Sundown: A thrilling tale of revenge by Tia Louise

Author:Tia Louise [Louise, Tia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: TLM Productions LLC
Published: 2018-01-07T16:00:00+00:00

Part Three

Conceit

“Survive now. Cry later.” -Anonymous

Lara

The lights in Fragonard’s stateroom cast a dim yellow glow. I’m only five minutes late, but as I step through his sliding wooden door, a quick glance tells me I’m the last to arrive.

Mark is sitting across a round, green-felt covered card table from the baron. He’s wearing the same suit as when he left me, but he’s relaxed. His legs are crossed and a drink is in his hand.

I changed into a dark brown, matte jersey dress. It wraps and hugs my body, and I don’t miss the appreciative glances from both Fragonard and Mark.

Mark’s blue eyes rise to mine, and his smile sends electricity humming all the way to my toes. When I move, I can still feel him inside me, but my guard remains up. I’m not here for him.

Molly sits between Mark and the baron. Her lips are swollen and pink around the edges. Her curls are mussed and frizzed, and I’m sure she spent the interim in a similar way as me—although I know hers wasn’t as pleasurable.

Molly’s specialty is using her mouth to get what she wants. Giving head isn’t my favorite pastime, but she says it makes her feel more in control of what’s happening. It’s less personal, less invasive.

She grips Esterhaus’s sleeve, pretending to be enthralled by every word that spills from his mouth, and he appears to believe he’s in control of what’s happening. Men of his age are so easily deceived.

It’s interesting how as women age, they become more self-aware. As men age, they become more convinced of their virility.

“Ah, Miss Hale. For a moment, I thought perhaps you had changed your mind.” Fragonard rises from his seat and meets me at the door.

“Of course not.” I take his outstretched arm and allow him to lead me to the empty seat beside the baron. “I’m intrigued by what we might learn here.”

The luxury stateroom is decorated with plush Persian rugs and thick velvet curtains. It’s heavy and close, and it seems more like a personal room than a sterile sleeper for a visitor on a train. I wonder if he owns this small bit of mobile real estate.

Aleister takes a seat between Mark and me, and he lifts a satin turban from the table, placing it on his head. My eyes narrow, and I clutch my brow. I’m not sure he intends to be humorous, and I don’t want to insult him.

“Good God, Fragonard.” The baron coughs out a laugh, pulling the cigar from his lips. “What the hell are you trying to be? A swami?”

“I am a medium,” Aleister sniffs. “If you intend to be a hostile vibration, you can take your little friend and go. Three is all we need for the séance.”

“Oh, no!” Molly sits straighter in her chair, her voice high and breathy, contrasting with the men’s. “I want to see what happens.”

The old man’s face relaxes, and he places a hand on top of hers. “I thought you were afraid. Come, let’s return to my room and discuss more pleasant matters.

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