BLIND: A Mastermind Novel Read online

  “Tell me about your worst date,” he said.

  The way he didn’t ask, but confidently directed her to continue was arousing on a psychological level. It showed a desire to learn more about her, but at the same time gave him authority over the flow of conversation. Surprisingly, she found that attractive. She became a passenger in the journey of getting acquainted, which was easier than driving the conversation on her own.

  “There’ve been so many. I’m not sure I could pick the worst. Too many bad experiences vying for the title.” She laughed.

  “Your most recent then.”

  “Hmm… The last date I went on the guy did nothing but talk about himself.”

  “Did he have a car?”

  “Yes.”

  “A job?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was he dependent on someone other than himself?”

  “No.”

  “Yet he didn’t meet your standards.”

  “Well, yeah. A conversation requires two people. He wanted me to just sit there and listen to all his wonderful qualities.”

  “I see. So perhaps you should amend your standards and add that the man must take a personal interest in you.”

  “Well, that’s a given.”

  “Not necessarily. Had you clarified this, perhaps your friends could understand your aversion to this man.”

  He was right. Funny, with all of her standards, none of them had to do with her personally.

  “What are you thinking?”

  The sudden revelation made her sit forward. “I’m wondering when I took myself out of the equation.”

  “And have you found an answer?”

  She blinked, unable to pinpoint when exactly that happened. “I don’t know. Over time, the likelihood of finding a decent partner became so implausible, I guess I sort of lowered the bar.”

  “We should never lower our standards, Ms. Farrow. The world is full of people who accept what is and don’t expect anything different. Those that truly believe life can be better and dedicate their energy to proving the naysayers wrong are the people who improve life—for more than themselves. Never negotiate your personal ideals. Fight for them.”

  “Are you like a life coach or something?”

  He chuckled, the sound deep and gravelly. “No. I’m just a person who had to fight for his happiness. It took a lot for me to find contentment, and I’m conceited enough to pride myself on not giving up. Let’s discuss envy. In your letter you mention feeling like an outsider looking in. Have you always felt that way?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Even as a child?”

  She thought for a moment. “Well, no, not when I was really young. I was an only child, so for a while I was the center of my parents’ universe. I guess I started feeling like that when I became a teenager.”

  “Give me one word to describe your adolescent years.”

  “Fun.”

  He was quiet. She wished she had a more familiar name for him. “Mr. Stone?”

  “Yes, I’m here. I was recalling my own teenage years. My apologies—”

  “How would you describe yours?”

  He didn’t answer right away. “Tiresome. I started my business right out of high school, and found the entire public education experience to be an obstacle I was forced to endure. I had to walk through an experience I would have preferred to climb over. Tell me a fun memory from your teen years.”

  He didn’t seem to recall high school as a favorable time, so she tucked his comment away for later. “My friend, Nicole, she and I were on the cheer squad together. One time, after a game, we ended up at a party for the rivaling team. We were there for almost an hour before we realized the house didn’t belong to one of our classmates. Once we realized, we couldn’t get out of there fast enough. On the way out I tripped and knocked over an entire table, and drinks went flying everywhere. That was likely the moment the other school realized they had rivals on their territory. We couldn’t stop laughing, even though we needed to escape. When we made it to the car, Nicole was hysterical. She’d stolen the head of their mascot costume.”

  “Sounds like quite an adventure.”

  “The jocks from our school were in our debt for a long time. The head’s probably still mounted on the wall of my high school locker room.”

  ****

  Asher’s stomach tightened as he visualized the mascot head, recalling exactly where it had been mounted, unseeing eyes to every brutal attack he’d suffered in that locker room. Discussing high school with Scarlet and detecting the fondness in her voice was difficult. It reminded him how different they were.

  This was not someone new, but someone he’d known in a previous life, someone who’d hurt him. The more she intrigued him the easier it became to overlook their painful past interactions, but he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.

  His sole focus remained to rise above the boy he was to the sort of man a woman like Scarlet Farrow could appreciate. If he could accomplish that, those painful memories might not sting as much as they once did, because if she saw something strong and noble in him, he might actually be able to recognize such qualities in himself.

  He forced his voice to deepen, speaking in a tone lower than his usual octave. “What did you feel the moment you were spotted at that party? Do you remember?”

  She didn’t answer right away and he was establishing Scarlet Farrow was a woman who chose her words with careful consideration. “Excitement. Adrenaline. It wasn’t like they would’ve hurt us, but there was definitely fear of being caught, which we sort of were. It was… a rush.”

  “You like being seen,” he provided, recalling her confession about feeling invisible.

  “Sometimes. I think everyone goes through embarrassing moments they wish no one else saw.”

  “Indeed. Tell me a memory when you felt embarrassed.”

  The soft sound of her breath caressing the phone met his ear. “I tripped the day I interviewed at the school. I can be such a klutz at times. I’d just finished my interview with the board and packed up my portfolio. I thought everything, up until that moment, went well. As I was leaving my shoe caught on nothing at all and I went down with a bang.”

  “Describe the feeling.”

  “Well, there was the sensation of my knees crashing into the floor.”

