“Okay.”
“Be at my house by midnight.” Alec reaches for the door, but I stop him.
“Midnight?”
He cocks one eyebrow. “Is that a problem?”
“Um, I…is it…No, it’s no problem,” I finally manage.
“I’m gonna show you that you can trust me. I’ll always tell you the truth, even if it hurts.”
My heart sinks a little at that. Although it’s a comforting fact, and I believe him, I’d really prefer he didn’t hurt me at all. It makes me wonder if he foresees that eventuality. Because the logical side of me sees nothing less.
“I know.”
With a nod, he eases fluidly out of the limo. I lean forward to watch him go. I get only a glimpse of him nodding to Ari before he disappears behind my publicist as he climbs into the car with me.
“Do I even want to know what that was all about?”
I worry my lip with my teeth. “I’m not sure I even want to know what that was all about.”
The limo pulls slowly away from the curb and we’re on the road before Ari leans forward. His eyes are concerned, his expression earnest. “Promise me something,” he says.
“How much am I going to hate it?” I tease, figuring he’s got some new project up his sleeve.
“Promise me you’ll be careful with him, Sam. He looks…dangerous. Hot, but very, very dangerous.”
“You think?” I ask, puzzled by what Ari sees that would make him say that. I’ve always seen it, but I think that has more to do with Mason.
Or maybe it doesn’t.
“Oh, I know. It’s not so much him as the way you react to him. I worry about you…”
I smile and lean forward as well, putting my hand on Ari’s knee. “Well don’t. I’m fine. And I will continue to be fine,” I assure him, Laura Drake style.
I forget sometimes that Ari is impervious to my Laura Drake confidence, though. I can tell by the look on his face that he can see right through it, right through to the train wreck I am underneath.
CHAPTER THIRTY - Alec
I haven’t said anything to Samantha since she arrived. When I answered the door, I simply took her bag and purse, set them in the foyer and then took her hand and led her around the house to the walkway that leads to the beach. I figure she’ll say something soon. I don’t think she’s all that comfortable with silence. And that’s what I’m waiting for. I want to see where she starts. I’ll take it from there.
“Why, Alec?” she finally asks after our feet have hit the sand.
I rest my hands loosely in my pockets and set a slow pace for our walk in the moonlight. “I promised I’d help you.”
She doesn’t respond for several long minutes.
I let her think.
“No offense, but I find it hard to believe that you’re getting nothing out of this.”
“Oh, I’m not getting ‘nothing’ out of this,” I assure her candidly.
“Then what is it that you want? Because I’m not…”
“That’s off the table. We’ve already addressed that.” I fall silent for a few steps, debating how best to explain my position to her. “Samantha, I was being honest when I told you that I fight this…desire of mine. Maybe I’m hoping that by fixing you, I can fix me, too.”
“Can I ask why? You seem perfectly willing to embrace it.”
“There was a time when I was. But things change. Things happen. It’s not something I’m entirely comfortable pursuing anymore.”
“Why?” she asks again.
I frown down at her. “Who’s here to help whom?”
She searches my eyes for a few seconds before she looks down at her feet. I hear her sigh. “So, what is your plan then? How do you think you can help me?”
“Why don’t we start with you telling me what’s bothering you? And I don’t mean right now. I mean, what is it that has brought you here, to this place in your life? What are you afraid of?”
If hesitation and uncertainty were tangible things, they’d be flying off her and hitting me in the face. I know she wants to trust me, to trust somebody. I know she wants help, wants to live a normal life, whatever that means to her. But she’s afraid.
I don’t speak again until she answers. I wanted us to have time. And quiet. And distance from the world around us. We have that here. And she has more privacy, walking in the dark on a lonely stretch of beach, than she would in an office, in a clinical setting with me sitting across from her, staring at her as I await answers to her most personal questions.
“I told you before that my mother was an escort. I don’t know if she ever got paid for sex, but she did bring men home sometimes. Not every night she worked, but she did it more often than not. I could always hear them,” she admits quietly as her mind goes back in time. “Screams and moans and grunts and growls. I was young and I always wondered what they were doing, but she made me promise never to come into her room. So I didn’t. For a long time. But one night when I was nine years old, her door came open. I don’t know if it wasn’t closed well to begin with or if someone on the inside opened it. I just know that when I got up to go to the bathroom, it was open.
“I was curious, of course. What child wouldn’t be? So when I saw that the door was open, I went to look. That first time, I was more confused than anything. I saw my mother tied to the bed, face down, and some guy spanking her while he…did things to himself.”
Even in the pale moonlight, I can see the pink stain her cheeks. I find it interesting that a woman who writes erotic tales about vampires and virgins blushes over the mention of mast***ation. I file it away to ponder later.
When she falls silent, I ask a question to prompt her to continue. “How was your mother reacting?”
“She looked like she was in pain, but when he stopped, she told him to spank her harder.”
“How did that make you feel?”
“I was angry. And confused. And torn. I wanted to say something, to make him stop hurting my mother, but I knew I’d get in trouble for watching, so I didn’t say anything.”
“Did you go back to your room?”
She gives a long, tell-tale pause. “No.”
“Why not?”
Samantha shrugs. “Fear. Curiosity. I’m not sure.”
When she doesn’t go on, I ask another question. “Was that the only time you saw her?”