“Same here,” he answered. It could be heard in the undertones of his voice that he wanted to continue this conversation, but Vanessa wasn’t having it. As far as she was concerned, even the news about Lori could’ve waited until she saw him at the office in the morning, but there was no tactful way to say that.
“Well, goodnight.”
Simon let Vanessa’s words linger in the air for a while unanswered, wishing he could hold on to her for just a little while longer, even if only over the phone. However, he knew it wasn’t possible.
“Goodnight,” he finally echoed, feeling a hollowness in the center of his chest when the line went silent. He couldn’t keep doing this. It wasn’t healthy. The sooner he accepted that things were over, the sooner he could move past the hurt of losing, not only his wife, but his family.
Vanessa and Ryan were a packaged deal. Yeah, he’d get to see him on the weekends they agreed on, and on special occasions, but there was nothing like waking up and being able to walk into the next room and find your child sleeping there, or being showered with hugs and kisses before bed. It was hard, damn hard, but he messed up. On more than one occasion. In more ways than Vanessa realized.
Now, after making a bed for himself, he had no choice but to lie in it.
*****
The feeling of being two completely separate people competing for possession of one body was frustrating at times. Zander’s bad side—the smug, insensitive version of himself that made him say and do the first thing that came to his mind—was responsible for the untimely outburst in Vanessa’s office. He did have a good side, but he could admit that it was buried deep within him, somewhere beneath a tangled mess of issues.
He made no excuses for who he was. Yes, Zander Hale was an acquired taste, of this fact he was sure, but he did have his rare moments when the good outweighed the bad. Still, if he wasn’t careful, his days as Dr. Ferris’ patient would be numbered. Sure, he could understand the consequences of his actions with a clear head now, but what about when the haze of sexual hunger or rage got in the way again?
He couldn’t make any promises.
The growl of his bike’s engine echoed in the garage for a moment when he pulled in beside his second love—the silver Vanquish he gifted himself for Christmas a year ago. The space went quiet when he turned the key and stood, placing his helmet on the seat. It was late, much later than he intended to come in for the night, but knowing this would be another sleepless one anyway, there wasn’t much need to rush home to bed. Taking a long ride after his last session ended usually helped him unwind from the stresses of the day.
Well… some of them at least.
The first thing he laid eyes on when he walked through the door was a small stack of mail Mina, his housekeeper, placed there. On top, lie a letter written in penmanship he still remembered even after all these years—his mother’s. The sight of her name made his stomach turn, partly because of their sordid past, and partly because he was sure of why she’d reached out to him. It’d been roughly six months since the last time, and then it had been to ask for money. Seeing as how the relationship hadn’t improved from then to now, chances are that was the only reason she sought him out this time, too.
His keys fell to the granite countertop and then, with the press of a button, soft African jazz lulled from hidden speakers—an arrangement by Ali Farka Toure. As badly as he wanted to ignore his mother’s letter, it called out to him from the bottom of the pile where he shoved it, like the telltale heart. It sickened him that he even cared to read it.
“For the love of—”
Frustrated, tired, bored, Zander tore through the envelope and skimmed the words quickly, only to confirm his suspicions. After an empty greeting and a few, brief formalities, she went straight for it.
“I understand your preference to keep me at arm’s length,” he said, reading aloud. “However, when all is said and done, we are still family. You, Liam, and myself.”
He nearly dropped the sheet of paper to the marble tile beneath his feet when laughter overtook him.
Family.
What on Earth did this woman know about family?
In Zander’s eyes, she’d served the only purpose she ever intended to serve in his life the day he was born. After that, he was nothing more than an inconvenience to the woman. She made that clear on several occasions—on the birthdays she forgot, on the nights she sent him to bed without a meal on his stomach, when she shipped him off to live with his grandfather at the age of nine simply because her third husband didn’t particularly care for how strong-willed Zander was.
That was the year everything changed.
No, his childhood hadn’t been ideal before then, but the previous eight years paled in comparison to the hell he lived through after that. Phone calls and letters to his mother, trying desperately to convince her that he could be a good son if she’d just let him come home, fell on deaf ears. Night after night, as his innocence was slowly but surely being stripped away, he waited for her in vain.
She never answered a single call or letter.
Never showed up.
Family.
The next paragraph was some sob story about her electricity being shut off and having no groceries, which didn’t surprise him seeing as how her luck had run out when her account was bled dry. Her latest husband was very well off, but when he left town with another woman, his mother had no funds to maintain her once lavish lifestyle. He gathered all this information from the previous letter she sent. While he was certain she was in a bad spot, he was also certain he had no intentions of helping her.
The paper gently floated to the bottom of the garbage can when he dropped it in. As far as he was concerned, his mother could rot in hell as could the bastard she conceived him with.
A full meal awaited him on the middle shelf of the refrigerator. Mina also dubbed as his cook for an additional fee. She came in at around nine each morning, right after he left for the day, and once she finished cleaning at around one in the afternoon, she prepared dinner. It worked out. Despite the fact that he had no one to come home to, there was still always home-cooked food waiting for him at the end of the day.
