Title:
Uncovering You
Author:
Scarlett Edwards
Genre: Dark
Romance
Release Date: March 17th, 2014
Series (Y/N) - Yes, first book in series.
Second will be out April 20th, 2014
Tour Host: Lady Amber's Tours
Book Description:
When I
wake up in a dark, unfamiliar room, I have no idea what's waiting for me in the
shadows. My imagination conjures up demons of the worst kind.
Reality is much worse:
A collar with no leash. A prison with no walls. And a life stripped of
meaning.
I am presented with a vile contract and asked to sign. It
outlines the terms of my servitude. The only information I have about my captor
are the two small letters inked at the bottom:
Resist and die.
Or submit, and sign my life away
GoodReads Link:
Author
Bio:
I live near beautiful Seattle, Washington. I grew up reading all types of fantasy books
before discovering the wonderful world of romances in high school. Now, I spend most of my time writing about
sexy men and the women who love them.
Links:
www.goodreads.com/scarlettedwards
Excerpt:
Excerpt:
“Lilly.”
Oh God. It’s him.
There’s no mistaking that rich, masculine treble.
What’s he doing down
here?
“M-Mr. Stonehart,” I
stutter, turning. I curse my inability to hide my surprise. He totally caught
me off-guard. I have to look up to meet his eyes. Then up some more.
The face that I find is
so striking it should belong to a Greek god.
He’s younger than I
expected. Late thirties, maybe early forties.
That means he started
his company when he was younger than me!
Dark scruff lines his
angular cheeks. His jet-black hair is styled in long, natural waves. My fingers
itch to run through it.
Totally inappropriate.
He has a prominent nose
that might be too big on a less imposing man, but on him, it’s perfect.
In short, he’s a package
of the purest masculinity I’ve ever seen.
And then there are his
eyes. Oh my God. His eyes. They pierce into me like honing missiles. They are
the deepest black I have ever seen. They would be frightening if they weren’t
so beautiful. When the light reflects a certain way, you catch a glimpse of the
purple underneath.
They are
like midnight sapphires. His eyes reveal a cunning intellect. Those
eyes do not miss a thing.
Add all that to his
towering height, his wide shoulders, his confident-yet-at-ease posture… and
Stonehart cuts an intimidating figure.
My gaze darts to his
left hand before I can stop it. No ring. He’s unmarried.
He looks down at me,
expectantly. His eyes narrow ever so slightly, and I feel like I’m being
dissected, measured up, and tucked away in some small corner of his brain. I
imagine this is what a gemstone feels like under the magnifying class of the
most critical appraiser.
Stonehart clears his
throat. I come to with a start, realizing I haven’t said anything in ages. I
open my mouth, but the capacity for speech seems like a foreign concept to my
brain. “I—”
Somebody bumps into me
from behind. I stagger forward. I’m not used to these shoes, so my heel steps
the wrong way. My ankle twists under me, and I start to fall.
I don’t fall far. The
hand still on my elbow tightens, and Stonehart pulls me into him.
I plaster myself onto
the solid steel wall the man has for a body. I catch a scent of his cologne.
It’s a deep, musky smell with a hint of charred spruce that is all male. It
scrambles my thoughts even more.
“Sorry!” a rushed voice
calls out. From the corner of my eye, I see the postman giving a hurried,
apologetic wave.
Although the sequence
lasts less than a second, it feels like an eternity. Pressed up against him like
that, I don’t want to move. I know that I couldn’t have made a worse first
impression.
Stonehart eases me off
him with a firm yet gentle grip. Our eyes meet. I flush the most vibrant red. His
fingers graze my forehead as he brushes a lock of hair out of my face.
Any tenderness I may
have imagined vanishes when Stonehart takes out his cell. He long dials a key
and growls an order. “Steven. See the delivery boy leaving right now? Have his
building pass revoked.”
I gape. Stonehart keeps
speaking. “Wait. I thought of one better. Bar his company from accessing the
building.” There’s a pause. “For how long? Indefinitely. FedEx can talk to me
when they have an improved employee selection program in place.”
The phone call gives me
just enough time to compose myself. My heart’s still beating out of my chest.
But nobody has to know that.
I speak without
thinking. “You’re going to restrict the entire company from serving this
building because of that?”
Stonehart humors me with
an answer. “A company’s employees are its most important asset. Their behavior
reflects the organization as a whole. If FedEx decided that clown is good
enough for them, it tells me they’re sloppy. I do not do business with sloppy organizations.”
