Until I Break - M. Leighton

UNTIL I BREAK A

TWISTED Novel

By M. Leighton

Smashwords Edition Copyright 2013, M. Leighton Cover photo by Riaua Cover Work by Matthew Bagley Cover Work by “Mr. Cates” www.shutterstock.com http://mleightonbooks.blogspot.com All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and storylines are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

To my God: How could I ever forget you?

A Note to Readers: To those who will ask if this is autobiographical, the answer is no. The story idea came to me as a result of so many people asking me questions about whether or not I get material for my books from my real life. I know you’re curious about the life of a romance novelist. For the most part, it’s not all that glamorous. Many of us spend our days in pajamas (aka, work clothes), dreaming of beautiful, flawed people. But I didn’t want to bore you with reality. I wanted to spin you a delicious, yet completely fictitious tale. I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. And if you’d like to read more about how it came about and what to expect, you can do so on my blog post here: http://mleightonbooks.blogspot.com/2013/05/the-story-behind-until-i-break.html

Playlist If music enhances your reading experience, you can enjoy the playlist for Alec and Samantha on Spotify here: Until I Break

Until I Break In love, sometimes what you fear most is exactly what you need. Laura Drake is an author. She writes bestselling paranormal romances that continue to top the charts. She is sharp. She is confident. She is in control. And she doesn’t exist. Samantha Jansen is the woman behind the wig, the woman most of the world doesn’t know exists. She is shy. She is insecure. She is nothing like her main character or her alter ego. She is scarred— deeply scarred—by a past she can’t let go of and a present she can’t make peace with. Samantha’s dreams are consumed by one man, the broken hero from her books. Mason Strait is both her wildest fantasy and her most terrifying nightmare. When Samantha meets Alec Brand, a corporate consultant, it is as though Mason has come to life. Alec is handsome to a fault, as elegant as he is arrogant, and more intense than any man has a right to be. Samantha is soon sucked into a world that mirrors the fiction she writes. Just like her main character, Daire Kirby, Samantha finds herself unable to resist the forbidden lure of Alec. And just like Daire, she also finds that she is faced with taking a chance on a man who could either set her free or destroy her. The scale tilts toward destruction when Samantha finds out that Alec is as much a work of fiction as Mason. And he has scars of his own, scars that could ruin them both.

**This book may be read as a stand-alone, as the story of Alec and Samantha comes to a conclusion in this book**

CHAPTER ONE- Samantha I sit at the desk in my hotel room, staring at the blinking cursor on the screen. In my head, I’m Daire Kirby, my main character, enthralled as she stares into the pale green eyes of Mason Strait, the man of my dreams. Literally. Writing about him always consumes me. Although he’s nothing more than a product of my imagination, he’s both my wildest fantasy and my most terrifying nightmare. “It’s my greatest passion,” he says in his husky voice, “the education of girls like you. Watching desire darken your eyes, tasting sweat as it beads on your skin, feeling your body squeeze mine like a tight fist.” I feel lost in his eyes, hypnotized by his words. I know I should run. But I can’t. As crazy and stupid as it sounds, I have to see this through. This relationship, this endeavor, this…man will either make me or completely destroy me. The only thing I know for sure is that I have to take the chance. The alarm sounds on my phone. I sigh. I’d much rather continue exploring Mason, but it’s time to log on for my therapy session. “Let’s see what vague, intrusive questions you have for me today, Dr. Ruth,” I say to my keyboard as I log onto the encrypted network that my psychiatrist uses. My sister, Chris, badgered me into doing this. She had already set up everything when she so graciously notified me of my first appointment. Dr. Buraquinho, or Dr. B as I call her (when I don’t refer to her as Dr. Ruth, that is) practices psychotherapy in an unusual, very unorthodox manner—online. Normally, she meets her clients first and then they continue their sessions online for a period of time, meeting in person intermittently. But, with me, Dr. B agreed to start out online, partly in deference to our geographical separation (me in South Carolina and her in Washington) and partly in deference to my identity. She knows that she is treating my public persona, Laura Drake, and that I want to keep it that way for a while. Laura Drake is an author. She writes paranormal romance novels, most notably about vampires. She’s had a moderate amount of success and has some loyal fans that keep her busy in her work. She is calm, cool, collected and bears little resemblance to me. And that’s just the way I like it. Samantha Jansen is withdrawn and insecure and very…well, she’s damaged. Deeply, deeply damaged. I log onto the secure server and open the chat dated for today. The beginning question seems innocuous enough. But, then again, they always do. It’s later on that she’ll get into all sorts of grisly, personal questions. (Buraquinho_Dr): You said you never knew your father, what was your mother like? What a loaded question! I think as I tap out my answer on the keyboard. (LauraDrake): She was a lot like a teenager. She was fun and liked to party. Dr. B’s response is quick. As always. When it’s time to work, she’s always armed and ready to go.

(Buraquinho_Dr): Describe a typical day with her. I think back to the years I spent with her, to how many days went on in exactly the same way. (LauraDrake): Most of the time, I would get up early so I could fix us breakfast. I would sneak into her room and wake her up without disturbing whoever she was in bed with. Most of the time I could. She would come out and eat breakfast with me and wish me a good day at school and then go back to bed. This is when the lags happen. As Dr. B digests my response, she formulates her next question. Sometimes that can take a while, which makes our sessions slow in the way of progress. But that’s fine with me since I’m only really doing this to get Chris off my back anyway. My mind drifts back to Mason as I await the next question. When it comes, it irritates me. I’d much rather be writing than getting my head shrunk. (Buraquinho_Dr): What about the evenings? After school? Did you take care of her then, too? I would like to type a simple “yes,” but I know she’ll just ask me more questions if I do. She doesn’t like single word answers. I guess no psychiatrist really does. (LauraDrake): For the most part, yes. She did some of the things that I couldn’t do, like grocery shopping and signing things, but otherwise, yes. I pretty much took care of everything else. After a few minutes, the next question comes in. I know when I answer her where the conversation will go. It makes me very happy that I have to cut short today’s session in order to make it to a book signing. It signals the end of my “trip,” which really isn’t a trip at all. I’m still at home in Charleston, but the world at large thinks Laura Drake lives in Arizona. The lengths I go to for you, Laura Drake, I tell my alter ego. I stay in hotels when I’m in the area, just so there’s no way to trace Laura Drake back to me. (Buraquinho_Dr): Didn’t she work? Oh yeah, she worked all right. (LauraDrake): Yes, she worked. (Buraquinho_Dr): What did she do? (LauraDrake): She was an escort. A long pause.

(Buraquinho_Dr): An escort? Or a prostitute? (LauraDrake): Depends on who you ask. Another pause. (Buraquinho_Dr): How would you describe her work? I think about that before answering. Some nights were better than others. On the good nights, I would’ve called her an escort. But there were some bad nights… I can’t stop the shiver that quakes me to my soul. (LauraDrake): I really don’t know. It’s an honest answer, just not one Dr. B will like. (Buraquinho_Dr): occupation?

How

much

did

you

know

about

your

mother’s

More than I should have. More than I ever wanted to. But that’s not the answer I give. (LauraDrake): Enough. A hauntingly familiar and unwelcome tightness grips my chest, just like it always has when I think of how much I know about my mother’s work. And, even though it’s not technically time for me to put on Laura Drake, I end the conversation with Dr. B. (LauraDrake): I’m sure you’d like to further explore this, but I have to prepare for this afternoon’s appearance. Can we continue this at our next session? I hope she forgets, but I know she won’t. (Buraquinho_Dr): Of course. We can pick it up right here on Thursday. Why did I ever agree to two days per week? (LauraDrake): Great. See you then. Without waiting for a response, I sign off and head for the hotel bedroom. ********

I fold my hands demurely in my lap and await the next question. This part of the signing is a Q&A for fans, which isn’t that unusual. There are five other authors present, so it turned out to be a fairly large affair. What makes this particular event more stressful is that it’s televised. It’s odd, the comfort that I feel in the wig, glasses and heavy makeup. My Laura Drake get-up is much more than a disguise, it’s a shield—a protective barrier that keeps the world out and the tender Samantha Jansen (the real me) in. As my eyes drift through the crowd again, they’re drawn to the back of the room, to a latecomer. I feel my jaw go slack and, slowly, the earth stops spinning, grinding to a halt. For a moment, it’s as though the entire world is as breathless and reverent as I am. My first thought is that someone has managed to find the exact image I have of Mason Strait, the one that’s only ever been in my head and in my darkest dreams, and send him here as a publicity stunt. Even from this distance, I can see that his eyes are a soft, pale green. They’re framed in thick, jetblack lashes that match his jet-black hair. It’s cut much like I imagined it would be—business short. It’s a little mussed at the moment, like he’s run his fingers through it a few times, but that just makes it look even more like Mason’s. His lean face is tan and his cheeks are covered in a light dusting of five o’clock shadow even though it’s still early afternoon. His lips are perfectly sculpted and his jaw is square. He even has that engaging dimple in his strong chin. As my stunned eyes travel away from his face, I’m astonished to find that he’s even dressed like Mason might be when he’s out prowling around—casual, non-threatening. Sexy. His broad chest is covered in a white button-up shirt that looks like it’s made of expensive brushed cotton. His long, muscular legs are clad in faded blue jeans that look like they were cut and sewn with his body in mind. And on his feet? Nothing less than dusty cowboy boots. This can’t be happening! “Next question please.” Temporarily, Ari’s voice distracts me from the breathtakingly handsome man at the back of the room. I feel a bit disoriented, like I’ve been in a daze. I look around at the small crowd of people, trying to focus. But just before my mind can snap back to attention, my gaze is drawn to him again, as if pulled by a magnet. But now the doorway is empty. My heart sinks, so keen is my disappointment. I suppress the urge to jump out of my seat and run through the crowd, out the rear door to see if I can get one more glimpse of him. I feel desperate for just one more look at my Mason. Ari’s voice brings me back to my purpose here. “You, sir,” he says in his authoritative voice. Ari Nelson is my friend as well as my publicist. He has strawberry blond hair and a no-nonsense way about him. He makes calm out of chaos, reason out of randomness, and he can wrangle a raucous bunch like nobody’s business. He’s a thousand kinds of wonderful and he prefers his men much like I do—strong and dark. “Ms. Drake, does inspiration for your stories stem from personal experience?” The smooth voice causes chills to erupt down my arms. I search for the corresponding face among the primarily-female crowd. My eyes stop on a familiar face. His lips aren’t moving, but I have no doubt whatsoever that the velvety voice belongs to this man—my real-life Mason. There are a few other men present, but his tall frame makes him easy to spot. He stands inches above everyone around him. I had been so focused on the doorway that seemed to have swallowed

him up that I didn’t see him hovering at the far edge of the crowd. But now, I can’t see anything else, anyone else. His eyes are locked on mine as he waits. They aren’t smiling or flirtatious, or even curious; they’re just…intense. When I don’t answer immediately, he asks another question. “Are you Daire Kirby?” As my mind spins over his words, he watches me. I get the feeling he’s trying to see inside me, trying to find the truth, to find the softest, most vulnerable part of me and expose it. Just like Mason would. The physical similarities between this man and my fictional leading man leave me breathless. The similarities that seem to float just beneath the surface leave me terrified. People are always curious about where I get my inspiration, about whether or not it comes from real life. And although I’ve answered his question dozens of times and have memorized a nice, pat spiel to address it, my mind goes blank. It’s as though the only thing I’m aware of is the invisible thread that this man has, within seconds, tied around some battered part of my soul and is using to pull me toward him like a puppet on a string. It’s quiet around us as the others in the room await my answer. When I give none, “Mason” moves forward. I watch, completely immobilized, as he fluidly weaves his way through the bodies in the crowd until he’s within a couple of feet of me. He looks up at me where I sit on the stage, his familiar green eyes stripping me bare in front of all these people, and he asks the one question that scares me more than anything else. “Are you looking for your Mason Strait?” I’ve asked myself that same thing over and over and over again. Do I want to escape my past? To forget it and move on like it never happened, like it hasn’t affected me? Or do I secretly want someone to take me back to it, to explore it with me? To free me inside it? “Your name, sir?” I still haven’t said a word when Ari asks the question, bringing me back from…somewhere else. Translucent jade eyes never leave mine as the stranger leans forward, extending his hand. It seems he’s introducing himself to me rather than answering Ari’s question. What I don’t think this man realizes is that he’s giving my dreams—and my nightmares—a new name. “Brand. Alec Brand.”

CHAPTER TWO- Alec I make my way from the room, blending in with the rest of the crowd. I can still picture the look Laura Drake gave me as she was being led from the platform by the man I presume to be her publicist. There was something about her expression, about the look in her light eyes that seemed incongruous with the sexually progressive woman I would’ve imagined Laura Drake to be. It was only there for a second, like she let her guard down accidentally. That or I just imagined it. Maybe I want there to be more to her than what she seems to be. Maybe I want her to be vulnerable, almost…frightened. While I find Laura Drake the author fascinating, I might findthis Laura Drake, the person, far more intriguing. She wouldn’t be the typical type of woman I’m drawn to, the kind I’m attracted to, but parts of her could be. Obviously, something about her is appealing to me or I wouldn’t still be thinking about her this way. Savvy author of vampire romance novels, possessed of an intriguing mind and a more intriguing past? Or shy, possibly repressed woman I saw staring back at me from behind those glasses? Which is the real Laura Drake? And how do I get close enough to find out?

CHAPTER THREE- Samantha

Ari shuts the hotel room door behind me and I collapse onto the sofa. I lay my head back and take a deep, calming breath. I’m exhausted. I close my eyes and, within seconds, two intense drops of pale lime appear at the back of my mind to taunt me. My heart speeds up. Curiosity and excitement course through me. And so does a fine thread of fear. He’s so much like Mason… How can he be real? And be so much like someone who’s not? Suddenly restless, I push myself to my feet and walk into the bedroom to start peeling off the layers of Laura Drake. I tug the black bob-cut wig from my head then remove the non-prescription glasses and toss both onto the bed. I stand in front of the mirror appraising myself. The black two-piece suit is tailored to fit my slim build. It is every inch Laura Drake—sharp, sophisticated, educated, in control. Not at all who I am. Only when my eyes reach my head do I begin to see bits of Samantha Jansen. A few sprigs of dark red hair have escaped the wig stocking. The heart shaped face is pale, making the lips look dark pink. The gray eyes are heavy-lidded and red with fatigue. In this moment, I am neither Laura Drake nor Samantha Jansen. Or am I both? I go to extraordinary lengths to keep my identity concealed, but I sometimes wonder who the real me is. When I take one step back, away from the mirror, I become aware of my shoes. The strappy heels are the one bit of frivolity in my Laura Drake persona. And they’re my anchor to the one person in the world who keeps me grounded, no matter what happens to Laura—my sister, Chris. She designed the shoes. I wear them with pride. I wear them in support. But mostly, I wear them so that I never forget who I am, where I came from, and all the pain that brought me here. “That went well,” Ari says as he picks up my wig and shakes it out. “What time am I supposed to be flying out?” “4:20.” I look at my watch. Thirty minutes until I can leave. “Let’s check out early. We can get some coffee at the airport before I change.” Ari holds the wig out to me and bows dramatically. “Whatever you prefer, miss.” “Whatever I prefer?” I snort and take the silky black hair piece from his fingers. “Where have you been hiding this lovely version of yourself?” Ari straightens and smiles. “The domineering, control-freak publicist keeps him under lock and key.” “Um, I need a copy of that key. Why don’t you get right on that?” “Yeah, not gonna happen,” he teases. “You’d be a wreck if I listened to you very often.” I sigh. “But I’d be a happy wreck.” “No, you’d be a poor wreck who spends her days writing with paper and pencil in a padded cell.” “I’d be a very happy wreck.” Ari shakes his head. “No appreciation.” “Oh, you know I love you. I’d be lost without you and your domineering ways.” “This, I know.” “And your humility. Let’s not forget that.” “Your glasses, Clark Kent,” he says, scooping them off the bed and tossing them to me. I slip back into my alter ego. After adjusting my wig and straightening my jacket, I turn to the mirror. Once again, Laura Drake is staring back at me.

Behind me, Ari smiles and wheels my single piece of luggage to the door. With a sigh, I grab my purse and carry-on and follow, leaving behind the hotel that’s only six blocks from my apartment. ********

Two hours later, after a cab ride to the airport, a cinnamon dulce latte with Ari at the airport Starbucks and a quick change of identity in the First Class lounge, I am unlocking the door to my apartment as Samantha Jansen. Ari is on his way back to New York and Laura Drake is tucked safely away in my bag. I don’t live a glamorous life, but the one thing I sprung for was a great view. It’s what sold me on this condo. From nearly every window in this unit, I can see the Battery and the Atlantic Ocean beyond. That vista greets me when I stop just inside the doorway. White curtains billow at each of the six tall, open windows that line the wall in front of me. I breathe in the beauty of the scene, the lightly scented air, and the comforting smells of home; it’s the most soothing cocktail in the world. Something touches my leg. I look down. It’s my cat, Jinx. “Hi, Jinxy!” I croon, bending to stroke his silky body as he weaves in and around my legs. His solid black fur glistens healthfully in the light. “Did Chris take good care of you?” Even though I’ve only been staying a few blocks away, I dared not risk coming back here. He meows his answer, looks up at me with his bright green eyes and licks his lips. “You’re hungry already? You’re always hungry.” Another meow. “Men!” I roll my suitcase into the bedroom and come back out to feed Jinx. On the kitchen island, anchoring a note, is a huge vase of fresh flowers. The note reads: Welcome back! I know you must be EXHAUSTED from such a LONG, LONG trip I just want you to know that I hate your cat. If I didn’t adore you, I’d have thrown him out the window. Love you! I snicker and roll my eyes. Chris is so dramatic. Just as I’m filling Jinx’s bowl with cat food that can surely be smelled a block away, I hear the front door open. The click-clack of heels on hardwood tells me who it is. Without lifting my head to see her, I know the instant Chris stops in the doorway; I smell her perfume. It’s her signature scent, sweet and expensive. “As I live and breathe, it’s the Laura Drake! Quick! Somebody call the doctah. I’m fixin’ to succumb to the vaypahs.” I smile. In my mind, I can see Chris standing on a wide veranda wearing a long, fluffy dress and white gloves, the back of her hand pressed theatrically to her forehead—the quintessential Southern Belle. “The ‘vapors’ wouldn’t have had a chance to get you if you’d killed my cat,” I respond in an equally thick accent. I set Jinx’s food on the floor in front of him. He digs in immediately. “What? He’s alive, isn’t he?” I straighten and eye Chris dubiously. “He’ll probably give me Cat Scratch Fever or bird flu or something similarly horrific, but I suffered through it because I know you love him.” She looks down at him and adds with a curl of her lip, “Even though I can’t imagine why.” I smile. “Are you ever going to tell me why you started hating cats so much? You loved them when we were younger.” “That’s before I knew how nasty they are.” “They’re not nasty, Chris.” “Sam, they poop in a box then walk through it and track it all over your house. They’re nasty!”

I laugh. “They don’t walk through their poop.” “You’re telling me he walks around every buried pile of shit when he gets in and out of that contraption you call a litter box? What-ever!” “’Buried’ is the operative word there, Chris. But don’t worry. I only let him get on the table when I know you’re coming for dinner.” “Ack!” she spits, screwing up her face. “I’m never eating here again.” “Fine by me. You’re impossibly messy anyway.” “Be nice to me or I’ll leave.” “Um, I don’t remember inviting you in to begin with,” I tease. Chris holds up her keys and jingles them. “Biggest mistake you ever made, giving me a key to your house. Just wait until you see what I did to your underwear drawer.” “Don’t make me tell Greg all your dirty little secrets,” I threaten in mock seriousness. “Don’t make me tell the world your dirty little secret. ‘Cause yours really is dirty. Very dirty.” Although I know it’s an empty threat made only in jest, a shiver of panic works its way through me. She knows that’s one of my worst fears. It’s time to change the subject. “So,” I begin with a quick shake of my head, “why are you so dressed up?” Chris’s blond hair is piled atop her head. Several long curls are hanging loose to brush her shoulders. She’s wearing a royal blue sundress a few shades darker than her eyes and stilettoes that match. No doubt they’re her design. Her face is made up in “going out” makeup and diamonds sparkle at her ears and throat. This is definitely “an occasion.” “Oh,” she says, looking down. “Ohmigod, I forgot to tell you. I’m meeting Greg’s parents for dinner tonight,” she explains, shaking her fingers anxiously. “I’m so nervous!” “Why? You look beautiful, and you and Greg are perfect together. They’re going to love you.” Occasionally I still catch glimpses of the insecure little girl I first met ten years ago when Social Services dropped me off on my foster parents’ doorstep. She’s blossomed quite a bit since then, but I’ve learned that some scars run deep. “I just don’t feel quite…good enough. But I hope you’re right.” “Of course I’m right. When have you ever known me to be wrong?” “Oh God!” she says, rolling her eyes. “Well at least I have a date for the fundraiser tomorrow night.” “Oh crap! I forgot all about that.” “That’s because, unless you’re wearing a wig, you’re a total space cadet.” “At least I graduated college.” “Yeah and went on to use, oh let’s see, none of what you learned. Some accountant you turned out to be.” “Good point.” “You know how depressed Mom will get if she sees you show up by yourself again.” Over the years, our foster parents have become as attached to us as Chris and I have become to them. We call them Mom and Dad. It started off as a joke. Then it just stuck. I sigh. “I know, I know. I’ll think of something.” “You could always let me set you up with that friend of Greg’s I keep telling you about.” “I’m not dating a younger guy, Chris. We’ve talked about this.” “He’s not that much younger.” “He’s your age, Chris. Four years is too much.”

“I didn’t say you had to marry him. Just go out with the guy. Who knows? You might have fun. Besides, it’s just for one night.” I growl. “Let me think about it.” “That’s a ‘no’,” she says, shaking her head and following me as I leave the kitchen. “That’s not a ‘no’; that’s an ‘I’ll think about it’.” “Which is your version of a ‘no’. Anyway, I’m off. Just wanted to stop in— Oh! I almost forgot. I saw you on TV at that appearance thingy you did, whatever you call it, and ohmigod! Sam, I saw that guy that came to the front to talk to you. You really need to find him and spend some time getting ‘inspired’ for your next book. He was so hot! And he was totally into you. I could see that all the way through the freakin’ television.” I feel a blush creep into my cheeks. “What guy?” Chris stops with her hand on the door knob and slowly turns to face me. “You’ve got to be kidding me! Are you really going to stand there and pretend you don’t know who I’m talking about? Like I didn’t see you get all flustered?” My face gets hotter. “Was it that obvious?” “Only to people who know you, who know the real you.” I think of Ari. I wonder if he noticed. “Well, that’s not gonna happen, so why don’t you concentrate on WOW-ing Greg’s parents and leave me to tend to my boring life?” Chris’s face falls into a pout. “That’s the whole point. I don’t want you to have a boring life, Sam. I want you to be happy. And not just on paper. I want you to be happy.” “I am happy, Chris.” She looks sad and bothered. “Not like you should be.” “You’re just a drama queen. Now, get out of here before you start crying and mess up your makeup. I know that look.” She smiles, but it trembles. I know she worries about me. She worries that the past will keep me from ever having a normal life. Sometimes, I worry the same thing.

CHAPTER FOUR- Alec I breathe in the sea air. It fills my lungs much like the anticipation of a new project fills my mind. I needed this—this break. At this time of the year especially. It’s full of old ghosts, ugly demons, and unwanted memories. It’s my own personal Halloween. My own personal haunting season. In the beginning, my coping mechanisms were acceptable, I’m sure. But then, somewhere along the way, things went sideways. I got lost in the healing process. Suddenly, it wasn’t healing anymore. It was obsession. And immersion. And control. I chose a path that led me in a circle, constantly returning to the pain of the past. I’m still fighting it to this very day. Except, of course, when it gets the better of me and I just give in.

CHAPTER FIVE- Samantha Chris and I wait to place our coffee order. “Why did I agree to this?” “Because every other morning we go where you want to go. And because I have to get some work done today. And because you love me. And because I love this place. Is that enough? Or do you want me to keep going?” Chris rolls her eyes and sighs like I’ve just asked her for a kidney. “You’re lucky all of those things are true or we’d be outta here.” She leans to the side and looks around at the guy in front of us. “What’s taking so long?” “Shhh,” I say, looking around to make sure no one is listening to her gripe. It appears no one is. Everyone is either messing with their phone or their iPod or flipping through the paper as they wait. “I happen to like this place and would rather not be forever shunned because I brought a whiner in with me. In-line harassment is not on the menu.” “I think they’d be doing you a favor if they shunned you,” she whispers loudly. Ignoring her, I glance ahead at the familiar face behind the counter. His name is Sean and he’s a barista. Or baristo. Or whatever the masculine version of a barista is. If there is one. Let’s just say he’s the guy who makes and serves me coffee on a fairly regular basis. This shop is one of my favorite places to come when I need to get some work done and don’t want to sit at the house. When we finally make it to the counter, Sean greets me enthusiastically. “Hey, chica! What’s it going to be today?” “Hi, Sean. Um, I hate to admit it, but I’m going to be predictable today. This is like comfort food to me.” “Predictable? So you want the usual? A grande nonfat cinnamon dulce with extra whip?” I smile. “You got it!” I look to Chris. “What do you want?” “Umm, I think I’ll have the same,” she says, suddenly agreeable as she turns on a bright smile for Sean. I have to work to hold back my snicker. Chris is happy with Greg, but she’s an incorrigible flirt. What I’ll have to tell her later is that she is soooo barking up the wrong tree. “Go sit,” he says. “I’ll bring them out.” I pucker my lips at him and he mimics the action. We both smile and I turn to get napkins, and find me and Chris a table. Sean is very handsome. His hair is dark and his skin is golden, and he has a delicious accent. He’s discernibly Latin. Some might think he’s flirting with me. I happen to know he prefers blonds instead of red heads. Blond men, that is. That doesn’t bother me at all, though. It’s our camaraderie that I love. The only empty table is situated near the door. I put my bag in one wooden chair and I slide into the other. As Chris takes the seat across from me, I pull out my notebook and glance around the small cafe. People are scattered throughout the room—sitting, standing, leaning—chatting casually over steaming cups of their favorite coffee. The smell of dark beans and rich sweeteners fills the air. I inhale deeply, letting the aroma soothe me. This is one of my most beloved places on the planet. I hear the bell over the door jingle as it opens. I don’t think anything of it until I hear Chris’s

exclamation. “Holy shit! It’s him!” I turn around to see who’s got her so excited. My reaction, although not audible, is much more profound than hers. My heart flutters. My lungs freeze. My stomach contracts. It’s Mason. I mean Alec. Alec Brand. I think I’d recognize him anywhere, from any angle. He’s as familiar to me as the characters I live with every minute of every day. He’s the embodiment of my hopes as well as my fears, my dreams as well as my nightmares. I thought of him no less than a dozen times last night. Then, after finally getting him out of my mind long enough to doze off to sleep, I dreamed of him, of the real-life Mason Strait. I woke thinking of him, too. But since then, I’d just about managed to convince myself it was a trick of the light. I just knew there was no way I was remembering him correctly, that there was no way he looked that much like Mason. But today shows it wasn’t the lighting. Or my imagination. Or my faulty memory. He’s as breathtaking as I remember him being, as breathtaking as I’ve always imagined him to be. As Mason, that is. When he walks toward the line of people waiting to order, I see that he even swaggers like Mason. It’s insane! He stops at the end of the line, behind the last person, and shifts his weight to one foot. The tips of his fingers are stuffed in the pockets of his jeans. He’s wearing boots again, and a dark blue t-shirt. A brown leather messenger bag is slung over one shoulder. From the corner of my eye, I see several heads turn toward him. I’m sure he’s drawing nearly every eye in the small shop. And why not? He’s masculine and gorgeous and charismatic as hell. His head begins to turn in my direction. My heart leaps with excitement and pumps copious amounts of blood into my cheeks. I whirl around in my seat, hoping he doesn’t see me or my reaction. I blush easily, making me particularly thankful for the harsh overhead lights. They tend to wash out any extra rosy hue, obscuring any physical reactions like this one. “That’s him, right? The guy from yesterday?” I nod. “What the hell are you waiting for? Go talk to him!” “Shhh,” I hiss at her, peeking surreptitiously over my shoulder to make sure she’s not getting his attention. “First of all, please don’t embarrass me. Secondly, he has no clue who I am, remember?” Chris turns her confused eyes to me. I watch her puzzle over my question for a minute before understanding dawns. “Right. Damn. Where’s that wig when you need it?” “At home. Right where it should be. Where it’s far away from you.” Her eyes light up. “Ooo, you could have twice the fun! Just think of it. He’d have no idea—” “Stop right there. I go to too much trouble to keep up this ruse. There’s no way I could pull off something like that. So, no. Don’t even think about it.” Chris pushes out her lower lip in a pout. “Promise me, Chris,” I demand warningly. I can see that she’s plotting. And I know her far too well to think she’ll drop it unless I make her promise. I learned that shortly after being notified of an unexplained appointment with a therapist. “Fine.” “Promise?”

She sighs and rolls her eyes. “Fine. I promise.” I smile, feeling better already. “Good. Now, can we just enjoy our coffee?” “That would be great if we had coffee.” I glance at the table that’s empty but for my notebook. “Oh.” I look up at Chris and we both start laughing. “Wow, maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s best to leave this one alone. He’s already making you an idiot.” “Your confidence in me is touching,” I say dryly. Before I can even think twice, I’m glancing over my shoulder again. I’m trying to pull my eyes away just as he pivots in my direction. I know I should look away. But I can’t. It’s as though some part of me is so compelled to see those eyes again, those haunting pale green eyes, that I physically can’t turn my head away. When his gaze meets mine and stops, the bottom drops out of my stomach. He stares, unabashedly, his expression curiously blank. For a few seconds, I’m lost in those eyes. They’re so familiar, they evoke so many emotions, both wanted and unwanted, that I find myself waiting breathlessly for him to do or say something that only Mason would do. It’s the rise of one raven brow that breaks the spell. More blood rushes into my cheeks and my eyes widen in shock before I spin away. “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” I whisper, closing my eyes. “What?” Chris says, a smile in her voice. “What the hell is wrong with you? That was a serious moment you two just had. Let’s go buy you some silk panties for your first date.” I know she’s teasing, but I’m in no mood to appreciate it. “What if he recognized me?” I whisper, keeping my head down. “How? Even I barely recognize you in your LD garb. There’s no way a perfect stranger would put that together after two minutes of looking at you.” I glance up at Chris. I know she’s right. The chances are extremely slim. But still… It’s enough to make me feel a little panicked. A shadow falls over our table from behind my shoulder. I hold my breath, afraid to look back. My heart is pounding. A familiar voice cuts into my anxiety. “Two grande nonfat cinnamon dulces with extra whip.” I look up. It’s Sean. I smile and sigh in relief, taking one of the collared cups from his outstretched hand. “Thanks, Sean.” “Enjoy it, chica,” he says, nodding at me then at Chris before turning to make his way back to the counter. As I watch him go, I can’t help that my eyes flicker to where Alec Brand is standing in line. He’s like Aurora Borealis—colorful, fascinating lights twinkling in the dull, black expanse of my internal sky—and I can’t help but fixate on him. He draws my eye, my thoughts, and some deep and tragic part of my soul toward him. I’m practically helpless to resist. Blood rushes into my cheeks again when my eyes collide with penetrating green ones. For just a moment, I wish I was safely ensconced in Laura Drake. Not only has she already met Alec, but she’d know just what to say, how to act, how to handle herself in this situation. In any situation. But I’m no Laura Drake. Without her façade, I’m a wallflower with scars that only I can see.

Feeling the rise of insecurities that are as familiar to me as my dark red hair, I turn quickly away, hoping Alec won’t get a glimpse of them. I don’t know why I even care, really. It’s not like I’ll ever see him again. Twice is already some kind of bizarre fluke. The odds of it happening again are astronomical! But still…he’s my Mason. If this is the only moment I ever get with him, that’s not how I want it to go—all bungling and embarrassment on my end. “Da-yum! You two really do have some kind of thing going on, don’t you? Maybe he does recognize you.” My heart drops into my shoes. “God, Chris, don’t even say that!” “Calm down, calm down. You know that’s not even a remote possibility. What I’m really diggin’, though, is the fact that he’s attracted to both of you. Maybe he’s the man that can see beyond the surface,” she says, dropping her voice into a soft, mystical tone. “Maybe he can break through your walls, heal all your wounds, banish all your insecurities.” “Stop it, you dork. This isn’t a romantic comedy.” “No, your life is definitely a drama! A dark, twisted one.” I say nothing to her comment. My mind is still firmly on the man standing somewhere behind me. It’s not until Chris starts freaking out that I have some idea of what’s coming. “Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod!” she hisses through lips that hardly move. “Here he comes!” I freeze. I don’t move one single muscle. I just stare into Chris’s wide eyes until a shape appears at my right. Slowly, I turn my head and look up, falling headlong into the most amazing eyes I’ve ever seen in real life. I see them in my head all the time. And I saw them from somewhat of a distance yesterday. But no amount of exposure could’ve prepared me for the reality of them up-close. They’re like drops of cool lime with a splash of warm cream. He glances away from me and nods to Chris before his eyes return to mine. He tilts his head slightly to the side as he considers me. Still, he hasn’t said a word. Still, my pulse is racing out of control. “Can we help you?” Chris says from across the table. I can hear the smile in her voice. He doesn’t answer for several long seconds. “I know you.” It’s a statement, not a question. A voice inside my head, one that I only listen to when I’m writing, cries out emphatically. Yes, yes, yes! You know me inside and out! Just like I know you. But I shush her. He doesn’t know me. He couldn’t possibly. And I couldn’t possibly know him. Even though he looks and, thus far, acts exactly like the man that arose from the core of my imagination, from my darkest desires and deepest fears, I can’t let myself forget that he’s not Mason Strait. “No,” I reply. He falls silent again, his continued perusal making me increasingly breathless. Finally his eyes narrow on me. “I want to.” I don’t know what to say. I want to know him, too. In a way. But in a way, I get the feeling that a man like this could be the end of me, the end of my life as I’ve known it. I write about star-crossed love every day, about people who need so deeply and feel so passionately that their world caves in around them. I’d be crazy to risk something like that. But I’d also be crazy not to. As surely as I’m sitting here, I know I would forever regret it if I didn’t say yes to this man. At least once. “Her silence means please do,” Chris chirps happily.

I watch one brow rise again. It conveys so much when he does it. It’s sarcastic. It’s devilish. It’s arrogant. It’s challenging. He’s daring me. “You’ve never met a man like me.” His voice is like smooth, rich caramel, pouring over my skin, oozing into every crevice, invading every cell. My answer is the same. “No.” And I haven’t, outside of my head. “Maybe you could tell her all about it tonight at a black-tie fundraiser for Childhood Neurological Disorders,” Chris adds. “Eight o’clock.” Neither of us has spared her a glance since his eyes came back to mine. “Are you brave enough?” he asks. I would say that he doesn’t know how much he terrifies me, but I think he does. I also think he knows just how much he excites me. “Give me your phone.” With shaking hands, I grab my purse, reaching inside to bring out my phone. He takes it from me, his fingers brushing mine, his eyes seeing right through me. When he moves his attention to the little black rectangle, I feel somewhat released from his spell. My mind is whirling with the same thought, over and over again. Is this really happening? Is this really happening? I feel like Daire again. I’m caught in the spider’s web. I feel the heat. I sense the danger. But still yet, I’m captivated by the spider. After a few seconds, he hands me the phone. “Alec Brand,” he says quietly. “And you are?” “Samantha Jansen.” “I’ll pick you up at seven, Samantha Jansen.” He starts to move off, but I stop him. “Wouldn’t it help if you had my address?” “I’ll find you,” he replies just before he turns and walks away.

CHAPTER SIX- Alec Even after going home to change, fighting the traffic and spending a long day at the office, I’m still thinking about her. I know I shouldn’t have approached her this morning. That alone was like taking several steps backward in my progress. I know better than to involve a woman like her in the wreckage of my life. But I just couldn’t help myself. If I were half the man I should be, I’d stay away from her. I wouldn’t show up tonight. I wouldn’t call, I wouldn’t seek her out. I’d just disappear. But I’m not the man I should be. Yet. My weaknesses still get the better of me now and then. And this one will. I know there’s no point in even trying to resist. I’ve already got her scent. She’s in my blood and I know there’s only one way to get her out. I know how this will go. It’s sick that I take such pleasure in thinking of it. It’s not the ending devastation that excites me. I do feel guilty for not being able to love and commit to a woman like they want and need. But they know that going in. I’ve never misled any of them. No, it’s the innocence of a woman like Samantha Jansen that excites me. Introducing her to new things, watching her body come to life, showing her how good I can make her feel, doing things to her that she never thought she would agree to, much less crave. And crave she will. Just like I can see the innocence in her eyes, I can also see the sensual creature begging to be released. And I’ll make sure I’m around just long enough to help her with that.

CHAPTER SEVEN- Samantha I feel like an idiot. I’m standing in front of the mirror, making sure everything looks as good as I can make it, waiting for a guy that will likely never even show up. I let Chris get inside my head. She has a tendency to blow things way out of proportion. Like today, for instance. She makes it seem like there were fireworks going off over our heads. Granted, at the time, it felt like there were. But now, in retrospect, when I think of him—Alec Brand—of what a man like him probably likes in a woman, of what he’s used to, I think Chris and I were both sorely mistaken. There’s no way he’d be interested in someone like me. He must’ve just been passing the time in the coffee shop. Probably gets a kick out of striking women speechless. I think to myself that Mason isn’t like that. Then I mentally slap my own cheek. Snap out of it! He’s not Mason. Mason Strait isn’t real! With a sigh of resignation, I check my phone once more. Still no word. No call. No text. No nothing. He’s definitely not coming. Taking a deep breath, I run my fingers through my loose curls and give myself one last appraising look. My eyes are ringed with smoky shadow that nearly matches the soft sage dress I’m wearing. The color sets off the gray of my eyes and the deep red of my hair. Tonight, it cascades to the middle of my back. Below that is pale skin all the way to my waist. I bite my brick-stained lip. I’ve never bought, much less worn such a dress before. It’s nothing Laura Drake would wear; it’s far too sexy and…accessible. Yet it’s nothing Samantha Jansen would wear either. It’s bold and risqué, colorful and confident, adjectives that don’t apply to me. They apply to Chris, though, and I have her to thank for the dress. Grabbing the matching purse from my vanity and stuffing a few essentials into it, I shut off the light and make my way to the living room. There’s no use putting off the inevitable. Mom will just have to get over it when I show up alone. Again. I detour to the kitchen to make sure Jinx has water before I grab my keys and head for the door. I fling it open, never expecting to see Alec Brand standing on the other side of it. Yet he is. Startled, I gasp. “Something wrong?” he asks in his deep voice, that one brow shooting up again I want to say that nothing is wrong, that nothing in the whole entire world is wrong. That everything has never felt more right. But I don’t. Instead, I look him over. Drink him in. He goes down so smooth! They say clothes make the man. I can honestly say that, in this case, the man makes the clothes. Alec is dressed in a tuxedo. It’s nothing special, but he effortlessly turns the plain black suit and white shirt into something more, something dashing and debonair. Something dangerous. Very, very dangerous. “If you’re going to look at me that way, I might need to warn you about me,” he says, taking a step toward me. Instinctively, I retreat. One side of his mouth quirks into a wry grin. “Or maybe you already know.” “I—I don’t know what you mean,” I manage to squeeze out quietly over the pounding of my heart. “I’m not the warm and fuzzy type, Samantha. It’s not my intention to make you feel love. I don’t have that kind of emotion in me. But there are other things I can give you, other things I can make you

feel. Really feel.” His eyes are hooded as he looks down at me. He takes one more step forward. This time, I don’t back up. “Excitement,” he says, reaching up to wind one long, red curl around his finger. When his eyes meet mine, I feel like he’s doing the same thing to me—winding me around his finger. “Anticipation. Desire. Warmth. I can make you feel very, very warm.” As though his words alone can evoke the sensation, I feel hot blood rush to the surface of my skin and pool in the lowest part of my belly. “You might even feel a little fear,” he continues softly. “But even that can be intoxicating in its own way.” I’m mesmerized by his words, caught off guard by his honesty. I’m surprised and I’m a little afraid. But I’m also all in. I feel it in my bones, just like I feel that there will be some part of me that will live to regret it. “But not tonight,” he says, moving away from me, giving me room to breathe as if he knew I had none. But even with more space between us, I’m still breathless. I have a feeling I will always be this way in his presence. The question is: How long can I survive without air? “Tonight is your one free pass. Just know that the next time you look at me this way, I’ll feel compelled to do something about it.” Alec walks to the door and opens it, sweeping his arm out in front of him, asking me casually, as if he didn’t just drop that little bomb on me, “Shall we, Samantha?” That question is full of so much more than just the request to follow him to the door or to the fundraiser. He’s inviting me into his world, into the place he described. A place of excitement and anticipation, both of which I can already feel. And fear. And I can feel a little bit of that already, too. I know I should hesitate longer over my response. But I don’t. Instead, on numb legs and with butterflies in my stomach, I walk toward him. I stop in front of him. My eyes drift up to lock on his. I say nothing. But I don’t really have to. I suppose my action speaks volumes. And Alec understands it. I know this when he leans forward just enough to whisper in my ear, “I hope that’s still your answer tomorrow.” I don’t respond. I know he doesn’t expect it. I simply let him lead me from the room. Lead me on. Despite the risk, I can’t not go with him. I can’t not see, not feel, not try. Mason bends the woman over his arm, his hand gliding up the glistening space between her breasts. His long fingers splay across the width of her neck, the tips coming to rest along her jawline. Her chest rises and falls with her excitement as he nudges her head to one side, exposing her throbbing artery. And then, as I watch through the small part in the curtains, he bares his sharp, deadly teeth. Like Daire, I see the fangs. I feel the danger. It’s just that neither makes a difference.

