will be late in the city. He said to expect him between 9:00 PM and 10:00 PM.”

  Claire looked at the clock near the bed. It was only 4:35 PM. “Okay.” She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t exactly refuse his entering. He didn’t ask, only proclaimed. “Will we be dining?”

  “You’ll dine alone. His arrival will be too late for dinner.” Catherine looked as though she wanted to say more, but knew better. Maybe someday Claire hoped she would be like that—know better. Then again, hopefully, she would be out of here before then.

  “Catherine, could you please help me prepare?”

  “No, miss. I’m sorry, but your attire and presentation are to be of your own doing.” Catherine turned to leave the suite.

  “Please wait. Catherine, can’t you please stay and talk to me, even for a little while? After all, we have five hours before Mr. Rawlings will arrive.”

  “I must go, but may I say, you look beautiful? I like your face…well—ah…clear.” Catherine smiled a real and tender smile and exited the suite.

  Somehow Claire knew it was a mind game. He was testing her to see how she would dress, look, and act. He was also testing her to determine if the mere promise of his presence caused uneasiness. She decided this examination was an opportunity to re
spond to her circumstances—instead of react. He would take her body. That reality had been made painfully clear; however, she would not let him have her mind. He wanted her to spend the next five hours alone, dreading his arrival, filled with fear and trembling. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

  Claire had five hours to prove she was in control of her life—if not to him, then at least to herself. She walked into her closet and, like a general selecting soldiers, perused the racks and shelves selecting an outfit that would bolster her self-confidence. She found it—a black dress with a long flowing skirt. The idea of being near him in a dress made her queasy, but she liked the boldness.

  With each flash of the mascara, or zip of the flowing black satin dress, she reviewed her decision. Escape from this room was not possible. The only way to get out of here was to concede to whatever he demanded and find another path. Looking at herself in the mirror, Claire straightened her neck, righted her shoulders, and confirmed her mission. She had tried physically fighting. It had been counterproductive and only seemed to intensify Anthony’s resolve. She needed to yield—temporarily—to his demands in order to access a means of exodus. Completing her hairstyle, she dissected her plan. It may have seemed like surrender, but her gut told her that resigning to him, with a straight face and experiencing the effects of her verbalization, took more control than the pleas, accusations, and fighting of two weeks earlier.

  At 8:45 PM Claire buckled the Jimmy Choo sandals and stood before the mirror. She looked the part; she just needed to perform it. With each tick of the clock her nerves wreaked havoc with her stomach. The meal she’d consumed hours ago threatened to revolt.