Dark Attraction: The Corde Noire Series

by Alexandrea Weis

  “I don’t need coffee, Captain—” She almost let it slip out. “I mean, I’m fine. I’ll just go to bed and sleep it off.”

  He started rummaging around her kitchen, opening cabinets. “No, you’ll drink some coffee and sober up before I put you to bed.”

  “Put me to bed? I’m not a child, Doug.”

  He glanced back at her. “No, you’re not a child, but you need to be taken care of.” He opened the cabinet above her sink. “Do you even have coffee?”

  She got up. “Of course, I have coffee.”

  “Stay on the sofa,” he called to her. “You’re in no shape to move around.”

  “Jeez, you’re bossy.” She came into the kitchen. “I’m fine.”

  “You like to try a man’s patience, don’t you?”

  She went to a copper tin on the counter next to the refrigerator and lifted the lid. “Coffee.”

  He rested his hip against the counter. “Why isn’t there a man in your life?”

  “A man? Are we talking about living or dead?”

  He crinkled his brow. “What do you mean by dead?”

  Sam rubbed her hand across her forehead, chastising her slip. “Ah, never mind.”

  He warily looked her over. “I’ve been living next door for over a week now, and I’ve never seen a man coming or going from this apartment.”

  “Have you been spying on me?” She smirked, grabbing onto the counter as a fit of dizziness overwhelmed her. “What about you? I haven’t seen a girlfriend hanging around your place.”

  He picked up the container of coffee and carried it to the coffeemaker. “I don’t have a girlfriend.” He loaded the coffee and chicory blend into the top of the coffeemaker. “She moved out about six months ago.”

  Hope sprang to life in her heart. The advice Piper and Brenda had given her popped into her head.

  Remember to compliment him a lot. Tell him how strong he is. Pout your lips. Play with your hair when you talk to him.

  She attempted to pout and comb her hand through her hair, but with all the hairspray Brenda had added her hand got caught.

  He flipped on the coffeemaker while gazing at her. “Do you mind if I do something?”

  “Ah….” She flipped her hair—just like Brenda had shown her. “Sure.”

  Doug held out his hand. “Come with me.”

  Taking her hand, he led her across the hardwood floor of her living room to the hallway. He continued along until he stopped at the first oak door he came to.

  After peering inside, he pulled her in behind him. With her queen-sized bed looming before her, Sam tried not to appear nervous. He obviously brought her in here with one purpose in mind. However, when he took her into the bathroom, she became confused.

  After flipping on the bright vanity lights, he reached for the faucet and then lifted her onto the vanity. She waited as he took one of her flowery hand towels and submerged it beneath the running water. Without the least bit of warning, he put the cold towel to her face and began wiping away the makeup.

  “I can’t have a civil conversation with you when you are wearing that clown makeup.”

  “I thought men liked makeup on women.”

  He dropped the towel on the vanity. “Who told you that?”

  “Brenda and Piper.” She motioned to her face. “This was their idea. I think they wanted to make me a man-magnet … or is it a man-eater?”

  “Neither is appropriate for you. Be who you are.”

  She gave him a short snort. “Like that has worked for me so far.”

  He picked up the towel again and began wiping away her eyeshadow. “I take it that means there is no boyfriend.”

  “No,” she mumbled.

  “Why not just tell me that?”

  She waited until he was finished with her makeup before she answered. “Because how interesting would I be if you discovered I was just a single nurse with no life outside of her job?”

  He ran his finger along her round chin, sending a bolt of white heat to her groin. “I think you’d be pretty damned interesting.”

  Sam gauged the light in his eyes, trying to determine if he was toying with her or genuinely interested. Maybe it was the influence of the vodka, or all the advice from her friends, but somehow she believed him.

  A faint beeping noise from the kitchen intruded on their moment.

  “That’s my coffeemaker.”

  He put down the towel. “I gathered that.” He nodded to her bedroom. “Go sit on the bed and I’ll bring your coffee to you.”