“What about the other
tenants in the building?” I ask. “Won’t that piss them off?”
When I hear myself and
realize how improper my question is, my cheeks flame red
again.
Stonehart’s eyes darken,
as if he cannot believe I asked that question. I open my mouth to apologize for
my imprudence, hating the way my professional skills have evaporated into thin
air. I’m cut off by a short, barked laugh.
“Miss Ryder.” He sounds
amused. “I believe that is the most direct and honest question anybody has dared
ask me in weeks.” He takes my elbow again and leads me to the elevators. I have
to take two quick steps to match one of his long strides.
“Yes,” he continues.
“They will be ‘pissed off.’ But the perk of owning a building—” he hits the
elevator call button, “—is that you get to make executive decisions.” He gives
me an unreadable glance as the doors open. “That is, at the risk of being
questioned by inexperienced interns.”
If that isn’t a loaded
remark, I don’t know what is. I flush scarlet red for the third time since I’ve
met him. I’ve never had a man throw me so off balance.
The elevator is packed,
for which I’m infinitely thankful. The trip up will give me some time to properlycompose
myself.
Gratitude turns to panic
when the crowd files out, meek as mice, when Stonehart steps in. None of the
people waiting in the lobby follow us.
The doors close. I’m
alone in here with him. My heart’s beating as fast as a hummingbird’s wings.
He catches me staring.
“Impressed?” he asks.
“They know you,” I
manage.
His dark eyes flash with
amusement. “Astute.”
Chapter One
October
2013. Date unknown.
(Present
day)
A faint hiss, like the sound of an angry cat, jars me from my
sleep.
I open my eyes to pure blackness. I blink, trying to get my
bearings. A vague memory forms in the back of my mind, too far away to reach.
Why can’t I see anything?
My breath hitches. Panic rips through my body as the horrifying
answer comes to me:
I’m blind!
I scramble onto hands and knees and desperately claw at the
dark, searching for something, anything, for my senses to latch
onto.
A dim overhead light comes on.
Relief swells inside.
I plop back on my butt and close my eyes, taking deep breaths to
dispel the rush of adrenaline released by my body. When my heart’s not beating
quite so fast, I open my eyes again.
The light’s gotten brighter. I look up at the source. It’s far
above me, like a dull, miniature sun. It spreads a little sphere around me,
maybe ten feet in diameter. Past that, everything is swallowed by darkness.
An irksome memory keeps gnawing at me. But my head is too heavy
to remember. I feel… strange. Kind of like I’m hung over, but without the
telltale pounding between my ears.
Cautiously, I try to stand. My limbs are slow to react. They
feel heavy, too, like they’ve been dipped in wet clay. I steady myself. Only
when I’m satisfied that my knees won’t give out, do I strain my ears for that
hissing sound again.
It’s coming from somewhere behind me. I turn back—and nearly
smash my head on a gleaming white pillar.
What the hell?
The sound is forgotten as I reach out and brush tentative
fingers against the pillar’s surface. It’s cool to the touch. Smooth, too. I
put my other hand on it. If I had to guess, I’d say it was made of marble. But
what is a lone, white marble pillar doing in the middle of this room?
The memory is like a gong going off inside my head. But trying
to reach it is like grasping at a smooth, slippery stone at the bottom of an
aquarium. Just when I think I have it, it slips through my fingers and falls
even farther out of reach.
I walk a slow, measured circle around the pillar. If I tried
wrapping my arms around it, I doubt if I could even span half the
circumference. Something far in the back of my mind tells me I should be
alarmed. I look behind me and frown. By what? A dark room?
No, you idiot. By the reason you’re here!
My eyes widen. The reason I’m here? I don’t… I don’t remember.
I wince and bring one hand to my temple. Why am I having so much
trouble remembering?
I gasp as a second gruesome thought hits me. Did I lose my
memory? Do I have… amnesia?
I sink down with my back to the pillar. Desperation starts to
take over. I hold my head between my knees and close my eyes to focus.
My name is Lilly Ryder. I was born in Cambridge, Massachusetts,
on May 17th, 1990.
My eyes pop open. Joyous tears form in the corners. I do remember!
I take a deep breath and try to keep going.
I was raised by my mom. I do not know my dad…
Suddenly, all my childhood memories come streaming back. Moving
around as a kid. Never staying in one place longer than six months. All the
cities I’ve lived in. All the apartments my mom and I called home. Even the
revolving door of her boyfriends. There was Dave, and Matthew. Tom, and
Steve. There was…
I shake my head to stop myself. I don’t doubt my memory anymore.
