Reading Her Heart Page 3

  "Read to me, Mr. Benjamin," she said with all the imperiousness she could muster.

  He responded with silence. She sensed something in the quiet space and knew he was looking at her, waiting on her. Let him wait, she thought, torn between indignation and outrage. But she said—quite over her internal objections and despite her reluctance—"Please."

  So he did.

  *****

  Nick started at the beginning, never even asking how far she had progressed on her own before the infection had made study impossible. She thought to stop him and redirect him to the last scene she could remember clearly. It had something to do with a girl named Ophelia, but she wasn't quite sure how that character fit into the story. In fact, she wasn't too sure how any of the characters fit into the story. But she was sure she didn't want to interrupt the sound of his voice.

  It flowed over and around her like a cozy blanket and wrapped her securely. She felt warm and feather light and relaxed for the first time in days. It was like listening to music, though not the kind that made you frantic to dance or the kind that encouraged you to sing along at the top of your voice. Not even like the background of some Masterpiece Theater presentation. More like—more like the music water makes flowing over and around rocks in a mountain stream, with autumn leaves floating on the surface until they are caught in a whirlpool and whisked down or spit away in a riot of last-minute color.

  Andee shook herself mentally. Where had a thought like that come from? And why had she never had a similar poetic idea when it would have come in handy for an assigned essay?

  His baritone melted to a stop, and there was a long silence between them. She felt him move, only because the air around her shifted the slightest bit, and then she heard a click.

  "I've turned off the recorder, Miss Carlisle. Can you rewind it, or shall I?" he asked.

  "What? Why would I —"

  "So you can review what we've covered so far. I had the feeling you drifted away from me for a little while. That's understandable. It's hard to absorb too much at a time. But I trust you'll go back over the material. We're up to Scene II. Any questions?"

  "Wait," she said a little breathlessly, unaware she had reached out in an unconscious gesture to give weight to her word until her fingers brushed his arm. Then she drew back, as though she had encountered fire. "How did you do that?"

  "Do what?"

  "The voices. I could tell when the characters changed, even without you saying their names. I knew who was talking from the sound of your voice, although there wasn't really all that much difference between them, on the surface, at least. When I was reading it myself, I hated the way it went back and forth between those soldiers to begin with. I couldn't keep them straight, and I couldn't concentrate on what they were saying for worrying about who was saying it. But it almost made sense when you read it. Maybe—maybe you should go on."

  He laughed and the sound was a peculiar comfort to her. "Not today. It's been a hard morning for you. Besides, I've stayed past my contract already, and it's almost time for your friend to be home to take care of your lunch. I'll call you tonight after you've had time to rest and think about it. I hope you'll listen again, and record any questions you think of. Then decide if you want to go on with this."

  She stood up slowly and heard him rise, as well, shuffling something that she assumed was a book or a tablet and something metallic. Maybe a pen. They moved toward the door, her steps more confident than they had been since she lost her vision. She was strangely reluctant to have him leave.

  "Will it be like this if you come back again?" she asked, reaching for the familiar doorknob but angling her body slightly towards where she sensed he stood, to her right and a little behind her.

  "Like what, Miss Carlisle?"

  "You know." She found it necessary to moisten her lips before she could form the words, and then the ones that poured out horrified her. "All strict and stuff."

  There was a silence. Then she felt his warm fingers beneath her chin and he turned her head gently toward him, toward where she knew he was looking her full in the face, a face that must surely somehow be conveying the riot of new and intense emotions and slightly shameful physical reactions that were not altogether foreign, but were far more intense than anything she had ever experienced before.

  She swallowed a gulp and waited, her heart suddenly pounding.

  "Yes, Miss Carlisle. That is exactly how it will be. All strict and stuff." He let her absorb the implications. "If you make it necessary, and I rather assume it is in your nature to test me on that. So keep this in mind as you deliberate your future. I will hold you accountable. And you've only gotten a mild taste of how effectively I can do that."

  A voice in his head told him he was playing with fire, but he knew himself, knew his limits, knew his expectations and knew his moral code. He sensed a chance to help Miss Carlisle do more than get her diploma, but he couldn't offer her his help under false pretenses. She needed to understand something of the parameters involved, deserved the opportunity to make her own decision based on that knowledge. He held his breath, waiting for her answer.

  "Then I don't—that is, I'm not sure—I mean, what if…"

  "It's up to you, Miss Carlisle. I have a good idea what you are capable of and what it will take to get you to the place you need to be, but you are the only one who can decide if you're willing to make the journey," he said, pleased he had been able to impart that much without revealing his own inner turmoil.

  Then he was gone.

  Chapter Three

  It was a good hour before she curled up on the futon with the recorder. During the interim, Leila had stopped by with pizza and offered to do some quick pick-up jobs around the apartment, but Andee declined.

  "I can do that myself," she said. "I'm not completely helpless."

  Leila received that news with a raised eyebrow, since helpless was precisely how her friend had chosen to play the game to that point. "So, what have you done this morning? Napped?"