CHAPTER EIGHT- Alec The place where the fundraiser is being held isn’t far from Samantha’s condo. I had already been invited to it, actually. I work with several big hospitals across Georgia and North Carolina. South Carolina as well. It’s not surprising that they’d invite me. Had I known someone like Samantha would be there, I would’ve made a point to go. Or maybe I would’ve found a good reason to stay away, a better reason than just the fact that I should. She’s quiet all the way there. I know what she’s thinking. She’s wondering why she agreed to a deal with the devil. She might be reconsidering. But she won’t change her mind. I’ve known a lot of women like her. She’ll see this through. Curiosity will get the best of her. And then, in the end, so will I. I shouldn’t be looking forward to this. I should see it as a failure. It’s been a long time since I’ve given in to my…predilection. In some ways, the guilt is a good thing. It means I’m still on the mend, that I’ve managed to put some things into perspective. But the fact that I’m doing it anyway means I’ve still got a long way to go. Maybe after this one time, maybe after I get it out of my system, I can make some more forward progress. Maybe.

CHAPTER NINE- Samantha The valet pulls away from the curb in Alec’s sleek, black Range Rover, leaving us standing alone on the sidewalk. We arrived in plenty of time. This event doesn’t officially start until eight. But most people come early to mingle. No doubt the inside is packed. My stomach twists into a knot when Alec offers me his arm. His eyes are drilling holes into mine. I wonder if he’s always so intense. I reach out and curl my fingers around his bicep. It flexes beneath my touch, tightening and making me shiver. He’s in wonderful physical condition, as I knew he would be. I’ve seen every inch of him in my head, only, up until now, I’ve called him Mason. I’d be willing to bet that Alec is equally beautiful. Like déjà vu, I recall words written in the pages of a book. My book. Only now Mason seems very, very real. Mason’s smooth bronze skin gleams in the low light. Through the clear glass of the shower door, I can see the perfectly formed muscles in his arms move and shift as he drags the soap over his chest. I’m the maid. I shouldn’t be watching him this way, but I can’t seem to help myself. I can’t seem to make my feet carry me away from the door. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen him in the shower. Or lying naked in the bed. Or worshipping a nameless, faceless woman’s body with his lips and his hands and his body. More than ever, I want to be the one beneath him. But more than ever, I know he would leave nothing but wreckage in his wake. He’s too much for a girl like me. Still yet, if he ever turned those knowing green eyes on me in invitation, I know what my answer would be. Once again, I’m forced to remind myself that this isn’t Mason, that Mason isn’t real. And that’s probably a good thing. Mason breaks hearts. He can’t help himself. It’s what broken people do. I feel short of breath and lightheaded as we walk through the doors into the elaborate foyer of the ballroom. My step falters and I squeeze Alec’s arm to keep my balance. He looks down at me, at first in question, but then his expression changes. He looks quizzically into my eyes before he scans my face. “You’re blushing,” he states. There’s a long pause before he continues. “Maybe tomorrow you can show me what you were thinking about.” He continues staring for a few seconds more before he urges me into a slow walk at his side. “Smile,” he says as we enter the main room. “Or people will think you’ve been doing something you shouldn’t.” I glance up at him to judge his expression, but I see only his profile. How does he do that? It’s like he’s inside my head. As well as under my skin. Following Alec’s suggestion, I plaster a smile on my face and look casually around the room. I doubt anyone here would guess that I’m wondering how I got here. And I don’t mean “here” as in this address. I mean “here” as in so wrapped up in a man I’ve only just met. Only it doesn’t feel like we just met. It feels as though I’ve known him longer, that I know him intimately. I’m relieved when I spot Chris across the sea of glamorously clothed patrons. Within seconds, she looks up and sees me, too. I watch as she makes her excuses to the couple to whom she’s talking and starts toward us.

As she moves closer, I have a moment of insecurity about masquerading as something I’m not—a gorgeous, confident woman. Like Chris. She’s like a cover model come to life in a scarlet sheath that sets off her golden skin and platinum hair. She’s just the type of arm candy one would expect to see with a man like Alec Brand. I’m nothing more than an imposter. A wallflower in a clever costume. But surely no one’s fooled. Surely they can see the real me. I glance at Alec from the corner of my eye. His face gives away nothing. “You’re here,” Chris says enthusiastically as she glides up to my side. “Of course,” I say, as if there was no doubt, which there absolutely was. “You say that as if it was a foregone conclusion that you’d be here.” “Wasn’t it?” Chris rolls her eyes. “Are we even talking about the same person?” “Where’s Mom?” I ask, redirecting her. Chris cranes her neck, looking toward the center of the room. “Oh, she’s somewhere around here. You know she’ll find you before long. That woman has a sixth sense.” “Tell me about it,” I mutter. Chris finally turns back to me then her eyes flicker to Alec. Her smile is brilliant, like she just now noticed he’s with me. “I’m sorry. I’m so rude! I’m Chris, Chris Wells, Sam’s sister.” “Chris and Sam?” He directs his question to me, cocking his brow again. I’m beginning to love that gesture. It says so much without him actually having to say a thing. He turns back to Chris. “Alec Brand,” he says, inclining his head slightly. The action is almost regal. It suits him, making me wonder about his life. I haven’t even gotten that far in my head. And it’s not as though I don’t care; I’m insanely curious about the real life Mason. It’s just that, so far, my brain seems to stop working when he’s around. “Yes, I remember,” Chris replies, still smiling broadly. Alec nods. “Ah, the coffee shop. Right,” he says, his smile a mere curve of the lips. Pleasant yet bland. I feel a little thrill that he’s not flirting and doesn’t seem to be instantly enamored of her like most men. Most of them lose their wits completely when she smiles. But not Alec. In fact, he seems almost oblivious to her beauty and charm, a fact that makes me like him that much more. It also makes me that much more intrigued. I wonder that he doesn’t seem surprised at the lack of family resemblance. Our coloring, our features, our build—nothing is even slightly similar. We couldn’t be more different. He seems not to have noticed, and if he did, must not think anything of it. It’ll be interesting to see if he’s equally blasé about the differences between me and my parents. “A drink?” Alec asks. “Yes, please. I’ll have a rum and Coke.” He nods once and turns to Chris. “Would you like a refill?” “Rum and Coke for me, too, please,” Chris says, holding up her half empty glass. With another nod, he moves away toward the bar. I worry my bottom lip with my teeth as I watch him go. “What is it? What’s wrong?” Chris asks. “Are you trying to find a way to sabotage yourself, just like you always do?” I turn a frown on her. “I don’t sabotage myself.” “Yes, you do. You let your past screw up your present all the time!” “No I don’t.”

Chris shakes her head. “We’ll see.” “Just because I prefer not to subject myself or anyone else to certain…shortcomings, that does not mean I’m letting my past screw up my present. It simply means that I can use wisdom and discretion.” “Well, I’m glad that, for the moment, you’re turning off ‘wisdom and discretion’.” I glance toward Alec again. He’s walking back toward us with two drinks in one big hand and one in the other. “Boy did I ever,” I say softly. “Well,” Chris begins, taking one of the drinks from Alec’s hand when he extends it toward her. “I suppose I ought to go rescue Greg. He’s been captured and is currently being held against his will.” She tips her head to indicate a group of blue-haired elderly ladies encircling one handsome, blond Greg on the other side of the room. “Don’t you know he’s got some powerful pheromones to penetrate that kind of cobweb.” I grin. I’ve long since given up on trying to curb Chris’s colorful commentary. She turns to Alec. “It was great seeing you again, Alec.” “The pleasure was mine,” he says politely. “I hope to see you again,” she adds pointedly. I feel my face go up in flames. “You know, Sam here is pretty irresistible.” Oh God, oh God, oh God! I hold my breath, hoping she’ll stop there. Chris has a nasty habit of embarrassing me. Alec glances at me, his expression unfathomable. “I get that feeling.” Chris’s face splits into a broad smile. Her eyes flicker to me and I know what she’s thinking. I wait anxiously, praying she’ll hold her tongue. “Well,” she begins. My heart stops. “I’m off to play heroine.” Chris winks at me and I exhale. Crisis averted. As she walks away, Alec turns toward me. “What did you think she was going to say?” “Pardon?” “You held your breath. What did you think she was going to say?” I stammer for a moment, a bit disconcerted by his perceptiveness. It gives me a little thrill that he’s paying such close attention to me that he can hear me breathing. “I, uh, she, um. With Chris, it’s hard to tell.” “Were you afraid she’d divulge some deep, dark secret?” I would say that I don’t have any, but I’d be lying. And I’m a terrible liar. Instead, I go with silence. “A woman with secrets. I’m even more intrigued,” he says softly, his eyes dropping from my eyes to my mouth. “Maybe I can work my magic on those lips of yours, make them open up a bit.” My lips tingle as if he were actually touching them. Or kissing them. “Alec Brand,” a voice booms from the right, breaking the spell of the moment. “Glad you could make it.” “Glad you could make it”? He was already invited? A white-haired bear-of-a-man stops in front of us, clamping one meaty hand on Alec‘s shoulder and grasping his hand with the other. The man’s chest is barreled and his face is red as he huffs breathlessly. He looks like a walking advertisement for a heart attack. “Dr. Simmons, it’s good to see you.” Dr. Simmons smiles and pumps Alec’s hand, his eyes drifting over to settle on me. They twinkle with mischief. “Ah, now I see the trick to getting the elusive Mr. Brand out for the night. Put a beautiful woman on his arm.”

“What won’t a man do for a night with a beautiful woman?” Alec says amicably, smiling blandly at the doctor. “A good question, my boy.” The doctor laughs heartily, as though Alec just made a great joke. “Dr. Simmons, meet Ms. Samantha Jansen.” “A pleasure, my dear.” I smile politely and nod. “Sir.” Dr. Simmons turns back to Alec. “Helps with the boredom, am I right?” He elbows Alec in the ribs and laughs an inordinately boisterous laugh again. “I’m sure you’ve been to your share of these things, what with your father being in the business.” Alec nods, but says nothing. I wait anxiously for the good doctor to reveal another tidbit about Alec Brand. When he doesn’t, I make an inquiry, trying to keep it as light and nonchalant as possible. “Your father’s in medicine?” I ask. Before Alec can answer, Dr. Simmons chimes in. “Oh yes. One of the most brilliant minds in the field.” I nod, tucking away the tiny piece of information in the pitifully empty mental file labeled Alec Brand. “It was a pleasure seeing you again, Dr. Simmons,” Alec says abruptly as he places his hand in the small of my back. “Samantha, shall we?” I’m puzzled by his curt response to Dr. Simmons. Puzzled, but very curious. Does he not want his business associate giving away any more details of his life? Does he not like him for some reason? Why the hasty departure? Rather than ask any questions, I nod and smile politely at Dr. Simmons. “It was nice to meet you, sir.” “Likewise,” he says in his gruff voice, seeming a bit more subdued now. If I had to guess, Dr. Simmons is probably accustomed to people sucking up to him. Although Alec was polite, he certainly wasn’t unduly impressed or too keen on making more conversation with the doctor. Just another facet of Alec’s personality that reminds me of Mason. Stop doing that, I chastise as Alec guides me off in the opposite direction. I’m distracted by the voice in my head, so the question gets out before I can stop it. “So your father is in medicine?” “Yes,” he replies. “I’m surprised I haven’t seen you before then. My father is a neurosurgeon.” Alec doesn’t even glance down at me as he answers. He just keeps moving us through the crowd, his answers still short and clipped. “My father is out west.” “Oh. So you’re not from around here?” “No.” “But you work here now, right?” “I have an office here, yes.” “What kind of office?” “Consulting.” He doesn’t hesitate to give me the answer, so I don’t doubt that it’s true. But it only serves to spawn more questions. Consulting? What kind of consulting? It must be something in the medical field for him to be at a function like this. That or he’s some kind of rich big-wig donator. That’s not entirely out of the

question considering that he has a tailor-made tuxedo on hand and he drives a Range Rover. The questions keep coming, but at least they stay inside my head. I get the feeling by the firm set of his mouth that he isn’t enjoying my interrogation nearly as much as I am. “What k—” Alec comes to a sudden stop and turns toward me. “This really isn’t necessary, you know.” “What isn’t necessary?” “Knowing every detail of each other’s life. I already know everything I need to know about you for what I have in mind. I don’t want you to be confused about what’s going to happen between us.” I’m disappointed that he doesn’t want to know me and doesn’t want me to know him, but I don’t have time to consider it before he takes a step toward me. “The things I’m going to do to you, the things I’m going to show you have nothing to do with your job or your family or where you spend your time. It’s just about you. And me. And all the pleasure we can give each other.” There’s fire in his eyes. And fire in my belly. There’s no denying that he kindles a reaction in me. In addition to the excitement he makes me feel, however, there’s dread and unease. Anxiety. Yes, I feel a nervousness about stepping into the unknown, but I also feel an old, familiar fear clawing its way up, the fear that this will end just like all the others—badly. But it’s not too late. I can stop it. I can spare myself the pain and humiliation, the devastation of my reality. All I have to do is walk away from this man, from what I see in his eyes. It sounds so simple. And it might be. If he were anybody but Mason. My Mason, come to life. Whether it’s the right decision or the healthy decision for me remains to be seen. Maybe this could be a breakthrough. Maybe this could be a setback. I have no way of knowing. Maybe that’s a question for someone who’s paid to see things objectively. For the first time since Chris badgered me into therapy, I’m seeing a possible use for the advice of a professional. “I’m not trying to scare you away. I just want you going into this with the right mindset. I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you don’t regret it,” he says earnestly as he reaches up to take a curl from my shoulder. He brings it to his nose and inhales before he lays it against my chest, the backs of his fingers barely brushing the curve of my breast. Chills shoot down my arm and my nipple puckers, a silent vote on behalf of my body. “And trust me when I say, I’m a very determined man.” I’d all but forgotten the rest of the room when a familiar voice calls my name from somewhere over my left shoulder. I turn toward the woman I consider to be my real mother. Her smile is quick and bright inside her mocha face, and her dark brown eyes are wide with delight. “Samantha! I knew you’d make it.” I see her eyes dart to Alec before she kisses my cheeks and hugs me to her. She whispers in my ear, “I’m so glad you’re not alone, baby girl.” When she leans back, she winks at me and then turns her attention to Alec. “Who is your friend?” “Mom, this is Alec Brand. Alec, this is my mother, Deandra Johnson.” “Ma’am, it’s a pleasure,” Alec says with a nod, his smile warm and polite. “The pleasure is all mine,” Mom says. Her thick Southern accent is evident in the dropped R, making the word sound like pleashuh, and the fact that each word is drawn out to twice its normal length. “Sammy,” Dad says as he steps up behind my foster mother, interrupting the conversation. “There’s my girl.” He reaches around to envelope me in his arms, arms that seem to shrink each time I see him. I feel a pang in the vicinity of my heart. It’s so hard to watch age claim him.

“Dad, I’d like you to meet Alec Brand,” I say when he releases me. “Alec, this is my father, Andre Johnson.” Alec extends his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” Alec says, shaking my father’s hand and nodding at my mother. “I’m familiar with your work, sir. Your reputation precedes you.” I watch as the two men quietly size up each other. I’m not surprised to find that Alec is impressed by my father; most people are. What does surprise me is his comfort level with it. I’m beginning to think Alec is never intimidated, that he’s accustomed to doing all the intimidating himself. Along that vein, what surprises me most is the look of respect and approval that comes over Dad’s aging, dark brown face. While he’s an extremely kind man and always polite, I haven’t often seen him genuinely impressed. Yet it seems in two minutes, Alec has managed it. It only makes him that much more appealing, and he’s already dangerously fascinating to me. “What is it that you do, Mr. Brand?” Dad asks curiously. It seems that Alec can sink his claws into practically anyone with ease. “I have a consulting firm in Atlanta with one office here in Charleston. We work with hospitals across Georgia, as well as North and South Carolina.” Dad nods in approval. “What is it that—” The lights dim, cutting off his question. A spotlight accompanies the squeal of a microphone and everyone turns toward the podium set at the front of the room. “How many of you would like to hear from our guest of honor?” the guy with the microphone says. Although I’ve seen him at one or two of these events, I can’t remember his name. He’s just that kind of guy—bland and completely forgettable. “You’ll have to excuse me. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Brand,” Dad says. They shake hands again and Dad nods at Mom and she follows him to the front of the room. He always mentions her in some way in his speeches, so he likes her to be nearby to receive her due credit. I turn to face the stage, watching my parents as they assume their positions. Although my attention appears focused on them, it’s almost entirely concentrated on Alec, like it has been all night. It’s as though there’s an invisible string that’s stretched between us, and every time he moves or even shifts, I can feel a tug on that string. I’m hyper aware of Alec moving to stand at my side. His right shoulder is behind my left, close enough that I can feel the material of his tux brush my skin. He brings his hand to the small of my back. I pretend to listen to my father, when in reality, all I can think of is Alec’s hand tracing the edge of my dress along my waistline. He stops, as if sensing my train of thought. I exhale the breath I hadn’t been aware of holding. He reaches up and tucks my hair behind my ear. His fingers graze my neck and shoulder as he drags his hand away. Chills spread across my chest and back. “I don’t think I told you how beautiful you look tonight,” he says softly into my ear. “But I meant to.” I say nothing. He brushes the backs of his fingers down my upper arm. I stand perfectly still, afraid to move. “Your skin looks like peaches and cream, and I’d be willing to bet it tastes just as sweet.” Heat pours through me at his words. He is seducing me. A veritable stranger, with words alone, is seducing me. And I want him to. I know I should object. I should feel morally outraged, maybe even gravely insulted. But I don’t. I feel only desire and anticipation, and an inexplicable force drawing me to him. I turn to Alec. He stares down at me, his eyes searching mine. Heat flares between us. Ambient noise is lost behind the loud thud of my heart. My skin feels

flushed and dewy. My legs feel heavy and weak. In this moment, again, I’m Daire Kirby. I feel her struggle as if it were my own. Because it is. I feel her compelling desire to explore what’s between her and Mason. I feel her fear of what might happen if he discovers the real Daire. I feel her desperation to know him, to risk it even though it might destroy her. And more than ever, I understand how she can be so lost to everything except Mason, how she can ignore common sense and warning flags for just one more minute in his presence. Alec is so close, I can feel the warmth of his chest, radiating toward my breasts like the heat of the sun. His lips are firm, his jaw is set, and, in the dark of the room, his eyes are sparkling chips of onyx. Of all the things I hope and suspect, dread and anticipate, there’s one thing I know for sure as I stand looking up into the eyes of this man. I’m in trouble. Serious trouble.

CHAPTER TEN- Alec Later, as I stand at Samantha’s side waiting for the valet, I try to push back old, familiar urges in favor of common sense. And common decency. Samantha Jansen is a nice girl, which is part of the appeal, of course. But meeting her family, seeing where she comes from, is making my conflict even worse. Already, I feel like a monster. Like the monster that I am when I’m like this. It’s obvious that her parents aren’t biological. Her sister either. Which means something must’ve happened to her real parents. This girl has some kind of broken history. The last thing she needs in her life is a man like me. I can give her the time of her life, sure. Even if she’s not open to it, I can show her why she needs to be. But then what? I know the drill. I know what happens. I’ll lose interest and move on. That’s why I make no bones about any kind of a future when I start one of these…relationships. Regardless of warnings, though, I know what kind of devastation I leave behind. That’s part of why I stopped doing this, why I learned to control it. Until now. After all this time, Samantha is making me backtrack. Maybe you should stop worrying about other people and let them take care of themselves. Samantha is an adult. She can make her own choices. Maybe she doesn’t need saving from you. Maybe she needs you to show her some fun. Although I know that voice is selfish and single-minded, it’s as tempting as ever to listen to it, to block out my nicer side’s commentary. But that’s how it always starts. I let the beast off the chain for just a little while and then, suddenly, I wake up months or years later, out of control, surrounded by devastation. And now I’ve got more to lose. I’ve finally got my life together, and this is not part of the plan. Just one more time won’t hurt. I press on the accelerator, refusing to glance at the female occupying the passenger seat. But as I speed through the yellow light, only one of the two voices remains. And my zipper feels tight just thinking about what’s ahead.

CHAPTER ELEVEN- Samantha The walk from the Range Rover to my door is the longest and tensest of my entire life. My insides are coiled like a tight spring. I am more nervous than I’ve ever been, but more than that, my blood is swimming with excitement. Since those few intense moments at the fundraiser, Alec has said very little. He has been polite to everyone, handling the conversation with a deftness that suggests he’s used to being around people with money and influence. It reaffirms my suspicions about him. Despite the crowd and the impersonal venue, nothing has been able to erase the chemistry between us. Time and nonchalance have only given me ample opportunity to anticipate the close of the night that much more. He doesn’t utter a single word, right up until I unlock my door and turn to him, asking, “Would you like to come in?” “Just for a minute. I need to get going.” His answer surprises and disappoints me. Maybe I was expecting him not to be able to keep his hands off me. Maybe I was hoping that would be the case, even though anything happening tonight would be both a mistake and a wildly inappropriate choice on my part. But the rational part of me is relieved. I dread the inevitable outcome, and maybe it’s better to take things slow. Maybe I can stop this runaway train before it becomes a train wreck instead. If only I wanted to. Wholeheartedly. But I don’t. The dread and the reality of my situation aren’t quite enough to overwhelm my attraction to him, my attraction to the Mason in him. It’s such a bizarre sensation, I feel a bit helpless to fight it. Even though I know I’m crazy for considering ever seeing this man again. The sweet smell of lilies and roses from Chris’s flower arrangement greets me when I push open the door. They’ve never smelled more seductive. The sun has set, necessitating that I turn on the lamp that sits on the table nearest the door. It hardly dents the darkness, casting only a small circle of soft light on the floor. I lay my clutch and my keys on the table and turn to Alec. He shuts the door behind him, but doesn’t move. “Would you like something to drink?” Ohmigod, this is like cheesy porn gone wrong. All I’m missing is the bow-chicka-wow-wow music. As they were during Dad’s speech, Alec’s eyes are darker in the dim light. They flash with something primal that sends a sliver of trepidation slithering down my spine. It’s a bit like facing a lion, or any other animal I have no hope of surviving an encounter with. “No, thank you. I’m not really…thirsty.” The pause, the inflection he uses leaves me breathless. Wanting. “You’re not?” He shakes his head and steps toward me. “I’m more…hungry.” “F-for what?” “Need you even ask? I thought I’d made my intentions quite clear.” He takes another step toward me. And he has. But that’s one of the reasons I’m breathless. “Yes. But tonight…” “Yes, tonight is your free night. Your last chance to back out. Tomorrow, I won’t be taking no for an answer. Do you understand?” I nod. “Yes.” “Good.” He takes another step toward me. “All night long, I’ve watched you.” Another step closer.

“I’ve watched the way you walk and move, the way your dress hugs your hips, the way it cups your breasts.” Another step closer. “I watched you blush when I touched you. I watched you pretend you weren’t thinking about my lips on yours.” He takes the step that brings his body into contact with mine. His face is inches away. The lapels of his open jacket are brushing my rock-hard nipples. His thighs rest against mine. “I kept imagining what your mouth would feel like, what it would be like to slide my tongue between your lips and taste you.” I’ve never wanted to be kissed more. Ever. “And for tonight, that’s where I’ll stop. But just tonight. You have my word.” I can’t hear past the rush of blood in my ears. My pulse is pounding, my breath is shallow, my skin is on fire. And then his mouth descends. He brushes his lips against mine, softly at first. Back and forth. His body sways to the same rhythm, back and forth, rocking against me in an innocent yet incredibly erotic manner. Part of me wants him to touch me. Part of me knows what will happen if he does. But knowing that he won’t heightens even the most insignificant contact. I feel his lips part. Mine do the same. He increases the pressure until his mouth rests firmly against mine. Still, his body sways back and forth the tiniest bit. His tongue slides along the inside edge of my lower lip. I open my mouth wider. I feel it slip further inside, teasing the tip of mine. He licks at it, slowly, like he’s savoring it. I feel the action of his tongue deep in my stomach, as if he’s licking me in other places. My body’s screaming. I feel pressure building, as though I might explode. And it’s only from a kiss. But I know I won’t. I never do. He tilts his head and thrusts his tongue deep inside my mouth, tangling with mine. I don’t hear his moan. I feel it. It tingles on my lips and it vibrates through my body like sound down a tuning fork. He pulls back. His kiss is light once more, teasing, until it’s over. Completely. Alec lifts his head and stares down into my face. His eyes are hypnotic pools of ink in the lamplight. “Thank you for a pleasurable evening,” he says quietly. He takes one step back and reaches for my hand. He turns it palm up and brushes my fingers before bringing my wrist to his mouth. He presses his lips to my skin. For a moment, I feel his tongue against the tender flesh of the inside of my wrist. Just a flicker, as though he’s tasting. I think of his earlier comment about my taste. “Good night,” he whispers. I watch as Alec walks to the door, opens it and, without a backward glance, disappears into the night. ******** It’s 3 a.m. and I’m restless. I’m conflicted about…everything. But what seems to be bothering me most is opposing feelings of relief and disappointment. Alec made no mention of seeing me again. At least not specific plans anyway. And it’s driving me crazy. I should be thankful. If he disappears, it would spare me pain and embarrassment. Quite a bit of pain and embarrassment, actually. And that’s good. And healthy. And wise. But part of me doesn’t care about any of that. Part of me doesn’t care about what’s smart or what

makes sense. Part of me doesn’t want him to disappear. Against my better judgment, I want to explore him, to see just how Mason-like he really is. To uncover the irresistible mystery of the man from my head come to life. Irritated, I fling back the covers and get out of bed, padding quietly to the kitchen. Jinx stirs and jumps up on the counter, arching his back for the stroke he knows is coming. Obligingly, I rub my hand down his spine. He purrs loudly. The sound reminds me of the noise Alec made, the one in the back of his throat when he was kissing me. He almost purred. It gives me chills just thinking about it. After he left, I tried to write, but I couldn’t wrap my head around my characters. Daire and Mason are suddenly too real, their story too…factual. I found it too hard to separate the Mason in my imagination from the Alec in my world. I grab the milk and a packet of hot cocoa and set them on the counter. I pour a coffee mug twothirds full of milk and stick it in the microwave for two minutes. When it’s not quite boiling, I take it out, tear open the cocoa packet and dump in the contents. A puff of powder rises up to tease my nose with the sweet scent of chocolate. This is my one go-to, cure-all for insomnia. As I stir the mixture, I hear a muted blip. It’s the sound of a text coming in. “Who could that be, Jinxy?” My pulse leaps with the hope that it’s Alec. I try to curb my elation by reminding myself of the strong possibility that it’s not, but still, I’m excited as I cross the room. I hurry to my phone, which is still in the clutch I took to the fundraiser. I must be much more distracted than I thought to forget about my phone. I punch the button and slide my finger across the screen. Even though I was preparing myself, I can’t help but feel disappointed when I see Chris’s picture. “Don’t you ever sleep?” I mutter into the quiet. You and me. Tomorrow. Seabrook Island. The turtles are in. I don’t bother to respond. The instant she realizes I’m awake, she’ll call me with a thousand questions about Alec. And right now, I don’t have answers. ******** I glance at my phone for the thousandth time. 10:46. I squeeze more lotion into my palm and rub it onto my legs. I’m antsy. Chris is coming to get me at noon. After my therapy session. I sigh just thinking about it. I’ve almost talked myself into asking for Dr. B’s opinion on the Mason/Alec situation. Last night, long after my cocoa should’ve worked, I tossed and turned in bed, wrestling over the wisdom of following my insane desire for Mason into some crazy thing with Alec. On the one hand, it has danger and heartache written all over it. But on the other hand, what if Chris is right? What if I need this? After a cup of coffee to revitalize myself this morning, a cup which had zero effect on my sleepy brain, I still had no answers, so I took a shower. I mulled as I shaved. The result was supposed to be an answer. Instead, I stepped out of the shower with everything from ankle to armpit shaved slick as a whistle. Now, as I smooth lotion over my lightly tanned, hairless skin, I have no better idea what to do about Alec. If he even wants to see me again, that is.

With a growl, I try to force the situation from my mind, focusing instead on getting out my supplies for an at-home mani/pedi. I figure I’ll have just enough time to squeeze in a quick one after my appointment, but before Chris comes to get me. I dump it all on the bed and check the time again. It’s 10:54. My phone rings and I jump. Once again, my first thought is that it might be Alec. As it did before, my heart races with hope and optimism. But also just as it did before, my pulse plummets with disappointment when I see that it’s not. It’s just Ari, my publicist. It can’t be a good sign that I’m acting like a crazy-stupid school girl already. Pushing aside thoughts of Alec, I answer. “Good morning.” “Well, good morning to you,” Ari says pleasantly enough. “Why don’t we keep it that way. You just go ahead and say ‘yes’ and I won’t waste your time with details.” “That would be fine if I weren’t a details person. And if I didn’t suspect you’ve gone and done something I’m not going to like.” Although I know that I need to do events and signings to further my career, Ari knows I dread them. My insecurities make me much more comfortable with the life of a hermit. “Where’s the faith? When have I ever led you astray?” I’m not really in the mood for playful banter. “What’s up?” “Your presence has been requested at a great blogger event Monday night.” When he doesn’t continue, I quickly deduce that this is not the bad part. “Okay. What’s the catch?” His pause tells me that this is the bad part. “It’s in Portland.” “Portland? Portland, Oregon?” “Yes.” I sigh loudly. After giving it a few seconds of thought, however, I begin to think a short trip might not be such a bad idea. At the very least, it would be a distraction. “Is that it?” “Well…” Oh, God! There’s more? “A-ri,” I say warningly. “Well, there is a huge book retailer out there that is holding a signing and would love for you to come.” I’m just about to breathe a sigh of relief when he adds, “On Friday.” “What? That’s almost a week, Ari. You know I can’t do that.” “You can. You just don’t want to.” “I have responsibilities here. You know that.” “You mean the cat.” “Yes, the cat. Among other things.” Vaguely, I hope he doesn’t ask for a list. Sadly, Jinx is the biggest reason. Really, there’s no one else in my life who would miss me if I left for a week. Other than Chris. And maybe my parents. Besides them, my life is sorely lacking in loved ones to fill it. Alec’s face flashes through my mind. If I had plans with him, my answer would be a definitive no. But I don’t. Because he hasn’t called. Maybe it would be good to get away for a while. Maybe that’s what I need. Maybe my judgment is compromised by all that has happened lately. By Alec. And Mason.

Impulsively, I agree. “Okay. I’ll do it.” “You will?” Judging by his response, Ari really didn’t think I would. It’s terrible that I give him such a hard time over things like this, but I really do hate leaving Jinx with Chris. And Chris hates it, too. But this time, I think it’s needed. “Yes. I will.” “Have I ever told you how much I love you?” “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He gives me the details of my itinerary, assuring me that all of it is with my assistant, Annabelle, who will be forwarding the information via email so I won’t forget. “Thank you so much for doing this. Really. It will be great for us. For you.” “Mmm hmm, I like how you added me second.” “Hey, what’s good for you is good for all of us.” I glance at the clock. Time to go log on for my session. “Gotta run, Ari. Will we be flying together? Or am I meeting you there?” “I’ll meet you there. I’ll find you at the baggage claim carousel.” “Okay. See you then.” I hang up and go to the secure site Dr. B uses for therapy. Although I’m still a couple of minutes early, I’m surprised to see that she hasn’t logged on yet. As I wait, my mind spins toward Alec once again, Alec and the dilemma I face with him. Seven minutes have passed by the time Dr. B logs on. It’s just enough time for me to talk myself into asking her opinion about Alec. She should be good enough at her job to be able to give me sound advice without knowing every detail of my past yet, right? I see the notice that she has logged on, and before she even has a chance to greet me with her usual brief-but-pleasant therapist “small talk”, I launch into my question. (LauraDrake): I know you have lots of delving into my past to do, but I have a question. I need your advice about something, if you don’t mind. There’s a short pause during which I wonder if she’s considering if she should agree or stick to her own methodical psychological dissection. I’m pleasantly surprised and relieved when she agrees. Well, when she sort of agrees. (Buraquinho_Dr): What’s the question? It’s my turn to pause as I think of the best way to word it. It doesn’t take me long to realize that I won’t be able to get her best guidance if I don’t go ahead and tell her at least a little bit of what my problem with Alec is. (LauraDrake): For reasons we have yet to discuss, I haven’t been able to have an orgasm. It has to do with some things that happened to me when I was younger. The problem is that it’s very problematic in any sexual relationship I attempt. There’s only a short pause.

(Buraquinho_Dr): Go on. So I do. (LauraDrake): I’ve met someone. He reminds me of Mason Strait, my main male character. I know that’s probably a whole session right there, but I need more immediate help. I frown when I read her response. (Buraquinho_Dr): So what’s your question? I don’t want to get into a discussion about Alec per se. I just want to know if engaging in a sexual relationship with him could possibly help me. (LauraDrake): I’m considering a sexual relationship, but they always end badly. Devastatingly, actually. It’s been a couple of years since I’ve even attempted it. I’ve not really been interested until now. Her question is a good one. (Buraquinho_Dr): And why are you considering one now? With this man? I have to take my time answering, simply because I know what she’ll probably say if I’m blunt and honest. (LauraDrake): I’m very attracted to him. (Buraquinho_Dr): Why? And there’s the kicker. Is it because of Alec himself, of who and what and how he is? Or is it because he reminds me so much of a man that lives only inside my head? When I don’t answer, Dr. B prompts me. (Buraquinho_Dr): Is it because he reminds you of Mason? She reads me well. Even though it’s not only because he reminds me of Mason, it has a lot to do with it. (LauraDrake): Yes. At least partly, I think. I can almost hear Dr. B clearing her throat. At least that’s how I imagine the session going. (Buraquinho_Dr): Do you think it’s healthy to begin a relationship,

especially one that you already expect to have issues with, on grounds such as those? Who’s the therapist here? I’m supposed to be asking the questions and she’s supposed to be answering them. (LauraDrake): Probably not, but do you think there’s a possibility that this might help me in some way? Be cathartic somehow? The cursor blinks as I wait. (Buraquinho_Dr): Well, first of all, I think you’d like to think it will help you, but I believe you have your doubts that it will or you wouldn’t be asking me. In my opinion, you are seeking someone to agree with you, to justify you going forward in this relationship. Secondly, I can’t know if it might be cathartic if I don’t know the root of the problem. There is the possibility that it could worsen things. I can make deductions and assumptions, but those won’t really help. I’ll need more information. But that will take time. And I don’t have time. Or do I? It’s not like he’s called me or anything. I squash the feeling of disappointment and glance at the clock, ever mindful of the time. That’s something that I find weird about therapy. It’s like I can hear the clock ticking away the minutes inside my head. And now I’m down to the wire. 11:58. Where has the time gone? I feel like I’ve gotten nowhere really. Or have I? Has she just answered my question in a roundabout way? (LauraDrake): So you’re thinking that I might be trying to justify doing something that I suspect will be harmful. Is that about it? I hope that didn’t come out as snippy as it felt. (Buraquinho_Dr): I didn’t say that. That’s just a hunch. It sounds to me like you want to explore this person because of his resemblance to Mason, but you’re afraid things will end badly. And rather than avoiding the pain, you’re more comfortable justifying it with the thought that it might be worth it as a therapeutic tool. Before I can answer, she goes on. (Buraquinho_Dr): Truthfully, without knowing all the details, which we don’t have time to get into today, I can’t truly advise you or help you come to a conclusion that’s healthiest for you. The best guidance I can give you is to say that you should try to avoid an intimate relationship until we can

further discuss your mother’s role in your childhood and any sexual development you achieved during your time with her. I’m guessing some of your present dilemmas stem from that period. She’s perceptive, just as I would expect any therapist worth their salt to be. And she’s right. As much as I wanted her to agree with Chris, I already knew the wise choice. She just reiterated it. That doesn’t keep me from wanting to kick something in a fit of temper, though. I really wanted her to give me the green light to explore my real-life Mason. But I’m smart enough to realize that would end in disaster. (LauraDrake): Thank you, Dr. B. Sorry I wasted our whole session with this. She’s gracious, of course. (Buraquinho_Dr): If it’s important to you, it’s something that needed to be addressed. We’ll get into more next time. That reminds me of my new schedule for next week—Oregon. I might as well tell her so that she doesn’t find out some other way and think I’m avoiding her. Which I actually am. Her office is in Portland. (LauraDrake): I’ll be in Portland next week, but I’ll still be able to log on for our sessions. Another pause. (Buraquinho_Dr): Thank you for telling me. I’d really like for you to consider coming into the of fice. I know you think you’re not ready, but you really don’t have to hide from me. I’m here to help you. I sigh. (LauraDrake): I know. And I’ll think about it. Just before I log off, I see her response. (Buraquinho_Dr): Fair enough. See you on Tuesday. The notice pops up that Dr. B has logged off. She got the last word, one that says she fully expects me to come to her office on Tuesday. We’ll see, I think, not having any real intention of going in for a visit. I try, ineffectively I might add, to push all thoughts of therapists and mysterious men from my mind as I plunk down on my bed to do my nails. The doorbell rings. I know exactly who it is and she won’t be happy when she sees I’m not ready.

I walk to the door and check the peephole just to be sure. I see my sister standing in the hall, holding two cups of my favorite coffee. I open the door. “I’m almost ready.” “What’s this almost crap? I told you wha—” “I had a therapy session today, remember? Therapy I didn’t even want. Therapy someone aggravated me into taking.” She rolls her eyes, knowing she can’t say a word about it now. “Fine. I’ll gloat until you’re dressed then.” “Gloat?” I shut the door behind her and take a coffee cup from her hand. I remove the little stopper and take a sip. “At least you came bearing gifts. I need this after the sleepless night I had.” Chris gasps and I glance up at her shocked yet hopeful expression. “Please tell me you didn’t sleep because you were stuck between a mattress and a hard man.” Shaking my head, I turn back toward my bedroom. “Not everyone wants their bones jumped on the first date, Chris.” “Yes, they do. They just won’t admit it,” she says from behind me. “Besides, I’ve never seen two people more ready for the bedroom than you and Alec.” I’m glad she can’t see my frown. I sit down on the bed, gathering supplies to my side. I glance at all the assorted tools and accoutrements. Sadly, my mani/pedi will just have to be a fresh coat of paint. I won’t have time for anything else now. I pick up a bottle of red polish and shake it vigorously. “Well?” Chris says. “Well what?” “No comment?” I shrug. “We might both want the same thing, but that doesn’t mean it’s good for me.” I draw my knee up to my chest. “Here, give me that,” Chris says, taking the bottle from me. “You do your nails. I’ll do your toes.” She pulls my foot into her lap and unscrews the cap on the polish. After she paints a few streaks of ruby lacquer on my big toenail, she blows gently on it before speaking. “I’m not gonna pry. I figure you’ll talk to me about whatever happened when you’re ready. But, Sam, you need this. You need to get back out there. And this guy is into you. What’s the problem?” “Getting back out there is different than jumping into a sexual relationship, Chris.” I try to remain casual as I paint clear polish on my fingernails in slow, even strokes. “Let me tell you something, Sammy,” she says, pausing in her painting to look up at me. “I’ve never seen two people with more chemistry. It’s not a matter of if you’ll have sex, but when you’ll have sex. I know it’s been a while, but it’s like riding a bike. Trust me, it’s not something you forget how to do.” “I’m not afraid I’ve forgotten. I think that’s more the problem. That I can’t forget.” Chris says nothing for a minute as she concentrates on getting a smear of red off my skin. “Whatever it is that you refuse to talk about won’t be fixed by avoiding it. Even if you never tell me about it, tell someone. That’s why I wanted you to see that sex therapist. Even women who were raped—” “I wasn’t raped, Chris,” I interrupt. I don’t want her mind going in that direction, although I think it’s very curious that it did. “Well, whatever happened, you can’t let it ruin your life.”