He ate, washed the one plate, fork, and glass he used, and then turned off the kitchen light before walking to his bedroom through the darkness. He didn’t turn off the music until after showering, using the intercom wall-unit beside his bed to control it.
It was quiet again, like always. No sign of life under his roof aside from his own steady breathing.
His mind went back to his mother’s letter, back to the thought of her having the nerve to ask him for anything after she failed him so miserably.
Dr. Ferris, ‘or Vanessa’, he thought, correcting himself—questioned him about the relationship with his mother in their first session, and rightly so. He steered clear of that subject matter for a reason, though. While, yes, there was likely a connection between his issue and that parasite of a woman who birthed him, there had to be a way around sharing that aspect of his early life. All Vanessa needed to know, in his opinion, was that these tendencies existed and he wanted her help moving past them.
Damn… now he had Vanessa stuck in his head, something that seemed to happen nearly every night since their initial meeting. These thoughts nearly ate him alive from the inside out. He stretched out in bed and his eyes shifted over to the empty half as he envisioned her bronze figure lying atop the sheets beside him. The things he’d do to her if she was here in the flesh…
The small breakthroughs he’d made in his advances toward her did nothing but vex him. She wouldn’t give in, in any way, especially when it came to letting him know what was going on inside that head of hers—a fact that annoyed the hell out of him. Rejection from the opposite sex was foreign in some aspects and familiar in others, but either way, he hated the feeling.
An image of her in the black dress she wore during their morning session came to mind, the session she promptly ended when he got out of line. It clung to
her frame in all the right places. The way her backside jiggled ever so slightly when she walked was emblazoned in his mind. Frustration filled him to the brim when the front of his pants began to rise. His erection beckoned from beneath them. He reached to his nightstand and scrolled through his contact list.
Monique seemed like a promising choice; she bared at least some resemblance to Vanessa—complexion and the way she wore her jet-black hair, long and full, reminding him of soft cashmere. Her flexible work schedule meant she was usually free whenever he called. And even when she wasn’t, she’d rearrange things to tend to Zander’s needs. She picked up on the first ring.
“Your timing’s impeccable,” she said softly into the phone. “I was just lying here thinking about you.”
Zander smiled, although, he wasn’t even slightly amused. “Is that right?”
“Mm hm,” she replied. “Where’ve you been?”
He shrugged. “Around.”
“You’re doing well?”
He rolled his eyes. Small talk made his skin crawl. “Listen,” he said, ignoring her question altogether. “Have you got an hour or two to spare?”
He could hear her smiling when she replied. “For you? I’ve got all night.”
A bit overzealous, this one was. “That won’t be necessary. An hour will do.”
Monique paused, realizing her plans to sleep over had inadvertently been killed. “Okay… I’ll be there in ten.”
Zander hung up and set the phone back down on his nightstand. While he waited for his guest, he let his eyes close and thought about Vanessa, wondered what she was doing at that very moment. Was she lying in bed like he was? Alone? Or was the old man there, too—making her act out his disgusting sexual fantasies?
That’s the way Zander imagined it.
In his eyes, Vanessa was light-years out of her husband’s league and he was sure that, with so many years between them, he probably wasn’t able to keep up with her drive, her needs. This was likely the source of the frustration he’d felt emanating from her even the first day they met.
He glanced down at his crotch again and suddenly didn’t feel like waiting for his Vanessa-lookalike to arrive. Shooting Monique a quick ‘never mind’ text, he then rid himself of the pants that now served no purpose other than being in the way. The expensive sheet was soon the only thing touching his nude body. He grabbed his swollen member and ran his hand up and down its length, feeling the distinct throb of engorged veins just beneath the skin. It felt like he’d been backed up for weeks despite the fact that he’d taken care of yet another pesky erection while chatting with Vanessa earlier in the day. His hormones were disturbingly insubordinate, but he’d never been one to deny himself a sweet release.
Capturing the perfect image of Vanessa in his mind, his eyes drifted shut as relief swept over him. Tonight, he’d have her strip for him. Per his request, she happily obliged. Zander had a feeling the real Vanessa would never bend to his will so easily, but in his fantasy, she did whatever he told her to do.
Now down to her black, lace bra and panties, she had him nearly ready to come. He could feel the pressure building in his sac, spreading upward to his cock. Lately, whenever she guest-starred in his dreams, it never took long to climax.
She teased him with a smile as she slipped the strap down her shoulder. He couldn’t wait to see her standing before him fully exposed. A woman as strong as her, contrasted by such vulnerability, made him feel powerful.
His strokes quickened.
“Vanessa,” he whispered.
She bit her lip and let the bra drop to the floor, exposing pert, dark nipples that contrasted the lighter-toned, supple flesh surrounding them.
“Yessss…” he breathed.
Those dainty fingers of hers hooked the sides of her panties and she slowly eased them down her hips and thighs. Her skin, the shade of warm amber, looked so soft. She stood upright, let him take in her raw, uncloaked beauty, and that was all it took. Apparently, even in his fantasies he couldn’t have her completely. He got as far as imagining her fully naked and a sudden eruption made him lurch forward, moaning, whispering her name as he doused his stomach and chest with hot spurts of cum. She overwhelmed him even when she wasn’t present.