  “Doug, you don’t need to do this.”

  He stepped away from the counter. “Yes, I do. You need to be taken care of, Sam, even if you don’t feel that way.”

  “The question is … why do you feel that way?”

  His hand brushed away a strand of brunette hair that had fallen into her eyes. “You’re delicate, helpless, and …,” his lips edged closer, “in desperate need of being cared for by a man who knows how.”

  “That’s only on the outside, Doug. On the inside, I’m very different. You’d be surprised at how different I am.”

  He gazed into her eyes. “I’d better get you that coffee.”

  As he exited her bathroom, Sam sighed with longing. He really was a great-looking man. What kind of idiot woman would have moved out on him?

  As the waves of dizziness came and went, she wobbled her way toward her bed. When she sat down on her gray comforter, she decided to keep her feet firmly planted on the floor.

  She could hear Doug in her kitchen, clinking china dishes together. The aroma of coffee slowly drifted into her room, making her dizzy once again. Lying back, Sam rested her head on her pillow, figuring she would close her eyes for a few seconds until the dizziness went away.

  * * *

  The following morning, Sam awoke to find a cup of untouched coffee next to her bed. The previous evening came back to her, and what stood out most was Doug’s visit. She recalled some of their conversation, and the things she had done. Sam wished for the amnesia brought on by a night of excessive drinking. There was nothing worse than having a hangover the morning after, and remembering exactly how stupid you had acted the night before.

  “Now the man will probably never speak to me again.”

  Climbing out of bed, she immediately regretted standing. Her legs were weak, her head throbbed, and something had crawled into her mouth and died. Heading to the bathroom, the first order of business was brushing her teeth and then coffee … lots and lots of coffee.

  Over the sound of running water, she swore she heard her front door open and close. Chalking up the noises to her hangover, she finished with her teeth, washed her face, and was debating on a hot shower when more commotion arose in her living room.

  Perhaps her ethereal visitor was back. The dead could be so annoying. Then as the sounds continued, another thought hit her. This was New Orleans. She had seen firsthand the results of the violence that plagued the city. Her heart racing, she tiptoed to her bedroom and reached for the baseball bat she kept under her bed. She wished she had bought that gun Brenda had wanted her to get, but guns scared her. With her luck, she would only end up shooting herself instead of some would-be robber. She realized her cell phone was in her purse still in the kitchen. Shit! Why hadn’t she had landlines put in?

  Because you’re on a budget, dumb ass!

  Creeping along the hallway, she slowly made her way to the living room entrance. Now the sounds were coming from the kitchen. Some asshole was going through her refrigerator.

  Summoning her courage, she squeezed the baseball bat. Something drifted by her nose. Is that fresh coffee? She was confused … what kind of robber brought coffee to a crime? Pots were clanking on her stove and the sizzle of something frying completely confounded her.

  Peeking around the edge of her living room entrance, she got a good look at her intruder. Doug was in her kitchen, standing behind her cooktop. On the breakfast bar, two plates of her fancy white china had been set, along w
ith the good silverware her Aunt Gertie had given her for graduation.

  “What are you doing?” She marched into her living room, the bat still in her grip.

  He pointed the spatula in his hand at her bat. “What are you going to do with that?”

  “How did you get in, and why are you cooking?”

  He went back to the pans on the cooktop. “I took your keys last night. I figured you would still be asleep this morning and would need a good breakfast to help your hangover.” He paused and skillfully flipped an omelet in the pan. “Did you plan on using that bat on me?”

  She rushed toward the kitchen. “I thought I was being robbed.”

  “And the first place any thief would go is to your kitchen, right?” He smirked at her.

  She pointed the bat at him. “Look, smartass, I don’t need you stealing my keys and breaking into my—”

  “If you ask me that’s exactly what you need.” He lifted the pan from the cooktop. “I checked your fridge last night before I left. All you had was an assortment of dips, beer, and two bottles of vodka. I had to bring over food to cook for you.” He went to one of the plates on the countertop and slid the omelet onto it. “Eat this. You’ll feel better.”

