Caress Part One (Arcadia) Read online

  Unfortunately, I didn’t have that luxury. Returning to the scene of past trauma was the price to be paid if I wanted to keep a roof over my head and eat something other than Ramen noodles. The fact that I hadn’t anticipated being put in this position when I grabbed Schaffer’s job offer just proved that I was still more naïve than I wanted to admit.

  Squaring my shoulders, I started across Central Park West. A taxi barreled down on me but I dodged it easily. The years away at college hadn’t dulled my native New Yorker reflexes. That was a good thing because without them, I’d be lost.

  I forgot the bat-out-hell-taxi-driver as I approached the building entrance, all marble and etched glass set under a bronze canopy, looking out toward the park. I was three years old when my family moved into the Arcadia. It was the only real home that I’d known until I left in the aftermath of the scandal that blew up my world.

  As I approached, the doorman’s ruddy, middle-aged face broke into a smile. The sight of it made me stumble. George Santos had to be one of the very few people in New York--heck, in the world, capable of having kind thoughts about me.

  I swallowed against the sudden lump in my throat as he said, “It is you, Miss Emma. I thought so. Saw you looking at the old place. I wondered if you were gonna come over.”

  Managing a wobbly smile in return, I said, “How are you, George? Still beating all the Italian dudes at bocce?”

  He laughed, clearly pleased that I remembered his all-consuming passion for the game that dated back to the days of the Roman Empire.

  “I am indeed, Miss Emma. And how are you?” His smile faded, replaced by concern.

  Quickly, I said, “I’m good, really. I graduated from college a few months ago, came back to the city, got a job… And now I guess I’m feeling a little nostalgic.”

  George nodded as though it was perfectly reasonable for me to be sentimental about the place where my privileged existence had collapsed in ruins.

  He glanced into the lobby behind him and back at me again. Gently, he asked, “Would you perhaps like to step inside? It’s quiet right now. Not very many people are around.”

  That was what I was counting on. Mid-morning was when the residents of the Arcadia were most likely to be elsewhere. The men were at work on Wall Street or in the plush offices of law firms, banks and hedge funds. The women were micromanaging the lives of their children in between the relentless round of exercise and beauty appointments needed to maintain their exacting standards of personal appearance. Meanwhile, the help was far too busy to take much notice of anything beyond their long lists of duties.

  But now, confronted with the enormity of what I was about to do, I hesitated. No matter what challenges I faced, I didn’t have the right to take advantage of George’s kindness. There had to be another way to get into the building and carry out the crazy plan that I’d hatched after leaving Schaffer’s office.

  I was on the verge of backing off and trying another time when a young woman dog walker came up the block. Despite her death grip on their leashes, she looked too slight to control her half-dozen pampered charges.

  The biggest, a Great Dane, had his tongue lolling out, eyes rolling as he tried to go after a car. Two large poodles, looking like fluff-balls on sticks, were in his way and almost got knocked over. If dogs could sneer, they did, right before they sat down and started licking their balls. Two Pomeranians were snapping fiercely at each other in some language only they could understand. Worse yet was the little Yorkie who picked that moment to bare its teeth and make a lunge for George’s ankles.

  In the melee of shouts, barks, and frantic apologies that followed, I saw an opportunity. Slipping into the lobby unnoticed, I paused for a moment to savor the hushed coolness and look around.

  Chapter Three

  Emma

  A hollow sense of longing opened up in me. I felt as though I had stepped into a lost world. Apart from a few new ficus trees in Chinese glazed pots, nothing appeared to have changed.

  The marble walls and terracotta floor gleamed in the soft light of bronze chandeliers hanging at intervals from the coffered ceiling. In the near distance, I could see the elevator doors adorned in brass with fan-shaped inlays.

  Opposite them was the Arcadia’s famous mural created by the renowned Art Deco artist known simply as Erté. The mural depicted the lovers, Eros and Psyche, young, beautiful, and seemingly doomed until they managed to overcome all obstacles and make their love immortal.

