Until I Break

by M. Leighton

  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.

&n
bsp; “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.