This realization hit Zander right at that moment, as her image evaporated like smoke and the last of his remnants ran down the back of his hand.
Struggling to catch his breath, his head slammed against the pillow. With his eyes closed, he reveled in those fleeting moments that sent a fresh shot of endorphins and adrenaline coursing through his veins. Roughly five minutes later, the feeling slipped from his grasp like he knew it would and he was plunged into the dreaded emptiness.
He sat up on the edge of his bed for a moment and then trudged to the bathroom to towel himself clean after his ordeal. Bracing his hands against the edge of the counter, he stared at his sullen expression in the mirror. His eyes played tricks on him. The reflection staring back was his own, but a golden-brown set of hands pressed into his skin as arms encircled his naked waist. He watched her pretty, manicured fingers as they caressed him, sending a chill down his spine.
The realization that this was nothing more than an illusion added to the emptiness. In a fit of irrationality, he slammed his fist against the mirror before sending everything on his bathroom counter crashing to the floor with one swipe of his hand. By some small miracle, the glass hadn’t broken his skin; the mirror wasn’t so lucky. Zander stood there, staring at his distorted reflection. Somehow, seeing himself this way seemed more honest than his true form–broken, twisted, flawed.
Vanessa was stuck in his head and he couldn’t figure out how to get her out—not that he was sure he wanted her gone. He stood there waiting for his heart to stop racing. His cell vibrated on the nightstand and he was sure it was Monique texting back to ask why he’d changed his mind, but he honestly had no explanation. The cold, hard truth was he wanted someone else and wasn’t in the mood for second-rate substitutions.
This had never happened to him before.
There had never been a time when one woman had such a hold on him that another couldn’t take her place. Especially without there being actual sex involved. He couldn’t understand what was happening, but, in that moment, Zander became painfully aware of something, a concept he couldn’t grasp:
There was simply no suitable replacement for Dr. Vanessa Ferris.
Chapter Six
Greta handed over a few messages as Simon and Vanessa both passed her desk in silence. Vanessa hated when they arrived at the same time. It put her in a weird position to have to speak whether she felt like it or not.
She kept it short with a dry, “Hey,” that Simon returned with a faint smile, and now she was free to continue on to her office.
Once she got there, she looked over her “to-do” list and the first thing that needed to be taken care of was to extend a few more invites to patients she thought would benefit from her monthly group meetings. After thinking about it last night, Zander’s name made that list. She wondered if hearing others speak about their circumstances would help him see he wasn’t so much different from them. It resonated with her that he expressed the need to be ‘cured’. What she eventually wanted him to realize was that he’d perceived himself as someone who’s sick or ill, but in her eyes, he was simply someone with an uncommon weakness.
She picked up the phone and dialed the cell phone number he had on file. When he failed to answer, she dialed his alternate.
“You’ve reached the office of Dr. Zander Hale. How may I help you?” the woman answered.
Vanessa sat up straight in her seat. “Good morning. I was hoping to speak with Dr. Hale before he got too busy. Is he available?”
The woman pecked away at her keyboard in the background. “I’m sorry, but he’s already in with his first patient. May I take a message?”
Vanessa tapped her pen against her desk while contemplating. “Uh… yes. Would you please just let him know that Dr. Vane
ssa Ferris called? He already has my contact information.”
The typing in the background stopped. Now, Vanessa could hear papers shuffling. “Actually, you’re on Dr. Hale’s priority list. I’ve been instructed to put you through to his line immediately if you’re ever to call.”
Vanessa frowned. “You have?”
“Yes, ma’am. One moment.”
Vanessa waited on the line, listening to the jazz recording play. Why would Zander add her to the priority list? She’d never called before. What reason did he have to think she ever would?
“Dr. Hale,” he answered, his accent triggering Vanessa to visualize the unique way his lips formed around words when they were face to face.
Vanessa stuttered when his voice pulled her from her thoughts. “Uhhh… Good morning. Is this a bad time?” she asked. “Your secretary mentioned that you’re in with a patient.”
“It’s perfectly fine. Hold the line for one moment, please.”
Vanessa didn’t have a chance to tell him to just call her back later; he was gone too quickly.
About a minute passed and Zander returned. “My apologies.”
“It’s no problem. I was just about to tell you to call back when you have time.”
A light chuckle hit her ears before Zander spoke again. “I just made time,” he replied, quickly ending Vanessa’s futile protest.
A faint smile tightened her cheeks at the thought of being so high on his list of priorities, but then she scolded herself immediately for the reaction. “Well… good… I guess, because I wanted to invite you to a group therapy session tomorrow night. It starts at seven.”
Zander was silent.
She expected him to resist, so she knew what to say next. “You’re not obligated to share your own experiences, but some of the others there will and it could be good for you to hear them speak freely about what they’re dealing with.”
“Sounds erotic.”
“It’s actually nothing like that.”
“Damn.”
She smiled at his response. “Do you think you’ll join us?” she asked, placing her hand to her forehead as she paced behind her desk.
Overdose: A British Bad Boy Romance Page 6