  “Doug, stop it.” She set the bat on the breakfast bar. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m a grown woman. I’m fine, drunk, hungover, and even sober without your help.”

  He removed the bat from the bar. “You ever think that maybe I’m here because I’m more than just concerned about you?”

  Her stomach shrank to the size of a shot glass. “You are?”

  He motioned to a stool by the breakfast bar. “Eat, and then we’ll talk about what I’m after with you.” He set the bat to the side.

  Sliding out the stool, she had a seat while eyeing the omelet. It looked good; actually, it looked perfect. Lifting her fork, she cleaved off a wedge of the omelet. Doug poured a cup of coffee and set the mug next to her plate.

  His smoldering eyes made her feel like a child in the principal’s office. “You’re a good cook,” she commented, munching on her food.

  “Thank you. I took several cooking classes a few years back.”

  “I thought most men got married to avoid cooking.”

  He reached for his mug of coffee on the countertop behind him. “I’m not like most men.” He sipped his coffee.

  You can say that again. She eyed his casual jeans and white button-down shirt. Even his clothes were stiff and formal.

  She pointed her fork at him. “Are you heading out somewhere?”

  “No.” He put his mug down and checked the stainless watch on his right wrist.

  “Then why are you looking at your watch?”

  “Because I’m wondering how long it is going to take you to finish eating your omelet.”

  She put her fork down. “There. I’m finished. Happy?”

  He inspected the plate. “You ate two bites.”

  She gripped her coffee mug. “I’m not a big breakfast person.”

  He went to her plate and picked up her fork. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He sliced off a piece of the omelet.

  “So, you said after I ate, you wanted to talk … about what you’re after … with me.”

  He chewed on his piece of omelet while analyzing her. The scrutiny was nerve-wracking and Sam shifted on her stool, pretending to drink her coffee.

  He put the fork down and pushed the plate to the side. “I have some questions for you.”

  She took another swig of coffee, expecting she would need the caffeine boost to keep her on her toes.

  “I’m all ears.”

  His eyes examined her face, as if he were studying every facet of her features. “I thought we should know more about each other. I know you’re single, live here in this building, and are a nurse, but little else. Where are you from?”

  “Where am I from?” She shook her head, expecting something a bit more confounding. “Ah, I’m from Dallas. I was born and raised there. I came to New Orleans as a result of a travel contract in nursing. I figured I would see the country.”

  “What about your parents?”

  “Um, they live in Dallas, with my sister, Beverly. I told you my dad is a Methodist minister. He has a big congregation in the city. Mom’s a housewife, and my sister is a beauty queen.”

  He raised his dark brows, intrigued. “Beauty queen?”

  She put her coffee mug on the bar. “Yeah, she won some local pageants. Ms. Farmers’ Market, Ms. Downtown … things like that. She’s trying out for Ms. Dallas next year. Bev eventually wants to become Ms. Texas.” She rolled her eyes. “My parents think it’s a wonderful idea.”

  “I take it that doesn’t appeal to you.”

  “It’s Bev’s thing. She was always the pretty one. I was the … I was just different.”

  He leaned into the counter. “You don’t think you’re pretty?”

  She sat back on her stool, uncomfortable with the question. “I’m pretty enough.”

  “Enough?” He snickered. “What do you think you look like?”

  Sam was undone by the question. How did she answer that? How did anyone answer that?

  “Let me put it this way,” he reached for his coffee, “what do you like about your body and what don’t you like?”

  She thought about the question. Sizing up her list, Sam wasn’t surprised to find the things she didn’t like outnumbered the things she did. “I don’t like my legs. They’re short and kind of sausage-looking.” She bit her lower lip, thinking. “I guess my face is okay, and I like my eyes. My chin is too small, but then again so are my boobs.” Realizing what she’d said, Sam blushed.