“It’s not ruining my life. I—” “Sam, when you’re afraid to date because you’re afraid of sex, it’s ruining your life. I don’t want you to be alone.” I look up and meet her eyes in a moment of bald honesty. “I don’t want to be alone either.” “Then fix it. Take the leap.” “I don’t know how to fix it.” “That’s what therapy’s for. And, hopefully, that’s what Alec is for.” “I think we need to talk about something else, like how happy I am that your life’s ambition wasn’t to work in a nail salon. Did you get any polish on my actual toenail?” “Oh, stop. They don’t look that bad,” she assures, tilting her head to one side as she considers her work. “Well, they’ll have to do. I don’t have time to repaint them,” I say with finality, hoping she’ll take the hint and drop this conversation. “Sam, promise me something.” Chris lays her hand on my knee, her expression serious. “Please don’t let yourself get in the way of happiness. Lots of people have less-than-ideal childhoods and—” “Less than ideal? That makes it sound like my parents got divorced or I had to get a job at sixteen.” “Okay, horrible. But still, you’re not the only one who has a lot to overcome.” Chris is right. In fact, she’s one of those people. She has her own story from the school of hard knocks. Her issues are just a little more…typical than mine. “Here, blow,” I say, sticking my foot in her face as I try to lighten the mood and change the subject. “That’s what he said,” she says deadpan, easing the tension and causing us both to laugh. “All right,” I say, scooting off the bed. “Now stop harassing me and get out of here. I need to figure out a way to get dressed without ruining my nails.” “What kind of a sister would I be if I stopped harassing you?” “Somebody else’s, I guess.” “You know it,” she replies sassily, strutting to the door and swinging it closed behind her.

CHAPTER TWELVE- Alec I stretch back in my black, padded-leather chair and look out the window. The view is one of the biggest benefits to working from home. The sky is blue, the sun is bright and that sand is calling. I think a little horseback riding on the beach is in order. After a vigorous workout and plowing through most of my morning task list, I’m feeling pretty good about myself. I know those accomplishments aren’t responsible, though. I’m feeling proud and in control because not only did I not seduce Samantha Jansen last night, which would’ve been all too easy, but during my sleepless night, I made up my mind to stay away from her. For both our sakes. And today, I’m feeling much better about my progress and the level of common decency to which I’m capable of rising. There was a time when I wouldn’t have been able to say no, when I wouldn’t have been able to exercise self-control. Well, that I just wouldn’t have, not that I necessarily couldn’t. It’s only been in recent years that I’ve really wanted to get out of such a destructive cycle. It’s hard to want to stop something that feels so good and that satisfies you on so many different levels. It’s not really that the activities themselves are bad. It’s more the end result. Once I’ve had my fill of a woman, I lose interest. Completely. I seduce, I dominate, I control and I abandon. It’s why I try to be honest about it up front, about what I want and what she should expect. About what I’m capable of, emotionally. But that doesn’t seem to matter. They go forward thinking that it’ll be fun, which it is, but then they’re devastated when it’s over. While that’s not my fault (they were warned, after all), I’m tired of being that guy. It’s not healthy for them and I’ve recently begun to see that it’s not really healthy for me either. I need to live beyond my vices. My problem at this point is two-fold. Number one, where am I going to find a woman to hold my interest, especially away from my…predilections? And number two, what kind of woman is going to love someone as broken and twisted as I am, even if I did look for something more? At times like this, I find it harder not to give in to my old ways, times when the future seems bleak without them. But I won’t. I’m stronger than any addiction.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN- Samantha “How many times are we gonna walk this strip looking for them?” I ask Chris. “We’re obviously not going to see any today.” Chris doesn’t look at me. She keeps her eyes trained on the sand. “Patience, grasshopper,” she whispers. I roll my eyes and follow along at her side, although I’m no longer even looking at the sand. My eyes are staring off into the distance, taking in the bright glint of the sun on the waves as they roll in. The rhythmic thud of a galloping horse brings my attention back to shore. When I look ahead, I see the dazzling sight of a man on horseback. It’s almost surreal, like a mirage. His hips move in a fluid way that suggests he’s accustomed to sitting a horse. His dark hair is blowing slightly in the wind, his white shirt is open to billow out behind him, and his wide chest is covered in nothing but smooth, tan skin. As he draws closer, I can see that his eyes are obscured as he squints into the sun. But I don’t need to see them to recognize the rider. I felt the tug of the string the instant I looked up. It’s Alec. And he’s coming straight for us. “Holy effin’ shit,” Chris breathes beside me, articulating the feeling that’s rattling around inside me. “This is like one of those Old Spice commercials.” Chris walks a few steps ahead of me. That’s when I realize that I’ve stopped moving completely. I’m standing in the surf, staring at Alec like he’s the key to my survival. And, at the moment, it feels very much like he is. He comes to a stop in front of me. His eyes never leave mine, even as his horse fidgets to get back to a run. Alec is frowning and he looks anything but pleased to see me. I say nothing and neither does he. “Fancy meeting you here,” Chris says when the silence and the tension become too much. “Yes,” Alec says, but speaks no further. Still he watches me. And still, I don’t move. Chris, never one who has been comfortable with silence, chimes in again. “We’re, uh, we’re here looking for sea turtles.” “Hmmm,” Alec murmurs, his gaze searing me all the way to my soul. Too many things are drifting through my head, warring with the vision of Alec on a horse. I feel breathless when he looks at me this way. A guy like this is dangerous to my heart. Will I regret it if I don’t let this happen? Will I regret it if I do? But he didn’t call. Maybe he changed his mind. Maybe he lost interest. Why does that make me feel so hopeless? I should be glad. My problem is solved. Out of nowhere, resolve bubbles up, resolve to do the smart thing and stay away from him. I clear my throat and smile politely. “Well, it was good seeing you, Alec.” I turn to Chris. “Let’s look once more back the other way.” Chris’s mouth drops open and she gives me a stare that says I’ve completely lost my mind. I wind my fingers around her upper arm and turn her with me as I start off in the other direction. At first she

resists, but I give her arm a meaningful squeeze and she bends to my will. I look back over my shoulder at Alec, still sitting atop his magnificent horse. He’s watching me. Intently. Like he always does. “See ya,” I say before turning to walk away. My heart is thumping wildly inside my chest as a spot right between my shoulder blades starts to burn. I can almost feel his eyes on me as I leave. I’m thinking of Alec rather than watching where I’m going. I don’t even see the depression in the sand until it’s too late. I step into it and lose my balance, tipping toward the water. I reach out to catch myself, but my foot has already been gobbled up by the wet sand which keeps it stationary even as my body turns. I feel the muscles along the outside of my left calf wrench and I yelp in pain as I contort my body to avoid further damage. “Ohmigod, are you okay?” Chris asks, bending to my side. I feel my face burn with embarrassment and I refuse to look back at Alec, who I know is still watching me. I can feel it. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just help me up.” Chris takes my hands and pulls, bringing me to my feet. I straighten and wiggle my foot to free it from the sand. Pain shoots up into my knee. I gasp. “You’re not okay. You twisted your ankle, didn’t you?” I bite my lip and try gingerly to bear weight on my left foot. It’s far too painful to walk on. “It looks like it.” “You can’t make it back to the car like this.” “Sure I can. It’ll just take a little longer and you’ll have to help me.” “Don’t be ridiculous,” Alec’s deep voice says. I whirl to find him looming behind me, a scowl on his face. “I’m not being ridiculous,” I snap. “I’ll be fine.” “This is not something that can be ignored,” he replies. “I’m not ignoring it. I just have to take it slow.” “Sometimes even taking it slow won’t help.” Something in his eyes tells me he’s talking about much more than the situation with my ankle. It’s as though he’s speaking to all that I’ve been struggling with. But that’s impossible for him to know, right? Unless he’s struggling, too. That doesn’t make any sense, I reason with myself. Why would he need to stay away from me? “I think he’s right, Sam,” Chris offers. I want to turn and glare at her, but I can’t. I can’t seem to look away from Alec and the unspoken things I see in his eyes. “My house isn’t far. Let me take you there and get some ice on that.” “Thanks, but I’ll—” “That’s a good idea,” Chris says. “Sam, he can take you on his horse so you don’t have to walk. I can drive around to get you.” “No need. I can bring her home later,” Alec mutters. He sounds bothered by the situation, which gives me a perverse sense of pleasure. I hope he is aggravated. Serves him right for putting me in this position. He should’ve just let me go. I ignore the part of me that’s happy he didn’t, the part of me that’s begging to spend a few more minutes with him. Close to the flame. “Don’t I get a vote? I told you—” I begin halfheartedly, but Alec cuts me off.

“Didn’t I tell you I wouldn’t be taking no for an answer?” he asks gruffly. He did. But, until now, it seemed he’d forgotten about me. “Yes, but—” “No buts.” It’s hard to argue effectively when I actually want to be stuck with Alec, even though I know it’s not a good idea. He’s bad for me. I don’t think there’s a question of that now. The problem is that, for the most part, I don’t seem to care. “I’ll call in a while to check on you, Sam.” Chris is all but bouncing up and down with excitement. I doubt Alec can see it; at least I hope not. But I can. Before I can even respond, Alec bends and sweeps me into his arms. Reflexively, I reach around his neck to hold on. I try to ignore how good it feels to have his warm skin touching so much of my body at once—my arms, my side, my hip, my leg. He looks down into my face, his eyes serious and trained on mine. “No need. I’ll take good care of her.” Again, his expression implies that there’s much more to his comment. He’s speaking of an undercurrent, an undercurrent between us that I can feel as plainly as I could feel the sand sucking at my foot. And, as with the sand, Alec is pulling me down, pulling me under. Under his spell. I think Chris mutters something, but I can’t tell what it is. Her voice is a thousand miles away. Alec doesn’t break his stare until we reach his horse. I let my arms fall from around him, preparing for when he sets me on my feet. Only he doesn’t. Instead, he pulls me tight against his chest, puts his foot in the stirrup and swings easily onto the horse’s back. I used to do some riding when I was younger, before…everything. My mother got me lessons and would take me once a week to ride, so I’m familiar with the close contact saddle that’s on this horse, as well as the type of horse it is—a beautiful paint horse. The rich brown color and large white patches on the sides are dead giveaways. Because of the low pommel and light padding of the saddle, when Alec scoots back a little, there is just enough room in the saddle for me, too. I can straddle the horse comfortably. Well, comfortably but for the way Alec’s body is pressed up against my back and butt. I feel every firm, warm inch of him all the way to my core. I’m feeling short of breath again and looking for some distraction. “What’s his name?” I ask, referring to the horse. “Galen,” he answers. I feel his legs move against me as he nudges the horse into a slow walk. “That’s beautiful. What does it mean?” “It means healer,” he explains, urging Galen into a trot. Without the benefit of a saddle horn to hang on to, I’m forced to reach back and grab Alec’s thighs for support as I grip the horse with my legs. It’s all I can do not to melt into the leather beneath me when Alec bends his head to whisper into my ear, “Hang on. Here we go.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN- Alec I nudge Galen into a gallop on the hard-packed strip of sand on the empty beach. I knew it would be a great day to ride. This isn’t exactly a commercial stretch of oceanfront anyway, what with the lower end belonging to private homes. Now, with Samantha in my lap, it’s even more…stimulating. I feel her fingers dig into my legs, so I take the reins in one hand and splay the fingers of my other over her flat stomach, pulling her snug against me. It’s an innocent enough gesture, one meant to hold her in place. A safety measure, even. But in reality, it’s far from innocent. With the curve of her ass rubbing my cock in perfect rhythm with the horse, all I can think about is turning her around, pushing aside the swimsuit bottoms I imagine she’s wearing under her short skirt and sliding her down on top of me. The horse would do most of the work. All she’d have to do is hold on until her body went limp with exhaustion. Despite the tell-tale twitch of my dick, the voice that was so strong this morning reminds me that I’m not supposed to be pursuing this. I’m supposed to be avoiding this woman. For her sake as much as mine. But that voice is growing softer by the minute. Before long, I’ll be able to block it out completely, just like I did for all those years before I got it under control. Once again, my id is becoming bolder. Just one more time. Just this once. The lure of it is so tantalizing, the vision of Samantha in my complete control so irresistible, I know the battle is lost. In fact, I think I knew it was lost the moment I saw her on the beach.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN- Samantha Just when I’m catching my breath and becoming accustomed to the sensory overload of being in Alec’s arms with my body pressed to his, he slows Galen and guides him away from the surf. The horse plods through the fluffy sand to what looks like a cleft in a dune. Only it’s not a cleft; it’s a path separating two different separate ones. Between them is a wooden walkway. The walk looks a mile long as it travels from the sand, across the marsh and onto sturdier land. In the distance, I can see a gorgeous, modern plantation-style home in pale yellow. From French doors to sunburst windows, the entire back of the house is covered in windows of varying sizes and shapes. It looks like every door opens onto one of three decks off the back of the house, a deck for each level. As extravagant as I’m sure the inside is, I doubt it will compare to the incredible views from the outdoor living space. My first thought is that it can’t be our destination. There’s no way Alec can have this kind of money. But then I think of the Range Rover and the subtle things I learned at the fundraiser, and I quickly amend that thought. When we reach the end of the walkway, Alec guides the horse onto a cobblestone path that leads through the lush green yard and stops at the foot of steps that ascend to the first-level deck. When he dismounts and drops Galen’s reins over the newel post, I realize we are, in fact, at our destination. Alec offers no explanation at all, but simply turns back and reaches for me. “Slide off. I’ve got you.” I throw my leg over the horse’s neck and lean forward, putting my hands on his shoulders. I try to ignore the feel of his hands on my hips as he lowers me to the ground. “What about the horse? Can you just leave him out in the sun like this?” “He’ll be fine for a few minutes. Javi will come and take him back to the stable.” “You have a stable? How many horses do you have?” “We have a small stable, yes. Only two horses. We don’t have enough room to board and exercise more than four. But I’m the only one who rides, so it doesn’t really matter.” Without thinking, I put weight on my left side, yelping when pain shoots up into my knee. Alec says nothing, merely bends to pick me up. I try not to let his blank expression and tight jaw unnerve me. I remind myself that I didn’t ask for his help, that he practically forced me into this, and that if he’s no longer attracted to me, it’s for the best. Only it doesn’t feel like it’s for the best. On some level, I want him to be as moved and tortured as I am by the most innocent of contact. Effortlessly, he climbs the steps then carries me to one of four chaise lounges, all lined up facing the railing, the perfect setup to enjoy the ocean view. “Is this your house?” I finally ask when he pulls another chaise closer to the one I’m on and sits on the end. Gingerly, he picks up my foot and examines my ankle. “Do you always ask so many questions?” he murmurs. His remark stings. Not only do I not feel like I’ve asked many questions since I’ve known him, but now I can’t help but wonder why he’s so averse to answering even the most casual of inquiries. Before I can formulate a suitable response, he replies, “It’s a family home.” I flinch when his probing fingers hit a sore spot. He glances up at me, his eyes unfathomable. “Sorry. Tender gestures aren’t really my…forte.” “What is your forte?” I ask quietly.

“I’d say something closer to aggression.” My stomach squeezes around a knot of excitement. Or is it fear? At the moment, it’s hard to tell the difference. Alec stands, cutting off any response I might’ve made. “I’ll get some ice for your ankle.” He disappears inside, leaving me to ponder him and the shroud of mystery that surrounds him. A few minutes later, he returns with an ice pack, a washcloth, a wide, stretchy black band, and a glass of water. “Can you take ibuprofen?” I nod and he hands me the glass and two small pills folded against his palm. While I’m gulping down water, he’s busy wrapping the washcloth and ice pack around my foot then securing them with the elastic band. “Well, that ought to keep the swelling from getting much worse,” he declares as he stands. “I’ll get the—” A muted ringing cuts short whatever he was going to say. Alec pulls his cell phone out of his pocket, glances at the display and frowns. “Will you be all right here for a few minutes? I really need to take this.” “I’ll be fine. Take your time.” With a nod, Alec walks back into the house, not answering until he’s out of earshot. I scoot back on the lounge and lean my head back, enjoying the breathtaking view. I don’t know how long Alec is on the phone, but by the time he returns, I’m thoroughly relaxed and the pain in my ankle has lessened dramatically. “Sorry about that. How’s the ankle?” “Much better,” I say, shielding my eyes to look up at him. “I hate that you got hurt. I could’ve directed you toward a nest of sea turtles just past my walk, along the dunes. Isn’t that what you said you were looking for?” I nod. “Yeah, but we can come back another time.” “If you feel like sitting Galen a bit more, I could run you down to see them before I take you home.” I know I shouldn’t feel the little thrill of anticipation that blossoms in my stomach. I know I shouldn’t be so reluctant for my time with him to end. Or, at the very least, I should try to resist. But I don’t. I’m not sure I’ll ever see him again after today. With that in mind, it isn’t hard to convince myself that this one short trip won’t hurt anything. “I’d like that.” “Just let me tell Javi,” he says, walking back into the house. Less than five minutes later, Alec comes striding back through the door. He walks to my chair, but I stop him before he can bend and pick me up. “I can walk.” I probably can’t walk, actually. At least not comfortably. But I don’t want to put him out, which is exactly what it seems to do when he has to carry me. He straightens and looks down at me, his right brow shooting up in that way I love. Something in the air between us thickens. It crackles with electricity. In the space of one short breath, without saying a word, everything changes. “Is there another…position you’d rather me carry you in?” Alec’s tone is openly suggestive. I can see the difference in his eyes, in the hunger on his face. In the growl of his voice. We’re no longer pretending we don’t feel this, that we don’t both know where it’s going. And once again, just like that, right here, on the deck, in the sunshine, we become two people I know better than anyone. We are Daire and Mason. “Well, well, well. What have we here?” Mason asks. I startle at his voice as his shadow falls over me. I forget that he can come into the sun. For an instant, I’m stunned. Humiliated by what he must see—the breeze teasing my hair, the

sun beating down on my naked shoulders and the water bubbling around my bared breasts, bringing my nipples to hard points. I gasp, instinctively leaning up and crossing my arms over my chest in modesty. I thought he’d gone for the day or I would never have risked slipping into the tub without my suit. Yet here he is, clad in nothing but a towel, obviously intent on having his own dip in the Jacuzzi. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t…I thought…if I’d known you were still here…” I stammer, beginning to stand, to go indoors where I can hide for the rest of my life, before I think better of it. I’m not exactly clothed for a dignified exit. “Don’t apologize. I like this kind of surprise.” His eyes are warm and intense on me. If he’d leave for just a minute, I’d get out of his way. “Please, if you’ll give me a moment—” “No. I don’t think I will. I think I like you better this way.” “But I—” “No buts. And don’t pretend like this isn’t exactly where you want to be.” How does he do that? See into my mind? Into my deepest thoughts and wildest imaginations? “I don’t know what you mean,” I deny. “Yes, you do. You know precisely what I mean. I know you watch me...” My heart is hammering against my ribs as I think of all the times I have watched him—by himself, with women, in the shower, in the bed. And I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have all that attention focused on me. Just me. Now, I do. And I don’t think I can bring myself to stop before I find out what the rest feels like. What he feels like. Back in reality, with my Mason, Alec doesn’t wait for me to answer. He simply bends and scoops me up into his arms. “Give me time,” he says softly. “I’ll show you just how many answers there are to that question.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN- Alec With the deck steps nearby, Samantha was able to mount Galen with little assistance from me. She scooted back for me to sit in front of her this time. Not my first choice, of course but I can bide my time. I did put my hand on her ass to steady her as she mounted. I knew it would get her flustered. I love that innocence about her. I love it so much I’m going to enjoy watching it melt away when she sees what pleasures the world has to offer. I get hard just thinking about it. As if sensing the direction of my thoughts, Samantha tightens her arms around my waist. I flex my fingers around the reins, letting my mind wander for a minute. I can picture Samantha’s hands bound with these very leather straps, her hair fanned out on a pillow, her lips red and swollen from sucking my cock. I grit my teeth against where the fantasy goes next. This time is going to be sweeter than ever. It’s been so long… The ride to the dune where I saw the sea turtle nest doesn’t take very long, which is fine with me. This slow, date-like beginning is strictly for Samantha’s benefit. I should probably warn her that it won’t last long. I don’t have the patience to drag this phase out to its normal length. As much as I’d like to, I can’t skip it altogether, though. There has to be a certain level of trust established, and it happens during this period. I know this from past experience. I’ve just never been this anxious before. It really has been too long. For a couple of years now, I’ve limited myself to just watching when I go to my favorite… establishments. I found that it keeps me from getting that cold-turkey withdrawal sensation. But watching is nothing like doing. I slow Galen and guide him more inland, toward the dunes. I stop him when we reach the hardlynoticeable trail in the sand. I dismount and drop the reins at the base of the dune, effectively tethering Galen to the spot, before I help Samantha down. “They’re here?” she asks, putting her hands on my shoulders and leaning in as I ease her off the horse and let her slide slowly down my body. I peer down into her face. It must make her nervous because she licks her lips. The sight of her pink tongue sneaking out to wet them makes me think of my earlier fantasy. “Don’t you trust me?” I ask the question knowing that, no matter what answer she gives, she doesn’t trust me. But what she does trust is that I can give her something she’s never had before. And that’s what she can’t resist. I know it as surely as I’m standing here in the sun with her. “Of course. I didn’t mean…I just…” I tip my head toward the streak in the sand. I see her eyes flicker to it and widen. “Is that what I think it is?” “Depends on what you think it is.” “A momma’s trail.” “Then yes, it is what you think it is.” Her face lights up with innocent delight, making me ache again. I pick her up and carry her through the sand, following the barely discernible trail. “How did you find this? Do they nest here every year?” “I don’t know. I just happened to notice it when I rode yesterday.” “You ride every day?” “No. Only when I’ve got something under my skin.” She looks up at me. I know she’d like to ask what—or who—but she doesn’t. And I’m glad. I’d rather she wonder about it. I watch her steadily until she turns her attention toward the sand as I

continue on to the nest. I follow the path, made by the sea turtle’s body and flippers, to where the eggs are buried. “I’ve lived in Charleston most of my life and I’ve only ever seen one nest. And I’ve never seen the hatchlings running for the water,” she informs me. “Roughly two months from now, you could probably catch them if you put in the time to stalk the nest.” “Have you ever seen them?” “No. I’m more fascinated by other…natural phenomena.” Again, she looks up at me, shyly, from beneath her lashes. I wonder if she feels like prey. She should. If she doesn’t, she really doesn’t know what she’s getting herself into. “I’m not surprised. I can’t imagine you’re the patient type.” “You’d be surprised by how patient I can be, especially when it’s something I really want.” “I thought your forte was aggression,” she says, referring to my earlier comment. “Oh it is, but sometimes there must be…preparation for the aggression. That’s where the patience comes in.” “Are your efforts ever wasted? Do you ever find yourself disappointed?” Although she’s trying to hide it, I can see that she’s very interested in my answer. I meet her soft gray eyes, holding her gaze. “Never. I always get what I want.” I set her down near the nest when we reach the head of the trail. There’s not much to see at this point. Just some disturbed sand and the remnants of the female’s departure. The eggs themselves are covered. But I’m not interested in this anyway. For the moment, it’s Samantha that has my undivided attention. There’s a place I’d love to take her, but I know she’s not ready. It makes me wish I didn’t have to work tonight. After a day like today, I could make some significant progress. Move her along in the right direction. But tonight can’t happen, which means I need to capitalize on today. “How’s the foot?” I ask. “It’s feeling much better. I don’t think I hurt it too badly.” “We still need to get you off it. I should take you back and get you home, where you can put it up.” She nods, but says nothing. So sweet and shy. She turns away from the nest and starts to hobble forward. Once again, I bend and take her into my arms. Carrying her back to the horse means I can mount the horse and place her in front of me. Just where I want her. So I do. I carry her to Galen and climb atop him, much like I did earlier, placing her between my legs. She doesn’t argue. I reach around her to take the reins, my face getting caught in the wild tangle of her hair. The fragrant mass tickles my nose. “Have I ever told you that I love your hair?” I whisper near her ear as I ease Galen back down toward the hard-packed sand near the surf. She doesn’t respond, so I continue. “It’s like wildfire. Hot and untamed.” I feel her breathing pick up. I know how my close proximity affects her and, of course, I’m going to use that to my advantage. “Don’t you ever want to be like that? Hot and untamed? Wild? Don’t you ever want to let go and just feel?” Her fingers dig into my thighs where she’s holding on and I imagine liquid heat starting to bubble in

her stomach. I urge Galen into a faster gait. “I want to see you let go like that, be wild. Free. I want to make you forget about the rest of the world for a while. I wonder if you’d let me…” Still she says nothing, but I know she’s listening. Her lips are parted and her face is turned slightly toward me, putting her ear closer to my mouth so she can better hear me. “Since this beach is private, I wonder if you’d let me put my hand under the edge of your skirt. Would you stop me? Or would you let me go even further? Would you let me move your bikini bottoms to the side? You’re wearing a bathing suit under this skirt, aren’t you?” As I ask the question, I move my hand to her stomach, flattening my palm and spreading my fingers so that my little finger grazes the elastic band of her bottoms, confirming my suspicion. She nods to answer my question. But I don’t want her to nod. I want to hear her voice. I want to hear how breathless she is, I want to hear her pant how much she wants me to do wicked things to her. “Answer,” I command. “Yes,” she breathes, her voice just a little above a whisper. “Would you let me do that? Would you let me push them to the side and put my fingers inside you? Would you ride them to the rhythm of Galen as he runs across the sand? Would you pour that sweet juice all over my hand when you say my name, over and over again? Would you let me?” I inch my hand lower, just a fraction. “Or do you want me to make you?” I feel her tense. She’s under my spell. I know she is. I’ve done this enough to know, enough to be able to read women perfectly. But there’s something stopping her, something more than just inexperience. I know she’s not a virgin. Samantha has got an awareness about her that comes from having had sex before. She knows where I’m coming from. But I’d be willing to bet she’s never been very adventurous, sexually speaking. That’s not uncommon in the women I find most suitable for this type of…relationship. But I think there’s something else going on with Samantha. It doesn’t really matter what it is. I’ll work around it, help her overcome it. In fact, now that I think about it, the challenge of it will just make the end result that much sweeter. I keep my hand where it is, moving neither lower nor higher. I don’t want to press her just yet, but I won’t retreat either. Instead, I pull her in snug against my crotch. I want her to feel every inch of me. Tapping Galen’s sides, I urge him into a gallop. I know she’s thinking about my words, about my hands on her body, about the rhythm of the horse and how it might feel to be coming all over my fingers while the wind is whipping her hair and the sun is kissing her face. I want her to think about it now. And I want her to crave it later. And she will. I know she will.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN- Samantha “Wakey wakey! Eggs and bakey.” I peek up at Chris from under my arm. I don’t bother to roll over. “I want my key back.” “Could you repeat that? I can’t understand you with a pillow in your mouth.” I lift my head. “I want my key back. You have used it in a manner contrary to its intended purpose. I hereby revoke your access. You are deniiiiiiiied!” “In that case.” Silence. A pillow hits me in the back of the head. “All right, all right! I’m getting up. You better have brought me something delicious and sugarfilled, that’s all I have to say.” “Of course I did. I assumed this would be a rescue mission. I called you six thousand times last night and got no answer. When you weren’t at the coffee shop this morning, I did the math. You either had a long night of sweaty, satisfying sex, you’re hung over, or you’re pouting. Which is it?” she asks. Before I can answer, she chants quietly, “Please be the sex, please be the sex, please be the sex.” “None of the above.” Her expression is crestfallen. I doubt there is another person on the planet who takes more interest in my sex life than Chris. Myself included. “What? No sex? Not of any kind?” I shake my head. “That is a major date fail.” “It wasn’t a date,” I mutter. “So it is pouting! What happened? Spill,” she orders, handing me a coffee, kicking off her shoes, and curling her legs beneath her. I knew she would ask. It’s exactly why I didn’t answer the phone last night. I didn’t want to address her questions. Or my concerns. I need time to think, to figure out what to do. I’m in over my head and I know it. But what’s possibly worse is that it’s all over a guy who began as the embodiment of a fictional character. It’s psychotic! That alone should’ve been a red flag. But it wasn’t. Well, it was, but not enough of a warning to stop me. And now it’s too late. I’m beginning to see that Alec Brand is much more dangerous than Mason could ever be. Alec is practically identical to Mason in most ways. Only Alec Brand is real. “Nothing happened. He iced my ankle, gave me some ibuprofen and then took me to see a sea turtle nest he’d stumbled upon.” “Then what?” “Then nothing. He took me back to his house, we got in his Range Rover and he brought me home. End of story.” Chris hmphs in disappointment. “Are you going to see him again?” “I don’t know.” And that’s true. After speaking such…heated words into my ear after we left the dune-secluded nest, Alec put Galen into a gallop and didn’t say anything else until he dropped me off at my door. And, even then, it was just a polite goodbye and hope-you-feel-better type thing. I just don’t understand him. He keeps me off kilter with his whiplash-inducing changes in temperature—from burning hot to cool as a cucumber. I don’t know what to think or what to expect. How can I possibly plan or anticipate when I have no clue what’s going on? The rational part of me says that the only planning I need to do is on how to avoid him at all costs.

That’s what I should be thinking. Only I’m not. I spent the majority of my evening and a good portion of my sleepless night thinking of what it felt like to be pressed against his body, moving with the rhythm of the horse, with his words still ringing in my ear. It felt so natural. The tension was building so perfectly. If I weren’t such a train wreck, it would be all too easy… Why, oh why can’t I be normal? “Well, this guy needs to get in the game.” “Maybe it’s best if he doesn’t, Chris.” “Oh, bullshit. This is the one. I can feel it. I can see it on your face. You just have to give him a chance.” Common sense tells me she can’t possibly know that. But I desperately want to believe her, to throw caution to the wind and just jump. “I wish you were right.” “I am right.” “If you are then I’m wasting a lot of money on this therapist you forced me to talk to.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “She says I should stay away from him. From Alec.” Chris is quiet. I’m sure she doesn’t know what to say to that. She was convinced that Dr. B would be able to help me with all of my problems, sending me off after a month or two to live happily ever after with the man of my choosing. What Chris fails to realize is that happily ever afters are reserved for fiction. I write them, but that’s probably as close as I’ll ever get to one. She recovers after a minute or so. I’m not surprised. As a rule, she’s pretty unflappable. “To that I would say this: You think too much. That’s always been your problem. I was hoping Dr. B might help you get out of that, and I’m not convinced that’s not still going to happen. Maybe this is some sort of proven psychoanalytical technique. What the hell do I know?” “Funny, that’s just what I was thinking,” I tease. “Well, smart ass, I’ll tell you just what the hell I know. I know you’re smart and funny and gorgeous and talented, and you deserve to be happy more than anyone I know. And, dammit, I’m gonna get you there if it’s the last mother fu—” From the bedside table, my phone rings, effectively cutting off her rant. I pick it up and glance at the screen. “That’s Ari.” With a sigh specifically engineered to let me know how put-upon she feels, Chris relents. “Fine. Go. Go and give all your precious time to your publicist. See if I care.” “I know you care, Chris. And I love you for it. And maybe, just maybe, there’s still hope for me. Don’t give up.” “Fat chance of that ever happening. I’m as tenacious as a pit bull. You know that.” “Yes, yes I do know that,” I quip. “I just need time. That’s all. I’m not broken beyond repair.” That’s more for her benefit than mine. I’m not convinced that I can be fixed. Ever. By anyone. “None of us are.” While I hope she’s right, I have my doubts. I smile. “We have a more pressing issue at the moment, though.” “What’s that?” “I have to pee. Badly. And you’re on my feet. I suggest you get off them before we both get a golden shower.”

“Save that nasty stuff for your books, woman,” she says, screwing up her face and scooting off the bed. “I’m a good girl.” Chris pushes her nose up in the air, giving me her best impression of a how she sees a good girl. I burst into laughter. “Yeah, right! You’ve probably been peed on more than a urinal cake.” Playfully, she swats my arm as she slips her shoes back on. “Brush your teeth while you’re at it. I’m gonna have to go pencil in my eyebrows as it is.” “Hey, no one told you to come drag me out of bed.” “I actually came to remind you about the carnival tonight.” “Ugh!” I moan as I flop back on my pillow. “Why are you such a pain in my butt?” “I’m your sister. It’s my job. Plus, I enjoy the shit out of it.” Chris is wearing a satisfied smirk as she sashays out of my bedroom.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN- Alec I dreamed last night of what Samantha would look like tied to a bed of black silk, her alabaster skin glowing pale in the low light but for the red globes of her perfect ass. When I woke, I could almost feel the sting of her skin against my palm. I was hard for an hour afterward. Now I’m wishing we were further along, to the point where she’d welcome a night like that. But first things first. I need to get her to that point. I ignore the voice of my more…traditional self, the one who once abhorred people like me and fetishes like mine. Actually, he still does. It wasn’t until the accident that I even knew of the other side of sexuality, the one I’ve come to embrace. Almost against my will. Certainly against part of my will. But it’s the other part, the other half, that loves it. And he’s very hard to control.

CHAPTER NINETEEN- Samantha The carnival turn out this year is at least twice what it was last year. Children swarm the rides and the games, all of which are free for the night thanks to my parents. Adults of all ages stand along the paved pathways, watching their charges and mingling with the other foster parents. Chris and I are the “success stories” of the night. My speech will be short and to the point, as it was last year. Still, I hate giving it. I am more comfortable as Laura Drake answering questions about the pleasure of being lightly bitten than I am as myself giving a speech about the life-changing effects of child-fostering. How’s that for screwed up? I’m milling about, smiling like a politician, awaiting my “spotlight” when my phone bleeps with an incoming text. It’s from Alec. My finger shakes with anticipation as I slide it across the screen to read the message. Are you ready for the next step? My stomach ties itself into a knot. No, I’m not ready at all. But I’m beginning to believe that taking the next step is as inevitable as my inability to orgasm. Inevitable. As the word goes through my mind, so does a little piece of Mason, further obscuring the lines between life and fiction. Stop trying to convince yourself you should be resisting me. We both know you don’t even want to try. But only I know why. I’m your inevitability, Daire. I’m the one thing you can’t avoid. I’m starting to feel that…that…inevitability. And, deep down, I’m starting to feel something else from my book. It’s the spark of hope that Daire never let go of—the spark of hope that there might be love and wholeness for a girl like her. Like me. Like us. I answer. I’m not sure. There’s a pause, one so long I’m not sure he’ll reply. But then he does. I’ll make you ready. Just trust me. Trusting Alec isn’t the issue. It’s trusting myself, trusting what I’m capable of. And trusting that I can withstand the rejection that’s bound to come after… I hope you’re right. Another pause. Where are you? A carnival. Where are you?

On my way to a carnival. He doesn’t ask for directions. After seeing him schmooze at the fundraiser, I have no doubts he’s well-connected and well-informed. If he doesn’t already know about the carnival, it probably won’t take him long to find out. To find me. The problem is: How am I supposed to concentrate in the meantime? And what if he shows up before I have to give my speech? I think back to the appearance Tuesday, when I first saw Alec. I was completely distracted after I saw him in the crowd. And that was before I actually knew him, before I knew just how Mason-like he really is. I would never have imagined that the similarities would go beyond the physical, the superficial. But they do. They go deep. Very deep, it seems. Knowing it will likely (hopefully) be a while before he arrives, I walk to the ball toss tent to watch a trio of young boys try and throw their fastest pitch for a prize. It’s obvious the three are brothers. Curly blond hair, bright blue eyes and freckles galore, they are practically identical but for their stairstepped height. I’d guess they’re each probably two years apart, starting at maybe ten and going through fourteen or fifteen. To my right is an older couple, proudly looking on. They are, no doubt, the foster parents. And good ones, I’d wager. To take all three boys, probably so as not to separate them, and then care for them, which they so obviously do—it’s what makes the carnival shine. Not the lights or the rides or the sparklers, but the foster parents who up-end their lives to help a child. Or three. A surge of the gratitude that’s never far from my heart rises to the surface. I’m thankful when I see my foster mother heading my way, coming to round me up. “It’s almost time,” she says when she finds me. I’m relieved. I’m glad they’re doing it a little earlier this year, especially now that Alec is on his way. We make our way to the small podium centered on the only-slightly larger stage that’s set up near the concession stand. My nerves jangle. Anytime I’m in the public eye, I worry that someone will recognize me. I reason with myself that it’s about as likely as me meeting an alien at the grocery store wearing my panties, but that never completely eradicates the fear. It’s not that I’m ashamed of my work. It’s more that I don’t want people to know about the scars I carry. I don’t want them to ask questions and make the inevitable connections and deductions. Most of them would be wrong anyway, but there would probably be one or two that would get it right. And I don’t want people that close to me, that close to the real me. Everyone has the right to hide if they want to. And I do. A few minutes later, after her short speech, Mom introduces me and I make my way to her. She hands me the microphone. I look out into the crowd and smile. “I, too, would like to thank you all for coming out tonight in support of the foster initiative. I am living proof of how the program and the wonderful people who participate in it can change the fate of a child. Without the love and direction of my parents, I don’t know where I’d be today. I tell everyone that Andre and Deandra Johnson saved my life. And it’s true. They did. As you look around the crowd tonight, know that the children you see here will one day grow up to say the same things about you. So on behalf of them, and from the bottom of my heart, thank you.” I smile again and hand the mic back to my mother.

Short and sweet. And over! When I turn to move off the stage, I nearly trip when I see Alec standing at the periphery of the crowd. He’s watching me, his eyes hooded and mysterious, penetrating as always. Hesitantly, I make my way to him. I stop just short of where he is. He says nothing, but continues to watch me. His forehead furrows into a frown just as Chris begins to speak. Out of respect for her and a desire to avoid Alec’s probing gaze, I turn to listen. I feel Alec move in behind me. He’s close enough that I can feel his warmth against my back, but he doesn’t touch me. I make an effort to focus on Chris’s tearful, heartfelt testimony. It always makes my insides hurt to hear her talk of her life before Mom and Dad took her in. Chris’s biological mother died when she was just a baby, leaving her in the care of her father. Over the years, his anger and resentment over being left with a child and no wife turned into violence. Luckily, his abuse was discovered quickly, after only one incident. The first night Chris spent with the Johnsons, her arm was still in a cast. She hasn’t had a broken bone since. As Chris talks about her life now, she mentions how she wouldn’t be where she is—the owner of a thriving business—without the support of her foster parents. As she always does, she mentions me in passing. She thanks me for working alongside her every day, as her coworker, her support system, and her best friend as well as her sister. I smile, never taking my eyes off her as others look my way. They see us both as the success stories we’re representing—me as an accountant, her as an entrepreneur. It’s only half true, of course. I’m no accountant. But since Chris has her own business, fabricating a story about working for her just made the most sense. “You work with your sister?” I turn to look at Alec. I swallow and do my best not to stumble over the lie. It’s the only one I can tell halfway convincingly. “Yes, I do her books.” “I’m sure most people find that both believable and appropriate.” My heart stutters. There’s no way he could possibly know. Could he? Most people don’t bat an eye when they hear that I’m an accountant. Evidently it suits my personality to perfection—bland and predictable. Alec Brand isn’t most people, though. I fear he’s the one person on the planet who can see into my soul. “But you don’t?” Alec doesn’t answer; he just stares at me with those sharp jade eyes. I turn away from the perceptiveness in them, hoping I didn’t wait too long, praying he didn’t see right through me. When Mom regains the microphone, she says a few more words then introduces a woman from Social Services, explaining that she’ll be available for questions at the end of the night. Not long after, the crowd begins to disburse, people gradually making their way back to the games and the lighthearted fun of the night. Reluctantly, I swivel back toward Alec. My eyes meet his easily, as though I never turned away, never turned my attention back to the stage. I can’t help but wonder if he would’ve looked away at all had I not. I don’t know what he thinks he sees or what he’s hoping to see when he looks at me so intently, but I find it both unnerving and exciting. Without a word, Alec reaches for my hand. After a few seconds, he turns and leads me away. I don’t ask where he’s taking me, I just follow.

