Chambers of Desire: Opus 1 (6 page)

The handshake was longer than I expected—four, maybe five seconds—and his eyes drank me in, never leaving my face. I had been right; his eyes were an unnerving shade of blue, but deep like a dark, starless night or the cold depth of the ocean. He didn’t glance aside or down, granting me a polite break in contact, but stared raptly at me. I struggled not to blink or look away uncomfortably, feeling the small hairs along my arm begin to rise.

In the photo, he had been clean-shaven, but today, his face was shadowed by stubble—two, maybe three days worth. His skin was flawless, unblemished by wind or sun—so smooth you wanted to reach out and run your hand against it. A perfect whiteness gleamed behind his parted lips, bright against the deep pink of his pout.

“I’m Sabrina,” I said, licking my dry lips. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Mr. Chambers.” He raised one of his eyebrows slightly, nodding, every small facial expression laced with a subtle omnipotence, as if he knew what I was going to say before it slipped from my lips.

“Calvin, please.”

I expected him to offer me a tour of the house or at least comment on his impressive entrance, a “What do you think of the fish?” or “Did you have a chance to say hello to the piranhas?” but he was quiet, eyes lingering on my face, as if he were making a decision.

“Follow me,” he said, finally, shattering the silence, turning and motioning to accompany him down the far corridor.

My heart threatened to leap from my throat as I walked behind him, trailing him by a few steps. We wound through the maze-like halls, footsteps echoing loudly. I felt as if we were in a castle in Southern France, rather than a few miles outside New York.
Were we going to his bedroom?
I wondered whether we’d spend any more time talking or whether he’d simply pull back his covers and have me undress while he waited between the sheets.

It occurred to me that I had no idea what to
do—
what if I were horrible, a huge disappointment? Those bedroom eyes guaranteed he was skillful behind closed doors.
Thud, thud, thud.
My heartbeat matched my footsteps, loud and ominous. Calvin stopped suddenly in front of a large oak door. From his pocket, he pulled out a large key ring, like the one I had seen Mr. Du Cheval produce yesterday. Unlocking the door, he stepped aside, allowing me to enter first.
What’s with the keys?
I thought again, certain that the secrets behind the doors of his house were far more perilous than those in his office.

To my surprise, we didn’t enter a bedroom, but a large office. The room was light and airy, big paned windows lining the far side of the room, displaying an expansive green garden outside. Bookshelves lined the remaining walls, and an antique desk sat in the right corner. An oversized leather armchair faced a matching sofa, both a warm coffee color.  

I stood in the middle of the room surveying the space. Should I sit in the chair? On the couch? Was this where I’d finally experience the entrance into womanhood? It wasn’t very private, I decided. What if there were gardeners working in the yard? They’d be able to see right in!

“Take a seat on the couch,” Calvin said, deciding for me. He closed the door behind him, and I heard the bolt click into place, locking us in.

I obeyed, sitting carefully against the arm of the sofa, feeling the warm leather beneath me. My eyes remained in my lap, wondering if he’d join me, the heat of his body filling the space next to me.

“Sabrina,” he said, demanding the same attention I’d given him in the lobby. I looked up and saw him already seated across from me in the armchair, right ankle resting on his left thigh, hands folded in front of him.

“Mr. Chambers,” I answered, shifting in my seat.

“Calvin,” he answered. “You’ll call me Calvin.
Either that or Master.”

“Master?”

His serious expression had softened, and I saw the same beginning of a smile dance on his lips. It felt strangely like a psychiatrist’s office, me on the couch, Calvin watching me expectantly. I was no stranger to this setup, having been forced into therapy when my mom discovered some of my embarrassing issues with clothes. Dr. Shelton Bouvier, a middle-aged psychoanalyst specializing in teenage angst, would sit across from me, just like this, waiting for me to speak. “This is a safe place,” he’d say, but I knew that every Thursday, he called the house to discuss our sessions with my mother. She paid extra for that.