But that still does not explain why I have absolutely no recollection of this
place, or how I got here.
I push myself back up. The spotlight above me has gotten
progressively brighter. The little enclosure of light doesn’t feel quite so
tight anymore. I trail my eyes up the length of the pillar. I can’t see where
it ends because of the light. But I can tell it’s tall, at least twenty, maybe
twenty-five feet…
There’s also something about its surface that calls out to me.
My hands itch to run over the smooth stone. A giggle bubbles up as I picture
myself stroking it. The column is quite phallic.
I waver at the unfamiliar thought and have to catch my balance
against the beam.
Focus, Lilly! I chide myself.
I have no idea where that thought came from. I have never been
overtly sexual.
Nothing feels right. The fog that’s heavy on my mind is starting
to lift, but not yet enough for me to understand—or remember—where the hell I
am. This place is unfamiliar. I know that much. But right now, I feel almost
like a surgery patient whose anesthetic kinked out: fully awake mentally, but
completely impaired physically.
I go back to my memories. I can remember high school. I remember
college. That’s where I spent the last three years of my life, isn’t it? Yes.
Yes, it is.
“Hello?” I call out. My voice echoes into the surrounding gloom.
“Is anybody there?”
I wait for an answer. All I get is the hollow repetition of my
own voice.
…anybody there, there, there…
I spent the last three years in college… but that’s not where I
think I am right now. No. I shake my head. I knowthat’s not where I
am. My memories are fuzzier the closer I bring them to today. Time feels…
skewed. Freshman year’s easy to remember. So is sophomore, and most of junior…
but things get weird toward the end.
I… finished junior year, didn’t I? Yes. Yes, I did. And then…
And then I took an internship in distant California for the
summer,
I remember with another gasp.
Suddenly, my mind is crystal clear. That pressing memory hurtles
into view. It’s from yesterday. The last thing I recall, I was alone in a booth
at an upscale restaurant. The waiter brought me a glass of wine. I took a few
sips, contemplating my future….
Oh, God! Fear wraps a stranglehold around my neck.
The restaurant. The wine.
I’ve been drugged!
I can’t breathe. A suppressing tightness constricts my throat. I
feel dizzy, and terrified, and most of all… ashamed.
Holy shit, Lilly, way to look out for yourself! My semi-mad inner
dialogue pans with a generous dollop of sarcasm.
I’ve always known about the dangers of sick men preying on
unsuspecting girls. I just never thought I’d fall victim to it.
I’ve been on my own since I turned eighteen, after the final
falling out with my mother. I’ve always been proud of how well I managed. Even the
shabby holes I’ve lived in while saving up college tuition were an improvement
over living with her and all her low-life boyfriends. At least there, I had
autonomy.
I’ve dealt with landlords selling crack on the side and the
junkies they attract. Always, I’ve been known as independent, and strong—maybe
offputtingly so. But, those were the character traits I had to develop to have
any chance of getting ahead.
And all that lead to what? To this? To letting
my guard down for one night and ending up… here?
Wherever “here” is, I think to myself.
The shock of the revelation has subsided a bit. I push off from
the pillar. I can figure this out. I take a deep breath and look at my hands
and feet. I am not bound. I pick at my clothes. They are the same ones I wore
last night.
Do you know what might be lurking in the darkness?
I shove the meddlesome voice down. I don’t need more worries.
Not now.
Carefully, I place one foot in front of the other and edge to
the outer reaches of the light. The strange hissing noise has gone away. I
don’t know when that happened. Maybe it was in my head the entire time.
I strain my eyes, trying to pierce the surrounding darkness.
It’s impossible. I reach out with one hand and find nothing but air. This far
from the pillar, I can barely see my outstretched hand.
“Hello?” I try again. “Who’s there?”
There’s no answer.
What kind of madman would do something like this? I wonder. What
is hidden in the shadows?
Without warning, my imagination starts to run wild. Torture
devices? Bondage equipment? Something… worse?
Snap out of it! I tell myself firmly.
I refuse to give in to despair, even if my entire
self-preservation mechanism is on high alert. Despair is what whoever brought
me here wants me to feel.
I will not succumb to that.
I look down at the floor. It is made of some expensive stone. I
kneel down and brush my hand over the large, square tiles. They feel solid.
Sturdy. They don’t belong in a dingy basement or a dirty warehouse.
Somehow, that thought strengthens me. Things aren’t quite as bad
as they could be.