He pulls me across the crowded pavement to The Tunnel of Love. The line is short and moving quickly. In no time, we are loaded into a small car, the last one in a string of many, which carries us into a dimly lit passageway. Our bodies are pressed together from shoulder to knee within the confines of the open-air compartment. I’m beginning to become uncomfortable with the protracted silence when he finally leans in close to my ear and speaks. “You’re hiding something,” he says. “And it intrigues me.” My heart is fluttering wildly. I want to start making excuses, rationalizations and denials, but I don’t. I hold my tongue. “I think I’ve underestimated you,” he admits. “I think you might be more ready than I first thought.” Before I can stop myself, the question is out. “Ready for what?” “Ready for me.” I feel like every nerve beneath every inch of my skin is waiting at attention—waiting for him to move, waiting for him to touch me. “Would it make you feel better if I confessed something to you?” I glance over at him. Despite the low red glow of the tunnel lights, his face is still the most handsome I’ve ever seen. And his eyes… Dear God, his eyes! I nod my answer. “I think about doing things to you. Some of them might scare you. But others…might not.” His lips are so close to my ear, his breath moves my hair. He angles his body toward mine and drops his hand onto my leg. “I don’t think it would scare you if I told you that I’d like to kiss you again.” As he speaks, his fingers are making circles on my bare thigh. “I doubt it would scare you if I told you that I’d like to take you into the grass right behind this ride, where you could still smell the popcorn and hear the Merry-Go-Round, and peel these shorts off you.” His fingertips are working their way up my leg, the circles getting larger and larger. “I’d say it wouldn’t even scare you if I told you I’d like to slide your panties down your beautiful legs then stuff them into your mouth so no one could hear your moans.” I’m breathless. The only two things I can hear are his voice and the sound of my own blood rushing through my veins. My whole world is focused on his words. And his hand, as it rises ever higher on my thigh. I feel the backs of his fingers graze the edge of my shorts. “You’re not afraid, are you?” I can’t answer. My mouth is too dry and some unidentified emotion is lodged in my throat. But I can shake my head. And I do. I shake my head in denial of my fear, even though it’s a lie. He does scare me. More than he could ever imagine. “Then it probably won’t scare you when I tell you I want to kiss you right here.” His fingers fall to the inside of my thigh, where my legs are pressed together. Reflexively, I clamp them together harder. “But it might scare you when I tell you that your resistance makes me want to…press the issue.” His fingers slip beneath the hem of my shorts. I feel them trace the edge of my panties, moving inexorably closer to my core. “It makes me want to push your legs open until I hear you gasp. It makes me want to hold your struggling body still while I put my tongue inside you. Because I know what I’ll taste. I’ll taste desire. I’ll taste that you wanted me to force you. Just a little. I’ll taste your sweet body as it betrays you. I’ll taste it when it pours out onto my lips. Mmmm,” he purrs into my ear. “Samantha?” When he doesn’t continue, I whisper my response. “Yes?” “Your panties are wet.” Slowly, he pulls his hand from beneath my shorts and straightens in his seat. Within a few seconds

of his retreat, the ride slows and another Carnie appears in a pool of light at the end of the tunnel. I look over at Alec. His face is a stony mask. When the ride stops, Alec helps me out of the car and places his hand at the small of my back to guide me toward the exit. “Did you enjoy your ride folks?” the Carnie asks when we reach him. “Very much,” Alec answers. I look at his face again. And again, I see nothing.

CHAPTER TWENTY- Alec The tangle of damp sheets twisted around my legs wakes me. It takes me a few seconds to clear my head of the remnants of the dream. It was so real, I find myself repeating over and over and over it was just a dream. It was just a dream. It was just a dream. But it felt so real. Too real. I felt myself turning the corner from erotic pleasure to terror. And it felt just like it did then. It’s been a long time since I’ve dreamed like this. And it’s not a welcome return. I’m not sure what it means, but I’d be willing to bet it has everything to do with Samantha and how I’m luring her in. Or is it how she’s luring me in? Either way, I’m going down a road I know to avoid. I’ve come a long way and going back now is lunacy. And yet here I am, passing all the familiar scenery, traveling the same path again. I thought I was past this. I thought I was better than this. That I was better period. But I guess some wounds never heal. Not completely. Just like some ghosts never stop haunting. It’s a good thing I’ll soon be leaving. This place is bad for me right now. And so is Samantha Jansen.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE- Samantha “Til when?” Chris screeches. “Next Saturday. Sunday at the latest.” “Sweet mother of hell, that’s an effin’ week!” “I know, I know. And, trust me, if I could get out of it, I would. But this is part of the business, Chris. You know that. And you know how much I hate it.” She growls into the phone, but I know she’ll come around. Although we’re not blood related, we’re sisters in all the ways that count, including having each other’s back. “Fine. But you’re gonna owe me so huge. Like first-born huge.” “Done!” I shout quickly. “Yeah, like that’ll ever happen.” I know Chris is just teasing, but it makes me feel like she secretly feels as hopeless about my chances of a normal life as I sometimes do. “That’s encouraging.” There is absolute silence for about ten seconds. I picture Chris’s eyes wide and her mouth hanging open and the words Oh shit! running through her head on a loop. “That’s not…I didn’t mean…I wasn’t…” “It’s all right. I’m just pickin’ on you,” I say lightly, trying to hide just how much her words hurt. “Sam, I—” “Hey, before I forget, I’m gonna need some awesome shoes that Laura Drake might wear to an evening function in Portland. Any suggestions?” Talking shop, which is Chris’s second favorite thing in the world (sex being the first), is always a safe and effective way to change the subject. “I do actually have the perfect shoe for you, but they go with the perfect dress. Package deal. Take ‘em or leave ‘em.” I hesitate. “Nothing too…colorful, I hope.” “Nothing Laura Drake can’t wear, if that’s what you’re worried about.” “Yeah, I guess it is.” “Then don’t. You’ll look beautiful.” “Oh, I don’t think I need to worry about that either.” “Would you stop doing that?” Chris snaps. “Stop doing what?” “Putting yourself down like that.” “I wasn’t. I was just making a truthful comment. Nothing more.” “It’s not truthful at all. You are beautiful, whether you see it or not. Everyone else does. How else would you have caught the eye of a hottie like Alec Brand?” “I still wonder that very same thing.” “Listen to what he’s not saying. You’ll be able to hear what he thinks of you loud and clear. I did and I’ve only seen you two together for a total of, what, ten minutes?” “And just what, pray tell, do you think you ‘heard’?” “All the standard things, of course. You’re hot, I wanna do you, yada yada yada. But I think the most interesting and important thing I picked up was that he thinks you’re different. I think he’s as surprised by you as you are by him.” Her words make me happy. Too happy. They feel like validation because I, too, sometimes get that

feeling. There’s something about the way Alec watches me. It’s like he’s puzzling over me, like he can’t quite figure me out. And I think, for a man like Alec, that’s a good thing. Being too standard and too easy to read would probably bore him. At least I hope so. “I hope you’re right,” I say simply. “Of course I’m right. When have you known me to be wrong?” she retorts, throwing my words back at me. “Oh God!” I say, rolling my eyes even though she can’t see it. She giggles, which tells me she knows exactly what I just did. ********

Arriving as Laura Drake is always easier than departing as Laura Drake. Granted, I might take a little more care with my identity than what is necessary, but keeping Samantha Jansen and all her secrets out of the public eye is of utmost importance to me. It’s with this in mind that I battle Sunday airport traffic so I can fly in a day early. I hit the First Class lounge as soon as I arrive in Portland. I spread my makeup bag on the vanity in front of the mirror and I begin applying eye shadow. I put a dark green on my lid and line my lower lashes with the gray, giving them a smoky look that I think perpetuates the image of Laura Drake, an image that is nothing like that of the fresh-faced, unremarkable Samantha Jansen. A little blush and some crimson on my lips and I’m ready to don Laura’s smart-yet-sexy suit. Several minutes later, I stand once more in front of the mirror, pushing strands of dark red hair under the stocking that goes on before my wig. Once the silky black hair is in place, non-prescription glasses finish me off. There is nothing left of Samantha Jansen looking back at me. It’s as though she ceases to exist entirely when Laura Drake is on stage. Stuffing all remnants of Sam on top of Laura’s cosmetics, I close the zipper then throw the bag over my shoulder. I’m ready to face Portland now. As promised, Ari is waiting for me at the baggage claim area, my garment bag and small suitcase at his feet. His pale blue eyes light up when he sees me. He’s always loved seeing me in full Laura gear. When I reach him, he tries to take the bag from my shoulder. “No, I’ve got it. You’ve got your hands full,” I observe, nodding at the two luggage pieces he claimed for me. He shrugs and picks up my garment bag and suitcase. “So,” he begins. “Tell me what’s going on with you. I smell man all over this funk you’re in.” “I’m not in a funk. Besides, you smell man all over everything.” He grins at me. “I wish.” I grin as we make our way to the cab waiting along the curb. Once inside, he continues as if there hadn’t been a pause. “Well?” I sigh. I probably shouldn’t say anything, and I certainly don’t owe Ari an explanation, but for some reason I want to talk about it. “I met a guy.” Ari’s eyes light up and he turns in his seat to face me. “I want details. What’s he look like, is he a good kisser, and will he be a good father to your children?” “God, slow down! You’re as bad as Chris.” “Okay then let’s start with the most important first. Is he a good kisser?” I can’t help but laugh.

“As a matter of fact he is.” “That’s a good sign. And where did you meet this diamond in the rough?” “Do you remember the last guy to ask a question at the—” Ari doesn’t even give me time to finish. He gasps and slaps my arm. “NO! Not that delicious hunk in blue jeans and boots?” I should’ve known Ari would remember someone who looks like Alec. “That’s the one.” “Girl! I should’ve known that, when you finally found someone, it would be a stud like that.” I ignore that statement for what it is—assumption that my private life is like the life I write about. It’s the same thing most people think. And they couldn’t be any more wrong. “Well, it’s pretty complicated.” “So that’s where the mood swings come from.” “I don’t have mood swings.” “Sure. And I don’t have a thing for great pecs.” Again, I ignore him. “Anyway…” “So he knows who you are then?” “No!” The single word is propelled from my mouth with all the anxiety a disaster such as that inspires. “No, he doesn’t.” “So, he only knows you as Laura?” “Actually, he only knows me as Samantha. He doesn’t know it’s me he met last week.” “Oh,” he says deadpan. The single word is flat and ominous, like a death knell. And I don’t like the sound of it. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Ari’s eyes widen innocently. “What’s what supposed to mean? I didn’t say anything.” “That ‘oh’ was definitely something.” Ari shrugs. “It’s nothing.” “It’s not nothing.” “It is. I just…” “You just what?” “I worry about you. You know that.” “But why are you worried? Ten seconds ago you were all ‘give me details’.” “Yeah, but that was before.” “Before what?” “Before I realized you didn’t tell him.” “Why does that matter?” “I just can’t imagine any relationship going very far when you’re keeping huge secrets right from the beginning.” I feel my lips thin in anger. I want to snap back with a snide comment, but I can’t. There’s nothing to say. Ari’s right. And that’s what makes me angry. ******** I’m lying in bed when the phone rings. It’s still early by Oregon time, but my body still thinks it’s in South Carolina. That’s another reason I came in early—to give myself a day to adjust.

My heart stutters, as has become my usual reaction since meeting Alec. Until I see that it’s Chris calling. Then it shrivels just a little. It’s ridiculous that I should be so upset about not hearing from Alec since Friday. I should be grateful that he’s taking me out of a difficult situation, one I might not have been able to extricate myself from, no matter how self-destructive it was. Yet I can’t be thankful. Not when I’m feeling so hurt and disappointed and deflated. I think it’s the erratic ups and downs that are really getting to me. When Alec is around, he’s “on.” But when he’s not, it’s like he just disappears altogether. Radio silence. Like we never met. Like I don’t exist. “I thought I left you back in the south?” I say in lieu of a more traditional greeting. “Um, you did, whore. I’m calling because you’re such a paranoid crackpot you wouldn’t even give your therapist your phone number.” “That’s called plausible deniability. If I don’t like how things go, I can always swear on a stack of Bibles that I never attended one therapy session with Dr. B. No one would be able to prove a thing.” “You really take this whole thing to an unhealthy level, you know that, right?” “Yes, I know. But are you surprised?” Chris sighs. “I guess not. It’s par for the course, I suppose.” “Right. Now, what do you want?” “God, you’re so cranky! You really need to get laid, Sam. I think it’s getting to the point of being an imperative.” I ignore her comment. “Spill it. Why are you calling me?” “Because Dr. B’s office called to see if an eleven o’clock office visit on Tuesday would be acceptable.” “I haven’t decided I’m going in yet.” “Well, you are now.” “Chris, what did you do?” “I confirmed your appointment. You would’ve had that time blocked off for your online session anyway. A short trip downtown won’t hurt you one little bit.” “I hate you. Have I ever told you that?” “Yes. You hate me just as much as I hate you.” It’s my turn to sigh. “If only I didn’t love you so much.” “Pain in the ass, isn’t it?” “More than you know.” I hear a giggle and then a click. Just like that, she drops a bomb and disappears. Typical. Now I know I won’t get any sleep. ******** Sunday melts into Monday, and Monday into Tuesday. With every day that passes without so much as a single word from Alec, my mood darkens into something eerily similar to despair. Before I know it, I’m on my way to keep an appointment with a therapist that I neither wanted nor (technically) agreed to meet. This reminds me of how desperately I need to be more assertive. Maybe if I write a book about an assertive woman in complete control of every aspect of her

life, I could experience some of that in real life instead of…this. On the up side, if she can get me to loosen up and talk, she’s liable to regret it. I am loaded with issues today! My sigh is swallowed up by the blues music coming from the stereo in the cab. It doesn’t seem nearly long enough before he’s dropping me off at the curb in front of my destination. The building is sleek and glass-fronted. It looks posh, which comforts me from a confidentiality standpoint. Usually the more things cost, the less likely you are to have to worry about blabbermouths. Rich people certainly don’t want to bite the hands that feed them, so discretion is a must. I leave my sunglasses in place until I get into the elevator and hit the button for the fourteenth floor. According to the signage in the lobby, Buraquinho and Associates occupies that entire floor. A muted ding followed by the whoosh of the doors opening signals my arrival. I step out into an elegant reception area. Gone is the coldly formal marble-and-chrome décor of the lobby, replaced by a calming cream, beige and sage palette. I have no doubt the colors were specifically chosen for their soothing effect, an effect that is lost on me in my current state of anxiety. I walk to the half-moon shaped desk and stop. The girl behind it, a gorgeous, wafer-thin female with wheat-colored hair and enormous blue eyes, looks up and smiles. I feel immediately inferior, like a drab buffoon. “I’m here for an eleven o’clock with Dr. Buraquinho.” The girl clicks her mouse button a few times. She looks back up at me and smiles, a bland smile that says either she’s never heard of me or she’s good at pretending she knows nothing. It’s not like I’m famous or anything. Just paranoid, I guess. Either way, her ambivalence comforts me. She clears her throat. “Yes, Ms. Drake. Please have a seat. I’ll be back in a moment.” She waits until I’ve made myself comfortable and then asks as she passes me on her way to…wherever, “Would you like some coffee? Water?” “No, thank you,” I decline with a smile. She nods and walks away. In her absence, I try to convince myself that this wasn’t a colossal mistake. I’m just settling in to wait when she returns. “This way, Ms. Drake.” I get up to follow her. She leads me down a long hallway to a set of double doors that dominate the end. I’m not surprised that Dr. B would have this portion of the floor. Such prestige comes with having your name before the “Associates” part. The girl knocks once and opens the door, holding it as I pass then shutting it quietly behind me. I stop just inside to look around and get my bearings. The black, leather chair behind the enormous mahogany desk that’s centered in front of the wall of windows is empty. The lamp on one corner is on. That, coupled with the soft light being filtered through the partially opaque window shades, gives the room a safe, intimate feel that I can really appreciate at this point. The effect is accentuated by the cozy sand colored furniture arranged on a thick rug in front of a lit fireplace. I can see myself spilling my guts right on that sofa. I hear the click of the door opening behind me. I don’t turn, but wait for Dr. Buraquinho to make her way to her desk. I’m startled when I hear a deep rumble break the silence. “Ms. Drake.” I turn toward the voice, expecting to express my surprise that Dr. B is not a woman. The words die on my tongue and in my head, however, when my eyes collide with bottomless jade ones that I can’t quit thinking about. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Standing at my side, with his hand extended in introduction, is Alec Brand. “I’m Dr. Buraquinho.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO- Alec If she had looked away one second sooner, I might not have recognized her. But she didn’t. She hesitated one breath too long, just enough for me to place the soft, heather-gray eyes I’ve been fantasizing about. Despite her hesitation, I’m stunned into speechlessness, which doesn’t happen very often. I scramble to mask my surprise at this interesting turn of events. Laura Drake is Samantha Jansen. Samantha Jansen is Laura Drake. “Well, well, well. The sweet and innocent isn’t so sweet and innocent after all,” I mumble finally, crossing my arms over my chest. This puts an unusual spin on things. It adds a degree of complication that I’ve never before encountered, much less prepared for. Socially, I stay away from women like Laura Drake. They’re too much like Alyssa. Too many things can go wrong. That’s the one thing I’ve learned, the one thing that has stuck when nothing else would. I make an exception for no one. Ever. Yet here I am, faced with an exception I didn’t even know I was making. She speaks slowly and deliberately as she moves away from me like a spooked deer. “What the hell is going on?” Although I’m every bit as shocked as she is, I slip effortlessly into the calm of my training. It’s been my safe haven for years. “I could ask you the same thing. I think we both have some explaining to do.” “I don’t have any explaining to do! You know all there is to know. I didn’t lie,” she snaps. She’s magnificent in her anger. Laura Drake, I’m sure, is too cool to get angry, Samantha Jansen too sweet and mousy. Yet this girl, this amalgamation…she’s a fiery collision of the two. I’m intrigued. Tempted beyond what I’ve ever been tempted before. To know her, to open her up. To break her. That’s what makes her dangerous to me. But it’s what makes me most dangerous to her. I’ve been here before. And I swore never to come here again. I should tell her to go. To leave and never look back. But first, I want answers. I want to know. I need to know… “I didn’t lie either.” “You told me your name was Alec Brand. Unless I’m really off on the spelling, I think that’s quite different from Buraquinho.” “Buraquinho is my family name. It’s very difficult to pronounce.” She eyes me skeptically. “Also I had…reasons for wanting to separate myself from it. Not unlike the way you live your life, keeping some areas isolated from others.” “You told me you were a consultant.” “I am. I own a mental health consulting business that services the Southeast. ABC Consulting. It’s perfectly legitimate. I didn’t lie about that either. Unlike you. I seriously doubt that you keep the books for your sister’s business.” Her cheeks, already rosy with anger, turn a brighter red. I struck a nerve. But, more importantly, I’m right. “There are security reasons for me to keep Laura Drake separate.” “And I have my reasons. I’m not angry and you shouldn’t be either. We both have secrets. Everyone does. I wasn’t trying to mislead you or hurt you. I just didn’t tell you everything. Just like you didn’t tell me everything.” I keep my silence as she processes my logic. I watch her closely, so closely that I see when her anger begins to fade. I know it’s being replaced by fear and uncertainty when a frown

wrinkles her brow and she starts to chew her lip. “If it makes you feel any better, at least your secret is bound by doctor-patient confidentiality. I could lose everything if I ever told who you are and what I know about you. You, on the other hand…” Her eyes search mine. I hold her gaze steadily, letting the truth of my words sink in, letting them wrap around her like a cocoon of safety. She really is in a far better position than I am. But I have no fear of what she might do or say. While we both have a lot to lose, her fall would be a very public one, while mine would barely make the local news. That is my security. That’s how I’ll use her fear to keep this from getting ugly. She says nothing, just continues to watch me, nibbling her lip anxiously. I clear my throat and step further away from her, giving her a buffer, both physical and emotional. “Since you’re already here,” I say, making my way to the cleverly-concealed bar against one wall, “you might as well have a drink.” There’s a pause before I hear her sharp, judgmental reply. “It’s eleven a.m.” “Yes, it is. But my body is still on Eastern Standard Time.” “It’s only two o’clock there.” I shrug as I pour a finger of perfectly aged scotch into each of two snifters. “Right you are, but I think we’ve both earned a little liquid relaxation, don’t you?” I ask, turning with a glass in each hand. She’s still standing near the door, looking like she’ll bolt if it so much as cracks open. It’s incongruous—seeing her react this way while dressed as the confident Laura Drake. It’s just a testament to how dramatically I underestimated Samantha Jansen. She’s so much more than meets the eye! I walk to the sofa, situated directly across from the fireplace, and I hold one glass out to her. I see her eyes dart from my face to the glass and back again. When, after a few seconds, she has neither moved nor spoken, I try to reason with her. “You were all set to explore a very sexual relationship with me and now you won’t sit in a professional office and have a drink?” “I was not going—” “Don’t lie, Samantha,” I interrupt sharply. “It doesn’t become you.” I set her snifter on a coaster on one end of the coffee table and I take a seat on the couch at the opposite end. I cross my legs and throw my arm over the back of the cushion in a non-threatening manner as I sip my drink. The alcohol burns all the way down, not unlike this whole situation. I know it’s for the best. I shouldn’t have been…dabbling again anyway. I should see this unfortunate turn of events as fortunate. Now, we are both safe from me. “This doesn’t have to end uncomfortably. We can be civil, have a drink before you go your way and I go mine. Our goodbye doesn’t have to be ugly.” But, judging by the expression on her face, it very much will be.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE- Samantha I was all right until he added that last part. The word “goodbye” shakes me. I don’t know why. It’s not like this—whatever “this” is—has really had a chance to become anything yet. In fact, a large part of it has blossomed inside my head, where Alec and Mason have become inextricably entwined. The part that stings is the loss of hope. The loss of the hope of more. The lure of it. I would never have admitted it to Chris or myself, but, deep down, I had begun to agree with her in thinking that Alec might be the one to help me move beyond the past. Despite the flip-flopping and indecision, ultimately I was hoping Alec was my Mason—the destructive force that can be extremely caring in the right hands. In my hands. Pain at the thought of this being over before it started, however, is only part of what has me pausing in my retreat. The other motivator is the idea of getting some answers. I don’t particularly like the thought of me answering Alec’s questions, but I do like the thought of him being agreeable to answering some of mine. I’m not sure which is the more powerful incentive, but something urges me across the room toward Alec and has me sitting cautiously on the end of the couch, opposite him. He already knows my secret. Answering a few more questions surely won’t be the end of the world. In fact, some small part of me almost looks forward to finally being able to bare my soul to someone, even if I have to use the excuse of quid pro quo to do it. “I go first,” I say as I lean forward to wrap my cold fingers around the even colder glass. Alec nods, his eyes never leaving mine. “Okay.” “What’s your real name?” “Alexandre Buraquinho. My parents are of Brazilian descent.” “Why do you use a different name to do your work in—” “I believe it’s my turn,” he interrupts calmly. I nod and wait for his question. “Did your mother involve you in her…work?” My mouth drops open. I start with a reasonable question and he jumps in with this? “That’s not…I don’t think…” “I answered your question, Samantha,” he points out nonchalantly. “But I—” “It’s not my fault you chose to start with such banality.” I feel the tension around my mouth as my lips draw into a tight, straight line. Already, I feel like I’ve been had. If I’m to continue this, I need to be smarter about the questions I ask because I have no intention of answering all Alec’s probing inquiries about my childhood. But this one, I have to answer if I’m to get any insight of my own. “No, she never did.” Which is true. It was never her. Alec nods, his eyes piercing my soul as he searches for…something. “Why didn’t you introduce yourself as Dr. B when we met in Charleston? I was already your patient.” “I knew you weren’t ready to meet face-to-face yet.” “Yet you came to see me anyway. Don’t you think that’s a bit unprofessional?” Alec shrugs, completely unconcerned. “Maybe. But I wanted to see Laura Drake in her natural environment.” “Why?”

“She fascinates me.” “Why?” I ask again. “Because I felt like we had a lot in common?” “You don’t know anything about me. You—” “Oh, I can deduce plenty from reading your work.” Understanding dawns, and with it comes crushing disappointment. I feel a lump form in my throat. “So I’m like some sort of work project to you? Some kind of freak to observe and dissect?” Again, he shrugs. “I have a clinical interest in you, yes.” Hearing him say it aloud is nearly devastating. On top of everything else, I feel like such a fool. I take another sip of scotch, focusing on the sting of the fluid as it sears my throat. I have to get out of here. “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, Dr. Buraquinho, but you won’t be getting inside my head.” My smile is tight and sarcastic, and my jaws ache from gritting my teeth. I set my glass down and move to the edge of the cushion, preparing to stand. Alec’s words stop me. “But I have a very different interest in you as a woman. As Samantha.” “And what’s that?” I ask sharply, anger rising up as a natural attempt to conceal hurt and humiliation. Alec looks down at his glass where he swirls the amber liquid inside it. “Well, that’s a little more complicated.” “That’s not an answer.” “I think it’s my turn to ask a few questions, don’t you?” I want to pout and refuse to answer any more of his queries, but that would make me seem like a petulant child, and I don’t need to make a bigger fool of myself than I already have. Relaxing back into the cushion in a manner that belies the tension I feel on the inside, I clasp my hands in my lap and answer, “I suppose so.” There are a dozen questions I can think of that I hope and pray he doesn’t ask. I hold my breath in the silence before he speaks. “When was your last relationship?” I’m both puzzled and caught off guard by his question. For whatever reason, I wasn’t expecting for him to go in this direction. “Two and a half years ago.” “Why did it end?” My muscles tighten defensively. This is the tip of an iceberg that’s haunted my entire adult life. I have to be careful how I answer. I can’t risk revealing too much. “It just…didn’t work out.” I pick at my pants, knowing my answer is a cop out. I hope he doesn’t dig deeper. “I thought we were being honest here, Samantha.” There’s something about the way he says my name. Even now, in this office, surrounded by tension, it’s like a caress. I feel it all the way to my core. And I shiver in response. “I am being honest. That’s the—” “All right then, let me be more specific. What was the exact cause of death? Did you end it or did he?” “That’s two questions.” “Stop deflecting.” “I’m not—” “Yes, you are.”

I want to huff. Or stomp my foot. But I don’t. Thankfully, being Laura Drake has taught me a lot about maintaining a façade, even during difficult times. She’s a strong rock behind which I can hide. And I do. Very often. I clear my throat. “The ‘cause of death’ as you put it was a result of my own insecurities. It always is.” “Self-sabotage?” I think on this. “No, I want nothing more than to have a normal relationship, but—” “Normal? How do you define normal?” I feel color bloom in my cheeks. I’m at a total loss on how to answer him without giving too much away, without giving him a glimpse of my shame. I remind myself that I could just get up and walk out. I don’t have to answer anything. It’s only my curiosity about Alec, my unwillingness to just let the possibility of him go, that spurs me on. “You can tell me, Samantha,” he says softly. “There’s no judgment here.” Something inside me clicks, as if for one moment in time, all the walls and the guile and the scars shift just enough to let someone in. And it all happens before I can make the conscious effort to stop it. “A normal sexual relationship, where I can…receive pleasure as well as give it.” “Do you feel that you don’t receive pleasure?” “No. I do get pleasure from an intimate relationship. But some of the men I’ve dated expect…” “Expect?” “Isn’t it my turn to ask a question?” “After this one, yes.” I hold in my sigh. “The men I’ve dated have wanted more…response from me than what comes naturally,” I say vaguely, my cheeks heating again. Why the hell are you still here? I honestly don’t know the answer to that. I feel like I’ve been taken over. By Alec. Even though no one is making me stay, I’m feeling trapped and mortified when Alec leans forward to put his elbows on his knees. When he speaks, his voice, as placid as a calm lake, soothes me. I feel almost hypnotized, as though I’m not in complete control. As though I’m being eased into submission. “You don’t need to hide things from me, Samantha. I knew from reading Laura Drake’s work that she had some sexually traumatic experiences in her life. Now, after putting you together with her, it paints a picture of someone who needs to come to terms not only with her past, but with who she is today. Who she is, what she wants and how to go forward.” He’s so right. About all of it. But even as I’m laid bare before him, I can’t forget that he has his own secrets. I can’t forget that, while he is distracting me like a world class snake charmer, he’s the one hiding fangs. He’s the dangerous one, capable of great harm and a wicked bite. “Why are you so fascinated by someone like Laura Drake? What brings a man like you into a profession like this? I’m beginning to think you have as much to hide as I do.” The corners of Alec’s mouth curve into a small, cool smile. It’s not warm or genuine. It’s ironic. Bitter, even. I’m certain I struck a nerve when he doesn’t answer me, just continues to watch me with that odd expression. When a muted beep sounds from the desk behind me, Alec’s expression turns curiously blank and clinical. “Our time is up.” I know he’s speaking about more than just today and this visit. He’s saying that our time is up, that we’re done. Over, even though we never really started.

“You’re not going to answer my question?” “Unfortunately, I have a lunch engagement.” “How convenient,” I say, standing to my feet. With every intention of walking away and never looking back, no matter how bad it hurts, I head for the door. Alec’s voice stops me. “You could always keep your appointment for Thursday.” I pause with my hand on the door knob. I glance over my shoulder to see Alec standing beside his desk, his hands tucked casually in the pockets of his dark gray slacks. He cuts a striking figure with his neatly-combed black hair and bronze skin that contrast so sharply with the pale green shirt that matches his eyes. He’s my Mason through and through. Only he’s not. And he’s certainly not mine. “We’ll see,” I say quietly before I turn and leave him behind. ******** “Holy shit in a brown paper bag! What are the odds?” Chris asks in her colorful way. “Promise me you didn’t know about this.” “Of course I didn’t know! I’ve only read some articles written by Dr. B. I thought he was a she, too. There are never any pictures and they’re always attributed to Dr. A. Buraquinho. How was I supposed to know a man would know that much about women and sex? I mean, Dr. Ruth. Female. Hello!” Although I’m still a little suspicious, I don’t think Chris would ever lie to me. At least I hope she wouldn’t. We’ve both been through too much in life to betray what little bit of trust we can find. “Chris, seriously, I almost had heart failure.” “I can imagine,” she replies. “So, what the hell are you going to do? You’re not thinking about going back, are you?” When she says it like that, it makes me sound insane for even considering it. But I am. Considering it, that is. I have more questions. Or at least that’s what I’ve been telling myself all day. I have more questions and he owes me answers. But, deep down, I know I want more time, too. More time in his presence, more time with my Mason. Because the two got twisted together in my brain, I feel as though letting go of one would mean letting go of the other. And I’m not ready to do that. “Sam?” she prompts when I haven’t answered. “I don’t know Chris. I feel like I’m losing my mind. I just… I just don’t know what to do.” “Well, you know I’ll support you in whatever you decide, but be careful, Sam. This guy could be dangerous.” Now she tells me! I don’t respond. Because I already knew that.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR- Alec It’s hard to be objective about my motives now. My professional interest and my sexual interest are now indivisibly tangled when it comes to Samantha Jansen. I was simply intrigued, clinically speaking, by Laura Drake. Mostly. If I’m being brutally honest with myself, I have to admit that, upon meeting her, I was attracted to Laura Drake, even though she’s not the kind of female that normally does it for me. Since Alyssa, I’ve pretty much avoided women like that. Maybe it’s a matter of once burned, twice shy. Or maybe it’s a matter of self-preservation. Alyssa nearly destroyed my life. I shudder to think what would become of me if something like that happened now, at this point in my life. Even though I’ve advanced in maturity, control and age, it’s not worth the risk. Yet, here I am. Contemplating taking just such a gamble. It wouldn’t have been an issue when Samantha was just Samantha. But now she’s Samantha and Laura. She’s what I want most, yet what I abhor. And it’s a potent cocktail. She’s a potent cocktail. Forbidden fruit mixed with my one true weakness. It’s as delicious as it is ill-advised. I probably shouldn’t have left the ball in her court the way I did. I should’ve said goodbye and moved on to other interesting subjects. But I didn’t. At least I know now that she’s not as inexperienced as I’d once thought. While that was part of the appeal, this combination—wild thing under wraps and innocent thing with issues—quite possibly holds even more allure. But with Laura Drake in the mix, if she proceeds, I know it will be with eyes wide open. And when I break her, she’ll have no one to blame but herself.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE- Samantha I know I should leave, leave while I have the chance. I see what he does to the women in his life. I see that they are never quite freed of him. That’s the kind of trouble that I don’t need. And yet, I know that, even as I sit here debating the wisdom of a relationship with Mason, that I will go forward. It is beyond my control now. Giving him one inch, I knew he would take a mile. And that I would let him. There is no doubt I will enjoy the ride. But I have to try and survive it as well. That’s the hard part. Daire Kirby—the fictional mirror image of the twisted wreckage of my life. Like her, I’m faced with an out; a way to avoid what I know could be unspeakable pleasure as well as unspeakable pain. But also like Daire, I’ll choose the path that takes me right through the fires of hell. I know it as surely as I’m sitting here, getting ready to call for the cab that will take me back to Alec’s office. Back to him. My fingers hover over the number pad on the telephone. I watch as they tremble ever so slightly. And then, with an uncertain definitiveness, I press the buttons for the taxi service.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX- Alec I’m not really surprised when Paris, the receptionist, buzzes back to let me know that my eleven o’clock has arrived. I knew she would come. I knew she couldn’t resist me. I knew, as Samantha, she would be putty in my hands. Her being Laura, too, doesn’t change that. It only adds an unexpected twist. She’s closer to my…level. A better match, truth be told. The fact that she’s here assures me of that. It both excites me and gives me cause for concern. Since Alyssa, I’ve only come across a few people as broken as I am, and most of those I’ve encountered in a clinical setting. Socially, I tend to keep that type at arm’s length. And for good reason. An alcoholic should avoid bars at all costs. So I do. Until now. I’m still standing at the window, looking out over the dreary Portland skyline, when a soft knock sounds at the door. I don’t turn until I hear the door click twice—once to open and once to close behind Paris as she leaves. When I turn to look at Samantha, my response is immediate. It is immediate, it is visceral and it is undeniable. It leaves me with no doubts as to why I’m taking such an enormous risk. My body demands it. The animal inside me demands it. The monster. She sets his blood on fire. “You came back,” I state simply as we stand, a room apart, staring at one another. “Yes,” she responds, equally simply, not moving a single muscle. She’s dressed as Laura Drake, complete with her sassy black wig and straight-laced glasses. Knowing that she, too, hides dark and sexy things makes me want to rip off her conservative suit and bare her to me, body and soul. And I know I won’t rest until I do exactly that. The process has already begun. Samantha is losing her grip on Laura Drake in my presence. I can see that in the muted scarf tied around her neck. As part of my work, I’ve researched Laura Drake extensively. I’ve listened to her, watched her, looked up every picture posted of her on social media. Never, not once, has she worn anything with color. She’s always dressed in solid black from head to toe. The style may vary, but never the color. Until today. And I’d wager she thought nothing of it. “We could spend an hour in this office, asking and answering questions, pretending that we don’t know where we’re headed,” I begin, walking slowly toward her. Filled with caution, her eyes watch my every step until I stop a scant inch from her. “Or we could agree to meet after we fly back to Charleston.” I reach up to brush my thumb over her quivering lower lip. I feel her fear and her desire like a branding iron to my gut—searing hot and slightly painful. But painful in a good way, in that way that says I’ll be getting what I want, even if it’s not what I need, not what’s best for me. “You could agree to come and stay with me for the weekend, to let me show you my world. And you can show me yours.” “There are things I will not—” she begins, but I interrupt with a finger laid across her lips. “Shh, you don’t need to do that. I know you. Well enough, anyway. I know something happened to you when you were a child, something that has skewed the way you view sexuality, the way you experience it. Understand now that you have nothing to fear from me. Whatever it is, I can take it. Whatever it is, I can help you.” Her stormy gray eyes glisten with unshed tears. She whispers, “But what if you can’t?” “Trust me, I can. You just have to let me.”