“You met Du Cheval yesterday,” Calvin began in that low and throaty voice. He hadn’t asked a question, but I knew he expected an answer.

“Yes,” I said, “He was… nice.” It was a lie, but it seemed the right thing to say.

Calvin’s mouth twitched in amusement, “Nice? A polite thing to say, but far from true. I apologize if he was a little blunt with you. But he’s thorough, loyal, trustworthy, especially when it comes to secrets. I think your opinion of him might change as we spend time together.”

Secrets?
I wondered.

“How long has he worked for you?” I asked. So far, the two men couldn’t be more different, and I wondered how they got along.

“Six years,” he answered. “I’ve never been disappointed. He told me you’re a dancer,” Calvin continued huskily.

I smiled, glad to speak about a topic that wouldn’t send blood rushing to my face. “Yes. I’ve danced since I was se
ven. Modern dance. I’m studying it at SMU, but I also teach dance to little girls on the weekends at a private studio.”

“It’s your passion,” he commented, dark eyes on mine. There was no trace of the mocking I’d seen in Du Cheval’s eyes the day before when we discussed the subject.

”Yes,” I said.  “It is.  Dance offers a challenge, physically, emotionally, mentally.  It’s demanding, but the rewards are enormous.”

He smiled a genuine smile, not that half-smirk I’d seen in the photo, and my heart skipped another beat. “I actually am a b
it of a dance fan myself. I have season tickets to the New York City Ballet and the American Ballet Theatre. Have you been to either?”

”Not yet,” I said. “Naturally, I’ve studied performances, but I haven’t had the opportunity to come in person.  Dallas has an amazing dance company, but it’s nowhere near the caliber of the New York City Ballet. I’d love to see the Nutcracker.” I smiled, revisiting old memories. “The first time I saw it, as a child, I wanted to grow up to be Clara.”

“And have you?”

I laughed, finally feeling at ease, talking about a subject I loved. “Yes, I have had the role of Clara—once, when I was thirteen.”

He raked his hand through his thick, wavy hair, still smiling.

“
You must be quite the dreamer,” he mused. “Be careful, dreams do come true. Would you like to dance professionally yourself?” I wondered whether his questions would eventually turn suggestive, as Du Cheval’s had.

I nodded. “I hope to.  But
it’s extremely competitive.  If I don’t continue as a performer, I’d like to open a studio..”

“What does family think of all that?”

Funny, how the same question Du Cheval had asked sounded so different coming from Calvin. Suddenly, this brought back all these painful memories. My father’s words about my major, Brandon’s infidelity. I was overwhelmed with emotion, and I had the urge to tell him everything. Instead, I dropped my head, hoping to stave off the tears. “Nothing good,” I said.

”And what do they think you should do, Sabrina?”

“Something… practical.  Something
they
think is practical, rather.”

He seemed satisfied with that answer.

“I hate to agree, but I must say there’s a lot of danger out in the world. Even between people you’re close to. Even your family.” I sighed.

“
No boyfriend, I assume?” He kept his voice light.

“An
ex
-boyfriend,” I said, struggling to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

“Ah, the ex-boyfriend.”

“He…” I paused. I wasn’t quite ready to share
everything
with this man. “I don’t want to talk about it. And, well, my parents and I disagree about that too.”

“He hurt you and your parents were on his side,” Calvin said thoughtfully, as if he was analyzing the deepest implications of that fact.

It sounded awful. Suddenly tears welled up. 

“I’m sorry,” I said, wiping them away, hoping my eyeliner wasn’t smeared all over my face.  “The last few weeks have been hectic and today… well, I’m just overwhelmed I guess.”

Calvin stood and moved to sit beside me on the sofa. Very close beside me, in fact.  He guided my chin with one hand to turn my face toward his, and wiped away a stray tear.  

“
Shhh. Life is not an easy thing. It’s okay to feel that way. But I’m wondering… do you even want to do this, Sabrina?” he asked.

