by Carol Caiton
"Yes."
"You never said anything. For goodness sake, did you go?"
"No." She smiled but there was sadness in it. "I wanted to though. And that's why I ended thing with Chris."
"Well what happened? Why didn't you go?"
"Because right after that we found out Mason worked at RUSH —owns RUSH. Can you imagine what would happen if the parents of my first-graders found out their childrens' teacher was dating one of the men who owns the notorious sex club? Just by association my career would be over."
"Did you tell that to Mason?"
"I had to. I'd already accepted his invitation. But I tried to be as tactful as I could."
"How awful. For both of you."
"Yes, it was."
"And you haven't dated anyone since?"
Ali smiled crookedly. "I haven't met anyone yet who's attracted me as much. When Mason asked me to spend the day with him there was something in his eyes. It's hard to describe . . . a sort of watchfulness. He was silently telling me he and his son were a package deal and wanted to know if I was interested in becoming part of that package."
"Wow, that was fast."
"You're right, it was. I wasn't prepared for it considering we'd only just met. But I understood what he was saying. He'd decided there was potential for something between us and wanted to know if I was willing to explore that. I was definitely attracted, but I had to stop and consider what sort of role I'd be playing in the life of a little boy and ask myself if I wanted that role. So I looked at Joshua playing with his little car and then I looked into Mason's eyes and . . . I did. I wanted it, Rachel. Both of them. I would have gone the distance, wherever that took me."
Rachel stared. "All this time— Why didn't you tell us?"
"Because nothing came of it. And because it made no sense. People don't fall for one another and make decisions like that when they've only known each other a few hours."
"Maybe they do," Rachel said. "Apparently Mason did and he invited you in. Jill fell too. And Luke. Two weeks after they met he asked her to marry him and she said yes. And then . . . well, it happened for me too. Last night. I've read about it in books and I've seen it in movies, and . . . . The earth shook for me, Ali. The earth shook and the sky rained stars."
Ali went very still. "Rachel?"
"My world—something inside me—has changed. I don't know how and I don't know why, but I've met someone who walks right through all the barriers in my head. He opens his arms and I melt into him as though I belong there. I felt the sensation everywhere—emotionally, physically, even in my head—as though a window had been opened and a fresh clean breeze sailed in."
She paused, still assimilating the experience. "I kept expecting it to stop, to revert back to normal, and it confused me because it got easier instead. I even pulled back once because I knew I'd stretched my limit. But there was no tightness in my chest. No pounding anxiety. And the urgency that should have been there was just . . . absent. I didn't understand it. I still don't understand it."
Ali burst into tears. She dropped her plastic fork onto her food and reached across the console. "Rachel . . . ."
Rachel hugged her in return and held on, wanting to test the boundaries again, needing to know if the door that had been opened was widening yet to accept the people she loved. But Ali pulled back after the usual few seconds, just as a familiar tension began to signal it was time.
Hiding her disappointment, she sat back in her seat. She couldn't help questioning why she could suddenly accept the touch of someone she hardly knew and still recoil from those she loved. It wasn't a matter of trust. That was obvious. Nor could it be attributed to the fact that she and Michael had experienced the same horrific nightmare. She'd met other victims of the same nightmare while in therapy. She'd even met another girl with a similar revulsion to physical contact. But she'd never felt the relaxed ease she'd felt with Michael Vassek.
Ali used a napkin to wipe her tears. "Sorry," she said. "It's just— All these years . . . ."
"Don't be sorry. I love you for caring so much. And I certainly did my share of crying last night." She reached over to turn down the heater.
"Does this mean you won't be going back to RUSH? You won't need to now that you have Michael, right?"
Again Rachel hid her pain. She picked up the fork and knife and cut another bite-size portion of duck. "It didn't exactly turn out that way," she said.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean," Rachel said, "I think he finally realized how much baggage I come with." She cleared her throat. "I don't think I'll be hearing from him again."
Ali stilled. She looked down at the uneaten dinner in her lap then over at the equally full container in Rachel's lap and the car interior exploded with her anger.
"Who is this jerk that he couldn't even let you eat dinner before deciding you came with too much baggage? What did he do—rush you out of the restaurant, shove that fancy bag into your hands, and drop you off at the front door?"
Rachel felt the color drain from her face. It was so close to the truth. She reached a hand over the console and squeezed Ali's fingers. "We both know I come with a pretty impressive set of luggage."
"No. Don't you dare take responsibility for this. He knew who you were from the start. He knew why you were at RUSH."
"You're right, he did." She let go of Ali's hand. "And he handled himself—and me—perfectly. We walked together, we talked . . . . We ordered dinner, then decided we didn't like the atmosphere so we left. He wasn't intimidated, and he wasn't impatient. He took all my issues in stride as though he had no problem with them at all." She shook her head, a little awed by that even now.
"Then what on earth happened?"
"I wish I knew. I've tried pinning it down but in the end . . . maybe it was a combination of things. When he kissed me, Ali, the saturation of all that contact after so many years . . . it was staggering. His tongue was in my mouth and the pleasure was so acute, there wasn't enough of me to accommodate it." She turned her palm up helplessly. "I started crying. His tongue was in my mouth and tears just poured down my face. Then the next thing I knew, he was backing up—really backing up. He opened the car door for me, drove me home . . . and he pushed that fancy bag into my hands and told me to go inside."