I see the indecision on her face. I know my deduction surprised her. But it will also bring her comfort—believing that I know and understand, and that I won’t judge her. In a few days’ time, she’ll be as ready for me as I am for her. I just hope that when I introduce her to herself, to us, to who and what we are, that it won’t damage her beyond repair. “Why would you do this for me?” For you? If only I were that unselfish… “You won’t be the only one to benefit,” I answer, purposely vague. After a long pause, she finally nods. I walk to my desk and scribble out two addresses onto a piece of paper then hand it to her. Cautiously, as if it might burn her, she takes it from my fingers. “There are some things you’ll need. There’s a woman at the first address. Her name is Ursula. Swing by tomorrow night and she’ll measure you then send some clothes to my house. My address is the second one, just in case you don’t remember how to find it.” I drove her home from there, but most women have a terrible sense of direction. “Come to me after you finish with Ursula.” Samantha nods, her fingers worrying the edges of the paper. I cover them with my own, feeling the fine tremor that passes through them at the contact. God help me, but I’m going to enjoy this. “Until then, do me one favor. Don’t think of me. At all. When you find your mind wandering to me or to the time we’ll be sharing, think of something else. Don’t fear it. Don’t anticipate it. Just let it be a surprise.” She nods once more, and I’m sure she’ll attempt what I’ve asked. But I know it’s impossible. By asking her not to think of me, of what’s to come, she’ll likely be able to think of little else. And that’s really what I want. I want her to be on edge when she comes to me. I want her to be so close to snapping that all I’ll have to do is bend her over my arm to break her. I tuck the silky strands of her black wig behind one ear. “All good?” “All good,” she replies softly. And so it begins…

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN- Samantha

Ari wasn’t entirely surprised when I changed my return flight to today after the signing rather than waiting until tomorrow morning. I’m sure he assumes it’s my normal reasons for not wanting to stay gone too long. In a thousand years, he’d never guess I’m dying to get back because I have a torrid date with Alec Brand. In my head, he’s still very much Alec Brand. It’s like Dr. B died the instant I found out he was Alec. I’m not sure that’s healthy, to be so utterly fixated on someone, but it is what it is. When the electronic voice of my navigator tells me my destination is on the right, I start looking for the correct building number. I park in the lot to the side and walk around to the front. I’m a little surprised when I see the dress shop. The awning reads Little Shop of Borrows. There are prom dresses in the window, as well as wedding and evening gowns. I’m not sure what I was really expecting, but I don’t think a formal clothing rental shop was it. A bell jingles when I push open the door. After a few seconds, a small, mousy woman of middle age shuffles to greet me. “Is there something I can help you with today?” she asks in a hushed librarian’s voice. “I’m looking for Ursula.” Behind her tortoise shell glasses, I see the woman’s nondescript blue eyes scan me from head to toe and back again. Finally she nods. “This way.” I follow the tiny woman to the back of the store, behind the counter and through a door that reads EMPLOYEES ONLY. It opens into a small ante room housing two other doors. One reads BREAK ROOM. The other reads MS. URSULA. The woman leads me through the second door. The room is as dramatically different from the main store as desert is from the ocean. The walls are covered in thick, red velvet, the floor is polished black marble and the lighting is so dim it takes my eyes a moment to adjust. When they do, I see a woman lounging on a black leather settee in the corner. As fluidly as a cat, she swings her feet to the floor and stands. Slowly, she approaches me. She stops several inches from me and I see that she’s quite tall and quite stunning. Her midnight hair cascades over her shoulders like rivers of ink, gushing into cleavage that any stripper would be proud to boast. Her eyes are dark and smoky in the pale oval of her face and her lips are stained ruby red. When she speaks, I’m not at all surprised by the low, husky sound. It suits her perfectly. “You must be Samantha.” I nod. I knew Alec would call ahead. He obviously has something very specific in mind. But now, after seeing this room in the shop, I’m a little concerned about what that might be, about what I might be getting myself into. “I’m so glad to see Alec active again. It’s been too long.” She reaches for my hand and leads me to the center of the room. She urges me to step up onto the small pedestal there. “Undress.” It’s not a request; it’s a command, issued as she walks to a dimly-lit desk that’s barely visible behind a lacy tri-fold screen. She comes back with a measuring tape. When she sees I’m still fully clothed, she crosses her arms over her chest as if settling in to wait. And to watch. I start peeling off clothes. It’s an unnerving task with her looking on, even though I only disrobe down to my underwear. When I’m finished, she approaches me, maneuvering me this way and that, dragging the tape along my limbs and around my waist. She doesn’t write down a single number. I hope she can remember

them all, because I’m not coming back. When she’s finished, she gives me a graceful nod and purrs, “You may dress. I’ll have Marilynn show you out.” And with that, she disappears through the door, leaving me to get dressed. Alone. ******** It’s well after dark by the time I arrive at Alec’s home on Seabrook Island. I park in the driveway and cut the engine. I sit behind the wheel, staring at the single lighted window for several long minutes before I open the door and get out. After I pull my bag from the back seat, I make my way up the steps to the front door. It opens before I can even knock. Alec is standing in the opening, wearing black slacks and a pearl gray silk shirt, unbuttoned at the throat with the sleeves rolled up. I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen anything sexier. “I was afraid you’d changed your mind,” he says as he reaches forward to take the bag from my shoulder. “No you weren’t,” I blurt. He knew I would come. Maybe more than I did. It’s disconcerting, but it’s true. He knows he’s got me. “No, I wasn’t,” he replies honestly. And he grins. For the first time, I get to see not the polite, cool gesture, but a genuine smile. And I’m totally disarmed. Here is yet another deadly dimension to this dangerous man. “At least you’re honest,” I mutter as I step inside. “I’m always honest.” I could argue that, based strictly on the Alec Brand / Dr. B thing, but I don’t. There’s no room for that here. Not now. By unspoken agreement, we’ve moved on. My being here says that. Besides, this weekend is for…something else. “Always honest, huh? Then you can tell me what you have planned for this weekend,” I say casually as he leads me through his magnificent home. “I could. But I won’t. You’ll just have to trust me every step of the way.” I’m trying. Alec leads me up two levels to what I assume is the master bedroom. It occupies the entire third floor and includes a private balcony beyond the bank of windows that dominates one side of the room. Although I associate Alec with dark colors, which suit his brooding personality, this room seems to fit something in him as well, even though it’s done completely in stark whites and rich creams. From the plush antique white duvet to the bear skin rug in front of the white marble fireplace, this room screams luxury and sensuality, both adjectives I would use to describe Alec. Alec sets my bag in the corner beside another door then leads me through it into the most opulent bathroom I’ve ever seen. Its rich beauty is further accentuated by the softly flickering candles that cover every white surface. My stomach twitches in excitement when Alec stops in the center of the room and turns toward me. Taking both my hands in his, he brings one to his mouth and presses his lips to my knuckles. “I’m going to help you get ready for tonight. Your clothes shouldn’t be too long now. But first…a bath,” he says, never taking his eyes off mine. I don’t know what to say. I feel like I should argue, at least for propriety’s sake. We’ve only even kissed once and now he’s talking about a bath? But no words form on my lips. Everything else in the world seems pointless compared to what I

see in Alec’s eyes. Pulling me further into the room, he stops in front of an oversized tub, half full of water, suds and flower petals. “Those are for you,” he says. “I thought a more romantic ambience might put you at ease.” And he was right. But it doesn’t eclipse the reason that I’m here. That we’re both here. “Thank you,” I whisper, keeping my insecurities to myself. “This is all about you, all for you. This is to show you that I’m always considering you, that you can trust me. You must trust me. You must do as I ask. Every time. Without hesitation. Do you understand?” I get the sense that he’s warning me. Again. But the thinking part of me refuses to heed it. Again. When I don’t answer, he reaches up to push a lock of hair behind my ear. “All good?” I nod. “All good.” Alec drops to one knee and wraps his large hand behind my leg, lifting until it bends and my foot comes off the floor. He slips off first one shoe and then the other. I watch the top of his dark head as his fingers tease the tops of my toes. “Did you know,” he asks, glancing up at me with his burning eyes, “that to some people, feet are an erogenous zone?” As he watches me, his thumb begins to make deep circles on my arch. I feel the sensation all the way in the lowest part of my stomach. His eyes still on mine, Alec slowly stands until he’s towering over me at his full height. I feel intimidated and excited and a little fearful of what he could do to me if he so chose. “I’ve imagined what your breasts look like,” he says as he curls his fingers in the hem of my shirt and eases it up. When it’s free of my arms and lying on the floor behind me, he continues. “Pale white and perfectly round,” he whispers as he slides both bra straps off my shoulders and down my arms, pulling the cups over my nipples. His eyes fixate on them in a way that feels like a physical touch. He lets out a sigh that sounds both pained and excited. “With pink nipples that taste like candy.” I feel them tighten as he speaks, as if begging for him to try them. And he does. In a movement so slow it almost hurts, Alec unhooks the clasp between my breasts and bends his head to take my aching nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue over it until I can’t breathe. I let my head fall back, immediately lost to the sensation. It’s easier than it usually is. But I shouldn’t be surprised. From the moment I first saw Alec, I’ve found myself lost in him, lost to him. “I’m making introductions,” he explains, trailing his mouth across to my other breast, “because you and my tongue are going to become close friends. Best friends, in fact.” He flicks my nipple with the warm, wet muscle then sucks it into his mouth. When he releases it, he licks his way down my stomach to the waist band of my skirt. “You’ll dream of it,” he says, his hands moving to the small of my back where he unbuttons and unzips the closure. Easing it over my hips, he lets it drop to the floor. “And you’ll think of it every time you go to put on your panties.” Leaning forward, Alec runs his tongue along the elastic band, his chin grazing the top of my most sensitive body part. He hooks one finger inside the material where it runs between my legs and he brushes it back and forth over my nearly-smooth flesh. “Hmmm,” he groans. “These are already damp. That’s why you won’t be wearing panties while you’re here.” He glances up at me as he continues dragging his finger seductively over me, his knuckle grazing my clitoris. “I want all this on me, not wasted on satin and lace.” I can’t move. I can’t speak. Alec drags my panties down my legs, leaving me standing completely naked before him. I’m not thinking of my modesty, however, I’m thinking of his touch. I know it’s coming. Part of me is begging

for it. Part of me is dreading it. He pauses, his face only inches from my moist, hot center, and he watches me. Closely. As though he’s reading my mind. I feel the shift and I know he saw into me. He saw my hesitation. And he’s adjusting his plan. Rising, Alec directs his attention to his shirt. His hand moves to the collar, drawing my attention as well. I watch his fingers move deftly over each button, unfastening them as he makes his way to his waist. My pulse is throbbing erratically in my neck and I’m rooted to the spot. When he slowly parts the two halves of his shirt, I can’t look away. I’m mesmerized by the flexing of rock hard muscle under smooth bronze skin. His chest is broad and sculpted, his abs are rippling and defined, and his waist is trim and narrow. He is a study in perfection. “Do you like what you see?” he asks quietly, bringing my eyes up to his face. “Because I can keep going.” His hands go to his belt buckle and stop, awaiting my instruction. He’s leaving it up to me— how far we go right now—and as curious as I am about what’s inside those pants, and as hopeful as I am that he can be the one to do what no other has been able to thus far, fear that it will all fall apart wins the day. “What else did you have in mind?” I ask shyly, hoping I don’t sound like a high school virgin. Alec says nothing, moves nothing, for several long tense moments. I want to know what he’s thinking, but I’m afraid to ask. But then, much to my relief, he abandons his buckle and steps closer to me instead. He sweeps me into his arms and carries me to the tub. Dropping to one knee, he sets me in the warm, scented water. “I want you to concentrate. Hard. Focus all your attention on not enjoying my hands on your body, okay?” I’m surprised and confused, but thrilled that his task will be easy for me. I nod in agreement. Alec takes a brand new bar of soap in his hands and lathers them. Starting at my throat, he massages the thick, creamy froth into my skin in lazy circles. He works his way down my chest to my breasts. Then I understand why the tub is only half full. It leaves my upper body out of the water. Open to his eyes. And his touch. I tremble as his gaze follows his hands. “These nipples are mouthwatering,” he groans as his slippery fingers move over them. “I can only imagine how they would look all red and tender from being covered in hot wax.” As if to punctuate his thought, he pinches them, unleashing a gush of heat that floods my core. I clamp my lips against the gasp that traps air in my lungs. Remembering his words, I think about how I shouldn’t be enjoying what he’s doing. And I’m not. Not really. Or am I? No, I’m still too nervous, still too sure of how this will end to truly enjoy it, right? I know he can’t give me an orgasm. No one can. Right? Or is this why I’m here? Because he’s the one man who can? Pausing in his torture, Alec re-lathers his hands and turns his attention to my arms. He works the scented soap into the skin from my armpit to my fingers, even soaping in between them. The way he moves in and out of the webs of my fingers makes me struggle not to enjoy his ministrations. Lathering up again, Alec leans toward me, circling my waist with his hands, moving them up and down my sides, his fingertips meeting at the center of my spine. Each long stroke brings his face closer, my back arching further and further. His eyes are trained steadily on mine, neither of us speaking as he strokes me, up and down, up and down. On his last downward stroke, Alec lets his hands trail down to my hips. His fingers dig into my flesh, pulling me up off the bottom of the tub as he slips under me to massage each butt cheek. His

fingertips fan inward, moving along the crease between them. They glide teasingly inward then playfully away. When Alec stops to soap his hands again, I’m breathless and I don’t really know why. Maybe it’s because of the way he’s watching me. Maybe it’s because I know where he’s going next. Either way, anticipation is curled in my stomach like a snake ready to strike. Alec’s foamy hands disappear under the bubbles. My body is vibrating with tension as I await his touch. But it never comes. He just watches me, his hands floating somewhere beneath the bubbles. I suck in a breath when I feel his palms settle on my lower abdomen. My muscles twitch reflexively. Alec splays his fingers out wide, covering me from hip to hip, and moves them slowly downward. I’m completely focused on where they’re headed and, against everything he told me to do, I’m anxious for it. I want it. But then, at the last minute, he parts his hands and drags them down the outside of my thighs. My frustration mounts until Alec stops just above my knees and pulls his hands inward, toward the inside of my legs, and begins to climb back to my center, his thumbs pressing in as he ascends. Mere inches from my core, Alec stops, his expression knowing, as if he can see my fingers curling against the warm ceramic of the tub. And then he moves again, all the way up to my heated center. His thumbs part my swollen lips, allowing warm water to rush over my sensitive flesh. I clench my teeth, trying to hold still and keep quiet. But when his thumb grazes my clitoris, a single pant of air escapes before I hold my breath in, repeating the mantra over and over again. I won’t enjoy this. I won’t enjoy this. Up and down, Alec’s thumb moves gently over me. My instinct is to writhe against him, to grind against his hand, but I remain perfectly still, not stirring or speaking or uttering a single sound. One hand leaves my leg, turning over in the water to cup me. “I’ll be tasting this soon,” he whispers, teasing my entrance with one fingertip. “Bend your knees,” he commands. I do as he asks, placing my feet flat against the bottom of the tub, opening myself to him. He slides one long finger deep inside me. “God, you’re tight,” he groans. His heavy-lidded green eyes are turned nearly black by his dilated pupils. “You’ll grip my cock like a glove.” He slowly withdraws his one finger only to plunge it back inside with a second. My heart is racing as tension builds inside my stomach. I fight the urge to let my head fall back and my eyes drift shut, my body overcome with sensations that are totally foreign to me. “I’ll be watching you when you come on me for the first time. And you will be coming on me. And after you do, I’ll roll you onto your stomach and I’ll come all over that perfect, round ass of yours. And there won’t be anything you can do about it. Because this weekend, you’re mine,” he declares, his fingers sliding in and out of me, winding me up like a pocket watch. “To do whatever I want with. Whatever. I. Want. Do you understand?” Faster, his fingers move inside me as he awaits my answer. My brain is scrambled, nearly every thought and nerve centered on what he’s doing to me. And then he stops, his fingers at rest deep within me. “Say it,” he orders. “Yes,” I say automatically, not really caring what I’m agreeing to. “Yes what?” I struggle to think. My breath is trapped behind my ribs. “Yes, I’m yours.” “You will not tell me no.” I pant as my body sucks at his fingers, a silent plea for him to continue. “I will not tell you no.”

Slowly, he eases his fingers out, leaving me with an empty feeling of frustration. “Good,” he says, bringing his hands out of the water to lather up again. With expert attention, he treats my legs and feet to the same tender attentions he did to my arms and hands, never once acting as though he’s bothered by what just happened. Or nearly happened. When he pulls the plug to let the water out, I’m forced to admit to myself that I failed miserably. Not only did I enjoy the bath, but I’m disappointed that it’s over, that he didn’t continue. And that’s a first for me. Hope rises again, mingling with that frustrated feeling, leaving me achy and distracted as Alec pulls me to my feet. Reaching behind him to grab a towel, he begins to pat me dry as his eyes rove my body. He seems thoughtful when his gaze moves back to my face. “Leave your hair up for tonight,” he says of the sexy, messy pile of red tangles atop my head. I nod absently as Alec helps me from the tub. He bends to brush his lips over mine before he walks toward the door and grabs my bag from the corner. He carries it back and sets it near the vanity that graces part of one wall in the bathroom. “I’ll see if your clothes are here while you get ready.” He stares into my eyes for a few seconds before he turns casually around and exits the room, closing the door softly behind him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT- Alec I glance over at Samantha, sitting primly in the passenger seat of the car. I brought the Mercedes tonight. I drive it so seldom, people are less likely to recognize it. Not that I’m well-known anyway, but still, I’m cautious. This kind of thing could ruin a man. I wonder what Samantha is thinking. She hasn’t said a word since she came down the stairs wearing the dress I took up to her. She’s quite the vision in the sheath. Every curve is perfectly delineated in nearly-sheer black silk. She didn’t mention the discreet zipper in the back of the dress that begins at her ankles and travels all the way to the base of her spine, just like I didn’t mention that I could see her hard nipples when she stepped into the light. Her deep red hair is still up, albeit in a sleek twist now, and her lips are stained a rich crimson. I’d love to see that color smeared around my cock as I thrust it into her mouth while she’s bound and helpless on her knees in front of me. But I doubt that will happen tonight. In all likelihood, her hands will remain free for the remainder of the weekend. That is, unless she lets Laura Drake out of the bag. Then all bets are off. The thought of that, of being with a woman like that again, makes me hard as a rock behind my zipper. It also makes me uneasy. I learned my lesson with Alyssa. Or at least I thought I had. I shift in my seat. From the corner of my eye, I see Samantha glance at me. I turn to capture her gaze. “Are you nervous?” “Should I be?” she replies. “A week ago, I would’ve said yes. But now…” She doesn’t respond, just looks away. I see her fiddle nervously with the domino in her lap. I’m sure she’s curious about it. Or maybe she’s not. My estimation of her responses is skewed; she’s a bit more of a mystery than I’d originally thought. But there’s nothing I like more than unraveling a mystery. Except, of course, unraveling a tightly-wound woman. When we arrive at the deceptively blasé building, I’m a little more sexually…jacked up than usual. For the last couple of years, I’ve come here only to watch, to feed my addiction just enough to keep it under control. I haven’t participated in a long time. But tonight…tonight is different. I’ve got the sweetly naive Samantha sitting beside me, dressed in something I could really take advantage of, something that gives me easy access should she decide she’d like to take a room of our own. But also in the seat next to me I’ve got Laura Drake. She writes about sexual exploits that fascinate me. And inflame me. The question is: Who will accompany me inside tonight? Who will show up to dominate the beautiful redhead on my arm? Both excite me, just in totally different ways, and the anticipation is like rocket fuel to an already raging fire. It’s been too long. After I park and cut the engine, I get out and walk around to let Samantha out of the car. I reach for the domino between her fingers. I put it into place. She adjusts it slightly and then looks up to meet my eyes. There’s anxiety in them, as well as in the smile she gives me. It tells me that Samantha Jansen is with me right now. Laura Drake is nowhere to be found. It makes me wonder if she’ll ever make an appearance or if she is more of a fictional person than I realize. After I slide my own domino into place, I take Samantha’s hand and place it on the inside of my arm as we walk to the front of the building. Like many others, this house, loaded with all the Southern architectural charm that Charleston is

known for, was long ago converted into a business. Beyond the wide steps and charming veranda lie a restaurant and bar areas that occupy the entire lower level. It’s neither known to nor frequented by the general public. Only established and thoroughly vetted members are permitted through the subtly secured front doors. While it appears we are able to walk right in, I happen to know there are cameras on us, as well as the eyes of several seemingly casual observers who are actually high-end bouncers. They are in place to ensure that the “club” remains exclusive and discreet. And largely undiscovered. I lead Samantha to the bar and order both of us a martini, extra dirty. She doesn’t argue when I push the stem of the glass into her fingers. She merely eyes me over the rim as she takes a sip. I see her top lip curl slightly at the harsh bite of alcohol and I suppress a smile. She really is mostly Samantha. We stand in front of the elegant bar, beneath the elegant chandelier, inside the elegant club until Samantha has looked around and I feel the tension leave her stiff spine. When the muscles relax beneath my palm, I speak. “Let me show you around.” She smiles another small smile, takes another sip of her drink, sets it down and then nods in agreement. I lead her toward the long, winding staircase with its rich mahogany railing and thick oriental runner, and we slowly ascend it. My pulse is already quickening with thoughts of what’s to come. At the top of the stairs, there is a hallway to the left and right, as well as another set of steps that leads to the third floor. But for us, for tonight, I think this floor will suffice. When I motion Samantha to the right, she turns slowly in that direction. I wonder if she’s noticing the subtle changes as we walk toward the hall—the dimmer lighting, the darker colors, the thick panels covering the walls, panels designed specifically to absorb sound. At the mouth of the hall, there are three doors—one left, one right and one straight ahead. I happen to know the ones on the left and right are bathrooms. It’s the one directly in front of us that I’m most interested in. I twist the knob and push open the door. I urge Samantha through into another hallway. When I close the insulated door behind us, the low tones of conversation, the delicate tinkle of glass and the soft music from the floor below are all immediately deadened. I take Samantha’s hand and lead her slowly forward. Doors line the corridor ahead, the first of which is closed. Even though the soft moans assure me it’s occupied, the closed door signals their desire for privacy. No one in the club would dare violate that. The rules are strict and absolute. “Tell me, Samantha,” I begin, leading her on, “have you ever been to a place where you can have anything you want? Where anything you desire is not only acceptable, but obtainable?” She doesn’t answer me, but I feel her fingers tighten around mine. The next door we approach is open. I let Samantha move slightly ahead of me, sliding my hand over her hip to bring her to a stop and then moving in to stand behind her. Looking over her shoulder, I see the man and woman inside. I think to myself this is a good first look for her. The room is windowless and dominated by an enormous mattress draped in black. There is a woman lying atop it, spread eagle. Around her wrists and ankles are black leather cuffs attached to chains which are anchored to the floor. There are candles dripping with thick rivulets of hot wax placed all around the bed. They’ve been used, as I can see by the streaks of dried, blood-red wax on her stomach, thighs and breasts. Kneeling on the bed, with his head between her legs, is a man. “Some people like to be watched,” I whisper into Samantha’s ear before I press my lips to her neck. As if triggered by my words, the woman on the bed turns her head to look at us. I recognize her.

Her mouth is open in a silent moan and her eyes are wide behind her domino. I hear Samantha’s soft gasp when Carla’s lips curve into a satisfied smile. Her moan becomes louder and she twists against her restraints. The man between her legs moves his arm, pushing something he’s holding in his hand deep inside her, in and out. Her next moan is partly a laugh as she arches her back and throws her head back in ecstasy. I turn Samantha away from the room, back toward the hall and all its doorways, and we walk to the next one. Inside it is a woman, bound and gagged, on all fours in the center of a bare floor. Behind her is a man, gripping her hip with one hand and slapping her bright pink ass with the other as he thrusts into her. The woman moans and grunts behind her gag. “Others like to be spanked,” I explain. I move Samantha on to the next door. “It’s impossible to know what you like until you try…everything.” We pass three more doors, each one making me harder and harder, thinking of Samantha in the various positions, bound and completely under my control. And loving it. Giving me orgasm after orgasm as I work her body in ways she never dreamed. When we reach the last set of rooms, two of them are empty. One has a bed with smooth, clean, black sheets that would be the perfect backdrop for Samantha’s pale skin and vibrant hair. The second is a smaller room with hooks on the wall and floor, as well as chains suspended from the ceiling. I can also easily picture Samantha here. Against the wall. Facing away. Chained and unable to move. Her dressed unzipped all the way to her delicious ass. Her skin coated in a fine sheen of sweat. And me. Behind her. Pumping into her. My fingers biting into her flesh. Her moans filling the air. Her body squeezing around mine. “Let me show you how good I can make you feel,” I say, moving around in front of her, tugging her with me as I back into the room. A muffled scream echoes down the hall. I know no one is being hurt. Not really. Everyone here is consensual. Samantha stops. I see her chest rise and fall quickly with her accelerated breathing. I see the unusual pallor of her skin. I see the look of terror in her eyes. I see the tremor of her lower lip. This is beyond the fear I wanted her to feel. A fear like this won’t allow pleasure to pass. And that’s not what I’m into at all. “I won’t hurt you, Samantha,” I pledge quietly, stepping closer to her, reaching up to take her chin between my fingers. It trembles in my grasp. “This is all about pleasure, pleasure you’ve never known before, pleasure I want to introduce you to. A little fear can heighten the senses; a little pain can feel like ecstasy. Would you like me to show you?” As I watch her in her silence, I see something surge to the surface, breaking through her upset. It’s something unwanted. Emotional pain. And, with it, tears. “What’s the m—” “Get me out of here,” she says so softly I can hardly hear her. “Samantha, I—” “Please, Alec,” she pleads, her voice quivering with barely suppressed distress. “Take me home. Right. Now.” “Okay,” I say immediately. “We’ll go home. There’s no reason for you to be upset. I—” “No, not we. Me. I want to go to my house. Alone. I’ll get my car tomorrow.” I feel the frown settle over my forehead. “Samantha, I—” Before I can even really begin to apologize and explain, she’s turning and heading for the door. She

practically runs down the hall toward the exit. I reach her before she can yank open the door. “Samantha, stop!” I hiss quietly. “I’ll take you home. Just calm down. Don’t forget that we aren’t alone.” I don’t want anyone thinking I’ve brought an unwilling person to the club and I don’t want to draw any undue attention to her. To either of us. She won’t meet my eyes, but I hear her take a deep, shaky breath as she reaches for the door knob. More steadily. She turns it and steps through, pausing only long enough for me to close it behind us, and then she’s heading for the stairs. She descends them calmly and makes her way toward the front door without appearing to be running for her life, which I get the feeling she thinks she is. But when we are outside, away from curious eyes, she takes off at a sprint toward the car. I walk slowly in her wake, giving her the space she obviously needs. Meanwhile, all sorts of things are going through my head, all sorts of theories and unanswered questions. I’m already formulating new analyses to add to my Laura Drake file, and I’m mulling the new insights I’ve been given to Samantha Jansen. She’s quite the contradiction. She seemed so ready, so open to me. How could I have been so wrong? I hit the button to unlock the doors and Samantha ducks inside before I can reach the car to open the door for her. I don’t suppress my sigh. After I slide in behind the wheel, I start the engine and get us back on the road to her place before I speak. I figure she needs distance from the club before she’ll feel any better. “What happened back there?” I ask finally. When she says nothing, I continue. “You can tell me. I want to know your feelings about it.” Still she says nothing. “Samantha, I—” “You said you would help me,” she interrupts, anger and hurt oozing from her tone. “But you don’t want to help me. All you want is a toy. A sick, twisted sexual toy to play with in your little clubhouse. Why did I ever trust you?” she cries, her voice breaking on the last word. “I was up front with you from the beginning,” I reply, my tone harsh. And honest. “You can hardly blame me because you bit off more than you could chew. I told you what I wanted. I told you what you could expect.” “You never told me to expect that.” “It’s not like I took you there to cut you or hurt you, for God’s sake. It’s harmless, every bit of it. Any venue that conducts activities more extreme is not going to be found in such an…open location. Those places are hidden. And for good reason.” “And I’m sure you know about all of them,” she says waspishly. “I might like a little bondage and a little domination, but I’m hardly a sadist. Maybe all this judgment would be better served turned inwardly.” “Oh trust me,” she retorts, her eyes flashing in the dim dashboard lights. “I’ve looked inwardly most of my life. I’ve had to come to terms with a whole lot of stuff that someone like you wouldn’t know the first thing about. That doesn’t change the facts. You’re a predator. You take nice girls and you turn them into the main attraction at a freak show.” “I don’t turn anybody into anything. I simply unlock doors and…set things free.” “Put whatever pretty face you want to on it. It won’t change the truth.” “I’ve never tried to hide the fact that when I see a beautiful woman, I want to show her things, things that will set her insides on fire. But we burn together. It’s never about harming anyone. It’s about pleasure. It’s all about pleasure.” “And I bet you don’t even try to fight this…this…sickness.”

Her comment tweaks a raw nerve. “That’s where you’re wrong,” I snap coldly. “Don’t pretend you know me. Because you don’t. You don’t know what my life has been like. You don’t know the things I’ve experienced. Believe me, I’ve had good reason to fight this. And I’ve managed quite well for a long time now. But I wanted you. That was my mistake.” When I glance at her, I look quickly away, gripping the steering wheel tighter. I see that the hurt has returned, replacing the fire and the anger. And I know she’d probably never guess how much it bothers me to see it there. I close my eyes against the hauntingly beautiful face of Alyssa—the one person I feel like I’ll never be able to escape.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE- Samantha I can’t write. I can’t sleep. I can’t really think. Not for long anyway. And not about very many topics. Everything gets ousted from my head by thoughts of Alec Brand. It’s been three weeks since that horrible night. I’ve relived it a dozen times every day, changing some little thing each time, wishing it had turned out differently. My reaction, my rejection of him and what he shared with me, is something that I fear in life—to be labeled a freak and shunned. To be judged harshly. And to think that I did that to someone else makes me feel physically ill. Yet I can’t bring myself to call him. The fact that he hasn’t reached out to me speaks volumes. I haven’t logged on to any of our sessions, but I’m sure he hasn’t either. Not that I would’ve expected anything different. That night, when he brought me home, I got out without a word, slammed the door and hurried straight into the house. That’s how I left things. Idiot! I really don’t feel like being in public today. If this hadn’t begun as my idea, I’d have gotten Ari to cancel it. But it was, so I can’t. I’m appearing at an independent bookstore today. It’s a place I’ve visited on and off for years as Samantha Jansen. When I saw that the shop was in trouble, I asked Ari to approach her about us doing a signing there to get her some new traffic. I park my car in the short-term lot and carry my bag into the airport, heading straight for the bathroom. Fifteen minutes later, I come out as Laura Drake, confident on the outside, devastated on the inside. Ari is waiting for me on a bench just outside. He stands when he sees me. “Ms. Drake,” he says formally with a bow of his head. “Mr. Nelson,” I reply in kind. He takes my bag and leads me to where a limo is parked. “Limo,” I say in approval. “Nice.” We say very little on the trip over. I must be emitting back-off vibes. They’re the only kind Ari ever pays any attention to. And I’m pretty sure that, today, I’ve got them in spades. By the time we arrive at the store, I’m ready to get this over with and get back home. There’s already a line out the door, so I plaster on a smile and head around the building to the rear entrance. Inside, the women in line are chatting quietly as the shop owner, Patricia, finishes stacking copies of my books on a table set up at the back of the store near the cash register. I approach her and she turns toward me, smiling. “I just can’t thank you enough for having your signing here. It means the world to little bookstores like mine.” The trip starts to feel more worth it as Patricia’s sincerity penetrates the cloud of my despair. My smile comes a little more easily this time. “It’s my pleasure. Thank you for having me.” She leaves to get me a cup of fresh-brewed coffee as I get situated. I sit down behind the table and scan the room. I’m dumbstruck when my eyes collide with intense pale green ones. Then my day takes a turn for the…confusing. Alec isn’t standing in line. He’s leaning against the wall near the door with his arms crossed over his chest, silently observing me. Surprisingly, I recover quickly, but I’m glad when Patricia returns, providing me with some welcome distraction. Ari gets the signing started and I do my best to concentrate on my readers rather than the man watching me from across the room. It’s not easy, though, and it makes for the longest two hours of my life.

When I’m signing the last book of the day, my eyes stray to Alec. I’ve glanced surreptitiously at him two dozen times at least and not once have I seen him move, speak, gesture or even flinch like he might be considering approaching me. He’s just watching me, always watching me. Silently. Broodingly. I’m a bundle of nerves by the time I’ve thanked everyone, said my goodbyes and am letting Ari shuffle me out the door. Without looking back, I hop into the limo. But as I sit inside, waiting on Ari who got caught by a fan, I can’t stop myself from looking back at the store for signs of Alec. I don’t see him, which further confuses me and stimulates the whirlwind of questions circling my mind. What could this mean? What does he want? Why didn’t he speak to me? Where did he go? Will I see him again? As my head spins out of control, the limo door opens. I expect to see Ari duck inside. But I don’t. My heart leaps up into my throat when I see Alec scoot onto the seat across from me instead. His eyes search mine for a few seconds before he speaks. “I promised I’d help you. And I will. But you have to be honest with me. Can you do that?” My pulse is fluttering like butterfly wings inside my chest and I feel nearly giddy that he’s here, in my limo, sitting across from me, back in my life. I didn’t realize how much I wanted him here until he was gone. But there are still things that can’t happen, things I can’t do. “I can’t—” “This is about you, Samantha. Not about me. You have nothing to worry about,” he interrupts, putting my mind at ease as if my thoughts are completely transparent to him. Relief washes through me. Is it possible to have him? My way? To have it all? Like I’ve hoped right from the beginning? Before I can thoroughly investigate the downside to this—and I’m certain there is one—I find myself agreeing. The lure of Alec, of my real-life Mason, is too strong. “Okay.” “Be at my house by midnight.” Alec reaches for the door, but I stop him. “Midnight?” He cocks one eyebrow. “Is that a problem?” “Um, I…is it…No, it’s no problem,” I finally manage. “I’m gonna show you that you can trust me. I’ll always tell you the truth, even if it hurts.” My heart sinks a little at that. Although it’s a comforting fact, and I believe him, I’d really prefer he didn’t hurt me at all. It makes me wonder if he foresees that eventuality. Because the logical side of me sees nothing less. “I know.” With a nod, he eases fluidly out of the limo. I lean forward to watch him go. I get only a glimpse of him nodding to Ari before he disappears behind my publicist as he climbs into the car with me. “Do I even want to know what that was all about?” I worry my lip with my teeth. “I’m not sure I even want to know what that was all about.” The limo pulls slowly away from the curb and we’re on the road before Ari leans forward. His eyes are concerned, his expression earnest. “Promise me something,” he says. “How much am I going to hate it?” I tease, figuring he’s got some new project up his sleeve. “Promise me you’ll be careful with him, Sam. He looks…dangerous. Hot, but very, very dangerous.”

“You think?” I ask, puzzled by what Ari sees that would make him say that. I’ve always seen it, but I think that has more to do with Mason. Or maybe it doesn’t. “Oh, I know. It’s not so much him as the way you react to him. I worry about you…” I smile and lean forward as well, putting my hand on Ari’s knee. “Well don’t. I’m fine. And I will continue to be fine,” I assure him, Laura Drake style. I forget sometimes that Ari is impervious to my Laura Drake confidence, though. I can tell by the look on his face that he can see right through it, right through to the train wreck I am underneath.

CHAPTER THIRTY- Alec I haven’t said anything to Samantha since she arrived. When I answered the door, I simply took her bag and purse, set them in the foyer and then took her hand and led her around the house to the walkway that leads to the beach. I figure she’ll say something soon. I don’t think she’s all that comfortable with silence. And that’s what I’m waiting for. I want to see where she starts. I’ll take it from there. “Why, Alec?” she finally asks after our feet have hit the sand. I rest my hands loosely in my pockets and set a slow pace for our walk in the moonlight. “I promised I’d help you.” She doesn’t respond for several long minutes. I let her think. “No offense, but I find it hard to believe that you’re getting nothing out of this.” “Oh, I’m not getting ‘nothing’ out of this,” I assure her candidly. “Then what is it that you want? Because I’m not…” “That’s off the table. We’ve already addressed that.” I fall silent for a few steps, debating how best to explain my position to her. “Samantha, I was being honest when I told you that I fight this…desire of mine. Maybe I’m hoping that by fixing you, I can fix me, too.” “Can I ask why? You seem perfectly willing to embrace it.” “There was a time when I was. But things change. Things happen. It’s not something I’m entirely comfortable pursuing anymore.” “Why?” she asks again. I frown down at her. “Who’s here to help whom?” She searches my eyes for a few seconds before she looks down at her feet. I hear her sigh. “So, what is your plan then? How do you think you can help me?” “Why don’t we start with you telling me what’s bothering you? And I don’t mean right now. I mean, what is it that has brought you here, to this place in your life? What are you afraid of?” If hesitation and uncertainty were tangible things, they’d be flying off her and hitting me in the face. I know she wants to trust me, to trust somebody. I know she wants help, wants to live a normal life, whatever that means to her. But she’s afraid. I don’t speak again until she answers. I wanted us to have time. And quiet. And distance from the world around us. We have that here. And she has more privacy, walking in the dark on a lonely stretch of beach, than she would in an office, in a clinical setting with me sitting across from her, staring at her as I await answers to her most personal questions. “I told you before that my mother was an escort. I don’t know if she ever got paid for sex, but she did bring men home sometimes. Not every night she worked, but she did it more often than not. I could always hear them,” she admits quietly as her mind goes back in time. “Screams and moans and grunts and growls. I was young and I always wondered what they were doing, but she made me promise never to come into her room. So I didn’t. For a long time. But one night when I was nine years old, her door came open. I don’t know if it wasn’t closed well to begin with or if someone on the inside opened it. I just know that when I got up to go to the bathroom, it was open. “I was curious, of course. What child wouldn’t be? So when I saw that the door was open, I went to look. That first time, I was more confused than anything. I saw my mother tied to the bed, face down, and some guy spanking her while he…did things to himself.” Even in the pale moonlight, I can see the pink stain her cheeks. I find it interesting that a woman

who writes erotic tales about vampires and virgins blushes over the mention of masturbation. I file it away to ponder later. When she falls silent, I ask a question to prompt her to continue. “How was your mother reacting?” “She looked like she was in pain, but when he stopped, she told him to spank her harder.” “How did that make you feel?” “I was angry. And confused. And torn. I wanted to say something, to make him stop hurting my mother, but I knew I’d get in trouble for watching, so I didn’t say anything.” “Did you go back to your room?” She gives a long, tell-tale pause. “No.” “Why not?” Samantha shrugs. “Fear. Curiosity. I’m not sure.” When she doesn’t go on, I ask another question. “Was that the only time you saw her?” “No.” “Did you like watching her?” “No!” she says emphatically. “Oh, God! It was horrible.” “Then why did you?” “I didn’t for a long time. I would put a pillow over my head to drown out the sounds. It wasn’t until I heard more than just one woman’s voice that I ever went back to her door at night.” “And how old were you then?” “Fifteen.” “Tell me about it.” I see her chest rise and fall with her deep inhalation. “I went because I was afraid for my mother. I didn’t know what more than one person might do to her. So I crept down the hall and stood in front of her door. I just listened for a while. It’s when I started to hear some banging around that I got up the nerve to twist the door knob and crack the door just a tiny bit. I did it and then ran back to my room, just in case someone inside noticed.” “And did they?” “No, no one noticed. I’m sure they were far too busy enjoying themselves.” “You must’ve gone back.” “I did. I waited until I was sure no one would notice and I crept back down the hall and pushed it open just enough so I could see inside.” “And what did you see this time?” “My mother was with another woman and a man on the bed. Both the woman and the man were doing things to her. To each other, too. When I was satisfied she wasn’t being hurt, I started to back away.” “But you didn’t?” “No. That’s when I saw the other couple in the room.” “And what were they doing?” “The girl probably wasn’t much older than I was. She was on her knees with her face on the floor. Her hands were tied behind her back and he was holding on to them as he pushed something in and out of her. Hard. And fast. She was moaning and he was telling her to take it all like a good little girl.” “Did that scare you?” Her mouth opens and closes twice before she speaks. “A little.” “Why?”