“What? What do you mean?”

“Well, you were just a face before you came here, but now I’ve met you and… let’s just say I’d hate for you to do something you would later regret.”

“Why did you bid on me then? ” I asked.

“I am not sure, Sabrina. I thought there was something special about you and it turned out I was right. And don’t get me wrong, I want you to stay, especially now that I’ve met you. But I only want you to do it if…”

“I want to do it,” I said. “It’s the first independent thing I have done in my entire life, it’s not just revenge.”

Thoughtful, he cupped my chin and looked deep into my eyes.
He’s touching me.  This is the man that’s going to…
Calvin released my chin and nodded.

“Were you close
to your parents before this?” he asked.

“
About as close as New York is to Dallas,” I said, looking down. The tears were threatening again, but I held them back. Calvin tipped my chin up toward him again and I gasped a bit in surprise.

The blue of his eyes seemed to have deepen
ed, darkened.  He wasn’t smiling.
Had I made him angry?

His eyes searched mine.  “Families are complex,” he said.  “I know that some questions don’t have easy answers.” So the seriousness wasn’t anger… Sympathy. Maybe empathy. 
What was Calvin Chamber’s family like?
It struck me again how very little I knew of this man.

He moved back on the couch, his tone businesslike again. “Well, then on to the business arrangement. Did Du Cheval discuss the contract with you?” he asked, changing the subject.

“We went over the nondisclosure agreement. Is there more?” I asked, half hoping there would be… so I would know more about what to expect… and half fearful.
What have I gotten myself into?
I wondered.  I mean… the artwork and everything, it already seemed like there would be something other than traditional intercourse involved.
Focus, Sabrina,
I told myself, knowing my mind was about to wander.  The women in that painting…
“Yes, there’s a good deal more.” Calvin said, leaning forward.  “The sooner we discuss the details, the better.”

“As you know, I made an offer for three million, and if you accept the terms of the agreement,
you will get your share as a check. As soon as your part of the transaction is complete, you will receive it from me personally.”

“What are the terms?” I asked nervously, thinking of the artwork in his office. Was there more to it than just the loss of my virginity? His eyes flashed playfully. “I’m getting there.”

“The contract states that you’ll spend the next three weeks with me. Twenty-one days exactly. You’ll arrive at my house every morning at 9:30 a.m. unless agreed otherwise and accompany me to work, any functions that might happen over the next few weeks, any meetings. We’ll spend all meals together—breakfast, lunch, and dinner—but you’ll return to your hotel in the evening. Unless of course, we agree otherwise.”

Huh?
asked my sophisticated inner monologue.  I’d auctioned my virginity… although, to be fair, three weeks wasn’t much to ask in return for three million dollars.

Maybe. Three weeks of
what?

“I’m… I’m a little confused,” I said.
Brilliant, Sabrina. Understatement of the year.

“Which part is confusing?” he asked.  Not as if I were an idiot, thankfully.  He was way more charming and—seemingly—patient than Oliver. 

“Well, I mean, the auction was for my… virginity.  Three weeks… is… well, when…” I trailed off, not sure what to ask without sounding rude.  I felt the blush creeping up my neck again, my cheeks burning.  Calvin gave a slight smile.  “Well, I’m not intending to pay you $3 million dollars for one hour of your time, Sabrina.”

I nodded again. “But, um, there is one thing.” I was blushing furiously now.  “I thought that this will just involve my virginity, now it seems like it will be more like being your girlfriend. Isn’t this just about my virginity?” God
, that sounded strange, but how does one discuss these things?  I had to ask… I couldn’t take just not knowing.  Especially for three more weeks!

Calvin chuckled.  “You’re worried, then?”

“Well… I just…” I steadied myself. This was business, of a sort. I could be businesslike, too.  Really. I could. “I want to know, so that I can be prepared.  I think that’s fair enough.”