I stand up and peer into the black. I glance back at the safety
of my pillar. If I venture past the light, I can always find my way back.
Go slow, I warn myself. Who knows what might be waiting for me
out there?
I’ve seen the horror movies. Just because I don’t get the
dungeon vibes here does not mean I’m not in one.
Haltingly, my foot reaches past the edge.
A thousand bright lights flood the room. I gasp and shy back,
shielding my eyes on instinct.
After a few seconds, I lower my arm, blinking through the sharp
pain that shoots through my head. I can almost groan. Light
sensitivity, too?
Then I see the room.
Holy shit.
It’s huge. Massive. It must be at least five thousand square
feet of pristine, flat space. I’m smack dab in the middle of it all.
The lights come from embedded ceiling lamps high overhead. Three
of the walls, far away from me, are decorated with black and white abstract
paintings created in bold brush strokes. The fourth wall is shielded by a heavy
red curtain. The entire floor is made of rich, creamy white tiles reminiscent
of steamed milk.
The ceiling is so high above me I almost feel like I’m in a
cathedral. It’s made of exquisite dark oak beams.
But this is no church.
I do a slow turn. Something about this is all wrong.
So wrong.
Why am I here? What is behind the curtain? Other than the
massive pillar and the paintings, there is nothing in the room.
If I’m being kept prisoner, why am I unbound? Why waste so much
space on me?
I cup my hands around my mouth and yell.
“HEY! Anybody? Where am I?”
As before, I’m greeted with silence.
I take one more careful look around. If I got in, there must be
a way out.
My eyes dart to the curtain.
Behind there.
I start toward it, my bare feet making determined slaps against
the cold floor. I’ve not even gone ten paces toward it when I feel a small tug
on my ankle.
I stop and look down. I discover a thread, so thin it’s almost
translucent, tied loosely around my foot. The other end is attached to the base
of the pillar.
I bend down and finger it.
What on earth is this?
The thread looks like it should snap with the smallest amount of
force. I wrap my hands around it and tug.
It doesn’t give.
I frown, and apply a little more effort.
This time, it breaks in a clean cut.
I shake my head as I straighten.
Strange.
I half-expected something to happen when I did that. Alarms to
blare, the lights to go off, something.
Nothing.
That’s when I notice a small white envelope leaning against the
pillar. It’s right where the thread connects. In fact, it blends so well with
the marble that I’m sure I would have missed it were it not for the string.
Exploration forgotten for now, I pick up the envelope. Maybe it
will give some clue about what the fuck is going on.
It’s made of heavy paper. A wax stamp seals it, imprinted with a
two-faced drama mask that I would find unnerving no matter where I saw it.
The only time I saw a wax-sealed envelope was when my ex got
tapped by the Spade and Grave at Yale. I can understand the need for antiquity
in New Haven. It makes no sense here.
My finger slips under the flap. I carefully ease it open. A
foreboding sense of doom swirls around me as I pull the folded letter out.
I stare at it for a long minute. This is all so surreal. It
feels like being caught in a bad dream. Once, I play myself right into my
captor’s hands.
My natural inclination to resist, to fight back, tells me to
tear the paper up without another glance. But that would be madness. The only
clue I have to my whereabouts might be contained inside.
My thirst for information gets the better of me. I sit on the
floor, cross my legs, and slowly unfold the paper.
It’s handwritten in swift, flowing blue ink. The rows of words
make perfect strides across the page. Precision is the first
word that comes to mind to describe the owner of the handwriting.
I set the sheet on the floor in front of me, lean forward and
begin to read:
Two items require your immediate attention.
1. You may spuriously assume you are being held here
against your will. Nothing could be farther from the truth. You are a guest. As
a guest, you retain full ability to leave my home at any time. The door behind
the drapes shall remain open for the duration of your stay. There are no
physical barriers to speak of—though I would advise you to read to the end of
this letter before making decisions based on a flawed understanding of your
situation.
2. You may have already noted the new
adornment around your neck. If so, well done! I applaud—
Adornment? I stop reading. What adornment?
I bring my hands to my neck. I feel the unfamiliar shape against
my skin. Why hadn’t I noticed it before?
I scamper closer to the marble pillar to try to make out my
reflection. I can’t see much, but I can make out the “adornment”. There’s a
black collar around my throat. I touch it with one hand.
It’s smooth and flat. It’s made of some kind of matted plastic,
like the edges of a computer screen. It’s not tight or uncomfortable.
It frightens me. If it warranted a place in the letter, there
must be something to it. I need to get it off.