  It was a lovely tale and more than any other aspect of the building, it had contributed to the Arcadia’s reputation as a haven for lovers. But I had little time to think of that. I dragged in a breath and forced myself to move.

  Past the manager’s offices, a discreet, unmarked door led to the behind-the-scenes Arcadia that residents rarely if ever glimpsed. As a child with an abundance of curiosity and very little supervision, I was the exception. There was a good chance that I still knew the building better than anyone other than long-time employees. At least, I had to hope so.

  A narrow hallway took me to the rear of the building near the trade entrance where all deliveries were made. From there, it was a quick walk to the utility room that housed the dumbwaiter for the tower. I was relieved to see that despite being a relic of another age, the box attached to a cable was still in operation.

  But looking at it more closely, I frowned. At about three feet high and two feet wide, the dumbwaiter was smaller than I remembered. Considering that the last time I hitched a ride in it I was barely eight years old, I should have expected that.

  I did it on a dare from the son of one of the janitors who claimed to have done it himself ‘a hundred times’. Once in the metal and wooden box, traveling up through the narrow, drafty shaft that ran the full height of the tower, I was terrified. I hadn’t thought of how dark it would be or how, in the utter absence of light, every sound and smell would be heightened.

  To this day, I remember the creaking of the cable, the odor of old, cold cement, and the smothering sense of darkness pressing in all around me.

  When I discovered after the fact that ‘a hundred times’ actually meant never, I didn’t know whether to be proud of myself or angry at how easily I’d been tricked.

  Eying the centerpiece of my grand plan dubiously, I wondered how I was going to fit inside the dumbwaiter now. The shelf in the middle folded up but even with it out of the way, it was going to be a tight squeeze.

  I took off my shoes and stowed them carefully on the bottom along with my small purse, but not before I took out my cell phone. With it gripped in one hand, I hitched up my skirt, exposing the tops of my thigh-highs, which I could only hope wouldn’t get snagged.

  Taking a deep breath, I climbed up onto the table in front of the dumb waiter and slowly eased myself in backwards so that I was facing the front. In that position, I could just barely reach the outside control panel. As I was about to push the button to send the dumbwaiter to the penthouse, I glanced down at my cell phone and realized that I had a problem.

  I was counting on the phone to summon help if worse came to worse. But the concrete used to construct the shaft was blocking the signal.

  My heart leaped into my throat. If I couldn’t get the doors open at the top, I’d be in huge trouble. Even back when I was a kid few people used the dumbwaiter. Hours or longer could pass before someone noticed that it hadn’t been returned to the ground floor. I’d be trapped, hanging in a shaft hundreds of feet in the air.

  The sensible part of my brain knew that I should get out and walk away. But go where? Back to Schaffer to tell the only person who would give me a job that I’d failed? Then what? I dragged in another ragged breath and forced myself to visualize--stilettos, pole, crotch guys.

  I could do this. I had to.

  The trip up the shaft was every bit as stomach churning as I remembered. With each passing second, my imagination went into higher gear.

  All too easily I saw myself trapped in the box for days slowly dying of thirst, ev
ery muscle in my body cramping in agony. Or alternatively, suffering a sudden death when the cable snapped and hurtled me to the ground far below. The full weight of how desperate I was to be taking such a risk became inescapable.

  My plan was insane. If I got out of this alive, I needed to have my head examined. Except…oh, right, no health insurance unless I managed to keep my job because I had no way to pay for any otherwise. I heard myself laugh suddenly and wanted to cry. Crap, I even sounded crazy.

  Not long after my world collapsed, I’d begun experiencing panic attacks. They could come without warning but they were usually triggered by some form of identifiable stress. I’d gotten better at holding them off but I wasn’t kidding myself, I was still acutely vulnerable.

  By the time the dumbwaiter finally creaked to a halt, I was close to hyperventilating. Faced with the moment of truth, I froze before forcing myself to beam the light of my cell phone at the back of the double doors in front of me.