“Well, the two times I’d seen people having sex were both…unusual and, to a child, almost violent. Painful looking. So yes, it scared me.” “Could you not understand that she was enjoying what he was doing to her?” “Yes, but I think that was part of the problem.” “How so?” “To a kid’s way of thinking, it looked like the only way to find pleasure in sex was through violence and pain.” “Were these the only times you saw things like that?” “No. I watched a few times after that, but only when I knew there were other people in there, not just my mother.” “And were those experiences similar?” “For the most part. There was some variety to it, but every night seemed to reinforce the theme of pain equaling pleasure.” “Did your mother ever find out that you watched?” A long pause. “Yes,” Samantha answers in a small voice. “What was that night like?” She laughs. It's a bitter sound. “I think it’s safe to say it was one of the worst nights of my life.” She pauses again, as if to gather strength to relive that night in the retelling of it. “It was a Tuesday. I’d had a date that night. I was sixteen and he was my very first boyfriend. He’d taken me to the movies then dropped me back off at home a little after nine. I was too excited to sleep, so I was awake when she came in. It was just after eleven. She and her…guests went straight to her bedroom. It was probably fifteen or twenty minutes later when I got up to go to the bathroom. Her door was wide open this time, which was a first. As I passed, I only saw her and one guy. He looked a little familiar, but I didn’t really think much of it. I always tried to look away from Mom when I happened to see her. It was as I was going back to bed that I saw him sitting in the corner of the room.” “Who?” I ask, but she doesn’t hear me. “I thought at first my eyes were playing tricks on me, but when I saw Jamie’s letterman’s jacket crumpled on the floor, I knew it was him. It was Jamie Nunley, my boyfriend.” There’s a faraway, pained look in her eyes as she stares straight ahead. She’s lost in the past. “He was sitting in a chair across from the bed with his pants unzipped, jacking off as he watched one of his football buddies screw my mom.” When she doesn’t continue, I give her a few minutes to collect herself before I ask my next question. “What did you do?” “I gasped. I couldn’t help it. I was…stunned. I tried to cover my mouth, but I wasn’t quite quick enough. Jamie looked toward the door and smiled. I’m sure that’s who opened it to begin with. Anyway, I ran back to my room. He followed me. I thought he’d try to explain it or make up some crazy excuse, but he didn’t. It’s almost like he wanted me to see. I tried to shut my door on him, but I couldn’t get it closed fast enough. He pushed it open and came in. Just walked right into my room like he hadn’t been doing what he was doing. He was smiling, even. I got mad, of course. I slapped him. And it felt so good. Until he slapped me back. From there, the angrier I got, the more it seemed to turn him on. Finally, he grabbed me and threw me on the bed and started kissing me. I struggled. Told him over and over to get off me, but he seemed to like it the more I fought him. He slapped me a few times. Harder and harder each time. ‘Oh, so that’s how you like it, huh? Like your mom? You like it rough, baby?’ I was terrified by then. I reached up and scratched his face. I’d have done anything to get him off me. But that just made him madder. That’s when he pinned my arms underneath me so I

couldn’t move them, so I couldn’t fight. I couldn’t even stop him when he reached between my legs.” When Samantha stops, I don’t prompt her to continue. I’m letting her recover as I digest what she’s told me thus far, what she’s been through and how she must’ve felt when I took her to the club. “I started screaming and Mom finally heard. She came in and made him leave before he could rape me.” Another bitter laugh. “After he was gone, she went to her room for a long time. I kept expecting her to come and comfort me, but when she finally came out, she was furious. The funny thing is: She wasn’t angry with Jamie. She was angry with me.” I grit my teeth in anger. I’ve never been able to understand parents who could stand by and watch their children be hurt. “So she didn’t have any sympathy for what you’d been through?” “No. She said the whole thing was my fault for being out of bed when she had visitors. She accused me of doing something to bring Jamie to my bedroom, to lead him on. She said that I’d gotten what I deserved for being a cock tease. She said I should’ve left him with her.” “So she didn’t see anything wrong with doing things like that with your boyfriend?” “No, she just couldn’t understand why I’d be upset by it.” When she doesn’t go on, I ask, “And then what happened?” “Word got around school pretty fast about what my mom was into, and what people were saying that I was into. There were rumors about people paying me and my mom for threesomes and rumors that she was my pimp. I got…approached a couple of times. Scared me pretty bad. Once was in the chemistry lab after school. He wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Luckily, one of the teachers happened to come by. She’d already been hearing the talk. I was a mess by then. She called Social Services. Naturally, they investigated. When they talked to my mother, she didn’t even try to deny it. I think she sort of wanted to be rid of me. She didn’t fight it at all when they took me from her and put me into foster care.” There is resignation in her voice. She must’ve come to terms with her mother’s inability to love her a long time ago. “Have she ever attempted to find you since then?” “Yes. She spent two years in prison. After that, I saw her at school twice. Both times, she was across the street, watching me as I walked to my car. The look she gave me…” Samantha shivers. “Do you think she would’ve hurt you?” “I don’t know, but she sure looked angry. Maybe she blamed me. I don’t know.” “Were you afraid?” She shrugs. “A little, I guess. Enough to tell my foster parents.” “What did they do?” “I don’t know, but I never saw her again after that.” “And how do you feel about that now?” “I feel relieved. I don’t ever want her to find me.” “Hence the disguise.” She nods. “I don’t want her in my life anymore. Meeting the people that I call my parents was one of the best things to ever happen to me. They took me in, loved me like I was their own. Made me part of the family. Gave me a life, helped me to start over. They even moved us across the county line so I wouldn’t have to go back to the same school. When I tell people they saved my life, I’m not really exaggerating. It’s hard to tell what would’ve become of me had I stayed with my birth mother.” “How has all this affected your relationships as an adult?” Samantha shrugs again, not in flippancy, but in consternation. “I don’t know. I may have a few trust

issues, but not as many as you’d think coming from a childhood like that. The Johnsons helped me with that. And Chris.” “And what about your other relationships? Intimate ones?” “I suppose I’ve never been able to truly let go of what I saw and what happened. Even though I know in my head that fear and pain don’t have to accompany pleasure with sex, there’s something inside me that just can’t…move on. It’s not nearly as much of a problem for me as it is for the men I’ve dated, though.” She keeps her eyes tightly focused on her feet as she walks. She’s embarrassed. “Why is that?” “I can only fake something I don’t feel for so long. Once a relationship turns sexual and the guy realizes he’s not doing it for me, he takes it personally, like a knock against his manhood.” “And that threatens their masculinity, so they blame you. Is that about it?” “Yeah, pretty much. I’ve been called frigid and broken and cold, all sorts of things. They can be very mean and hurtful. Ugly.” “And do you see yourself as any of those?” “I don’t know what I am.” I grab Samantha’s hand, pulling her to a stop. I turn her toward me. “You aren’t broken. And I’m gonna prove it to you.” “How?” Although her question is skeptical, I can see the hope in her eyes. And I know why she was so upset with me that night at the club. She really wants me to fix her. “You don’t need to know the details. You just need to trust me. Trust that I will give you pleasure and never pain. Let’s start with that, okay?” She attempts a tiny smile with her nod. “Okay.” “For the rest of the weekend, keep an open mind. Do as I ask without fear that I will do anything to scare you or to remind you of what you saw in your childhood. Trust that every time I touch you, I will bring you that much closer to experiencing pleasure in ways that you’re truly comfortable with.” She glances away and I see her pull her lip between her teeth to gnaw it anxiously. “What about you? How…I mean, won’t you…” “Don’t you worry about me. This will be good for me, too.” I say that, hoping I sound convincing, hoping she never finds out that I’m turned on by what she’s most afraid of. Samantha isn’t the only broken one.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE- Samantha I wake to an empty bed. To Alec’s empty bed. The sheets on the other side are smooth and untouched. I don’t know where he slept last night, but it wasn’t with me. I’m more than a little disappointed. So much weight was lifted from me after our talk that I fell asleep on the couch downstairs in front of the fireplace before Alec could even return with the drinks he was pouring us. I remember him carrying me up the stairs and I remember him pulling the covers up over me, but that’s it. I slept more soundly than I have in months. Maybe longer. But where is he? Where did he spend the night? I slide out of bed and walk to the windows that look out over the ocean. It’s a beautiful day and, by the looks of the position of the sun, it’s not exactly early any more. I turn and head for the bathroom. As I pass the sink on the way to the toilet, I see the note stuck to the mirror. Make yourself at home. There’s bagels and coffee in the kitchen. You’ve got the place to yourself until lunch. I’ll be back by then. Enjoy the sun. —A While it would’ve been nice to wake up next to Alec, having some time to relax and collect myself is probably a really good idea. This is a lot to wrap my head around. I’ve never been in a relationship like this before. Nowhere near it, in fact. I walk down to the kitchen and grab half a bagel, slather it with cream cheese and pour a cup of coffee from the already-brewed pot. I wander the house as I nibble, admiring the flawlesslypositioned artwork, the immaculate décor and the breathtaking views from nearly every window. Within thirty minutes, after roaming the entire empty house, I’m back upstairs. I stare out at the secluded balcony off the master as I sip a glass of lemonade, listening to the silent call of the padded chaise lounge and the ocean just beyond it. I glance at the clock. It’s only a few minutes after ten. It’s warm enough to get some sun and it’s early enough that I’ll still have time to shower and be ready for Alec by noon. But I didn’t bring a bathing suit. Feeling more daring and lighthearted than I have in a long time, I strip my clothes off, grab two towels from the bathroom, wrap one around myself and head for the balcony. I set my glass down beside the chair, drape one towel over the cushion then look nervously around before I drop my own towel and lay face down on the cushion. I giggle, imagining Chris rolling her eyes at my silliness. She’s the type that would sunbathe in the nude without thinking a thing about it. I, however, am not. Until today. Today, I might be that girl. I relax in the warmth of the sun. When my skin begins to tingle, I roll onto my back to feel the hot rays caress my face and chest. I’m in that drowsy state between sleep and wakefulness when I hear his voice. “I must admit, I’m very happy with the way you ‘make yourself at home’.” I jump when Alec speaks from somewhere near my left ear. Instinctively, I sit up, crossing my arms over my chest and drawing my knees up to hide my nudity. I shield my eyes from the sun to focus on him. He’s standing slightly behind me with only a towel draped loosely around his hips. My mouth goes dry as I take in his wet black hair and the drops of water that glisten like specks of gold on his bronze chest. Instantly, I’m right back in my book with Daire and Mason. The setting is so similar, it’s like déjà

vu. Only Alec is real. And he’s really here. And so am I. “I thought you were going to be gone until lunch.” “After my workout, I decided to come home for a shower. What can I say? I couldn’t stay away.” That makes me inordinately happy, but not enough to make me drop my guard. “If you’ll hand me that towel,” I say, nodding toward the one I left crumpled on the floor at his feet, “I’ll go get a shower, too.” Alec kicks my towel out of the way. “How about this one instead?” he asks, reaching for the towel that encircles his hips. My mouth falls open and no sound comes out. My gaze is glued to his hand and my mind is willing him to remove the towel. “No?” he says when I don’t answer. “Well, now you have no options. I don’t think I’ll let you have your towel,” he says casually as he moves to stand at the foot of the chaise. “I don’t think I’ll let you go back inside either. Or get dressed. You’re here. I’m here. And you did agree to do as I say, did you not?” I nod. Even though he told me I have nothing to fear, and I believe him, a thin thread of anxiety works its way down my spine. He’s already shown me what he likes, what he can be like. But I find that it also excites me. I remember his words, the things he promised he’d do to me, things he promised he’d make me feel. And I don’t doubt I’ll feel them all. Anticipation blooms in my stomach like a lazy lotus blossom. “Remove your arms. I want to see your breasts.” My hesitation is minimal, but he still notices. “Ah-ah-ahh. Remember the rules,” he reminds. “Do as I say.” Forcing myself to act, I relax my trembling arms away from my chest. I see his eyes drop. My nipples furl tightly and ache under his prolonged scrutiny. “Beautiful,” he whispers. “Now spread your legs. Drop them on either side of the chair.” Why, oh, why didn’t I leave my underwear on? Heart pounding, I part my thighs and let my feet fall off the chair until I feel the warm wood of the deck beneath them. I see the muscle in Alec’s jaw tick as he looks unabashedly at my exposed femininity. Heat gathers there and I can’t be sure if it’s from the sun or from Alec’s gaze. After several nerve-racking seconds, he moves to my left, stopping at my shoulder. He bends over, reaching forward for my glass of lemonade. Ice cubes clink against the side as he absently swirls the liquid. I look up to find his eyes raking me from head to toe. He doesn’t take them from me as he tips the glass to his lips and takes a long drink. When he lowers it, I see an ice cube pop out from between his lips. He reaches up and takes it between his fingers. Dropping his hand to my chest, Alec circles my left nipple with the melting cube. It tingles with the stimulation. “Mmm, that’s what I like. I want to see them hard. And tight. Begging for my mouth.” Leaning over, he wraps his lips around my nipple. Although his mouth is cool, after the touch of the cold ice cube his tongue feels like the lick of an open flame, hot and searing. I gasp. Drawing it further into his mouth, Alec gives it one quick hard suck before he lifts his head. His eyes meet mine. He says nothing, just watches me as he takes another sliver of ice into his mouth. We stare at each other for several long, tense seconds before he leans across me to take my other nipple. When I feel his tongue this time, it’s cool against my hot skin, still warm from the sun. The temperature is an equal, yet opposite contrast, and just enough to leave me breathless. He speaks after he releases my nipple this time. “I want to see you play with them now,” he says,

moving back down to the foot of the chaise. “Now,” he orders sternly when I don’t comply immediately. I bring my shaking hands to my breasts and I rub my flattened palms over the nipples. Alec’s eyes are on my hands for a few seconds, but then I see them drop down to look between my legs again. My muscles contract, squeezing at the thought of his body inside mine, throbbing under the heat of his blatant scrutiny. Alec reaches into my glass of lemonade and pulls out another cube of ice. He straddles the end of the lounge chair, his knees touching mine, and he trails the ice cube up the inside of my thigh. “I want you to pinch your nipples every time I put this ice cube inside you,” he explains, reaching forward to slide the long piece of ice into me. He only puts it in a little ways. “Pinch them.” I do as he asks. I feel a twitch low in my stomach and my body clutches at the ice. He pulls the sliver out and then puts it in deeper, his fingers penetrating my entrance as he does. Obediently, I pinch my nipples. Another delicious squeeze in my belly. “I want you to feel the ice melting. I want you to feel my cold fingers.” He pushes his fingers in deeper. I feel the coolness of them as well as the liquid from the melting cube that runs back out around them. It trickles down the crease between my butt cheeks. “Concentrate on how good it feels. Know that I could make you come, but I won’t. You will do that only when I give you permission. Do you understand?” I nod. At the moment, I’m not thinking of anything other than what this man is doing to me, what he makes me feel all over and deep down. He makes me feel free in ways I’ve never felt free before. I watch as he takes another long cube from the glass. He reaches down and pushes it into me, using two fingers to force it deep inside. He manipulates it, wiggling his fingers as he does. I pinch my nipples and my body sucks at his hand. I moan. In an out, he penetrates me with his fingers, forcing cool water out with each thrust. He takes another ice cube from the glass and pushes it inside me. I pinch my nipples, concentrating on not giving in to the building tension. “Remember, you will not come now. You will not come until I tell you that you can. You will not come when I’m licking lemonade from inside you. You will not come when I’m tasting the mixture as it pours out of you. Sweet as honey,” he says, taking an ice cube into his mouth then bending his head to lick between my legs. My fingers bite into my breasts when his cold tongue finds my clitoris. It flicks and teases the sensitive nub until my hips are moving against his mouth, begging for more as the tension builds. “Pinch your nipples,” he mutters against me. Just as I do, he sucks my clitoris into his mouth and pushes another ice cube into me with his long, long fingers. I squeeze my eyes shut against the tight feeling, against the aching squeeze in my lower abdomen. I hold my breath, biting back a gasp when he moves down and thrusts his tongue into me, his fingers replacing his mouth at my clitoris. At a loss as to what to do with these sensations, I move my hands down to thread them into his hair, holding him against me as I grind my hips against his wet lips and cool tongue. My breath is coming faster and my skin feels tightly stretched over my trembling muscles and liquid bones. The world slips further and further away as my focus centers more and more on his wicked tongue and cool fingers. And then he stops. It takes me a few seconds to realize that he’s not going to continue. And when I do, I’m both confused and frustrated. I feel as though I was on the verge. But now I’ll never know. When Alec comes to his feet at the end of the chaise, he doesn’t say anything at first. We simply watch each other. On the inside, I’m throwing a childish tantrum, stomping my foot in peevishness.

But on the outside, I’m as calm as still waters. Finally, Alec comes around to the side of my chair and reaches for my hand. “Come on. Let’s get you showered.” He hauls me to my feet. And I let him. My limbs feel heavy and…dissatisfied, as if my every muscle is weighted down. I let Alec lead me inside, through the bedroom and into the bathroom. I watch as he turns on both shower heads and tests the temperature a couple of times before he walks back to me. “Let’s get your mind on something else. Like me,” he says, the corners of his mouth twitching as though he’s on the verge of a smile. But it never materializes. His expression stays just as intense, even when he reaches down and loosens the towel at his hips and lets it fall to the floor. I want to look down so badly. But I don’t. I keep my gaze trained on his as he backs toward the shower, leading me along. When he turns to step inside, I allow my eyes one short flicker down to his perfect butt, but then I bring them quickly back to his wide shoulders. He moves in front of the spray then turns around and pulls me toward him. He does it so quickly, I can’t see anything. But when he snugs me up against him, I can certainly feel what I didn’t see. His rigid length presses into the softness of my belly, making me tingle from the waist down. His hard chest rubs against my sensitive nipples, making them ache for his attention. And his eyes burn down into mine, full of challenge and determination and a passion I’ve never before encountered. “I want to watch you bathe,” he says softly. “And I want you to watch me.” With that, Alec reaches for two bars of soap, handing one to me. I take it and he backs up a couple of steps, creating enough space between us that we can move freely. His eyes roam over me from head to toe as he rolls the bar of soap in his hands. I mimic his actions, finally feeling free to look him over. And he’s just as flawless as I expected him to be. His broad shoulders taper to a trim waist and a thin trail of hair that leads downward. His hips are narrow and, between them, a long, thick shaft of masculine perfection. I see one of Alec’s soapy hands slip into my view. It glides down the inside of his hip and moves in to what I’m focused on. I can’t look away as I watch his fingers wrap around the base of it and stroke slowly toward the tip. “You did this,” he whispers. “This is all for you.” My heart skips in my chest as I watch his thumb circle the engorged head before he tightens his grip and makes his way down to the base again. Up and down, I watch him travel the length several times before I realize that I’m warm and achy and out of breath. I jump when Alec takes my right hand and guides it toward him. Eagerly, I wrap my fingers around him, reveling in the hot steely feel. He moves his hand over mine and, together, we explore his body. He plays my fingertips over the bulging vein on the back side, and he plays them around the satiny tip. I hear his breath coming faster and I look up into his smoky green eyes. They’re ravenous. Every bit as ravenous as I feel. “What do you want me to do?” I ask, not knowing how much of this is part of his plan to fix me. “What do I want you to do?” he repeats, his jaw flexed and his teeth gritted. It’s obvious he’s struggling to keep a hold on himself. It’s also obvious he’s determined to do it. “What I want for you to do is let me tie your hands behind your back,” he says, reaching forward to twist his fingers into my hair and pull my face toward his. “What I want for you to do is let me force you to your knees. What I want for you to do is let me jam my cock down your throat until I fill your mouth with come.” His

breath is hot on my face, hotter than the steam from the shower. His eyes are hard, his words brutally honest. “But what I’ll settle for,” he grinds, pivoting until my back is pressed to the cool shower wall. I feel a tiny thread of fear shiver through me and then it’s gone. “Is for you to let me watch you wash every crevice of your body. And try not to imagine that your fingers are mine.” His eyes bore hot holes into mine for a few tense seconds before he bends his head and takes my lower lip between his teeth. He nips it, hard enough to get my attention, but not hard enough to hurt. The sensation lands in my belly like a bolt of lightning. With a growl, he pushes himself away from the wall and turns to put his face into the stream of water from the shower head. After a few seconds, he turns back to me, to where I’m still standing helplessly against the wall, and starts to lather his chest. “I suggest you get started,” he says blandly, one brow rising in that way that I love. So I do.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO- Alec Penance. That’s what this is. I’m punishing myself for the things I’ve done and Samantha is the community-service I feel compelled to perform. At least that’s what part of me feels like. The part that would rather be working day and night to coerce her into leaving her fear behind and embracing my world. But it’s not my world anymore. It can’t be. I haven’t let it be for a long time. Until Samantha. She was too much to resist. I let myself down and I scared the shit out of her in the process. So I’m making amends. As a doctor, as a man and as a decent human being, I’m keeping the chains on the darker side of myself and I’m doing what I need to do to help her, to give her a shot at what she calls a normal life. I’ve brought her to the edge of orgasm at least two dozen times in the last two weeks. Anywhere and everywhere. At her house and mine, in the car, on the sand, and everywhere in between. I won’t let her climax because I want to make sure she’s ready, that she’ll actually do it and not feel like a failure to me and to herself. I think I could’ve made her come that day on the balcony, but I didn’t want to push her too far too fast. And I suppose there was the small chance that I might’ve been too arrogant, that she might not have. And that would’ve been a disaster. So here we are, two weeks later, and I’ve got the worst blue balls known to man. I could’ve found someone to take the heat off with, but that feels like a huge betrayal to Samantha. So I haven’t. She trusted me when I told her I’m safe and clean and that I’m not sleeping with anyone else. She got back on the pill to prove it. I don’t intend to betray that trust either. But my patience is running thin. I take the turn that leads me one step closer to my office. I don’t really have to go in today, but I feel like I need to take a break from Samantha. Every day that we spend together, her allowing me to explore her both physically and emotionally, is a day that her past loosens its grip. I can see it in her body language, in her smile. I can hear it in her laugh. She’s happy. She’s free. But every day we spend together is also a day she might be getting herself into trouble and I don’t know how to stop it. I think she’s falling in love with me. Despite my numerous warnings, I don’t think she’s even trying not to anymore. And I don’t know what the hell to do about it. I guess I could just disappear from her life. Stop all this before it turns into disaster. But I can’t. I owe her. Or is that just an excuse because I’m falling for her, too? I’ve considered that possibility a couple of times. I have my doubts. Very serious doubts. Even if she were perfect for me in a dozen other ways, there are ways she could never satisfy me. And I think it would be completely irresponsible of me to go forward as if I didn’t know that and then one day break her heart because I’ve had enough. No, it’s better to do it sooner rather than later. And sooner is fast approaching.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE- Samantha “You know you should run. I’ve told you countless times before that I’ll hurt you, that you’re not safe with me,” Mason reminds me. I reach up to stroke his smooth cheek with my fingertips. “Stop trying to push me away. I’m not leaving you. Can’t you see that I love you? It’s too late for me. The past is the past. You are my future.” I take a step back and curl my fingers in the neck of my shirt, tugging sharply until the buttons down the front give way. I know that doing this will push me past the point of no return. I know that if I bare my throat to him, that if he bites me one more time, there’s not going back. For either of us. I’ll be joined with him forever. Even if he leaves me. But that’s a chance I’m willing to take. I turn my chin to one side, exposing the throbbing vein in my neck. “Take it, Mason. Take my blood. One more time. I want to feel your teeth inside me. And then I want to feel you inside me. Bite me. Then make love to me.” As has become my habit since meeting him, even though Alec is not a vampire, I find myself drawing uncanny (and probably unhealthy) parallels between my life and Daire’s, between her dilemmas and mine. There are no supernatural curses for me to contend with. There are no blood ties that I must worry about. But I feel like the more time I spend with Alec, the more permanently bound to him I become. Some small part of me is still aware that he could and most likely will be leaving me eventually, but that part is not nearly large enough to stop the free fall I’ve found myself in. Alec is practically perfect for me in every way. Unfortunately, the one way that he’s not will probably be the one thing that takes him away from me. Permanently. Like Mason hungers for blood, Alec hungers for a sexual satisfaction that I can’t provide. I don’t know how strong the urge is, but I have a feeling it must be pretty intense. He’s had to fight it for years. But he doesn’t always win. I shake off the ever-niggling worry and head for the kitchen to make myself a sandwich. Hearing me puttering around, Jinx hops up on the barstool and arches his back for some attention. “You hungry, too, boy?” His purr is drowned out by the ring of my cell phone. I take it from the pocket of my shorts. My heart does a little extra tap when I see Alec’s name on the screen. “Hi,” I answer cheerfully, unable to keep the smile from my voice. I feel like smiling constantly when he’s around. And often when he’s not. “Hi,” comes his gruff reply. His voice is like velvet, smooth yet coarse at the same time. “I’ve got something to pitch to you. Feel free to say no if you’re the least bit uncomfortable with it.” “Okay,” I say easily. There was a time when I’d have felt anxiety about a conversation that started this way. But not now. I know Alec would never hurt me. Not on purpose. And certainly not sexually. He’s proven that a zillion times over. “I’ve got a thing tonight. I had forgotten all about it. I don’t really want to go, but it would really look bad if I didn’t. It’s a big schmooze being hosted by one of my bigger clients.” “Sounds like fun.” “Oh, I can assure you, it will be anything but fun.” I laugh. “Oh, I don’t know. You have a way of keeping things… interesting.” His pause speaks volumes. “Here’s the thing: The woman that’s hosting it is a founding member of

the club. I’m sure there will be a few other…patrons there, too.” An ache begins to form behind my eyes. “So what kind of a…schmooze is this?” I assumed he meant some kind of social slash political thing, but he might be using some sort of sexual lingo I’m not familiar with. “Oh, it’s nothing like that. It’s…no, it’s nothing like what you’re thinking. It’s just that sometimes they make inside jokes and comments and…references, things that I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” “If that’s all you’re worried about then don’t. As long as no one tries to drag me off into a padded room, I’ll be fine.” “You’re sure?” “I’m positive.” “All right then. Pick you up at eight.” “I’ll be ready. And Alec,” I say, stopping him before he can hang up. “Hmmm?” “Thank you for being so considerate.” “No problem,” he says flatly. “See you tonight.” I stare at the phone long after Alec is gone. His frustration is on the rise. He’s having a harder time hiding it. I don’t know how much longer he can go on like this. As I sit thinking about him, that tiny niggling feeling that Alec will soon be leaving becomes more than just a niggle. ******** I fiddle with the strap of my wristlet. Alec has been quiet all night. Since we got in the car, he has seemed like he’s angry about something. I’ve asked nonchalantly if he’s all right and, each time, he’s assured me he’s fine, that everything is fine. But I don’t believe it. I’m standing quietly at his side as he explains his services to the CEO of a privately-funded substance abuse hospital. Listening to him, it makes perfect sense that he’s actually a psychiatrist, although these people don’t know it. They see him simply as the man that runs the company that offers the services. That’s another benefit to his unorthodox online therapy sessions—anonymity. I have to give him credit. Alec has made two brilliant careers for himself while revealing to very few his face or his identity. No doubt the employees and social contacts that know him as one don’t know him as the other. Except for the rare case, like the doctor he saw at my father’s function, the one who knew his father. “Alec Brand, glad you could make it.” I feel Alec’s fingers tense on my lower back at the smooth, feminine voice. I turn to see a stunning woman standing behind us. I’d guess she’s somewhere near forty, or at least ten years older than my twenty-six and close to ten more than Alec’s thirty-one. Her long, straight hair is rich auburn and her bangs are cut severely, like Cleopatra’s. Her eyes are the palest of blue. They have a sleepy, sexy look that fits her voice to perfection. She beams an…interested smile in Alec’s direction. “Carla,” Alec says as he bends to press his lips to her cheek. She leans in to him, stretching along his length like a cat. All that’s missing is the purr. “So good to see you.” Carla looks behind Alec and nods at the man he was speaking with. He nods in return and then

subtly turns his attention to someone else, leaving Alec to focus on her. “I’ve missed seeing you,” she says with a wink. Alec did tell me once that, although he hadn’t “indulged” in quite a while, he did still like to visit the club and stroll through the rooms occasionally. Evidently it was enough to keep the monster at bay. For a while anyway. I can’t help but wonder what he’s doing now, if he’s really going without. Alec doesn’t respond, just gives her a cool smile. Carla looks to me and nods then returns her attention to Alec. “Is this the reason? You’ve found better entertainment at home, have you?” “Careful, Carla. Someone might think you’re jealous,” he teases lightly. “What if I am?” she asks. “I never thought anyone would keep you from coming to watch me.” It’s that phrase that triggers a memory. From the night Alec took me to the club. The woman on the bed in the first room, the one who looked at us when we stopped in the doorway—that was Carla. Her smile is unmistakable. Alec says nothing, but I feel his fingers flex against my back again and I can see the tick of the muscle in his jaw. “It was good seeing you, Carla. Excuse us, please.” With that, Alec applies just enough pressure to urge me to move. We walk around Carla and he guides me to the bar. After ordering us a drink, Alec says nothing. But he doesn’t really have to. It’s obvious that he’s angry. On edge. And I’m beginning to think this might be why. I wonder if being around these people, whoever the others might be, makes his…appetite worse, makes his hunger less manageable. When the bartender sets our drinks in front of us, Alec tips his glass back and drains it in one long gulp. I see his jaw twitch again. “I’ll be right back,” he says tightly. I watch him stalk away. I’m baffled by the turn this night has taken. I see Alec open a door to his left and disappear through it, leaving me at the bar with too many questions and too few answers. Insecurity rises to the surface first. All the old feelings—feelings that I’m not enough, feelings that I’m not normal, that I’ll never be normal—battle to drag me down into a feeling of hopelessness and depression. But something stronger rises. It rises fast and high, to overwhelm and eclipse. It’s the desire to make Alec happy, to soothe his anger, to ease his frustration in any way that I can. He’s given up his pleasure to help me. At this point, I owe him. Before I can think too much or talk myself out of it, I abandon my drink and follow Alec. I slip through the door that I saw him use. It leads to a flight of stairs. I mount them as quietly as I can and, at the top, find myself on the balcony that overlooks the ballroom. I scan the long, narrow space for Alec. He’s standing at the half wall, looking down at the crowd below. I can see ire in every taut line of his body. For whatever reason, be it frustration or something deeper, he’s fighting for control. I walk to where he is. Without a word, I lay my hand on his shoulder. He turns to look at me. There are sparks flying from his eyes. “This isn’t a good time, Samantha.” His voice is a low growl. “I know,” I say softly. I look down at the people below. None of them seem to be paying attention to us so far above, making my rash, impulsive decision an easy one. I turn my back to the half wall and I let my wristlet fall to the floor. Alec’s eyes flit to mine and stick. He watches me intently, angrily. His teeth are gritted so hard, I can almost hear them grinding.

Slowly, I shake my hair, left long and wavy, back over my shoulders. I slide one thin strap of my dress down. It’s a nude color so I don’t think anyone below could tell what I’m doing even if they bothered to look. But I can’t be sure. And that’s part of why my stomach is in a knot of nervous excitement. I’m turned on by the prospect of what I’m initiating. I feel the warmth already gathering between my legs, making my panties feel dewy. I pull on my bodice just enough to free one breast. Never taking my eyes off Alec where he stands at my side, I reach over with one hand and trace his bottom lip with my finger. It relaxes enough that I can slip inside. I drag the tip along the straight edge of his teeth until I feel the brush of his tongue, hot and slick. I remove my wet finger and trace a damp circle around my nipple. It puckers in response. When Alec’s eyes leave mine and drop to my hand, I give my nipple a little pinch, feeling the sensation all the way down to my core. I know he likes that. Alec’s eyes return to mine and he straightens. I don’t know what his expression means—something fierce, something not quite in control—but I’m not afraid of it. I’m not afraid of him, even in this state. I just want him to share it with me. Give me a chance to help him like he’s trying to help me. “Do you know what I want?” I ask, starting with the word play that he’s so, so good at. I’m not surprised when he doesn’t answer. I massage my breast with one hand and let my other trail down my stomach to the short hem of my cocktail dress. I bunch it between my fingers, hiking it up until I can get underneath it. “What’s that?” he asks finally, his voice husky. “I want to feel your tongue. Right here,” I say as I run my palm over my damp panties. “With your friends right down there.” Alec moves in front of me to grab my wrist and still my hand. “No, you don’t.” “But I do.” His fingers tighten almost painfully as he squeezes my wrist. “I wouldn’t be stopping tonight. And I’d have to keep you still. And it might scare you,” he grinds out threateningly. Warmth sweeps through me, making me feel breathless and lightheaded and the tiniest bit anxious. I swallow and it feels like there’s cotton in my throat. “I don’t care.” Alec’s lips thin. “I told you now’s not a good time, Samantha. I’m warning you.” He’s giving me one last chance to abandon this. Instead, I abandon my one last chance. “I know,” I say, turning my wrist until my fingers are on top of his. I urge his hand down between my legs. “I know,” I repeat. Alec makes a rumbling sound right before he takes my lips in a searing kiss. It’s rough and it’s brutal and it’s raw. And it’s everything I want from him because it’s honest. And he’s sharing it with me. With me. I reach up with one hand and thread my fingers into his hair, grinding our lips together. His tongue tangles with mine and then I feel his teeth sink into my bottom lip before he pulls away. I taste blood, but I don’t care. I see Alec’s eyes fall to my mouth. I know he sees what he did to me. He’s too angry to care at the moment. And I’m too desperate. I don’t want him to stop. He needs this. And I want to give it to him. I drag my tongue along my lip, licking up the blood. Alec’s eyes flit up to mine and I see the last little bit of his grip loosen. He drops to his knees and roughly pushes my legs apart. His eyes are looking up into mine, daring me to ask him to stop. But I won’t. And I won’t look away.

He pushes my dress up toward my hands. I grasp it with my fingers, holding on tight. He jerks my panties down my legs. I hear the crackle of seams splitting, but I don’t care. I lift one foot then the other, stepping out of the torn garment and kicking it to the side. I spread my legs to him. Alec’s lip curls up in a cool smile as he stands. “Not tonight,” he says harshly. He winds his fingers around my upper arms and pivots until his back is against the short wall. His eyes remain locked on mine as he pushes me away from him, releasing one of my arms and reaching down to unbutton and unzip his pants. Excitement floods me. This isn’t something he’s done before. He never lets me play with him much. It’s as if he’s always punishing himself by holding out. “Tonight,” he continues, “I wanna see those beautiful lips sucking my cock.” I reach down and push his hand aside, stroking the moist satiny head of him with my fingertip. His eyes are nearly black, the pupils dilated with passion and fury. It’s my turn to drop to my knees. I palm his throbbing base and run my tongue around the crown. I touch him with my fingers, I lick him with my tongue and I suck him with my lips. Alec fists his fingers in my hair and pushes my head down as he flexes his hips, forcing himself into my mouth. I slide him deep into my throat, trying to take as much of him as I can, which isn’t nearly the entirety. I hear his heavy breathing as he thrusts between my lips once, twice and then he pulls back. I glance up at him in question. He looks furious. And wild. Alec drops to his knees in front of me and pushes me back until I’m lying on the floor in front of him. Just looking at him in his tux shirt and bow tie, his pants undone and my saliva still glistening on the tip of him, makes me want him more than ever. This is my glimpse at what Alec tries so hard to hide from me. Roughly, he spreads my legs. His eyes are still on mine when he slides one long finger inside me. I bite my lip to keep my gasp inside. He withdraws that finger and slips it into his mouth, licking it clean before he lays it across his lips and says, “Shh.” He flips my dress up until I’m lying exposed before him. He bends until his lips touch my abdomen. I feel the flicker of his tongue as he makes his way to my navel and then lower. I feel his fingers part my folds before I feel the first hot stab of his tongue against me. I take a deep breath and focus on being quiet as he begins to lick and suck me into a frenzy. My fingers are fisted in my dress and my hips are bucking against Alec’s face as he flicks my clitoris with his tongue. My chest is tight and the deepest part of my belly is aching for him when he slides two fingers inside me, pumping them quickly in and out. I feel on the verge of bursting when he stops. I look down at Alec, confused, until I see him push his pants further down and move to stretch out on top of me. “You will come all over my cock,” he orders as he reaches between us to finger my entrance. “And then you’re gonna keep coming while I fill you up. Do you understand?” I nod, my body already sucking at him to thrust into me. And then he does. Alec pushes into me as his lips cover mine, his tongue dragging the sweet taste of my own body into my mouth. He pauses inside me, stretching me tight. The pleasure is so intense that I lose my breath for a second on a moan. He pulls out and thrusts into me again, harder and deeper. I feel more sound bubble up into my throat, but Alec’s hand is there, covering my mouth, his fingers biting into my cheeks. “Not one sound,” he hisses quietly, moving in and out again, faster and faster. With every thrust, the tension, now so familiar to me, grows. Second by second, the world

disappears until only Alec and I exist. Alec and I and all that’s between us—all the possibility, all the passion, all the potential. I’m on the brink of explosion when, with his hand still over my lips, Alec dips his head and pulls my nipple into his mouth. Sensation shoots through me and lands where he’s buried within me. And then I feel his teeth. He bites me lightly and grinds his hips into mine, pushing me right over the edge. A scream is lodged in my chest when I hear Alec whisper, “That’s right, baby. Let go and come for me.” And I do. Fireworks detonate behind my eyelids to rain fire through my body. I open my mouth to cry out, but Alec’s hand smothers the sound. Without thinking, I bite down on his finger. I hear his own gasp and he stiffens. I feel him throb inside me as hot fluid pours from him into me, making my body contract more forcefully around him. He likes that. His last two thrusts are long, slow, and hard, hard enough to make me feel like he’s driving me into the floor. My body milks his until neither of us has anything left to give. I turn my head enough to escape Alec’s hand, gasping for air as the world settles softly down around us like a cocoon of perfect tranquility. There are no other sounds, no other people. Just bliss. And Alec. And me. I barely hear his low voice when he speaks, but I feel the movement of his lips against my neck where his face is nuzzled. “We’ve got a thing for balconies.” I laugh. I can’t help it. My heart is overflowing. “Yes, we do.” After a few more seconds, Alec lifts his head and looks into my eyes. With one hand, he reaches up and tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. Gone is the anger, replaced now with a quiet concern. “All good?” I’m sure my smile reflects the brightness I feel in my soul. “All good.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR- Alec I’m getting ready to move Samantha’s arm and climb out of bed when she finally speaks. I thought she was asleep. That’s the only reason I’m still here. I always wait for her to go to sleep before I leave the room. “What happened to you, Alec?” Her question catches me off guard. Since Alyssa, I haven’t let anyone close enough to think that my past is anything less than perfect. Until Samantha. Or maybe it just takes one twisted person to recognize another. I think I’m more comfortable with that explanation. Regardless, I have no intention of answering her. I don’t talk about Alyssa. Ever. “Go to sleep,” I whisper, stroking her hair. She’s quiet for a while, but she’s not fooling me. I can tell by her breathing that she’s very much awake. “Why won’t you tell me? I’ve told you everything you wanted to know, answered every question you’ve asked and—” “But this isn’t about me, is it?” I ask coolly, disentangling myself from her and sliding off the edge of the bed. “So that’s it?” she asks, sitting up in bed, the sheet falling away from the skyward-pointing tips of her breasts. “I’m in this all alone? You’re just here for the therapy. Is that it?” I turn toward her, meeting her gaze, knowing she won’t like what she sees. “I’ve told you from the beginning. I’ve been honest. I’ve warned you not to get attached.” Her expression is a combination of hurt and indignation. “Oh and it’s just that easy, right? Just don’t get attached. Let someone in, pour your heart out to them, trust them, give them your body and soul, but don’t get attached. Oh, okay,” she snaps, flinging back the covers. “I get it.” She starts jerking on clothes, so I make my way down to the living room for a drink. I’m sitting on the couch listening to the hiss of the gas logs in the fireplace when Samantha hits the bottom step. I see anger in every line of her body—squared shoulders, straight spine, clenched fists—and, if she were anyone else, I’d use that anger. I’d use it to slake my own passions. I’d engage her in a battle of wills. And I’d win. I’d bend her until she broke. Just like I like it. But not with Samantha. I promised I’d help her, not pull her into my world. Even though I feel sure I could make her like it once she got over her fear. I grind my teeth, fighting the hard-on that’s rising up at the thought of breaking her. It would be so sweet, so deliciously sweet… I push the thought from my head and concentrate on the moment. And how that can’t happen. “Your car isn’t here,” I state matter-of-factly. I hear her huff, knowing that her grand exit has just been ruined. Having to ask for a ride is hardly dramatic. “God, you really just can’t help yourself, can you?” “I don’t know what you mean.” But I do. She thinks I can’t help being cold and emotionless, being an asshole. Maybe she’s right. She makes a half growl, half scream of frustration and turns to head to the garage. “Take me home,” she demands as she passes me.

“Yes, ma’am,” I mutter sarcastically, setting my glass on the table and shutting off the logs. The drive is uncomfortable to say the least. Well for her anyway. I’m just ready for some rest. I’m working on a headache and it’s doing nothing to improve my mood. “You know, of all the things I suspected you might be, a coward wasn’t one of them.” I exhale and tighten my grip on my temper. I don’t respond to her. “You’re all commanding and in control. You make demands of other people, but it’s all just an attempt to hide the fact that you’re afraid. Whatever else can be said about me, at least I finally took the risk. I had the balls to actually trust someone with my secrets. I guess it’s just unfortunate that the person I trusted them with is nothing more than a child in a man’s clothing. I’d hide, too, if I was nothing but a scared, little—” “Enough!” I shout, my voice sounding harsh in the quiet of the cabin. “What’s the matter, Alec? Dr. Buraquinho? Did I hit a nerve? Has no one ever called you on your bullshit before? Were you a bed-wetter? Were you the smelly kid in class?” I know she’s hurt and angry, and I know she’s just lashing out, but for some reason I find her attack infuriating. I’ve treated her well, been considerate of her fears and her past, and to have her say these things is…is… Damn, it’s maddening! “Be very careful, Samantha,” I warn steadily, my knuckles aching from holding the steering wheel so tightly. “Why? What are you gonna do? Tie me to the bed and spank me? No, you’d like that too much. You’re no better than—” “Would you like to know why I am the way I am? Why I warn girls like you to stay away from me? Because I’m dangerous, that’s why.” Gripped by rage, but also tired of always hiding and burying the thing that haunts me most, I pull off the highway and slam the Range Rover into park. I turn my furious gaze on Samantha. “You wanna know what happened to the last girl that I let go with? The last person who saw me when I wasn’t in control? Well, I would give you her phone number, but she wouldn’t answer. She’s dead. She’s fuc—” Samantha’s gasp cuts into my mad tirade. Her eyes are wide with fear and pain. I look down and realize my fingers are wound around her upper arms, biting into her flesh. Like I’ve grabbed something hot, I let her go and push her back into her seat. My chest is heaving, my breath coming faster in my anger and emotion. It’s still rolling through me like an uncontrollable wave, a wave that I’m always fighting. Always. I force myself to relax into my seat, letting my head fall back and my eyes drift shut. I concentrate on taking deep, slow breaths. We sit this way for several minutes before Samantha dares to speak. “What happened to her?” Her voice is small, afraid. As it should be. “I killed her, Samantha,” I grind between my gritted teeth. I lift my head and pin her with my disgusted gaze. “For just a few minutes, I wasn’t in control and I killed my girlfriend. I didn’t mean to, but do you think that makes me feel any better about it? Huh?” Samantha is shrinking back in her seat, against the door, her expression a mixture of emotion. And I hate every one of them. “What’s the matter? Not the answer you thought you’d get? You wanted me to tell you all about me. Well, there it is. So what now? Huh? What now? Where do we go from here? How do you suggest we proceed,Dr. Drake? In all of your infinite wisdom from writing tall tales about twisted vampires and helpless maids, what would you suggest I do to rid myself of this curse?” Her troubled gray eyes are glistening with tears as she shakes her head. Her chin trembles, making me even more furious. “How are you a…a doctor? Why aren’t you in prison?” she whispers.