  "Of course not," she said. "As a matter of fact, Mr. Benjamin came by and we talked about whether or not he would be able to do the job."

  The reason for the blush that rose in Andee's cheeks was a mystery to Leila, but the newly blind girl was simply replaying a picture in her mind's eye of just how effectively Mr. Benjamin had handled the job thus far.

  "So what did you decide?"

  "Well, he practically begged me for a chance, poor thing. I think he must need the work. I guess I can put up with it, and maybe he'll even be a help when it comes to reading the test."

  "Great. Then you're going to really make an effort at this? It's not going to be a half-a—"

  "No. Not at all," Andee said quickly, somehow a little distressed that Leila should introduce such coarse speech into the very room where Mr. Benjamin had spoken with such authority and impeccable use of language. "Go on back to whatever you need to do. I'll be fine. I'm a little tired and I think I want a nap after all."

  She walked to the door with surprising confidence and opened it, leaving Leila slightly taken aback. The busy student wasn't about to argue, however. There was too much on her afternoon schedule to allow for discussion of any more tasks she might do for her friend, and she was relieved the housekeeping offer had been declined. Andee seemed in far better spirits than at any time over the last two days, so that was a plus, too.

  "Well, okay, if you're certain. I'll see you around six."

  "Fine. I'll be here, I'm sure," Andee said, but there was less self-pity in her tone than Leila had become accustomed to hearing.

  Alone once more, she had made her way back to the kitchen table with ease, except for the moment she came close to stumbling over the jacket lying directly in her path. Stooping to pick it up, she wondered if it had been there when Mr. Benjamin came in. She wondered what else was out of place or dirty or a revelation of something about her life she would prefer to keep secret. She hoped he wouldn't judge her too harshly for the condition of her li
ving space, and then wondered why she cared.

  With recorder and a fresh can of Diet Coke in hand, she traipsed confidently back to the futon and settled in with the pizza, drink and machine. The first act of Hamlet unfolded as she munched on pepperoni and mushrooms. His voice filled the space around her. She could almost smell the rain again. Almost sense his presence. Almost feel his hand—

  "No!" she gasped into the stillness, when that odd little tickle started just south of her belly button. She couldn't think about that. Wouldn't think about that. Found it impossible to think about anything else. Finally giving in to the memory, she replayed every shameful, awful, terrible, tingly moment in her mind.

  He had spanked her—although she could hardly let the word form even silently in her brain. Something no one else had ever done, or come close to doing. Something she had thought about someone doing once. All right. More than once. A dozen times. A hundred times. Almost nightly for the past twelve years.

  She drew into a tighter ball and indulged in a wide-awake dream about the reality that still stunned her. Andee would have given anything to see him. No, no—that was the last thing in the world she wanted to do. She could never, ever look at a man who had done that to her. He would know in a minute, if he ever saw her eyes, how desperately she wanted to be treated just as he had dared treat her, and how thoroughly indignant and completely horrified she was that it had happened.

  What if Leila found out? What if Alex ever discovered her secret, or Brittney figured out what was going on? What if—what if—it never happened again?

  Then she would be immensely relieved and pretend it had never taken place at all, and she would make sure no one else ever knew about her terrible needs or her obsessive dreams. She would tell Mr. Nicholas Benjamin, quite forcefully, when he called, that she did not require his services and he was never to come round again. Except that the sound of his voice on the recorder was overcoming the shame-making little drawl in her head, and she knew she wasn't strong enough to make that speech just yet.

  Instead, she stretched out on her side on the futon, pulled the covers up to her chin, and listened to him all the way through. And then twice through again before she drifted off into a warm and peaceful sleep, one hand cupped gently around the curve of her recently warmed bottom.

  *****

  Andee Carlisle was the first girl he had spanked in almost three years. The first twenty-something he had smacked in about fifteen. And the only female whose bottom he had swatted without implied consent since he was a teenager himself and was still learning how to deal with his obsession, some forty years ago. Merciful gods, he thought, that would have been years before the little brat was even born.

  At home again, with the electrified emotional atmosphere that had influenced his earlier thoughts and actions removed, Nick wondered if he had made a mistake that could cost him more than his job. Buckley Resources' assignments fit nicely into his schedule and enabled him to finance some small luxuries in life he would not otherwise have enjoyed, but he could do without the work, or could find other part-time employment.

  However, if Miss Carlisle became distraught or indignant enough to tell her father, or her boyfriend, or virtually anyone else what had happened between them, there could be a resulting uproar that would destroy the thing he valued most in his life at the moment. And that was his career as a writer.

  His self-published stories were selling better than ever before, and he was stretching himself as an author. Every volume had memorable characters his readers could recall with either genuine affection or intense disdain, plus, his books featured strong and intriguing plots. A year ago, he had been contacted by an agent who had read his eBooks and wanted to sell him to a major publishing house. Three of them had bid on the volume he had just finished at the time and he had signed a deal with the most generous and respected of the trio for that book and at least three more in a series.

