Until I Break (15 page)

“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.