  The wood panels were smooth without any visible means of opening them. Of course they were. No human being was supposed to be on this side.

  Carefully, I set my phone down and pushed my flattened palms against the doors. They gave but only a little, just enough for a thin crack of light to appear down the center. Peering through it, I made out a narrow metal rod across the middle of the wood panels. At a guess, it looked like part of a simple hook-and-latch.

  Forcing myself to take a deep breath, I pushed harder. The doors opened a little more but sprang shut again the moment I removed my hands. I pushed again, even harder. I could see a little more light but I still wasn’t going anywhere.

  My patience snapped. I was scared to the point where I was questioning my own sanity. If I had to stay in that damn box one second longer, I risked a panic attack that would render me helpless.

  Without letting myself think about what I was doing--why start then?--I slammed my shoulder against the doors. Apparently, I was stronger than I realized or just more desperate.

  As they popped open, I lurched out of the dumbwaiter and sprawled forward. Instinctively, I put my hands out to stop my face from hitting the floor. My lower half, from my butt on down, remained slanted across the counter.

  Scrambling, I sucked in air and struggled to right myself. My heart was pounding and I was having a hard time believing what I’d done but I’d made it!

  The Ice Queen wanted to know the condition of the apartment? I’d do better than that and show her pictures of every inch of it. I just needed to grab my phone and I could get started--

  I was getting to my feet when out of the corner of my eye I saw a flicker of movement… something… Someone!

  A man was coming straight at me. Big, hard, and if that wasn’t enough, naked except for a towel tied low on his hips. My mouth fell open.

  I had just a second to register that I was in the presence of a living, breathing Adonis, perfectly formed with broad shoulders, sculpted abs and pecs, and taut golden skin lightly dusted with dark hair before he grabbed hold of me. The expression in his thickly lashed, steel gray eyes was thunderous.

  I tried to scream but the powerful arm pressed against my throat stopped me from making a sound. As it was, I could barely draw breath. In an instant, I was pinned to the wall, hold immobile by my attacker.

  Shock roared through every cell in my body. The jolt of adrenaline was so severe that it momentarily paralyzed me. In the next instant, instinct took over and I began to struggle in earnest.

  He had half-a-foot of height and at least sixty heavily muscled pounds on me but I wasn’t about to go down without a fight. In desperation, I tried to get a hand free to gouge his eyes. At the same time, I did my damndest to ram my knee into his balls as I slammed my forehead toward the bridge of his nose.

  I felt his start of surprise as he just managed to jerk out of the way but his hold on me didn’t weaken.

  “Stop it!” he growled.

  His other hand moved insolently over my body, between my breasts, along my sides, into the gap between my thighs, and down each of my legs. His touch was beyond arrogant. He handled me as though he had every right to do so.

  But that was far from the worst. To my horror, I realized that despite my fear and shock, I was becoming aroused.

  That couldn’t be. Granted my sexual experience in recent years had been non-existent unless I counted the battery-operated variety and before then, it hadn’t gone beyond a few fumblings. Where was this dark side of myself suddenly coming from?

  I’d never experienced anything like this. The fact that I was doing so under such frightening circumstances pushed me over my limits and well beyond. The panic attack that I’d been struggling to hold off suddenly overtook me.

  My heart was hammering. I couldn’t breathe. The sensation that I was choking went well beyond the pressure of the man’s arm on my throat. It came from deep within my own mind.

  Blackness swirled at the edge of my vision. I was only distantly aware of him easing his hold on me in the instant before I collapsed against him.

  Chapter Four

  Emma

  My eyes flew open. Shocked back into consciousness by the sense that something was very wrong, I looked around frantically.

  I was lying on a couch in a three-story high living room that, at a glance, could have come off the set of a 1950s movie. One where everyone was beautifully dressed, the cars were to die for, and people would suddenly break into a song while dancing better than anyone ever has since.