  The money was a nice plus in his bank account, but it was seeing his work on a shelf in the window of a well-known bookseller that had given him the deepest creative satisfaction he had ever experienced. If he had done something to jeopardize that—

  There was only one thing to do, he knew. Call the young lady, apologize if he detected any hint of distress and tell her he regretted being unable to return to help her with her class. He would mention the name of another Buckley reader and encourage her to call the office and ask that Belinda Hamilton be assigned to her. He could not risk a second such scene. And he knew himself well enough to realize that, when little Miss Carlisle provoked him—and she would, he was quite certain of that—he could react in only one way. Better to remove the temptation now than risk destroying his reputation and career.

  Yes, he would call and set the situation to rights immediately, he thought, putting the last of his recently washed and dried dinner dishes carefully away.

  This time, she answered immediately, a little breathless, he thought, although he knew that wasn't exactly it. Precisely how to define her tone eluded him, however, and nagged at the back of his mind.

  "Miss Carlisle, I know I promised you time to think about whether or not you wanted to proceed, but I've had a—well, a complication—and I don't think I'll be able to come back. So I'm recommending—"

  "What do you mean? You said I had to do this. You said you'd help me." Her voice took on an anxious tone.

  "Yes, I did. And I meant it, but something's come up, as I said. I don't want you to worry, though. I've thought of a reader, someone new to Buckley that I sort of overlooked when I was singing my own praises this morning. Actually, though, I think you will be very pleased with Miss Hamilton. She is a recent graduate herself, an English major, I believe. So she has just the background you need. In fact, I'm surprised Mrs. Coatsworth didn't select her to begin with. You'll get along fine, I'm sure."

  "We won't."

  "You will."

  "I said, we won't. I'm not having her. You already started with me, and I'm used to you, and I'm not changing because it's not fair. If you send her over here I won't let her in the door, I won't even open it with the chain on, or talk to her on the phone."

  "Careful, Miss Carlisle. You're getting all worked up over nothing."

  "Nothing! What the he-heck do you mean 'nothing'?"

  He grimaced and moved the phone away from his ear. This was not the direction he had foreseen their conversation taking.

  "I think you know better than to speak to me in that tone of voice, young lady. Or to even think about using language like that."

  "I didn't say it," she said, her voice slightly petulant. "I didn't say anything bad. I want to, though. And it's your fault. Oh, you make me so mad."

  He had an image of Andee stamping her foot again and grinned in spite of himself. He'd give a lot to have her within arm's reach so he could give her a brisk little reminder to govern her reactions. The image barely had time to register before he shook himself and forced his mind back to the conversation.

  "Now, Miss Carlisle, I know we got off to a rocky start, but I have every confidence you can handle this assignment if given a capable reader, and that's what I called to offer you. But I can tell the idea of change has upset you, and I apologize."

  He waited for her to deny his assessment, but there was only silence. Inexplicably, he found himself doing a total about face and rushing to fill the void. "Look, maybe I can do some shifting around. It's possible I could work this out after all." He listened to his own voice in growing amazement, powerless to stop his tongue from forming words his brain rejected as utterly foolish. "Provided you're willing to give more than one hundred percent effort." He finished with a challenge, hoping he had managed to preserve some dignity.

  He waited again. She was quiet for far too long. He discovered, much to his chagrin, that he was holding his breath.

  Finally, "You said it was up to me. You said I had to decide if I wanted to make the journey," she said in a voice that trembled just slightly. "Well, I decided, and
now you're trying to back out on me."

  "No, I'm not. Really. It's not that, at all."

  "It sure sounds like that's what it is."

  Her voice was full of accusation, but it was the distress of a small child. It tore at his heart. He had to clear his throat before he could speak, and then he did it in a rush.

  "All right, well, fine then—I'll do some juggling and try to work this out, and I'll see you in the morning at nine. I don't want to add to any emotional stress in your life. But, I'm warning you, you must be prepared to work very hard, Miss Carlisle. I'll expect your best after all this. Now, good night."

  Her voice was very soft again, not exactly breathless as he had first thought, more little-girl trembly—yes, that was it—so he wasn't certain he heard her correctly. Not certain, at all. In fact, he was probably very, very wrong. After all, it had been quite a while since anyone had suggested that he "sleep tight".

  *****

  Andee's iron grip on her phone lasted a full minute after the connection was broken. She tapped its plastic corner gently against the side of her mouth, which was curved in a soft smile. Until she replayed the conversation in her mind.

  "Oh, my gawds," she moaned. "I am such an idiot."

  What must he think of her now? What did she think of herself? Had she actually just urged someone who might be a doddering old codger to "sleep tight"? Just because his voice—just because his hand—

  Andee slumped down on the futon again and, this time, she pulled the cover completely over her head.

  *****

  Their second session together had proceeded in more orderly fashion than the first meeting, Nick told himself with some relief, once it was over. At least Miss Carlisle welcomed him into her apartment politely, even if she exhibited more reserve than on the previous day. He took his cue from her and set out to maintain a professional distance as they settled into the corner dominated by her sturdy little table and chairs.