Page 31 of The Escape Artist

“Will I ever get clothes again?”

A smirk inched up his cheek. “Eventually. Maybe.”

It was then that she noticed the blindfold he held in one hand.

“Close your eyes.”

Claire closed her eyes and didn't even flinch when he secured the blindfold, though her heart thundered in her chest, wondering what was coming next. She worried her mind might snap out of the way this man seemed to have hypnotized her. She worried she might stop wanting him and this twisted thing growing between them. Ari took the towel off her, but he didn't leave her naked. A few moments later he was helping her into a bathrobe.

Then he scooped her up and carried her from the room. He didn't take her down any stairs this time.

Ari stopped and set her on her feet on hardwood floor. He removed the blindfold, and she took a moment to look at her surroundings. They were in the kitchen. White, gray, black. It was a very modern kitchen with a large stainless steel island that somehow looked stylish instead of cold. Along one wall beside a long blond wood kitchen table was a sliding glass door. Snow fell in big fluffy pieces, gently landing and collecting on the frozen ground.

Ari began taking things out of the refrigerator and started making breakfast.

Claire couldn't remember the last time it had snowed so much in January. She moved to the table and ran her hand along the natural finish.

“This table is amazing,” she said. She'd never seen a table like this in any store or even design catalog. It was simple, yet elegant. Sturdy. It felt like it could last centuries.

“I made it,” he said.

She glanced up, surprised. “You made this?” For a moment she forgot the circumstances between them. She had to take a break from reality to marvel at this table.

“It's beautiful. Is that what you do for work?”

She watched as Ari kneaded and rolled out dough on the stainless steel island. That island wasn't mere design. It was practical. This was not a man who did instant biscuits out of a tin, she realized, cringing again at all the canned beef stew she'd fed him. He must have been going out of his mind for real food and this kitchen.

“No, not work. It's just a hobby.”

“What do you do for work?” He had to be independently wealthy. Any job would have fired him after a three-week unexplained absence. Another wave of guilt washed over her at all the ways she'd fucked up this man's life.

He stopped working the dough and gave her a stern look. “Are you forgetting yourself, little one? We're getting awfully casual here.”

“I-I'm sorry, Master.”

He nodded and went back to the dough, clearly not prepared to talk about his work, whatever it might be.

Claire looked back at the falling snow. A fox stood outside the door, only feet away, staring at her. She yelped.

Ari came over to where she stood to see what had caused that sound to come out of her.

“The fox?” he asked.

She nodded. Claire had never seen a fox outside a nature show.

“Yeah, that's Arnold.”

“You have a fox?”

Ari went back to his work, flipping some breakfast ham that he'd started frying in a skillet.

“He's not my fox. I found him injured on the property last year. I guess he was lost, and he couldn't feed himself because of the injury. So I kept him safe and fed him. When he got better he disappeared back into the woods. I thought he was gone for good, but he kept coming back. Probably because I keep giving him scraps.”

With that, Ari picked up one of the frying pieces of ham off the skillet and tossed it out the door into the snow. The fox ran after it.

“But you named him,” Claire said.

“I couldn't just call him hey fox. I had to call him something.” Ari went back to breakfast, placing the carefully cut biscuits on a pan and sliding them into the oven. He started a pot of coffee.

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