Ali's shoulders slumped. Regret darkened her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Rach."
"I know. Me too." Rachel glanced at the clock on the dashboard. "You haven't eaten one bite of that chicken—"
"Oh my gosh, I have to go." Ali reached for the bag and started to put the container back inside.
"Take it with you," Rachel told her. "Thilbeau's is supposed to have some of the best food in the city."
"You don't want it?"
"I've got this one. Now go. And have a nice day."
She watched Ali slip into the house. Then she looked down at the dinner in her lap. Her next session with Dalton Cooper was at two o'clock the following day. If Michael wanted to see her, all he had to do was consult his computer for her scheduled appointments. But she told herself not to expect it. She'd fallen hard. It was the first time in her life she'd fallen at all. But Michael Vassek hadn't been able to get away from her fast enough.
CHAPTER 9
It was exactly the sort of winter day that drew people to Florida from colder northern climates. Sunny, with the temperature reaching eighty-three, it was a day for sandals, short sleeves, and no jacket.
Rachel drove to RUSH with the windows down. She was an hour and a half early. She planned to spend some of that time exploring the grounds, and after that, if Classroom C was empty, she'd ask if she could use it to practice a few relaxation techniques.
This was her fourth session with Dalton Cooper. The second session—the one following her date with Michael—hadn't progressed as well as she'd hoped. Her focus had been splintered, imagining the hands that touched her were Michael's, then jarring her when the fact that they weren't pushed into her mind too quickly to refocus. She and Dalton had work
ed for the full half hour, but she hadn't been able to last beyond a minute and a half with each attempt. It had done no good to remind herself that Michael had bailed on her. Nor did it help when she told herself he was probably off having sex with one of the women from his precious database.
So she'd spent some time before her third session wandering around the grounds, then happened upon one of RUSH's many hidden cul-de-sacs and calmed herself further with breathing exercises. It had been time well spent because she'd been able to concentrate on Dalton's hands and the various sensations he stirred, whether physical or emotional. So she planned to do the same thing today.
She parked in one of the guest slots and, climbed out of her Bugatti, and walked over to the assigned parking section to see if Michael's car was there. It wasn't a foolish impulse that urged her on. She'd planned this the night before—a final, sort of symbolic goodbye. And then she'd let him go.
She took a minute to stare at the deep blue zero-to-sixty-in-four-and-a-half-seconds Lotus sitting between a Jaguar and a BMW. She admired the sporty angles, remembered the closeness of sitting beside him in the passenger seat and the power of the engine when he'd accelerated.
Then she drew a deep breath and calmly told herself to move on. Michael Vassek was part of her past now and she was here to forge a future for herself—a future that would include a deep and lasting relationship with someone else, someone who wouldn't dump her in the middle of their first date.
She spent the first hour walking. A surprising number of people strolled the grounds for a Wednesday afternoon. She hadn't expected to see so many on a weekday.
Meandering off the main walkway, she turned onto several of the smaller side paths again. She purposely avoided the area where she thought the koi pond might be and chanced upon a small, hidden gazebo. Some time after that she came across a four-tiered fountain surrounded by semi-circular wood benches. A wide trellis wrapped around the entire circumference and dripped with bunches of grapes that she suspected were sampled by other curious explorers.
When she wandered onto a path bordered on both sides by a jungle of banana trees, she wondered if any of RUSH's restaurants harvested the fruit grown on the property. It would be a shame if they didn't. Then she emerged unexpectedly into the food court and smiled, delighted. She purchased a tall fruit cup at a restaurant named Magnolias, paying for it with the palm of her hand on a biometric scanner, and found a seat at one of the café tables near the central fountain.
She let her gaze wander over the surrounding tables while she ate. At one, two women wore demi-masks, one of the masks extravagantly decorated with a spray of feathers and sparkling rhinestones. But many of the tables were occupied by a single male and Rachel supposed they were waiting for the women with whom Michael's computer had matched them. It was all very civilized. The women she saw were well groomed and stylishly clothed, though some of their ensembles left little to the imagination, but most of the men wore business suits. There was no evidence of the bondage and flagrant sex rumors.
When she walked over to the training center she still had twenty minutes before the beginning of her session. The receptionist confirmed that Classroom C was available, but she phoned Security before allowing Rachel access and was surprised when her call was transferred directly to Jeremiah Case upon mentioning Rachel's name. She looked up, new interest in her expression.
"Yes, Mr. Case. All right. Thank you."
That was something else Rachel had noticed. Everyone appeared to be on a first-name basis with everyone else except Security. And the security guards addressed RUSH's female clients as Miss So-and-so.
Replacing the receiver, the receptionist smiled. "You're welcome to use the classroom. Do you need someone to show you the way?"
"Please." The training center lobby branched off into a labyrinth of corridors and she still wasn't sure which turns led where.
"I will show her," said a male voice, heavily laced with Slavic phonics.