  Doug laughed at her embarrassment. “I like it when you’re blunt. Don’t be shy around me. I want to hear these things.”

  “What for?” she asked, emboldened by his encouragement.

  “It lets me get to know you.”

  “What’s the point of getting to know me, Doug? I mean, we’re just neighbors, right?”

  He went around the breakfast bar to her. “In my world, talking about what you like and don’t like is important. It’s the cornerstone of the relationship.”

  “What relationship? Like a business relationship?”

  “If you like.” He took a quick sip of his coffee. “Tell me, do you have any physical problems that I should know about.”

  Sam froze. Did she tell him about her ability? “Do you mean like illnesses? In case you need to call 911 for me?”

  His sly grin was mesmerizing. “Yeah, something like that.”

  “I’m fine. Just a bit accident prone.”

  “I got that part already.”

  She stared at him, sizing up his intentions. Why did she feel like she was interviewing for a job? “Is there anything else you would like to know?”

  He took a moment to drink his coffee. “There is one thing. How many lovers have you had?”

  Okay, this is not a job interview!

  He put his coffee on the bar and tilted closer to her. “I want to know about your sexual experiences.”

  “What are you, some kind of pervert?”

  He stood for the longest time, observing her. “I’m not a pervert. I’m asking you these questions for a very specific reason,” he finally replied.

  “What possible reason could that be?”

  His sharp eyes stayed locked on hers, and after he finally uttered a long, slow sigh, he asked, “Have you ever consented to being a submissive?”

  “A what?”

  “Do you know what a Dominant is?” he inquired in a husky, deep voice.

  Sam knew anyone not living under a rock was familiar with the term. And if that wasn’t enough, she had endured hours of Piper’s stories about her bondage-obsessed boyfriend and his Dominant lifestyle.

  “I know what it is, Doug.”

  He ran his hand over his five o’clock shadow. “Well, I’m a Dominant.”

  It took a little while for his revelation to sink in, but Sam wasn
’t quite sure how to take it. “You? You’re into that?”

  “You say ‘into that’ like it’s a bad thing.”

  “Isn’t it? Dominants make women into sex slaves. Tie them up, spank them, make them do things that are ….” She let her voice fade away, wondering if it was a good idea to antagonize the guy.

  “Are what?” He squared his wide shoulders and folded his thick arms, intimidating her.

  “Are … I don’t know what to call it. ‘Against God’s plan,’ as my father would say.”

  His rigid posture relaxed. “Coming from a preacher’s daughter, I shouldn’t have expected anything else.”

  “I’m a minister’s daughter, and I’m not as uptight as my parents. My father may profess love and forgiveness, but none of those emotions are what drive people to shoot, torture, or murder each other. It seems to me that instead of hurting people, you would want to be better than the rest of the world.”

  His frigid eyes came together quizzically. “I’m not sure what you’ve read, or heard, but being a Dominant is about pleasure, not pain. It’s about what your father preaches, love and forgiveness, but it’s also about exploring that sense of love and forgiveness through sensuality. I’m sure your father never made that point in his Sunday morning sermons, did he?”

  Sam thought of her father: his perfectly starched white shirts, affinity for crossword puzzles, and his late night appetite for bourbon. He said he drank to chase away his demons, but for Sam that was when his demons came out.

  “Sex to my father was the biggest sin. We grew up sheltered. It wasn’t until I went to college and had to take a sex education class that I got the big picture.”

  Doug’s thin lips lifted into a tepid smile. “I can see why you might consider what I do wrong.”

  Wrong? Did she see it that way? Why wasn’t she repulsed by his admission? She should have been running for her door, afraid to be alone in the same room with Doug. But she wasn’t. Something about what he’d said appealed to her.

  “What you do isn’t wrong, Doug. I spent enough time listening to my father preach about what was right to realize that his way wasn’t the right one, either. Nursing taught me to respect an individual’s choices. My job is to make sure those choices aren’t lethal.”