I laugh. It’s a gush of the bitterness that’s eating at my soul. “Oh, I should be. In prison that is. But what happens when you’re the seventeen-year-old son of one of the most influential surgeons in all of Seattle is that you can afford the best lawyers money can buy. And those lawyers can convince people to take it easy on such an outstanding student with such a bright future. Even though it was an accident, by all rights, my life should’ve been ruined. But it wasn’t. Instead, it was all sealed up in a file when I turned eighteen and I went on with my plans like it never happened. But Alyssa didn’t. She couldn’t. Her life was over that night and she couldn’t go on. All the king’s men couldn’t put her back together again.” I pound the steering wheel and slam my head back against the head rest, willing myself to calm down. My heart is jackhammering against my ribs and my skull is throbbing like something is trying to bust out of it. “But it was an accident?” she asks quietly after several minutes, needing reassurance. “Does it really matter, Samantha? She’s dead. To her, the circumstances don’t matter.” “It matters to me.” Why those four words should penetrate the turmoil roiling in my gut is beyond me. But they do. I lift my head and look over at Samantha—this woman who I thought might give me some insight; this woman who I thought, in the deepest, darkest, most secret parts of my soul, might be able to help me —and I see someone desperate to believe the best in me. Even after all I just told her, she’s ready to believe something positive. All I have to do is throw it her way. “Yes, it was an accident.” “What happened?” I feel drained all of a sudden. Tired of fighting. Tired of hiding. Tired of lying and pretending that I’m something I’m not. I’m a monster. Plain and simple. There’s something wrong with me. I’m messed up. Profoundly messed up. Maybe hiding it was never the answer. “Alyssa and I started dating when I was a junior and she was a senior. She was from a well-to-do family, much like mine. Her father was in politics. And, just like most families, hers had its fair share of secrets. One was a dirty uncle that had a fondness for blondes. “It didn’t take me long to learn what she liked. At first, I found it kind of strange and off-putting. It never scared me; I guess I just wasn’t into that kind of thing. At first. But then, the more she wanted me to do to her, the more I started to like it. That feeling of power, of domination. “Even after she went off to college, we kept seeing each other. By then, we had a…special bond. We shared things that other people wouldn’t understand. “One weekend, before I graduated, I went to stay with her at college. I was thinking about going to medical school there with her. We went to a couple of parties, had too much to drink and then went back to her apartment to have sex. On this particular night, she asked me to choke her. Said she wanted to feel it when I came, wanted to feel my fingers tighten then relax. So I did. I did what she wanted. Only I’d had so much to drink, it took me a little longer. I don’t know if I held on too tight. Or too long. Or maybe both. But when it was over, I couldn’t wake her up. I tried for a few minutes then I started CPR. But I just couldn’t get her back.” I rub my aching forehead. I rush through the rest, tired of reliving the pain. “I called my father after that. And he worked his magic. Of course, it wasn’t too hard when Alyssa’s family didn’t want the truth known any more than my family did. It would’ve ruined them. Her fetishes, an abusive relative. Nasty stuff. So the bad guy got off and lived to fight another day. The end.” The silence is deafening. I don’t bother to look over at Samantha. I don’t want to see the horror, the judgment, the revulsion on her face. Resigned to the damage that my confession has done, I put the

Rover in drive and I pull back onto the highway. Neither of us speaks the rest of the way to Samantha’s. I’m lost in the past and Samantha is…well, I have no idea what she’s thinking. And at the moment, I can’t manage to care. I’m consumed with remembered guilt. And fear. And pain. And regret. As I’m pulling onto the street in front of Samantha’s house, she finally breaks the silence. “Is that why you chose psychiatry?” I’m weary. I’m tired of answering questions and revisiting the most horrific time of my life. “No. I chose psychiatry to understand why I became obsessed with that which had caused me so much pain. After Alyssa, I sought out women who liked what she liked. It was all I could think about for years afterward. I chose psychiatry so I could try and help myself. So I could understand it and then stop it.” “And did you?” “No. I have my theories, and I’m in control, but there’s no fixing me. At least not that I’ve found. All it’s taught me is that there’s a monster inside me. And I can’t let him out.” I pull to a stop, leaving the engine idling. I just want Samantha to get out of my vehicle so I can get the hell out of here. Put this whole night, this whole experience behind me. It’s just now that I realize I’m in no position to help anyone else. I’m the most damaged and twisted of all. I jerk when I feel the touch of Samantha’s cool, smooth fingers on my cheek. I turn to look at her. Her eyes are full of both love and pity, neither of which I can stand the sight of right now. “That’s all I wanted from you. To know you, to know the truth.” I look into her liquid smoke eyes as I reach for her wrist. I see the hurt register in them when I fling her hand away. “Congratulations. You got what you wanted. And now you know why you’ll never be enough for me,” I say harshly, wanting to make this as painful as I possibly can so that both of us will move on and never look back. “Now get out.” Her face shows stunned disbelief. “Out!” She flinches like I slapped her and it stabs at my gut. I never wanted to hurt her. That’s why I warned her. I warned her because this is who I am. It’s what I do. I hurt people. It’s my curse. And that will never change.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE- Samantha Mason stares down into my eyes. There’s a peculiar light in the pale, lime green depths, one I’ve never seen there before. It makes my heart flutter and my chest ache. “You know that when I do this, when I make you like me, there’s no turning back. This is not the movies. You can’t kill your maker and become mortal again. You will be like me; you will be linked to me for all the days of eternity.” “I know,” I assure him, biting back the words that explain how badly I want that, the words that would let Mason know that he’s all I’ll ever want. No matter how long forever is. “What’s mine is mine. I will never let you go. And I will never share you.” I know he’s warning me, trying one last time to scare me away, but what he doesn’t realize is that it’s no use. I’ve been his from the first night I saw him. My only hope is that I can make him all mine. No one else’s. “And maybe one day, I won’t have to share you either.” It slips out before I can stop it, but not before I can see the sadness come into Mason’s eyes. “That’s not the man I am, Daire. I wish I could be that for you, but it’s not my nature. I’ll love you all the days of the world, but I can’t promise to love only you.” Tears are coursing down my cheeks. For the first time since I began writing so many years ago, I can’t find the happy ending. I can’t show my characters how to make it work without one of them destroying the other. Despite the hopelessness of my past, I have always nurtured the tiny seed that, one day, there would be a happy ending for me, that one day I would find true love and everything would be all right. But here I am in “one day.” I’ve found true love, yes. But everything’s not all right. Alec’s feelings for me aren’t the same. He might care about me, deep down in places he won’t even admit to himself, but he doesn’t feel what I feel. If he did, there’s no way he could have walked away. And he did. Alec Brand simply walked out of my life. Well, drove. That night, when he drove me home in his Range Rover and dropped me off, was the last time I saw him. And that was eight weeks ago. Well almost. Fifty-four long days and fifty-five even longer nights. Not that I’m counting. You’re totally counting! But who could blame him? I was totally out of line, goading him the way I did. If he’d wanted to tell me, he would’ve. And I should’ve respected that. He’s obviously tormented about his past, and forcing him to tell me about it was wrong. Just wrong. So am I really surprised that he walked away? No. Not really. I’d have done the same thing if he’d pushed me like that. And my past, though terrible, is nothing like his. And he’s carrying it around, all that guilt, like a thousand pound weight. Every day. The phone rings. My heart still speeds up every time I hear it, but not nearly as much as it used to. After a few weeks of not hearing from Alec, it began to penetrate my stupid head that he’s not coming back, that he won’t be calling. But still, I react a little bit even now. And just like always, I’m filled with disappointment when I see that it’s not him. This time, it’s Chris. “Hello?” I try not to sound so mopey, but there’s very little I can hide from Chris, no matter how

hard I try. “Still in a funk, huh?” I sigh. But she sees right through me. As I suspected. “No.” “Liar.” “Then why did you ask?” “Just being polite.” “Asking someone if they’re in a funk is not polite.” “Fine. God, when are you gonna get over this? You’re as prickly as a porcupine.” “Then why do you still call me?” “Because you’re my sister and I love you. I refuse to abandon you in your hour of need. Even if that hour extends into months. But I will warn you that my cut-off is Christmas. You know I can’t have you sulk through the holidays.” Christmas always was Chris’s favorite holiday. “Oh Lord! I hope I’m feeling better long before then!” As sad as it is to admit, I doubt I will be. At least not completely. This hole will never be filled, this ache never satisfied. That’s the risk you take when falling in love. If it doesn’t work out, it leaves you devastated forever. And forever is a long time. “I know I don’t know all the details, but I still think you need to go see him. Sam, there’s no way the guy can’t be in love with you, too. He’s too smart not to see how amazing you are.” “And you’re smart enough to realize how biased you are.” “Maybe a little, but I’m still objective enough to see you for who and what you are. I know you’re not perfect. You have a terrible sense of style, you need to take better care of your skin and your morning breath could knock over a fruit stand from ten paces.” “Like yours is any better!” I defend indignantly. She giggles. “What I’m getting at is that I know your flaws, so I’m not blind. But you’re the catch of a lifetime even in your terrible clothes.” “Half the time I wear things you pick out.” “I know! Thank God you look nice part of the year.” I roll my eyes. There’s just no reasoning with Chris. “Did you call just to point out all my shortcomings?” “Oh, hell no! There’s no time for that. I called to invite you out for a girl’s night. Let’s go get drunk. You wanna?” For the first time since the conversation started, I hear the sad desperation in her voice. That or it’s the first time I’ve had my head out of my butt long enough to perceive someone else’s pain. “What’s the matter? Did something happen between you and Greg?” There’s absolute silence on the phone. I wonder for a few seconds if we got cut off, but then I hear her sniff. “It’s over. Done.” “What happened?” “We got in an argument and he got pretty mad. I guess I just got spooked. You know, old fears, ghosts from the past, all that shit. I freaked. Threw a vase at him. Hit him in the head.” “Ohmigod, Chris! Is he okay?” “He’s fine. It only grazed him. But still…” “Oh,” I say, deadpan. I do see. He got to see some of Chris’s emotional wounds and he ran. Every

broken person’s worst fear—that no one will be able to love us in spite of our scars. “I apologized, but it didn’t do any good. So now I get to live the rest of my life knowing that I ruined the best thing to ever happen to me.” “Stop it right now, Chris! This is not the end. Greg is a nice guy. He might just need to cool down. And if he can’t ever forgive you then you’ll meet another great guy, one who will love you for exactly who and what you are, past and all.” “You sort of lost your credibility when you refused to go give your perfect man another chance.” “But you don’t know how it went down. I was such a bitch, Chris. I said awful things to him. My situation is different than yours.” “Is it? Is it so different? You showed each other your ugly and then it all fell apart, isn’t that right? Isn’t that what you told me?” “Chris, there’s more to it than that. You just…you just had to be there. I can’t go into it. It’s not fair for me to tell you what he trusted me with.” “I’m not asking you to tell me. I’m just hoping that you two can show me that there’s hope. If you can find happiness, I know I can, too. But if someone as great as you can’t make it work, what does that say for someone like me?” “Chris, you’re amazing. You don’t need me to start counting all your wonderful attributes, do you? Do you really want me to bore you with things you already know?” In some ways, Chris is the most confident person you’d ever hope to meet. But in other ways, ways she keeps closely guarded, she’s every bit as screwed up and insecure as I am. She just does a better job of hiding it than I do. According to Alec, I write about the ways I hope to heal, about the life I wish I had rather than experiencing any of it. “Fine. I’ll make you a deal. I’ll give the thing with Alec one more shot if you promise to go talk to Greg.” Sniff, sniff. “Really?” she asks in a small, childlike voice. “Really really.” “Okay, but can we still do girl’s night tonight? I need to go have a little fun. Plus, I’ve got this really cute dress I’m dying to wear.” I sigh and shake my head. Fashion will always be the thing that drags Chris out of a funk. Just like my writing will always be mine. I look at the blinking cursor and the happily ever after I just can’t seem to conjure. At least I hope so.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX- Alec My internal office line buzzes. Only the most important clients, employees and a few personal friends have this number. “Brand,” I say brusquely into the receiver. “Alec,” comes the familiar purr. “Carla,” I respond. “So nice to hear from you.” “I was hoping you’d think so,” she confesses in her feline way. As it turns out, however, I’m not in the mood for her, or any reminders of what I’m trying so hard to forget. “What can I do for you?” “Ooo, sounds like you need me a lot worse than I need you.” “How do you figure?” “I can hear that tension all the way through the phone. And I have just the thing for it.” “I’m busy, Carla. What’s this about?” Her laugh is sultry and grates on my nerves. “I’m having a mixer at the club. We’re adding a couple of new members. Thought I’d invite you. It’s all strictly downstairs. Unless, of course, anyone wants to go upstairs…” “I don’t really have—” “I really hope you can come. It’s important for members to show their support. You know it keeps everyone honest when we all mingle occasionally.” In other words, what she’s saying is that, by mingling at her mixer, we all have something on each other, which means no one tells. Ever. The risk is too high. And she wants to bring the new members right into that. Like a hush party. I don’t really approve of what she’s doing, but I do need to stay on the good side of her and her… endeavors. Besides, I have frequented the place for several years. I guess the least I could do is go for a drink or two, especially since the lure of the upstairs won’t be the focus of the night. “I’ll try to stop by,” I answer noncommittally. “Nine o’clock?” “Sounds good.” “Until then, Alec.” “Carla.” I hang up and lean back in my chair. I’ve been spending so much time at home brooding since I got back into South Carolina, it’ll be good to get out. If I hadn’t had to come back for some business things here at ABC Consulting, I’d still be in Oregon. Far away from Samantha Jansen. And how much I still want her. And how guilty I feel about it.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN- Samantha Luckily, I did plenty of research for my books a couple of years ago when I began this vampire series. It was the first time I’d really let go and written about the things I’d seen in childhood. I did lots of investigating, trying to understand not only the mechanics of it all, but the pleasure principles involved. I guess Alec did the same thing in a way, only he was more interested in the psychological aspect of it. In many ways, we are very similar creatures. I feel the pinch of the outfit I’m wearing under my loose-fitting, floor-length dress. I have to look presentable on the outside. For a while anyway. I owe that to Carla for her help getting me in. Luckily, she was agreeable to helping me do this for Alec. I think she practically drooled over the thought of Alec getting…back into things. My stomach twitches with fear. A healthy dose of fear. I ignore it. What I’ve discovered in the days since talking to Chris is that the fear of losing Alec forever is far greater than any other fear I’ve known, including the ones I experienced as a child. Besides, even if this isn’t effective, I need to work toward putting the past behind me. I can’t move forward as long as I’m shackled to haunting memories, anchored in yesterday. And I must move on. One way or the other. I grab my bag and walk toward the bedroom door. I pause in front of the mirror to look myself over one more time. The pale skin of my exposed arms and throat glows with a healthy sheen and my hair falls in a rich crimson wave almost to my waist. My lips are stained a color near that of my hair and my eyes are lined in charcoal. The makeup is heavy, but it can’t conceal the uncertainty lurking in the gray depths of my eyes, nor can it conceal the tremble of anticipation that works at my lower lip. I bite it as if to remind it to keep still. I’m doing this tonight. No backing out. Carefully, I walk to the car in my stilettoes. I pitch the bag in the back and ignore the nervous tremor of my hand as I slide the key into the ignition. This will all be over soon. With the help of navigation, I make my way back to the renovated house. The club. It’s dark outside when I pull into the lot and park. Warm light pours into the night from every window on the lower level. The upper levels are pitch black. My heart trips over itself in my chest. I get out and walk around to the back, going through the back door as instructed. I walk up the back staircase, also as instructed, and find the right room. I stop just inside the doorway, taking in the clean, crisp sheets and the accoutrements that have terrified me for years. Shaking off my trepidation, I close the door and get out all the things I could gather from my house. Anyone who saw inside my bag would think I’m a traveling freak show. And I guess, to some extent, they’d be right. When I’m finished, I go back out to the hall, close the door and head downstairs, slipping my domino on as I go. I wait anxiously at the bar, sipping on first one drink then another then another. Still no sign of Alec. My disappointment is keen. But so is my relief. I turn toward the bartender, requesting a glass of water this time. Happily, he sets one on a napkin in front of me and I tag a long, refreshing gulp. “New members, huh? Now I understand Carla’s ambiguity.” My pulse leaps at the sound of his voice. I turn slowly on my seat to face Alec. At first, I’m struck speechless. How I could forget how

handsome he is, I’ll never know. I’ve thought all along that he is my real life Mason. But what I have just now come to realize is that he is so much more, so much better. Mason is a shadow of the man Alec is. And what I feel for him is a thousand leagues deeper than what Daire feels for her vampire. This is love. Real love. And this is my last chance at it. The stern set of his mouth assures me he’s not happy at the subterfuge, and behind his domino, his eyes are hard. But neither of those things stops me from melting over Alec—his scent, his eyes, his body. His soul. I love it all. I love him. Irrevocably. “Can I get you a drink?” I ask, ignoring his comment. He hesitates. Understandably. I was mean and ugly and childish when last we spoke. I’m surprised he didn’t turn right around and walk back out the door. The fact that he didn’t gives me hope. Tiny hope, but hope nonetheless. This time, he ignores me. He asks the bartender for a glass of twenty-five year old Glenlivet and downs it in one long swallow, signaling him immediately for another. When the bartender places the second one in front of him, Alec takes the glass and turns to face me, leaning casually against the bar. “I don’t suppose I need to ask what you’re doing here.” “Don’t you?” He raises one black brow, but says nothing, simply takes another sip of his scotch. He sets the half full glass back on the bar and folds his hands in front of him, settling in to watch me in that unnerving way of his. It amplifies my jitters tenfold. Clearing my throat, I give myself a mental shove and I take a step closer to Alec, looking up into his handsome face and light green eyes. “I never got the chance to apologize for that night. I never meant to get so ugly or to make you…to force you to…” “There’s nothing to apologize for,” he finally says, jumping in to save me. “That’s what happens between people like us.” His comment stings, but I let it roll off me. Tonight, I can’t afford to let anything steal my focus. I have to do this, not only for Alec, but for me. I need to find a way to deal with my past, whether it mends things between us or not. I can’t live with this fear for the rest of my life. I clench and unclench my fingers a couple of times to relax them before I make my move and reach for Alec’s hand. Slowly, with my eyes still on his, I slide my fingers over his palm. He grips my fingers and pushes away from the bar. He narrows his eyes on me, suspicious but intrigued, setting fire to my stomach. I smile at him and tip my head behind me, toward the steps, a silent indication for him to follow. Still holding his hand, I turn toward the wide, curved staircase. Slowly and with great purpose, I mount each step, tugging Alec along behind me. With my every movement, I’m hyper aware of the clothing beneath my dress, of the fingers lying lightly in mine, of the man trailing along behind me. I remind myself that I trust him and that he’s worth this. And that I need it, and maybe he does, too. I press on. At the top of the stairs, I turn to the right, toward the room my things are in. All my senses are on high alert, but I’m not as nervous as I would’ve been had I not downed a couple of drinks before Alec arrived. I’m far from drunk, but it did manage to take the edge off. I twist the knob and push open the door, stopping just outside it so Alec can look in. I’m sure he has an inkling of what I’m up to, but I want to give him the full effect. Nearly every surface is covered in lit candles, giving the room a soft, dreamy feel that’s incongruous with the kinky paraphernalia scattered about. I watch Alec’s face as he scans the area, making note of several items before glancing back at me.

He says nothing, just arches that one brow. It’s almost like he’s daring me. My stomach flips over. I tug on his hand, pulling him further into the room and closing the door behind him. I reach up to remove his domino. And then I remove mine. “You promised you’d help me. And I’m not cured yet,” I explain as I reach for his tie, loosening the knot. “Is that right?” I nod, releasing the first button on his shirt and then letting my hands trail down his flat stomach to coyly graze the bulge behind his zipper. I throw off every “Samantha” insecurity and embrace the brazen Laura Drake in me. I trade soft for sexy, docile for daring, fearful for fearless. I cup him boldly, leaning in to whisper in his ear, “Now’s your chance to show me.” I nip his lobe, hard enough to feel it all the way in my stomach. There’s something intoxicating about being this way, about burying Samantha and all her issues for a little while and just feeling, exploring. Risking. “Show you what,” he asks, his arm winding around my waist to pull me closer. I lean back to look into his face. “Everything.” Alec’s hand moves up my back and into my loose hair. I feel his fingers curl into a fist. “Are you sure you want to do this? Are you sure you’re ready?” I cup his face in my hands and drag my tongue along his lower lip before I suck it into my mouth. “As ready as I’ll ever be.” Alec’s hand tugs on my head, roughly angling it for his mouth. When it descends on mine, I taste his hunger. I taste the ravenous beast I’m attempting to unleash. And while there is excitement and anticipation and desire like nothing I’ve ever known, still, there is a dash of fear sprinkled among the rest. But Alec needs this. And so do I. It’s for those reasons that I continue. I plant my hands against Alec’s chest and push with all my might. He lets me go, his breathing ragged and his eyes dark with wicked, feral passion. I back away from him, reaching behind me to unzip my dress as I go. I pull the sleeves off my shoulders and let the garment fall to my waist, revealing the black gossamer teddy beneath. Alec’s eyes travel to my length and back again, stopping to focus on my nipples. I feel them harden, ready for what’s to come. I know he can see them perfectly through the sheer material. It’s not meant to leave much to the imagination. I stop and wiggle my hips, letting the material of my dress fall to a heap on the floor around my black high heels. I stand straight and tall before him, knowing that he can see every curve and valley and shadow, even in the pale candlelight. And he can see the delicate zippers that give him access to various body parts, all his for the quick flick of his fingers. But I’m sure he knows that. I found this among the items he ordered from Ursula. I was appalled at first. Now I’m excited. Carefully stepping out of the puddle of my dress, I walk to the bed and climb onto it, standing with my legs spread and my hair teasing my shoulders. Alec’s eyes are like hot coals on me, burning every surface they touch, setting my world on fire. Slowly, I reach down and take the zipper tabs that begin at my navel and I pull down and out, at an angle toward my hips. When the zippers stop, I tug and a large piece of sheer material falls away from my lower abdomen and crotch, leaving me bare from waist to groin. With a flourish I fling it to the side and drop to my knees on the bed, reaching to my left and right to take the ends of two black silk scarves tied to the bed. I wind them around my wrists. “Show me,” I repeat, my eyes trained on his. Alec hesitates only for a second. I’m not sure why, whether it’s the fact that I’m challenging him, or

the thought that I might end up freaking out. Whatever the cause, it lasts only for a split second. I know the instant he gives in. I see it the moment that the wild side takes over. Walking slowly toward me, further loosening his tie and pulling it from around his neck, Alec puts one knee on the bed and reaches for my legs, jerking me roughly toward him. Twisting one hand in my hair, he yanks my head back and crushes his lips against mine, his tongue invading my mouth, demanding more of me than I’ve ever before given. I’m breathless when he releases me. His eyes are steady on me as he reaches out to unwind the scarves from my wrists and bring my hands together in front of me. With three quick turns, he binds them together with his tie. “Lie back,” he orders. I pull my legs from beneath me and relax onto my back. I’m surprised when Alec walks around the bed and unties one of the black scarves. He kneels on the bed and drapes it over my eyes. “Lift.” Obediently, I lift my head so he can make a knot in the material. My mouth is bone dry and my pulse is flying like a runaway train. I can see shadows and shapes through the thin scarf, but nothing clearly enough to make me feel comfortable. For the space of one breath, I feel I’ve made a mistake. Now, I’m bound and blindfolded, basically at Alec’s mercy. In a way that I’ve feared more than anything for half of my life. And I did it willingly. Because I trust him, I remind myself. And I love him. I jump when I feel Alec’s fingers at my stomach. It’s the lightest brush, like butterfly wings, as he grips the zipper tongue and pulls it upward. There’s a soft click when it reaches the end of its track. With a tug, Alec frees the two halves of my top part, peeling them back to expose my breasts to him. I hear the soft rustle of clothes as he moves. I don’t know if he’s undressing or walking around the room. Or both. The anticipation of what he might do, where he might touch is sweet torture. A few seconds later, I feel his hand cup my right breast, kneading it, rolling and pinching the nipple. I feel the heat of his mouth closing over it at the same time that I feel the burn of hot wax hitting my navel. I cry out and Alec bites down. Pleasure shoots through me, landing between my legs like a wet clap of thunder. I arch my back, straining for more of Alec’s mouth, but he doesn’t give it. He pulls away. For a few seconds, there’s nothing. No sound, no touch, nothing but the tingle of my skin under the wax and the cool air tickling my face. Until Alec’s lips close over my other nipple. His mouth is cold and I gasp. He teases me for a moment and then he’s gone again. I feel nothing until I hear Alec’s hiss followed by the blazing touch of his fingers. They’re covered in something scorching hot and sticky as they tease and rub my nipple. I cry out again, writhing on the bed, never more in need of his touch at my core, never more in need of his penetration. More rustling sounds just before Alec scoots me up the bed, toward the headboard. I hear the sound of a chain moving before he takes my bound hands and hooks them onto something that anchors them above my head. I feel vulnerable. Exposed. I fight the urge to draw my legs up, to cover myself, to protect myself. “Very good,” Alec says, as if reading my mind and commending my control. I hear a buzzing sound and my stomach muscles clench. The first contact of the vibrator is the tip against my lips. Alec drags it over my mouth, back and forth. “Open,” he commands. I part my lips and he slips the rounded head into my mouth about an inch. “Lick it.”

I do, swirling my tongue around the smooth latex. It doesn’t have much of a taste, not nearly as strong as the rubber smell. He slides it in a little further, gliding it between my lips and over my tongue. Abruptly, he withdraws it and the buzzing sound grows distant. Every inch of my skin is alive with the anticipation of where he might touch me next. And with what. When I finally feel his palm against the inside of my thigh, warmth gushes through me, pooling a few inches from his hand. He pushes on my legs, moving them further apart, spreading my body open for him. I gasp when I feel the tip of the vibrator graze my clitoris. Alec circles it before sliding down the crease of my lips then pushing it up into me. He moves the vibrator around, rotating it just inside my entrance, then retreating, teasing me mercilessly. Then I feel his tongue. He licks lazily at my clitoris, like he’s lapping up fine cream, all the while penetrating me with the vibrator. Short strokes, in and out. He begins moving his hand and his lips faster and faster, pushing me further and further, until I’m grinding my hips against him. His tongue becomes more insistent as he moves the vibrator deeper and deeper, in and out. The tension is building. I know what’s coming. I know what’s on the other side. And I’m helpless, literally helpless, to prevent it. I couldn’t escape if I tried. I strain against my bonds, my back arching off the bed, my pelvis gyrating in time with Alec. And then his mouth is gone and he’s turning me onto my stomach, the chains moving easily with me as he urges me up onto my knees. I lean on my elbows, panting as Alec continues to thrust the vibrator into me. I feel the hot sting of wax running over the curve of one butt cheek. One rivulet runs down into the crease. The other gathers into a pool on my lower back. I moan at the assault against my sensitized skin, but it only makes the soft lick of Alec’s tongue more pronounced. I push back against his hand until it disappears. I hear his zipper and I hold back tears of desperation, never wanting to feel him inside me so badly before. His hands brush my hips then my stomach as he rolls me onto my back. I feel him stretch over me and release my hands and then I feel the whisper of his breath as he hovers near my face, removing the blindfold. I blink to adjust to the dim light. Above me, I see Alec’s handsome face, contorted in a way that closely mimics pain. “I want you like this,” he says, his lips closing over mine as he pushes his body deep into mine. I explode all around him. Wave after wave rolls over me, stealing my breath, my voice and my vision. I can only hear—Alec whispering softly in my ear, telling me how perfect I am. And I can feel—his lips on my chin, his teeth at my nipple, his body spewing hot liquid into mine. My limbs are numb and my skin is tingling as I settle back down to earth. There’s only one thing on my mind as thought returns. “Why did you let me go?” Several seconds pass before Alec lifts his head and looks down at me. “You surrendered to me a long time ago. I just didn’t realize it until tonight. Tonight was about you, about you overcoming, about you giving me the most important thing you could give me.” “But I—” Alec cuts me off with a finger to my lips. “Shh,” he says softly, tilting his head and looking deeply into my eyes. He watches me for a long time before he brushes my bangs out of my eyes and tucks a

stray strand of hair behind my ear, like he’s done so many times before. “All good,” he croaks, his lips twisting into a small smile. I smile up at him, my heart in my eyes. It’s not a question this time, but a statement. “All good,” I repeat. And it is. For me anyway. I’m unchained, both physically and emotionally. But I get the feeling that Alec isn’t. He’s still tethered to the past, to his guilt. And I don’t know if I’m enough to set him free.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT- Alec Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, I turn on my internal clinical lamp and examine the situation. On the one hand, I’m satisfied. Maybe more satisfied than I can ever remember being. But on the other hand there’s…something. And that is what’s making me restless. Despite Samantha’s unconditional surrender to me, there’s something that’s still haunting me. As is the problem with most psychiatrists who try to heal themselves, I find that I’m too close to the subject matter to be objective. Based on past endeavors, I know that at this point in our relationship, I should be feeling satiated, very smug after Samantha’s submission. That is followed closely by a marked decline in interest. It’s the natural order of things after I achieve this…level with a woman. It rarely lasts past their surrender, body and soul. It sounds shallow and cavalier and monstrous, but it’s the truth. But, largely, I feel neither, especially not the disinterest. If anything, I want to further explore Samantha and all her fascinating facets. Knowing I can make her feel things she’s never felt, knowing that I can make her open to me like she’s never opened up makes me feel gratified. And possessive. And hungry. She’s so much more than I ever expected. And I feel so much more than I ever expected. That doesn’t, however, erase this…other thing that niggles at me. This thing that still feels like guilt over Alyssa. I don’t know how to overcome it. And, after all this time, I’m not sure I ever can. ******** When I take my slacks from the back of the chair and slip them on, Samantha stirs. I stop moving, hoping not to wake her. My mind is troubled and I don’t want to ruin her victory. She’s on cloud nine that she was able to both overcome her fear and satisfy me. I don’t want her to think any different. At least not right yet. “Can’t you sleep?” comes her hoarse question. I love her voice when she’s been asleep for a while. It’s deep and scratchy and makes me want to do vile things to her. And, while she definitely made some progress tonight, I doubt she’s up for anything and everything. “No. Go back to sleep,” I whisper, making my way to the door. I ease out of the bedroom and close the door quietly behind me. I wish I’d taken Samantha back to my place, rather than opting for close proximity. But I wasn’t nearly finished after that first episode. I wanted to get her back and see just how…compliant she was willing to be. And now here I am, stuck in her house, unable to sleep. I need the comfortable, the familiar. I need to relax my mind. But that will be next to impossible here. I make myself a drink and recline on the sofa. I lean my head back against the full cushion and take a deep breath, hoping to clear my head. When I hear the soft shuffle of bare feet on hardwood, I crack my lids. Samantha is walking slowly toward me, wrapped only in one of the sheets we mangled and tore off the bed. I raise my arm and she slides onto the couch and settles her head on my chest. “I’m sorry I woke you.” “You never actually sleep in the bed with me, do you? Every time I wake up, you’re gone.” I shrug. “I don’t need much sleep.” She gets quietly thoughtful for a few minutes before she speaks again. “Can I ask you a question?” I feel like sighing. She gets introspective and inquisitive when we’re up late at night like this. I’m

sure she’ll ask something that I’d really rather not answer. When I don’t respond, she just asks anyway. That makes me want to smile. I’m sure she has no idea how adorably annoying she is. “Why were you so fascinated by Laura Drake? I feel sure you don’t visit all your clients on the down-low in their place of business.” “I didn’t visit you in your place of business.” She slaps my chest. “You know what I mean. Just answer the question.” “I told you I’ve become quite obsessed with people like Alyssa. People like me. I thought you were like me. I wanted to know what brought you to where you are. I wanted to know the hows and the whys. I wanted to know if your stories were a result of something broken. Or something fixed.” “And what did you decide?” I glance down at her. Her soft eyes are half-lidded and sleepy, but still focused on my words. “I don’t know that I’ve ‘decided’ anything. You are very much your own puzzle. I think your writing was your way of coming to terms with what happened, with trying to understand it. Maybe even to forgive your mother. But I also think there’s a lot of you in your characters. I think, in many ways, you’re Daire. And I think, in some ways, I’m your Mason.” Her voice is small when she asks, “Does that bother you?” “No. I’m not Mason. And you know that. I think you see things in me that you find desirable. You’ve found a dominant person to trust, much like Daire found Mason. I think that’s what you’ve been searching for all along—someone to trust, someone to be strong and let you be you and not crush you in the process.” “And what is it that you’re searching for?” The million dollar question. “I used to think it was control. That I wanted someone to break, someone to bend to my will. But anymore…I’m not so sure.” “Should I be afraid?” “No.” When she rests her cheek back onto my chest, I can’t help feeling like I just lied to her.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE- Samantha I’d hoped that, in following through with that one night at the club, I could fix everything. I thought that Alec and I could move forward in our relationship and all would be well. But it seems I’m missing something. Something important. Something…crucial. With every day that passes, and certainly every night, I feel Alec drawing further and further away from me, emotionally. We make love and it’s raw and satisfying, and it seems to get better each time. And yet, something’s missing. I can feel it in Alec’s restlessness. I can see it in his frown, in his distracted green eyes. I’m at my wits’ end. I don’t know what else to do. I’ve submitted to everything he wants to do— whether to me, with me or something he wants me do to him—and it has all been wonderful. Without the fear of the past, I’ve found that Alec and I can enjoy a sexual playground that’s limited only by our imagination. And Alec has one hell of an imagination! But still, there’s something that’s not clicking, some way in which he’s never quite with me. Not one hundred percent. I’m almost positive it has something to do with Alyssa. I know guilt can be a powerful motivator. But it can also be very destructive. Today makes the fourth time he’s gone back to Portland for “business.” At first, he was only gone a day or two. The last time he went, he was gone for almost two weeks. I know he has a business there, but I also know that he conducts many of his sessions online, the same way in which we began talking. Yet he goes to Portland anyway. And his trips are getting longer and longer.

CHAPTER FORTY- Alec I’m running. I know I’m running. I’m running from having to make some tough decisions with regard to Samantha. I don’t really want to, even though I know I should. So, instead of doing what needs to be done, I’m here. On my way to Oregon. Again. There are many things about my life in Charleston with Samantha that satisfy me, that seem perfect. She’s my sexual mirror, I’m discovering. She’s always eager, always willing to try new things and explore different ways we can bring each other pleasure. She’s no longer bound by her fear. I can tell when she gets nervous with something I’m doing. I don’t stop. I continue. I push her because I know she’ll be glad in the long run. And that she knows I would never hurt her. Not like that anyway. Hurt her heart? Now that’s another story. I know she’s in love with me. And I care about her. Probably more than anyone else I’ve been involved with. But there’s still something holding me back. I don’t know what it is. I just know that I can’t take the next step, that I have no desire to take the next step right now. Maybe not ever. But I’m too much of a selfish bastard to break things off with her. I love her body too much, I love what she brings me, what she’s willing to do for me. It’s like the ultimate aphrodisiac—knowing that she won’t say no. I know that’s taking advantage of her feelings for me, of her trust. But I just can’t seem to help myself. I always knew I was a monster. The strange part is that, the more time that passes—the closer we get, the more involved she becomes—the less connected I find myself. It’s like every brick of her barrier that I pull away is finding its way to me. I’m surrounded. Walled off. Isolated. I’m taking another few days away to get some space. See if I can figure out what the hell to do about her. How to leave her without destroying her. Part of me speaks up, saying it’s her own fault. I warned her about me. But somehow, that doesn’t make it feel right anymore. Nothing does. And I’m afraid it’s because I don’t really want to leave at all.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE- Samantha I’ve only seen Alec three times since he’s been home. He avoids me like the plague. And I don’t know why. I’ve asked him. I’ve tried to talk to him, but he’s becoming more cold and distant as the days go by.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO- Alec I thought letting things die slowly would be easier on Samantha, easier on my conscience, but I think it’s taking a greater toll on both of us. The pretending is the worst part. I just don’t know what it is that we’re pretending anymore.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE- Samantha “You need to talk to him,” Chris tells me for the umpteenth time. “Chris, I do. I try. I don’t get anywhere. It’s like talking to space.” “What does he say?” “The same thing—he’s fine. I’m fine. We’re fine.” “Well, things are obviously not fine. You two are in cardiac arrest. You need to shock the shit out of this thing or just let it die. What’s it gonna be?” “How do I ‘shock the shit out of this thing’? What does that even mean?” “You know him best. Find the bruise, find the wound. Jerk the Band Aid off. Expose it before he hurts you. Permanently.” If Alec ever hurts me, it will be like this—by just disappearing while he’s standing right next to me. He would never hurt me in any other way. He has held my safety in his hands too many times. I’ve trusted him with everything. And, so far, the only area I can see that might’ve been a mistake was in giving him my love. But, even now, after crying myself to sleep every night that he doesn’t call and doesn’t come by, I don’t see how I could’ve avoided it. Alec is my soul mate. Whether he realizes it or not. But how do I make him see that? How do I shock the shit out of this thing?

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR- Alec I admit I’m a little puzzled by Samantha’s message, requesting that I meet her at the club. I hope to God it’s not some sort of anniversary-type thing she’s planning. Number one, I don’t think we’ve passed any significant milestones in six months. Number two, that would just be wrong. And very stupid. She knows we’re in trouble. She has to. And she probably knows that our next visit will not end well. Maybe that’s what she’s thinking. One for old times’ sake. Of course, I wouldn’t argue. She’s still one of the most amazing sexual creatures I’ve ever met. But that’s not enough. We need more than that to survive. I need more than that. But I’m not getting it. And I’m not even sure what it is.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE- Samantha I look around the room. There’s nothing in here but me. And a bed. And space. I brought no accoutrements. I have no tricks up my sleeve. Tonight, I’m on a mission. Alec is going to respond to me. I’m going to make him feel something, even if it’s anger. And then, if it’s over, I’ll save him the trouble and I’ll call it quits myself. I can’t stand the thought of losing him, but, to my way of thinking, he’s already gone. Saying it out loud is just a technicality. I walk to the center of the room and I wait. I’m not wearing anything special—a simple short, black cocktail dress, stilettos with steel tips and my domino. I hope I didn’t need to tell Alec which room I’d be in. If he can’t even figure that out, we might be more hopeless than I’d thought. I’m reassured when I hear footsteps stop just outside in the hall. The knob turns slowly and the door swings open, revealing an incredibly handsome Alec on the other side. His face is like a blank computer screen. It’s void. It’s empty. It’s full of nothingness. My heart plummets. He steps inside and closes the door. He leans back against it, crossing his arms and his ankles, studying me with a blandness that makes my heart weep. “What are we doing here?” he asks after looking around the room and seeing its marked lack of… things. “We’re here to settle this.” One brow shoots up. Another stab to my heart. “And what’s ‘this’?” “Us. Or what used to be ‘us.’” He nods. When he says nothing, I take a deep breath and begin my spiel. “I’ve done everything I can to make you happy, Alec. I’ve asked you a thousand times to talk to me, to tell me what’s wrong. And you won’t. I—” “It’s not that I won’t. I simply have nothing to say.” “That might actually be worse. It’s like you just…disappeared.” I feel my resolve break. Tears fill my eyes. “Alec, what happened? Things were going so well and you just…left.” “I told you from the beginning—” “I know, I know,” I interrupt with a snap. “You warned me. It’s my fault for not listening. But you have to at least be honest enough to admit that something happened. Even if you won’t tell me what it was.” I see the muscle in his jaw begin to tick. “I’ve been nothing but honest with you. I’ve never misled you.” “No, I’ve done this all on my own. I’ve been in this all by myself from the beginning, is that it? Is that what you’re going with?” “I’m not ‘going with’ anything. It’s the truth. I was up front about what I wanted, what you could expect.” “And you got it all, didn’t you? You got it all and I got the broken heart, just like you promised.” I try to keep my voice low and reasonable, but it gets harder and harder with every second I spend in his cool indifference. “I didn’t come here to fight.” I take a step toward him, my fingers balled into tight fists. “Then why? Why did you come here?” Alec’s lips thin. I can see his anger rising.