  It wasn’t until I tried to sit up that I realized my hands were tied. A sickening bolt of fear went through me, different from what I’d felt in the shaft. Fear not of what my own actions might result in but that someone else meant to do me harm. Someone I wasn’t strong enough to stop.

  The man who had shoved me up against a wall and held me there while he touched me so intimately.

  The Greek god in the towel, with the epic hard-on.

  Oh, crap.

  I had to get out of there. Lacking any better alternative, I sank my teeth into the fabric around my wrists and started trying to work it loose. I hadn’t gotten very far when I realized I was no longer alone.

  The towel was gone but the trousers and business shirt that he’d changed into didn’t do anything to conceal the jaw-dropping beauty of his physique. Worse yet, Nature hadn’t stopped there. From his square jaw to his sculpted mouth, angular cheekbones, and thick, neatly trimmed hair the color of dark chocolate, he was too damn gorgeous to be legal.

  As though he knew exactly what I was thinking, arctic gray eyes under winged brows flashed with amusement. Lounging against one of the living room’s decorative columns, he observed my efforts to free myself with a grin.

  “Having any luck there, Miss Whittaker?”

  Crap on top of crap. He knew who I was. Even if I got away, he could identify me to the police.

  But before I started worrying about that, I had to wonder what else he might do. He looked relaxed but the predatory glint in his eye hinted at darker emotions.

  If there was one thing I’d gotten good at in the past three years, it was reading people. I’d had to simply as a survival mechanism. Most left me alone, as in completely, but all it took was a few who thought they had a right to use me as an outlet for their frustrations with capitalism, the justice system, whatever. Those I’d learned to avoid at all costs.

  Except now I couldn’t. I was trapped.

  Realizing that, I felt the edges of another panic attack threatening. It took all my hard-won self-control to remain calm. I sucked in a breath and lowered my still-bound hands to my lap, hoping he’d take that as a sign of acquiescence and be placated, at least temporarily.

  Ducking my head slightly, I avoided direct eye contact as I studied him. My earlier impressions were confirmed. He was big, in peak condition, gorgeous, with an unmistakable aura of confidence, definitely dangerous in all sorts of ways and--

  It took a moment for the penny to drop. With it went whatever was left of m
y composure.

  “You’re Lucas Phelps.” I blurted the name out, unable to stop myself.

  I’d seen his photograph in “Fortune” and “Forbes”, and I’d watched him being interviewed on the investment shows that I got hooked on while completing the business side of my dual major.

  I’d just never expected to see him in the flesh, more or less, or feel him pressed so intimately against me.

  “Guilty.” He crossed the broad width of the room with a few easy strides and came to stand directly in front of me.

  I resisted the urge to pull back and forced myself to look up at him instead.

  That was a mistake. At a distance, he was formidable. Close up, his impact was such that only the burning of my empty lungs reminded me that I needed to breathe.

  My throat went dry. It was all I could do to croak, “Why am I tied up?”

  He crouched down in front of me so that we were more or less on eye level. I forced myself to stay perfectly still. The thought occurred to me that I was behaving like a small animal confronted by a fierce predator, not knowing whether I was to be devoured or merely played with.

  I massively resented feeling that way. Life had thrown me some knocks but I was tougher than that. Tougher than him, if it came down to that.

  He had choices. I didn’t.

  “I wanted to make sure that you’d stay put long enough for us to talk. And,” he added with a slight quirk of his mouth, “I prefer that you not try to do me any more bodily harm.”

  All that time spent in college self-defense classes for women and he still didn’t look the least bit deterred. That was humbling and it made me all the warier of him.

  Even so, I couldn’t quite contain my anger at the situation. Holding out my wrists, I said, “Sure thing, Ace. I’ll go easy on you.”

  A flicker of surprise softened his mouth but only for an instant. It vanished as his strong fingers made short work of the knot I hadn’t been able to budge.