by M. Leighton
“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 two-thirds 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 steppe
d 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.