“Not for this, I can assure you.” “Oh, I see. You thought you’d sneak in a quickie before you just changed your address. Nice.” This is not at all how I pictured things going, but my bitterness is overflowing and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. Alec straightens. “If this is the way it’s going to be, maybe I should just leave you in peace.” “It’s too late for that, you bastard,” I force through gritted teeth. As if something foreign and uncontrollable and…violent overtakes me, I launch myself across the room, hurling my fists at Alec, lashing out in the only way that has any promise of making me feel like I’m not going to explode and then die. I get in a couple of good licks before he grabs my wrists and twists my arms behind my back, yanking up on them. I cry out in pain, but it doesn’t stop me from using my legs. I try to kick at Alec, but he’s already a step ahead. He has my body pulled in so tightly to his that I can’t make any real headway, can’t do any real damage. “Does this make you feel better?” he hisses. I struggle against him, shaking my head and shoulders to try and free myself. Alec loops the long fingers of one hand around my wrists, holding them easily in his grip. With his free hand, he grabs my chin and forces me to look at him. “Answer me. Would it make you feel better to hurt me? Is that what you want?” “Stop it!” I growl, turning my head to escape his grasp. But he has a good grip and he’s not letting go. “Answer me,” he barks. “Do you want to hurt me?” “Alec…” “Answer!” “Yes,” I spit in a moment of brutal honesty. His eyes narrow on me. His voice is steady. And quiet. And deadly. “Then do it. Hurt me.” He jerks me against him, his fingers biting into my flesh. “Hurt me!” Alec crushes his lips to mine, fire and fury in his kiss, before he releases my hands, flinging me away from him and propelling me toward the bed. I stumble back, temporarily caught off guard. Alec moves purposefully forward, stalking me. There’s rage in his eyes. I wanted his emotion. Now I have it. He’s not cold and indifferent anymore. He’s irate. “Come on,” he taunts me. “Hurt me. I want you to.” I back toward the bed and Alec keeps coming, loosening his tie and peeling off his jacket as he walks. When he stops in front of me, he reaches out and twists his fingers into the neck of my dress, yanking as hard as he can and tearing it straight down the center. “Hurt me, damn you! I deserve it!” Winding his arm around my waist, Alec bends his face to my neck, roughly dragging his lips down to my collar bone and the top of my breast. Everything I’ve felt for Alec—from overwhelming attraction, to fear, to love, to devastating heart break—bubbles to the surface. Like a flame to dry tumbleweed, I’m instantly incinerated. I thread my fingers into his hair, pulling his head to one side while I plunder the inside of his mouth with my tongue. His hands push their way into my ripped bodice and tear it the rest of the way down the middle, exposing me to his touch. I feel his fingers slide under the elastic of my panties and jerk. The thin material gives way easily. I drag my hands from his hair and pull mercilessly at the buttons of his shirt, not caring when I feel

them pop off and pepper my chest like tiny plastic bullets. They can do no more damage than what Alec already has. I barely feel them. Reaching down between my legs, Alec thrusts one finger, then two, then three deep inside me, bringing me up onto my toes. I see the hunger in his eyes before my head falls back on my shoulders and my moan escapes. Roughly, he pushes me away from him, flinging me onto the bed and falling on top of me. His mouth devours me, his body inflames me, his hands torture me. And I want it all. I want all he has to give. When he enters me, it’s not with ease or patience or practiced skill. It’s with anger. And emotion. And raw need. I can feel it in his touch, hear it in his growl. I open my eyes and look at Alec. Although he’s with me, maybe more with me than he’s ever been with me, at the same time, he’s not. He’s completely out of control. It’s alien to him and I can see that it both enrages and terrifies him, but he’s helpless against it now. He’s come too far. As he moves within me, our fingers grasping desperately at one another, both of us flying toward the sun at Mach Ten, one thought penetrates the haze of my passion. One thought settles over me with perfect clarity. There is fear, yes. But deep in my soul, I know Alec will never be that out of control again. And maybe he needs to know that, too. Maybe he needs to trust himself. Like I trust him. “Wrap your hands around my throat,” I whisper. “I want to feel it when you come. I want to feel your fingers tighten then relax. I want to feel you lose control.” I chose the words on purpose. I know they will trigger some kind of response. What kind of response is the question. I just hope it works. It’s my Hail Mary. Alec’s eyes meet mine. In them is desire, anger, confusion and, yes, now a little bit of fear. Before he can think too much, I reach down and take his hands, guiding them up toward my neck. “I trust you, Alec. I trust you not to hurt me, no matter how wild you feel. You’re not that person. Not anymore. Now do it. I want to feel you lose it. I want to feel it in your fingertips when you come. All for me. Just for me.” I pump my hips against his, clawing at the backs of his hands. There’s a moment of hesitation just before his baser instincts take over. And I feel his fingers tighten. At first, it’s tentative, but as he thrusts more deeply into me, they become more confident. And they tighten more. I feel other fingers grip me. Fingers of fear. I’m no longer certain of what I’ve done, that trusting Alec, that baiting him in this way was wise. It was impulsive and desperate. And it might cost us both. As breathing becomes more difficult, I stretch my chin toward the head of the bed, an attempt to relieve some of the pressure to my throat. I’m teetering between the intense pleasure of Alec’s body within mine and the sheer terror of what I might’ve asked him to do. I look back at Alec and see his eyes close. He increases his tempo, and so my fear. I wrap my fingers around his wrist, ready to pull at them if he really loses it. I hear his cry. It’s scary and thrilling. And then I feel him stiffen. His fingers squeeze at my throat, stealing my

breath for a moment before he opens his eyes and he looks straight into mine. I see him let go. And I see him let it go. There’s nothing between us in this moment except scorching heat and love. As long as Alec lives, he may deny it to himself, but I will always know. I will always have these few seconds, this look in his eyes, this stillness of his body, forever. It’s mine. And nothing can ever take it away. I feel the moment his senses begin to return. His fingers relax and he withdraws and thrusts into me again, grinding his hips as he goes, pushing me toward a pinnacle I thought fear would keep me from. He showers my face with kisses and thrusts again, and again, his body still hard within mine, his come still filling me up inside. And I lose it. Alec cups my face and watches me as I tip over the edge. From start to finish, his eyes never leave mine while I orgasm. Intense wave after intense wave, he continues to stare into my eyes, sharing with me his body, his soul and his heart.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX- Alec Samantha and I are lying together, catching our breath, when I begin to feel pressure to say something. The problem is that I don’t know what to say. I feel like I should say something, like I should have something to say. But I don’t. With every passing minute, she becomes more anxious. I can feel it in the way she’s stiffening beneath me. Expectation is a bitch! I roll off her and shoot a lopsided smile her way, hoping it will put her mind at ease. “I guess we’d better get out of here. This isn’t exactly the best place to snuggle.” Her smile is a bit forced, confirming what I already knew. I give her my hand and pull her into a sitting position. My eyes rove her bared breasts. She looks down at herself. “Well,” she begins, glancing up at my open shirt. “I would say you’re in better shape than I am, but I’m not so sure.” I laugh as I take in my own buttonless shirt. “Eh, we’ll figure out something,” I say casually before leaning over to nip her shoulder with my teeth. “We might draw a few eyes, but damn, it was worth it.” I stand to my feet and straighten my tie, doing my best to tuck in my shirt in such a way that it will stay closed. That’s harder than it might sound. Samantha seems less bothered now. Maybe it was just my imagination. She stands and pulls the two halves of her dress together. There’s no way she can make that work. She looks up at me and we both laugh. “You don’t do that enough,” she says as she lets the dress fall from her shoulders and puts it back on backward. “Do what?” “Laugh.” I shrug. “I don’t usually have much to laugh about.” “That’s a tragedy, you know.” I shrug again, but make no further comment. I pat my tie into place, right down the center of my chest. It will be fine to conceal my state of dishabille until I can get to the car. Then it won’t matter. I glance up to see Samantha staring down at herself. Seeing the high neck of the back of her dress at her throat looks a bit odd, but she could pull it off for the short trip downstairs. That is, until she turns around. Her entire ass is hanging out. She grins at me from over her shoulder and it makes me want to throw her on the bed, let that dress fall apart and pound into her from behind. “I’m thinking I might be in trouble,” she confesses playfully. I walk to grab my coat from the floor where I tossed it. “Here,” I say, holding the suit jacket open so she can slip her arms into it. It’s long enough on her to come almost to her knees, plenty to cover her bare back side. “Better?” “Much.” I walk to the door and open it, sweeping my arm gallantly in front of me. “After you, m’lady.” She smiles and precedes me out the door. I’m hoping if I keep things light…well, I can keep things light. I don’t do heavy. I just…don’t. After we successfully (and tactfully) navigate the lower level, I walk Samantha to her car. I bend her over the hood and kiss her like we’re not in public, in hopes it will allay her fears or satisfy her

expectations until I can figure out what the hell I’m doing. “Call you tomorrow?” I say when I release her. She nods and smiles, but I can tell it’s not what she was hoping for. I kiss the back of her hand and open her door for her, waiting for her to start the engine before heading to my own ride. I feel like I narrowly escaped…something dreadful. But I didn’t. Not really. I’ve simply delayed it until the tomorrow. I’ll have to deal with it sooner or later. I’m just opting for the “later.” A little more than twenty minutes later, I’m unlocking my front door and stepping into the foyer. My intentions are to change clothes, make myself a drink and sit in front of the fireplace and forget the world. Just enjoy the amazing feeling of the night. Without all its complications. I’m putting ice cubes into a glass when I hear a knock at the door. Considering the time of night and the fact that I don’t often receive visitors, it’s not hard to figure out who it is. I walk to the door and swing it open. As I suspected, Samantha is on the other side, still in her tattered dress covered by my coat. “Can I come in?” I nod and step back, closing the door behind her then making my way back to the wet bar. Rather than the one finger I had intended, I pour two fingers of scotch instead. It’s gonna be a long night. “Would you like a drink?” I ask before I head for the sofa. “No, thanks,” she says primly. “I just wanted to return your jacket.” We both know that’s not why she’s here. And if we’re going to do this tonight, I might as well start where I want. I sink down on one cushion and take a long sip of my drink before I speak. “Why did you do it?” I ask bluntly. I can tell the question takes her by surprise. And I can see how. From the moment it began plaguing my mind like a hungry buzzard circling overhead, it’s made me feel out of sorts, too. “For the same reason you did it for her when she asked.” I feel the frown contract the muscles of my forehead. I don’t need to ask who “she” is. “I did it because she asked me to.” “Yes, but you also did it because you loved her. That’s what we do for the people we love—we do things that will make them happy or make them feel good. Or help them.” I stand, already uncomfortable with where this conversation is going. “Don’t do that. Don’t make it sound like I was some sort of paragon for strangling my girlfriend. I’m not that guy, Samantha. I warned you of that.” “I know you did,” she says, standing to her feet as well. Slowly, she walks toward me. “But I’m in this because I want to be. I knew the risk. And I still do. I realize there’s a significant possibility that you might never be able to admit your feelings for me, that you feel somehow unworthy of loving and being loved, but that doesn’t mean you don’t love me.” “Samantha, I—” “I’m not asking you to say it, Alec,” she interrupts, laying her hand on my chest and staring boldly into my eyes. “I just want you to know how I feel. And that I understand. I understand how this could’ve made you feel like a monster, how it could’ve gotten so out of control.” “I don’t deserve this, Samantha,” I say, grabbing her hand and curling my fingers around it. “I don’t deserve a woman like you.” I take her hand off my chest and release it before I step back, away from her. Away from what she makes me feel. She steps forward, though, closing the distance I created. “I know your instinct is to run. To hide from it. Believe me, I know. But Alec, you are worthy of

love. And trust. I trusted you even when you didn’t trust yourself and it paid off. You didn’t hurt me. You couldn’t. Because you love me. I know you do. I saw it. I saw it in your eyes back at the club.” I can’t decide if she’s just that perceptive or if I was simply that transparent. Either way she’s right. I cup her face in my hands. “No, you’re right. You did see it. I am capable of feeling love, but not the kind you deserve. I’m not the kind of man you deserve. I’m broken, Samantha. I can never be what you need me to be. But I do love you. Whatever that means for me, I do love you. Ifeel it, but that doesn’t mean it will be enough for you.” Her eyes are shining as if all she heard was me confess that I love her, not all the other parts that should drive her away. “You love me,” she whispers, her voice wavering. “That’s all that matters. We can figure out the rest. Alec, I was broken when we met. And you healed me. I was stuck in the past, just like you were, but you set me free. Can’t you see that now you’re free, too? Can’t you see that you’re not a monster? That what happened was an accident, nothing more?” “No. I see that I hurt the people I love. I let them down. I disappoint them. I betray their trust. That’s what I see.” “Alec, you can’t stop me from trusting you. And you can’t stop me from making you whole again. Because I will. I owe us that. We both deserve it.” I know with a certainty I’ve never done anything to deserve someone like Samantha. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. But listening to her makes it seem like we might just have a shot. If only I can keep from hurting her… “I can’t make you any promises.” “I’m not asking for any. All I want is for you to try, to give me a chance. I’ll show you that it can work. That we can work. Alec, you’re perfect for me. And I’m perfect for you.” I sigh, suddenly lacking the will to fight her and what I feel for her. “No, you’re just perfect. Period.” She smiles. “We both know that’s not true, but I love you for saying it.” “It’s true to me. And that’s all that matters.” Samantha loops her arms around my neck. “See you’re getting the hang of this already. With daily repetition, even more if you can manage it, this will be like second nature to you.” I let my hand slide down over the rounded curve of her ass. “I like the idea of repetition. Maybe we should apply that to…other things.” “What did you have in mind?” she asks softly, tilting her hips and swaying them against mine. “My housekeeper left me a jar of local honey that I’ve been dying to try.” When her eyes light up, I know I don’t need to add that I’ll be enjoying it from various surfaces of her body. “I love honey.” “As do I. Especially the sweet South Carolina kind.” My mouth waters with the anticipation of tasting the sweet things that Samantha has to offer. When I bend my lips to take hers, dipping my tongue into her mouth, I can’t help but notice a difference in the kiss. It feels deeper, more intimate. Significant. Maybe the biggest difference of all is that it feels… free. Finally, I feel free.

EPILOGUE PART ONE- Alec I can’t help but wonder if I’m making a mistake by involving Chris. She does have a big mouth. And she does love Samantha above all else. But that’s also why I’m going to her. I figure, if anything, she’ll keep my secret because she’ll know how happy it will make her sister in the end. And it will. I know it. I see her the instant the maître‘d ushers her onto the sunny patio. An enormous piece of coconut cake is already sitting in front of the chair she’ll occupy. Samantha loves coconut and I was thinking this could be our wedding cake. Chris will be the deciding vote. Or is the bride supposed to take care of all that? I don’t know. And I don’t really care. I believe this will make Samantha happy, and that’s all I need to know. Traditions be damned. Chris is wearing her hair up. That’s all I notice beyond the huge smile. She’s a pretty girl, but no one turns my head anymore. Not really. I notice them, maybe even appreciate their features, but there’s only one woman for me. It just took me a while to realize it. “What, pray tell, is all this secret meeting stuff about?” Like she doesn’t already know! That smile says it all. I eye her dubiously. “I’m quite sure you’re smart enough to figure that out.” Despite our very public and very elegant location, she squeals and claps her hands loudly. I can’t help but smile. Now I’m confident I made the right choice. “Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod! This is it, isn’t it?” “If you mean that I’m going to marry your sister and make her deliriously happy, then yes. This is it.” “Oh dear God! I’m so effing happy I could hump your leg right now.” “Please don’t.” Chris laughs and her eyes twinkle merrily. “Maybe later. Right now, I want to hear what you’ve got to say, because it better be good!” “Lucky for me, your approval is not what I seek. Your help, however…” As always, Chris lets my teasing roll right off. She gives me a dismissive wave and leans forward conspiratorially. “So, what are we doing?” “With Samantha’s release schedule, she’s going to be pretty busy for the foreseeable future, so I thought we’d take care of most of the planning and details so she won’t feel the pressure of the wedding.” “But she knows, right? I mean, you’ve already proposed and explained that you’re doing this?” I shake my head. Chris gasps. “You haven’t even asked her?” “No, that’s not how this plan works.” This is the one area I’m a little shaky on. I have it all planned out in my head, and it’s perfect. The only thing I can’t see with absolute clarity is her answer. I know she loves me. And she knows I love her. But we’ve never talked about marriage. I don’t really know how she feels about it. We talk about spending forever together, but nothing more specific than that. But now I want to be specific. I want to know that she’s mine. Forever. That she’s not going anywhere. Ever. And that she’ll bear my name as well as my children.

Children—that’s another gray area, but first things first. “A-lec’s ner-vous,” she says in a sing-song voice. “Hell yeah, I’m nervous. But that’s not why I’m here. I’m here to tell you whatyou’re going to do for her for her wedding.” “Do tell.” “I want you to design her wedding dress.” Chris’s face goes comically blank. “What now?” “I. Want. You. To. Design. Her. Dress.” “English is not my second language. I understand what you said. I just didn’t understand what you said. I design shoes. You know that, right?” “But I’ve seen the sketches you’ve done of dresses. And Samantha loves them. I think she’d be pleased if you’d do it. She’d be proud and it would make the day even more perfect if she was walking down the aisle in something you made for her.” Much to my surprise and dismay, Chris’s eyes fill with tears. “Ohmigod, you really are perfect for her.” I shrug. “I don’t know about that. I love her, if that’s what you mean.” “That’s part of it. But it’s so much more than that. You’re…you’re…ohmigod, you’re her soul mate. I mean…you really are the one.” “I sure hope so.” Tears overflow her lashes and slide down her cheeks. She reaches up to wipe them away and I fidget in my seat. I hadn’t expected this and I’m terrible with female emotion. That was established long ago. When she pulls herself together, she laughs and reaches over to squeeze my hand where it rests near my glass. “Oh, you are. Trust me.” “Does that mean you’ll do it?” She swats her hand at me. “Of course I’ll do it. And she’ll be the best damn bride with the best damn dress on the Eastern seaboard.” “With the most modest sister.” “That, too,” Chris says with a grin and a flip of her hair. “Annnnnd, it gives me something other than Greg to focus on.” I don’t know what to say to that. Samantha told me about Chris’s decision to move on from Greg and find someone who will love her for the person she really is, but that doesn’t make me any more comfortable discussing it with her. My eyes fall to the cake. I’d nearly forgotten it. “Oh and I want you to taste this cake. I think she’d like it, don’t you?” Chris watches me for a few seconds, her smile never fading. She shakes her head in something like amazement as she picks up her fork and cuts out a bite of the moist white cake. She tastes it and her eyelids flutter in ecstasy. “Gawd!” she mutters around her full mouth. “That’s heavenly.” “She’ll love it, right?” She grins despite her puffed out cheeks. “She’ll love it.” She cuts another piece and stabs it with her fork. “She’s lucky to have you, Alec.” “No, I’m the lucky one. I didn’t have much of a life before she came along. The least I can do is make one day perfect for her.”

“According to her, you make every day perfect for her.” I hold back the smile that twitches at my lips. It makes me feel like a sappy kid, but hearing that makes me happier than I care to admit. “So she talks about me a lot, huh?” “Ugh! All the time. I get so sick of hearing about Perfect Alec this and Perfect Alec that. ‘Perfect Alec saved my life’.” That gives me pause. “Did she say that?” “She says that all the time. Why?” This time I do smile. I can’t help it. “Just curious.” “But why? Why are you curious?” “I just wonder if she knows she saved mine, too.” Chris wrinkles her nose and winks at me. “I think she has a clue.” I think back to the wild morning we had before I came in to town today, the wild morning followed by twenty minutes of kissing afterward. “I was dead before I met you and I’ll be dead again if you ever leave me,” I told Samantha. She leaned up on one elbow and tilted her head to one side, considering me. “You don’t have to worry about that. This is safe with me,” she said, kissing the left side of my chest, right over my heart. Now, with Chris, I smile again. “Yeah, I think she has a clue.” ******** EPILOGUE PART TWO- Samantha Four months later All the lights are off when I unlock Alec’s front door. I pause just inside, listening. Not a sound. “Hello?” I call out to the empty room as I remove the key and close the door behind me. Alec told me to meet him here at nine. It’s nine. And I’m here. And there’s no Alec. Dropping my purse at the foot of the stairs, I make my way through the living room and kitchen. Still, I find no evidence of Alec. I crack open the garage door and see both the Mercedes and the Range Rover parked there. He’s definitely here. Somewhere. Closing the garage door, I make my way toward the stairs, ascending first one level then another as I head for the master bedroom. When I reach the landing, I see the pale flicker of light. My stomach twitches in response. Alec has been pretty busy with work and…whatever other stuff he’s been so preoccupied with lately, that I haven’t seen him as much as usual. And my body is reminding me how much I miss him. My heart already knew that. “Hello?” I call again. Still nothing, but I continue on into the bedroom. I look around the empty room. There are no candles lit that I can see, only the soft glow of the fireplace. That must’ve been the light I saw. “Stop,” comes Alec’s deep, velvety voice. I jump in surprise, whirling to search him out. I see only his silhouette in front of the balcony doors, outlined by the moon at his back. He’s so quiet and still, I didn’t even see him. I start toward him, but he stops me.

“Stay where you are. Close your eyes,” he commands. With an excited smile trembling at my lips, I do as he asks. Anticipation curls in my stomach as I listen for his movements. I can barely hear him approach, but I can certainly feel it when he nears me. He disturbs the air around me in a way that no one else does. Like there’s electricity moving between us, a constant arc of attraction that never dissipates. The brush of his lips against mine is like heaven. Although I saw him for a moment just this morning, it’s not enough. It’s never enough. I always want more. Always need more. I lean in to him, but he pulls gently away. I’m tempted to open my eyes, but I don’t want to ruin whatever he’s going to do next, so I quell the urge. I feel his mouth as it brushes my collarbone. Chills spread down my chest, a trail for his lips to follow as they make their way to my breasts. Only they don’t. I feel Alec’s fingers slide down my left arm and tighten over my palm. He strokes each of my fingers from knuckle to tip, slowly and with a practiced seductiveness that only Alec can manage. Every place he touches, no matter how innocent, can be turned into an exercise in erotic pleasure. This is no different. Only, this time, there’s something else. Something…more. “I remember with perfect clarity the first moment I saw you, sitting so primly in front of a crowd of your biggest fans,” he begins softly, his voice arising from somewhere below me. The cadence of his words coupled with the languorous touch of his hand threaten to lull me into a stupor, but something deep inside me struggles to pay close attention. His words…there’s something different about his words… “I think I might’ve fallen in love with you that very day. And a little bit more every day after. I tried to let you go. I thought I could live without you, that I could move on. But I couldn’t. I could hardly last a day.” My heart swells at his words. Alec has told me he loves me a thousand times, but never like this. He’s never opened up like this before. His confession is like a rare, night-blooming flower—so precious and so fleeting that I’m afraid to blink and miss one glorious second of its beauty. “I don’t ever want to be without you again. Air doesn’t feel the same. Food doesn’t satisfy me. Water doesn’t quench my thirst. In my life, for as long as it burns on this earth, there is only you, Samantha. Only you. Forever.” I feel tears breach my closed lids and pour down my cheeks. I bite my lip to hold in sobs of pure joy. “Open your eyes,” he says, the words more a plea than an order. My lids part to the image of Alec on one knee in front of me. Even through the shimmering wash of my tears, I can see that his hand is holding mine and his heart is in his eyes. My breathing stops and all of time and space stills around me. “Will you marry me?” I let go of a sob that refuses to stay put behind my ribs. My knees, unable to support me anymore, buckle and I drop down in front of Alec. “I’ll do anything you ask of me, Alec. Anything. For the rest of my life, you have me. Body, heart and soul. And nothing would make me happier than to be your wife.” His lips curve into a smile, one of his genuine smiles that I see more and more of lately. His eyes fall to our joined hands as he slips an enormous diamond onto my ring finger. “Then clear your schedule for tomorrow. You’ve got a wedding to attend.”

I feel my mouth drop open as his words and their meaning sink in. A laugh bubbles up in my throat. I cover my mouth with my hands, but my fingers can’t stop the sound from spilling out. “What? You mean…does that mean… did you…” When I can’t form a coherent question, Alec chuckles and fills in the blanks. “Yes, me, an incompetent man, has managed to plan an entire wedding without you having to lift a finger.” “But…but…what about…” My mind is spinning in delirious circles, my happiness so blinding and so complete that it nearly steals my breath. “But nothing,” he says, raising his hand to cup my cheek gently. “I’ve taken care of everything. All I wanted was to give you one perfect day. And I hope it will be.” Through the haze of my elation, I stare at this wonderful man who tore his way into my heart. “I can’t imagine a day, a moment more perfect than this one.” Alec brings my diamond-encircled finger to his mouth. As his lips brush my skin, I see one brow rise over the back of my hand. “Let me see what I can do to change your mind.” My insides burst into flame as Alec pulls me roughly toward him, crushing me against him and covering my mouth with his own. And, true to his word, he proceeds to make this day, this night, this moment even more perfect than I could’ve imagined. And now, thanks to Alec, I can imagine anything.

THE END

Turn to the back for the first two chapters of the New York Times Bestselling Novel By M. Leighton DOWN TO YOU and THE WILD ONES

A FINAL WORD

A few times in life, I’ve found myself in a position of such love and gratitude that saying THANK YOU seems trite, like it’s just not enough. That is the position that I find myself in now when it comes to you, my readers. You are the sole reason that my dream of being a writer has come true. I knew that it would be gratifying and wonderful to finally have a job that I loved so much, but I had no idea that it would be outweighed and outshined by the unimaginable pleasure that I get from hearing that you love my work, that it’s touched you in some way or that your life seems a little bit better for having read it. So it is from the depths of my soul, from the very bottom of my heart that I say I simply cannot THANK YOU enough. I’ve added this note to all my stories with the link to a blog post that I really hope you’ll take a minute to read. It is a true and sincere expression of my humble appreciation. I love each and every one of you and you’ll never know what your many encouraging posts, comments and e-mails have meant to me. http://mleightonbooks.blogspot.com/2011/06/when-thanks-is-not-enough.html

OTHER BOOKS BY M. LEIGHTON Beginnings: An M. Leighton Anthology Blood Like Poison: For the Love of a Vampire Blood Like Poison: Destined for a Vampire Blood Like Poison: To Kill an Angel Caterpillar Down to You Fragile Gravity Madly Madly & the Jackal Madly & Wolfhardt The Reaping The Reckoning The Wild Ones Up to Me Wiccan

UPCOMING RELEASES Everything for Us (Bad Boys book 3) SEPTEMBER 3, 2013 The Wild Child (Wild Ones novella) NOVEMBER, 2013 Some Like It Wild (Wild Ones book 2) MARCH, 2014

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Down to You One girl. Twin brothers. An uncommon triangle. When college student Olivia Townsend returned home to help her father run his business, she never imagined a complication like Cash and Nash Davenport —twin brothers different in so many ways but with one thing in common: an uncontrollable desire for Olivia. Cash is dangerous, sexy, and bad to the bone—a man whose kisses make Olivia forget she is playing with fire. Nash is successful, reliable and intensely passionate—and already taken. But all it takes is one soft stroke to make Olivia forget he belongs to someone else. However, Olivia is in for a surprise. These boys have a secret that should make her run away as far and as fast as she can. If only it wasn’t too late. A sensual game between three players has begun, and it’s about to spin deliriously out of control.

CHAPTER ONE- Olivia My head is spinning lightly, but happily. I can’t even remember the name of the drinks Shawna keeps ordering for us. I just know they’re delicious. And potent as hell! Wow! “When’s the stripper coming? I’m ready to get my freak on!” Ginger shouts. She’s the crazy, outspoken, cougar-of-a-bartender we work with at Tad’s Sports Bar and Grill in Salt Springs, Georgia. She’s wild enough in her natural environment, but stick her in a strange new place in a city like Atlanta and she morphs into a full blown tiger. Rawr! She looks at me and grins. Her bottle-blond hair looks urine-yellow in the low light and her pale blue eyes are twinkling devilishly. I’m instantly suspicious. “What?” I ask dazedly. “I talked to the manager ahead of time. He’s gonna make sure Shawna has to help the stripper get out of those pesky clothes he’ll be wearing.” She giggles maniacally. I can’t help but laugh. She’s a mess. “Ryan would kill her if she stripped another man’s clothes off, bachelorette party or not!” “He’ll never know. What stays in the VIP room happens in the VIP room,” she slurs. “Don’t you mean what happens in the VIP room stays in the VIP room?” “That’s what I said.” I snicker. “Oh, okay.” I giggle as I watch her take another sip of her neurotoxic drink. I opt for my water instead. Somebody has to remain semi-lucid. Might as well be me. Tonight is all about Shawna anyway. I want to send her off into married life with the best party possible. I doubt that includes her having to carry me home or clean vomit off her shoes. A knock at the door to the private room has us all turning our heads in that direction. The girls immediately start laughing and hollering and cat-calling. Dear God, I hope it’s the stripper and not a cop or something! The door opens and in walks the most incredibly handsome guy I think I’ve ever seen. He looks like he’s in his early twenties, really tall, and built like a football player—wide chest and shoulders, thick arms and legs, tiny waist in between. He’s dressed in solid black from head to toe. But it’s his face that’s most impressive. Sweet hell, he’s effin’ gorgeous! His short hair is dark blond and his face is chiseled perfection. I can’t tell what color his eyes are as he scans the room, but I can see that they’re dark. He’s just opened his mouth to speak when his gaze finally makes its way to me. His eyes click to a stop on mine and he stares. I’m completely mesmerized. As I look into them, I still can’t determine a color, but the orbs look nearly black. Even in the light spilling through the door behind him, they look like pools of ink. Just barely, he cocks his head to the side as he watches me. It makes me nervous. And excited. I don’t know why. I have no reason to be nervous or excited. But I am. He makes me feel twitchy. Squirmy. Warm. We’re still staring at each other when Ginger gets up and drags him further into the room, flinging the door shut behind him. “All right, Shawna. Come kick your single life to the curb the right way!” The other girls start squealing and cheering her on. Shawna’s smiling, but shaking her head. “No way! Not this girl!” The bridesmaids-to-be get more insistent, two of them coming around to take her

by the hands and haul her to her feet. She leans back, away from them, shaking her head more vigorously. “No, no, no. I don’t want to. One of y’all do it.” She starts wiggling her arms to free herself, but the girls have a death grip on her thin wrists. When she looks at me, her wide brown eyes tell me all I need to know. She’s totally freaked by the idea. “Liv, help!” I raise my hands in a gesture that says what do you want me to do? She nods toward the hunk hulking behind Ginger. “You do it!” “Are you crazy? I’m not stripping a stripper!” “Please! You know I’d do it for you.” And she would. Dammit. How the hell does the world’s clumsiest shy girl get wrangled into doing things like this? As I so often do, I answer myself. Because she’s a pushover! Taking a deep breath, I stand and turn toward the Hot Stripper Guy, purposely jacking my chin up another notch. He’s still watching me with those smoky coal eyes. When I take a step toward him, he very slowly raises one eyebrow. Heat washes through me. Must be those dangerous drinks, I think. It has to be. I feel flushed and a little breathless, but I take another step anyway. Hot Stripper Guy backs away from Ginger and turns to face me fully. He crosses his arms over his chest and waits, that one brow still raised in curiosity. He’s not going to make it easy. He’s leaving it all up to me, just like Ginger asked them to do. As if on cue, the music that’s been pumping into the room all night gets louder. It’s a sexy song, heavy on the bass. It’s mood music for sure. It seems to punctuate every intense beat of my heart as I get closer and closer to those velvety eyes. When I stop in front of him, I have to look up. My five and a half feet of height is nearly a foot shorter than his towering frame. Up close, I see that his eyes are brown. Dark, dark brown. Nearly black. Sinful. I’m lost in wondering why that particular word would come to mind when the girls start chanting for me to take his shirt off. Uncertainly, I glance at their excited faces then back to him. Slowly, he spreads his arms, holding them out to his sides, away from his body. One corner of his mouth twitches. His expression, his body language is rife with challenge. I realize he doesn’t think I’ll do it. No one probably does. And that’s exactly why I will. Letting the beat of the music relax my tense muscles, I plaster a smile on my face as I reach forward to tug Hot Stripper Guy’s shirt from the waistband of his pants.

CHAPTER TWO- Cash Damn, she’s beautiful! Between this girl’s black hair, her bright probably-green eyes, her banging little body and the way she seems a tiny bit shy, I’m wishing we were alone in this room together. Her smile doesn’t leave her lips as she runs her hands around my waist, untucking my shirt. When it’s free, she starts to pull it up. But then she pauses. For a split second, I see her hesitate. She’s trying not to show that she’s unsure of herself, of what she’s doing. I stare down into those liquid eyes. I don’t want her to stop. I want to feel her hands on my skin. So I taunt her, hoping to feed the feline that I’d be willing to bet is buried somewhere down deep. “Oh, come on. Is that all you got?” I whisper. Her eyes bore into mine and I hold my breath, waiting to see which side will win. In fascination, I watch as the balance of power shifts and the change is reflected in her eyes. They get a little brighter, a little feistier. I’ve never actually seen someone muster courage. Determination. Something in this girl refuses to give in, to back down. She’s rising to the challenge. And it’s hot as hell. She keeps her eyes on mine as she starts to pull up my shirt. She leans in closer and I get a whiff of her perfume. It’s sweet and a little musky. Sexy. Just like her. She has to plaster her body to mine and stretch up on her tiptoes to get my shirt over my head. I can feel her breasts pushing against my chest. I could make the task easier for her. But I don’t. I like the feel of her rubbing against me. There’s no way I’m ruining that. Once she has my shirt off, she backs up and looks me over. She’s shy about it. That much is obvious. It’s like she wants to look, but she’s a little embarrassed to, which actually makes it more of a turn on for some reason. I’m sure every other eye in the room is watching me, watching us, but hers are the only ones I can feel. They’re like tongues of fire, licking my skin. They’re searing and tangible. Or at least they feel that way to me. I take a deep breath and her eyes drop to my stomach. Then they flicker down a little further. She stares longer than she should, but not nearly as long as I want her to. I start to get hard. Her eyes widen and her lips fall open just enough for her tongue to sneak out and wet them. I have to grit my teeth to keep from pulling her to me and kissing that lush little mouth of hers. Then light pours into the room. It’s just enough to break the spell. I hear a man’s voice. A very pissed-off man’s voice. “Dude, what the hell?” It’s Jason. I know why he’s angry. It’s not easy to tear my eyes away from hers. There’s a shy, reluctant excitement in them that makes me want to see how far I can push her. But I don’t. Push her, that is. Instead, I look away, turning my head to glance first at Jason and then at the room of salivating females. The jig is up. Damn. That was shaping up to be quite a diversion. I smile into the group of faces riveted on me. “Ladies, this is Jason. He’ll be entertaining you tonight.” All eyes turn to Jason as he closes the door and moves around me. I look at the girl that’s holding my shirt. She’s perplexed. And for good reason. “What do you mean, he’ll be entertaining us?” she asks, turning her confused eyes on me. I don’t answer her right away. I know she’ll figure it out soon enough. She looks over at Jason, trying to piece together what just happened.

“Now, which one of you beautiful women is the bride-to-be?” Jason asks. I see it the instant understanding dawns. Her eyes widen again and, even in the low light, I see her cheeks turn red. She looks back to me and frowns. “If he’s the stripper, then who are you?” “I’m Cash Davenport. I own the club.”

Down to You is now available Up to Me, book 2, is now available. Everything for Us, book 3, releases September 3, 2013

The Wild Ones Passion as hot as midnight in the South and love as wild as the horses they tame. Camille “Cami” Hines is the darling daughter of the South’s champion thoroughbred breeder, Jack Hines. She has a pedigree that rivals some of her father’s best horses. Other than feeling a little suffocated at times, Cami thought she was pretty happy with her boyfriend, her life and her future. But that was before she met Patrick Henley. “Trick” blurs the lines between what Cami wants and what is expected of her. He’s considered the “help,” which is forbidden fruit as far as her father is concerned, not to mention that Trick would be fired if he ever laid a hand on her. And Trick needs his job. Desperately. His family depends on him. The heart wants what the heart wants, though, and Trick and Cami are drawn to each other despite the obstacles. At least the ones they know of. When Trick stumbles upon a note from his father, it triggers a series of revelations that could ruin what he and Cami have worked so hard to overcome. It turns out there’s more to Trick’s presence at the ranch than either of them knew, secrets that could tear them apart.

CHAPTER ONE- Cami Sipping my beer, I look around at the familiar scene. If the honky tonk music blaring from the speakers in the ceiling hadn’t been enough to scream COUNTRY BAR, the sea of cowboy hats would have been. I smile as I adjust the black one that sits atop my own head. I love being incognito. Even if, by chance, someone I know stumbles into the smoke-filled dive, they’d never believe it was me looking out from beneath the brim. Something hits the back of my barstool—hard—just as I put the glass to my lips. Ice cold beer pours down my chin and straight into my cleavage. I suck in a breath. “’Scuse me,” a deep voice rumbles in my ear. Two hands grip my upper arms and pull me back, keeping me from tipping right out of my seat. I’m looking down at my soggy jeans and t-shirt when I feel the hands disappear. Half a second later, a face appears in my line of sight. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” My fingers stop plucking wet cotton away from my chest and I stare. Quite rudely, I might add. I’m speechless. Literally. And that, like, never happens to me. The most amazing eyes I’ve ever seen are staring back at me. They are pale greenish-gray, rimmed in sooty lashes and filled with concern. A sharp jab to my shin makes me let out the breath I hadn’t been aware of holding. I see my best friend Jenna’s head poke out from behind the mystery face. I know she kicked me and I know she’s trying to get my attention, but I can’t look away from these eyes long enough to glare at her. God, his eyes! I’ve never seen eyes that make me want to gasp and giggle and do a strip tease all at once. But these do. They flicker down, letting me go just long enough to collect my wits. I find very few of them. They are well and truly scattered. When he looks back up at me, his eyes are wrinkled at the corners. He’s smiling. And holy hell, what a smile it is! “Does it make me a bad person for liking your shirt better this way?” I glance down at myself. My dark pink bra is plainly visible through the now-wet paper thin material of my pale pink shirt. So are my very erect nipples. I blush, mortified. Why, oh why did I wear a light pink t-shirt with a dark pink bra? Because you can’t see your bra through it when it’s dry, dumb ass. A thumb brushes my right cheek. “God, that’s sexy,” he whispers. Against my will, my eyes fly to his face. His smile has died to a lopsided grin that is devastation in its purest form. “I’ve never made a girl blush before.” I laugh nervously, struggling to find my voice, to find my dignity. “Somehow I doubt that,” I say softly. “Wow! The hair of a devil, the face of an angel and the voice of a phone sex operator. You really are the perfect woman.” To my utter humiliation, my cheeks burn even hotter. Curse my fair skin! Reaching into his pocket, Hot Stranger pulls out a couple bills and slides them across the bar. “Another of whatever…” He trails off, looking at me in question, waiting for me to fill in the blank. “Cami,” I say, trying to hold back my grin. Smooth way of getting my name. Chalk one up for Hot Stranger. “Another of whatever Cami is having.” He turns back to me, a wicked gleam in his smoky eyes. “Sorry about your drink. Not so much about your shirt, though,” he admits candidly. Willing myself not to blush again, I tilt my head. “So, do clumsy strangers have names in this

place? Or are you just called ‘bull in china shop’?” The lopsided grin comes back. “Patrick, but my friends call me Trick.” “Trick? As in trick or treat? That kind of trick?” He laughs and my stomach flutters. It actually flutters. “Yep. That kind of trick.” He sobers and leans in close to me. “Cami, can I ask a favor?” I’m breathless again. He’s so close I can count every hair in the stubble that dusts his tan cheeks. For just a second, his clean manly scent overrides the cigarette smoke and stale beer smell of the bar. I lose my voice—again—so I nod. “Pick ‘treat.’ Please, for the love of God, pick ‘treat’.” Like an idiot, I say nothing. I do nothing. I simply stare. Like a…a…well, like an idiot. He makes a disappointed noise with his lips then starts shaking his head. “Too bad. Woulda made my night.” He straightens, takes a step back and smiles at me again. “Nice to meet you, Cami,” he says, and then he turns and melts into the crowd. ******** “Earth to Cami!” Tearing my gaze away from the broad-shouldered, slim-hipped view of Trick walking away, I turn to Jenna. “What?” “Is that all you have to say? ‘What’?” She’s grinning. “What would you like me to say?” I’m still a little addled. Or is it bedazzled? “Um, I’d like to hear your plan for getting your lame ass off that stool and going over there to collect on that treat!” “Eavesdrop much?” “He was practically sitting in my lap while he hit on you. What was I supposed to do?” “Uh, move!” Jenna snorts. Not a great sound, but somehow she makes it seem cute and girlie. “And miss that view? I was all but catatonic just looking at him. He is seven kinds of hot, Cam!” I giggle. “Listen to you. You’ve got a boyfriend. Or have you conveniently forgotten that we are meeting people here?” “I haven’t forgotten. Have you?” I nod at her. “Touché, pussycat.” In truth, I had. From the time I’d looked up into Trick’s eyes, I hadn’t thought of Brent one time. And that can’t be a good sign. Brent has never made me feel what this guy has in three minutes. “Meh,” she says, waving her hand dismissively as she sips her own beer. “Don’t give it a second thought. Looking at him is kinda like staring at the sun. You see spots and you’re dizzy for a while, but then it goes away.” I wonder to myself if I really want it to go away. I can’t ever remember a guy making me feel this way. I can’t stop myself from looking into the crowd again. I scan the endless ocean of hats until my gaze stops on one dark head. The hair is longish and has a slight wave to it. I know without having to see his face that it’s Trick. It just seems right that he’d be the only guy in the place not wearing a cowboy hat. Almost like he can feel my eyes or my thoughts on him, Trick turns around. His gaze locks with

mine like there isn’t a room full of people between us. We stare at each other for a few seconds and then, real slow, he grins. Good God, he has dimples! I might die! Right on cue, my cheeks get hot. Here we go again. His grin widens into a smile and he winks at me. I’m pretty sure my toes are numb. I watch him turn away. Before his head completely disappears, I consider what Jenna said. Maybe I should go and ask for the treat… I jump when I feel fingers at my neck, brushing my hair back. “You looking for me?” I recognize the voice. It’s Brent. I sigh. It’s not right that I should feel a little disappointed. But I do. The time for me to be reckless has past. The door of opportunity has officially been closed. By Brent. I turn on my stool. I smile up into the face of Brent Thomason, my quasi-boyfriend. Brent is no slob in the looks department. His sandy hair has that purposefully messy look and his dark brown eyes have an exotic tilt I’ve always found very appealing. But even as I stare into them, I’m picturing smoky greenish-gray ones. “Were you looking for me?” he asks again. I dodge the question, playfully poking him in the chest. “You’re late!” “I can’t be too perfect. Gotta keep a girl like you on her toes.” He kisses the tip of my nose and then brushes my lips with his. “Did you get the ‘Vette running?” I ask, leaning back. “No. That’s why I’m late. I just talked to the guy that was supposed to take a look at it for me. Since I couldn’t even get it here, he agreed to look at it tomorrow night instead. I’ll get it out there even if I have to have it towed,” he growls in determination. As usual, I find Brent’s passion about his car a little bit of a turn on. One of my father’s obsessions is vintage cars. We have a garage full of them and I know enough about them to talk like I’ve got some sense. “Out where?” He shrugs. “Eh, some sort of field thing. You know how country people are.” I feel my frown, but can’t stop it. I know Brent doesn’t really mean anything by the comment, but it still bothers me. Unlike most of my friends, I know what life without money looks like, feels like. Granted, it was a long time ago, but some things a girl never forgets. Sexy eyes drift through my mind… “I want to get that thing running so I can drive you around and show you off. I mean, drive it around and show it off.” He grins at me. I grin back. The sad thing is, I think he had it right the first time. The Wild Ones is now available. The Wild Child, a novella, will release in November, 2013. Some Like It Wild, Wild Ones book 2, will release in March, 2014