  “But that’s not what hurt.”

  “No,” she said quietly.

  “Tell me the emotions. Describe how they affected your body and mind.”

  “My heart stopped, only for a second, but when it started again it did so with a punch strong enough to knock the wind out of me and flood my blood with adrenaline.”

  “Did you shake?”

  “Yes, more so in the minutes that followed.”

  He’d had that sensation many times. “That’s your survival skills kicking your pain receptors into overdrive. It’s a coping mechanism our bodies reflexively trigger when the brain experiences fear.”

  She laughed it off. “I don’t know why we react like that. Everyone trips from time to time—me more than most.”

  He didn’t want her to minimize it. It was important they address her vulnerabilities, imperative he understand how her mind processed her shortcomings, in order to better grasp her interpretation of self. “Perhaps it isn’t about the cause, but the effect.”

  “Well, yeah. I was on an interview. I was hoping to make the best impression and I ended up humiliating myself like a clod.”

  “Do you blush, Ms. Farrow? I imagine with your fair skin and red hair your pigment can be quite telling of your emotions.”

  “Oh, yeah. I blush, get hives when I cry, burn in the sun, it’s all part of the joys of being a redhead.”

  “I find your coloring exquisite.”

  Her voice turned small. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. There’s a paradoxical component to embarrassment. While there’s the reaction our body has in situations like the one you just described, there’s also similar
sensations triggered by positive attention. Our physical reactions mimic those of dreaded exposure; only the shame of failing social expectation is replaced with the pleasure of meeting it. Our bodies show the same symptoms, such as blushing and accelerated heart rate, yet we process them differently.”

  “Oh.”

  Simplifying his point, he went on. “Blushing’s the release of hormones into the bloodstream. Adrenaline touches the nervous system, widening the capillaries touching the skin. Do you blush when you’re aroused, Ms. Farrow?”

  Her laugh was soft and nervous. “I’m probably blushing now.”

  He eased back on his bed, his body tightening with desire as he imagined her doing the same. “Do words relating to sex embarrass you?”

  “I don’t think so. Not really.” Yet a nervous laugh escaped her anyway.

  His hand rested on his belly, unconsciously traveling lower as he whispered, “Sometimes we aren’t fully aware of our internal reactions and the emotions that stimulate them. I imagine discussing sex does embarrass you on some level. Thus your blushing. Sex equates to exposure. Exposure equals fear, which releases adrenaline, and thereby causes the capillaries in your cheeks to dilate.” There was no denying the effect the conversation was having on him. Realizing he was on the cusp of touching himself, he redirected his hand, trapping it under his head. “Would you agree?”

  “Yes.”

  He grinned. By her voice it was clear he was setting her off balance. “So the question remains, is sex something that triggers a pleasant form of embarrassment or an unpleasant one?”

  “Well, I’m not frigid. I find sex pleasant.”

  He noted his own physical symptoms. “Is your heart beating fast, Ms. Farrow?”

  Her shallow breaths rasped against the phone. “Yes.”

  “Why do you think that is?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you still feel invisible?”

  “No.”

  A grin slowly spread over his lips as his eyes closed at the small victory. He was doing this. He was actually speaking to Scarlet Farrow and—perhaps—arousing her. He continued to push. “Would you say you feel exposed?”

  “Yes.”

  “And yet we’re merely having a discussion about physiology.” He paused for a moment, allowing her to savor the effect of their discussion. “Pour yourself a glass of wine, Scarlet.”

  She laughed. “I’ve recently given up drinking.”

  “Only as a way to protect yourself from divulging too much personal information. One glass will calm you down without threatening your defenses.”

  His chest swelled with satisfaction at the rustling of movement. Never had he imagined he could dictate to a woman in such a manner, yet so long as he kept his voice calm and even, she followed every command. It was intoxicating. Such an intangible implication of power seemed to satisfy a need deep inside of him he hadn’t realized he possessed. The more she filled the void, the more aware he became of the hollowness he’d learned to ignore. Suffice it to say, he liked being in control very much.

  He chuckled as the pop of a cork sounded. “Assuming you still have wine in your home, I gather your vow of sobriety wasn’t intended for the long haul.”

  Her laugh was a throaty melody, rich with of amusement. “I guess not. There’s that pesky discipline you mentioned.”

  “Or lack thereof,” he teased. The soft tinkling of liquid filling a glass carried over the line. “What are you drinking?”

  “Merlot.”

  “Again, interesting that it was at the ready, not even needing a corkscrew from what I could hear.”

  She chuckled. “My convictions are weak in the face of my love for red wine.”

  He smiled, enjoying the light banter, and surprising himself when he impulsively gave into the playful teasing. “We’ll have to work on that.”

  As if suddenly realizing he was enjoying himself too much, he sobered. It was too easy to feel tenderly for her, those apparently hibernating emotions announcing themselves with an all too recognizable familiarity. But he needed to protect himself. It was time to say goodnight.