My fingers dart around the edges, seeking the clasp that opens
it.
I don’t find one.
The collar is smooth inside and out. It feels like a single
piece of plastic. I trail one finger around the rim on the inside, and, finding
no discrepancies, do the same on the outside. Again, I feel nothing.
There’s no crack, no edge, nothing to indicate how it was put
around my neck.
I jam all my fingers between my skin and the plastic and pull
with all my might. The collar flexes ever-so-slightly but doesn’t give.
Dammit! I cry out and try again.
I pull with all the strength God gave me. It’s not enough. I try
again, and again, and again.
Nothing.
I realize I’m panting at this point. The exertion has me almost
hyperventilating.
I drop my hands. It’s just a stupid, harmless little piece of
plastic. Why do I want it off so much?
Because the idea of having anything foreign touch your skin is
repulsive.
The voice is right, as always. But what can I do? The collar is
bound to be part of the mind game in which I’m an unwitting participant.
Reacting the way I just did is probably exactly what my captor wants. He—and I
am certain it’s a “he” now, from the wording of the letter—wants me
to feel terrified.
I will not give him the pleasure. I return to the letter and
continue to read:
…applaud your perspicacity! You should know, however, that it is
not an ordinary collar. Contained inside is a small positioning chip and two
electrodes. They become activated the moment you stray outside your designated
safe zone.
The string around your foot offers a conservative estimation of
the distance you may roam past the marble column. Stay close, and you will
remain untroubled. I am told that the electric shock the collar provides, while
not lethal, can be quite unpleasant.
Holy fuck!
My spine goes absolutely straight and I forget to breathe. Now the
collar has meaning. It feels like a live serpent wrapped around my neck.
My eyes are wide as I look down to my foot. The piece of string
is still there, but it’s not connected to the one linked to the pillar.
I’d ripped it like a moron.
How far do I dare go? I’ll have to retie the string—unless I
find a way to get the collar off my neck, first.
Another thought occurs to me:
Maybe this is a bluff? Does the collar really have an electrode
in it? It’s so thin. Where would it draw power from?
I stand up. Assuming the collar is rigged, and
the pillar is the center point… but that’s just what he wants
me to believe, isn’t it? The letter claims there’s a door behind the drapes. It
could be my path to freedom. I would have to be an idiot to stay here without
testing the boundary myself.
I can’t trust anything the letter says. But, I can’t give in to
despair, either. My only choice is to contest everything that’s thrown at me.
If this is supposed to be a battle of the wills, the guy chose the wrong girl
to mess with.
I pick up the remainder of the string and hold it in my fist. I
square my shoulders to the long, drawn curtain. I hold my head high. My free
hand itches to tug at the collar, but I keep it still. If my captor is watching
me—which I’m sure he is, because I’m positive there are cameras hidden all
around me—I will not give him the satisfaction of seeing me hesitate.
I take a deep breath and start toward the curtained wall. My
strides are strong and purposeful. I will not waver. I will not turn back. Fear
of a little shock will not keep me from testing the true limits of this prison.
The string goes taut, and I stop.
So far, so good.
It’s the next few steps that will determine everything.
I glance at the floor to mark my position. So, he expects to
keep me in an invisible cage, does he? A cage of my own imagination?
Yeah, tough luck.
I drop the string and take one solid step forward.
Nothing happens.
I risk one more.
Nothing happens.
The corner of my lip twitches up in a hint of a smile. I called
his bluff. But, I’m not home free yet. The veiled wall is another thirty-odd
paces away from me.
I take two more steps forward, and, when nothing happens, start
to walk more briskly.
My stroll is cut short by a sharp little zap beneath my left
ear.
I tense and wait for more.
Well, color me surprised.
It looks like the collar does have bite, after all. When a
second jolt doesn’t come, I can’t stop my smile from becoming a satisfied
smirk. I knew the collar couldn’t possible have enough juice
to hurt me. Where would the battery go?
Extremely pleased with myself, I venture onward, toward the
curtain and its promise of freedom.
The violent torrent of electricity blindsides me. One second I’m
on my feet, the next I’m writhing on the floor.
The current pours into me. I thrash about like a grounded fish.
Fierce convulsions rock my body. And all I know is pain, pain, pain.
I can feel the source of it, snug around my neck. I’m helpless
to fight the onslaught. My head flails about on the ground, throwing hair into
my face. A high-pitched squeal sounds in my ears and I desperately hope that
pathetic sound is not me.
My eyes roll up and all goes black.
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