Rachel turned to see a dark-haired, robust man staring down at her. A deep crease at the bridge of his nose gave him a fierce, brutish sort of presence that was at once both appealing and daunting.
"Thank you, Vlad," the receptionist said. "Just go with Vlad. The door will unlock when you press your hand to the scanner."
Rachel smiled appreciatively. "All right. Thanks."
"Follow," the big man said.
It sounded more like an order than a gesture of courtesy, and Rachel followed behind him. He didn't smile or try to make conversation, just led her through the maze of archways to the door with the black letter C centered over the decorative molding. Once again, she smiled and thanked him.
"You are welcome."
For a moment he studied her. Then he raised one shoulder, shrugged, and walked away.
Turning, she pressed her palm onto the biometric scanner, heard the lock mechanism release, and opened the classroom door. When it closed behind her she stood for a few moments and looked at the deserted desks, the whiteboard, then across to the expanse of windows. Beyond the glass the sun glowed warmly over the ever present jungle. She was pretty sure no one but the gardeners and the occupants of this room ever saw the meticulously pruned plants and trees, but the illusion of a tropical paradise and attention to detail was evident everywhere.
She turned on the lights and walked between two rows of desks, stopping at one near the front of the room to deposited her purse on the seat. She'd purchased four leotards, two dark pink and two pale blue. She wore a pink one beneath her clothes today. It was stretchy and form-fitting, but it was thick enough that the fabric wasn't see-through. Still, she felt uncomfortably exposed as she stepped out of her jeans and pulled her cotton sweater over her head.
For the time being she left her hair down, arranging it to cover the front of her body. Then she sat down at the first desk in the row to begin the breathing exercises she'd learned so many years ago.
When the door opened behind her at two o'clock, she was ready. Calm and relaxed, her heartbeat slow and even, she turned to greet the men who entered.
Dalton came in first, followed by Dr. Zeman, then the security man who had given her permission to use the classroom, Jeremiah Case. A tremor of alarm went through her when she realized Mason wasn't with them this time. She stared at the closed door, waited, then braced herself and got to her feet. She wore nothing but a skimpy piece of nylon and had to remind herself that these were men Mason knew and trusted, that she was here because she chose to be here.
Dalton assessed her appearance. When he raised one dark eyebrow, she knew he was questioning whether or not she planned to make everyone wait while she pinned up her hair.
Hurriedly, she began twisting and folding the length of it, then secured it with the clip she kept in her purse.
"Ready?" he asked.
She felt herself blush as he inspected her again with a quick once-over. Then he nodded and she turned toward the whiteboard, taking her usual position, palms pressed to the smooth surface.
When his touch came, it was the same hesitant caress he always started with, light and brief, as though asking permission to caress the delicate petals of a flower. A moment later, the touch was gone. His fingers drifted up her arm with intermittent caresses, pausing here, the whisper of a circle there, the graze of a fingertip up the side of her neck before the backs of his knuckles brushed against her skin.
Again, it was the adoring kiss of a lover and she luxuriated in every emotion it evoked. Yes, she could come to care for this man who stroked her with his cherishing touch. When his fingers smoothed their way to the other side of her neck and lightly teased her ear, she brushed her cheek against the beauty of it and was rewarded when he paused, slid one knuckle to her chin, and turned her face to stroke the pad of his thumb across her lips.
Emotion rose up inside, bringing a well of happiness, and then the remembered fear of that emotion, of caring too much, brought her back to reality.
"Red," she murmured," lifting her ha
nds from the whiteboard.
Immediately Dalton's hands fell away and she turned on her bare feet to look up at him.
He smiled at her with genuine warmth. Then he nodded and she realized it was approval he was bestowing, as a teacher would toward a child who had done well.
He turned to face Dr. Zeman. "How long?"
"Five minutes, twenty-seven seconds."
Both men smiled and Rachel grinned, all at once buoyed by success. This had been a good decision. All those months of worry and preparation had been unfounded. Dalton Cooper, stranger though he might be, was bringing her back into the world and giving her true hope for the future.
"Thank you," she whispered, looking up at him with joyful gratitude. "Thank you for giving this to me."
Again he smiled, and again, warmth was there in his eyes. "You're welcome. —Why did you stop? Needed a break?"
She nodded. "Yes. I last a little longer each time, but I still need a minute to adjust to the overload.
"Ready to go again?"
"Yes."
She turned back toward the whiteboard, but this time Dalton's instructions deviated from the usual.
"Put your hands flat on the board," he told her. "But stretch your arms out this time and lock your elbows."
Apprehension flickered through her. She heard the soft mumbling voices of Dr. Zeman and the security chief. Glancing over her shoulder, she caught a glimpse of Jeremiah Case making adjustments to the device that was supposed to measure her stress levels.
She faced the whiteboard again and the steady heartbeat she'd achieved just moments before began to speed up. This time was going to be different. All her senses warned her to prepare. The front of her body was openly vulnerable. There had to be a reason for that.
She waited.
And waited.
"Rachel."
She hardly breathed.
"Take your arms down and turn around."
She relaxed a little and turned.
"What's wrong?" Dalton asked.
"I— In what way?"