  “Before I say goodnight, I want you to do something for me.” She didn’t object so he went on. “I want you to contemplate your desire to no longer be invisible. Truly weigh what it is you’re asking. Being seen, exposing vulnerable parts of oneself, can often provoke unprecedented emotions. Be careful what you wish for, Ms. Farrow.”

  “Okay.” Her agreement came without pause. “I enjoyed talking with you tonight.”

  “I enjoyed myself as well. I’ll call you tomorrow evening at the same time.”

  He didn’t want to end their discussion, but in all his research he’d learned that the moment a romantic situation became predictable, the spell was broken. He needed to keep her guessing in order to keep her interested. “Goodnight, Ms. Farrow.”

  “Goodnight, Mr. Stone.”

  He disconnected the call and collapsed back on the bed releasing a long held breath. “Holy. Shit.” He’d done it. He’d actually talked to her and somehow managed to draw her interest. He couldn’t wait to tell the guys.

  Chapter Five

  Discipline

  “No pain no gain, Asher. Move it.”

  “I fucking hate you,” he hissed, oxygen pumping through his burning lungs like fire.

  Steve chuckled. “You wanted this.” The incline of the treadmill elevated as Steve reached over and increased the speed. “No one said beauty was painless.”

  Sweat burned his eyes behind his glasses as he mopped his brow with the back of his hand. His shirt drooped off his frame, saturated with perspiration. They’d been at it since six in the morning. Two hours later and he was amazed he still stood.

  His legs were jelly and his fingers tingled from exertion. The day started with a warm up, thirty minutes on the elliptical. From there they hit the weight bench and worked the upper body. Asher tried not to think about what other men his age could lift. He was slowly building up his strength and endurance, personifying the quintessential hare that would win the race.

  “One more mile.”

  Sure, one more mile, then his mid-morning meal, a short respite, and onto laps in the pool. When he asked Steve to totally redefine his physique, he hadn’t quite considered the pain that would come with such an undertaking.

  Having read numerous shapeshifter novels, his mind dwelled on the descriptions of bones snapping, ligaments popping, fluid muscles unraveling, until the body transformed into something animal. No author ever described it as painless, and he was certainly experiencing his fair share of agony.

  “So,” Steve said, balancing an elbow at the head of the machine. “I noticed you have a lot of romance novels laying around. Is that like a thing you’re into?”

  His body and mind were too tired to register embarrassment. “I’m doing some research,” he panted.

  “That’s cool. On what?”

  “Women. It’s sort of an experiment. This is all part of it.” Jesus, his legs were gonna fall off.

  Several times he’d considered giving up, but he’d never been one to back down from what he wanted—except with Scarlet, that is, but even then he’d gone after what he desired as avidly as he knew how. Too many times in life he’d been made to feel he wasn’t good enough, and had his physical limitations thrown in his face. He was sick of it.

  Growling with renewed determination, he grit his teeth and ran harder. Heat bathed his knees as he trudged on, the heavy footfalls over the racing band of the treadmill echoing through the exercise room.

  Only half a mile left. Then would come the high of having pushed himself a little further and a little harder than the day before. Slowly, but surely, he was improving.

  It might not seem like much to outsiders, but he could already sense a difference. The running was probably the easiest. Those damn mountain climber lunges Steve had him do yesterday, though…they were enough to drive a man insane.

  Every time his trainer demand
ed he drop into another burpee, Asher wanted to punch the guy right in the dick. He would have, too, if Steve wasn’t three times the size of him and capable of killing him with a flick.

  He was tired of being weak. It was time to be strong. Maybe not as strong as Steve, but he’d settle for an early Peter Parker post-bite build. Bruce Wayne would be his next goal. The dream was Wolverine, but he had to keep things realistic.

  The pace of the treadmill chugged and slowed as his cool down started. Sweat poured out of him as he slowly caught his breath. Steve was there, handing him a bottle of water, which he demolished in seconds flat.

  It turned out Steve was a decent guy. Asher was happy he hired him. He pushed him harder than anyone ever had, but when they weren’t working out and simply speaking, Steve was a nice person to talk to.

  It was a strange relationship. For as in awe as he was of the other man’s physique, Steve was equally in awe of Asher’s success.

  He asked lots of questions and confessed to finding Asher’s story inspirational, which gave him total confidence that Asher could successfully redefine his physical form. That helped because there were definitely moments Asher thought he was attempting the impossible.

  The machine beeped. “Awesome job, Ash. Take a load off.”

  Asher stumbled off the machine and collapsed on the matted floor. His chest heaved with each enormous draught of breath. Steve wiped down the machine and tossed him a towel to mop up his sweat.

  “Ash?”

  At the sound of company Asher mumbled gibberish. His brain was as fried as his body. “He’s down here,” Steve answered, laughing.

  Elliot entered the gym. “Holy crap. What did you do with all your stuff?”

  Lifting a hand and letting it fall weakly to the floor, he whimpered and pointed like a cadaver in the direction of the closet. Elliot frowned at him then asked Steve, “Is he all right?”

  “He’s fine. He’s just being dramatic. I’m gonna go see about getting you some food. You want me to tell Carla to set it up in the dining room?”

  “Yeah.” It was too difficult to speak in complete sentences.