Until I Break (14 page)

“You told me you were a consultant.”

“I am. I own a mental health consulting
business that services the Southeast.
ABC Consulting.
It’s
perfectly legitimate. I didn’t lie about that either. Unlike you. I
seriously doubt that you keep the books for your sister’s
business.”

Her cheeks, already rosy with anger, turn a
brighter red. I struck a nerve. But, more importantly, I’m
right.

“There are security reasons for me to keep
Laura Drake separate.”

“And
I
have
my
reasons. I’m not
angry and you shouldn’t be either. We both have secrets. Everyone
does. I wasn’t trying to mislead you or hurt you. I just didn’t
tell you everything. Just like
you
didn’t tell
me
everything.” I keep my silence as she processes my logic. I watch
her closely, so closely that I see when her anger begins to fade. I
know it’s being replaced by fear and uncertainty when a frown
wrinkles her brow and she starts to chew her lip. “If it makes you
feel any better, at least your secret is bound by doctor-patient
confidentiality. I could lose everything if I ever told who you are
and what I know about you. You, on the other hand…”

Her eyes search mine. I hold her gaze
steadily, letting the truth of my words sink in, letting them wrap
around her like a cocoon of safety. She
really is
in a far
better position than I am. But I have no fear of what she might do
or say. While we both have a lot to lose, her fall would be a very
public one, while mine would barely make the local news.
That
is
my
security. That’s how I’ll use her fear to
keep this from getting ugly.

She says nothing, just continues to watch me,
nibbling her lip anxiously.

I clear my throat and step further away from
her, giving her a buffer, both physical and emotional.

“Since you’re already here,” I say, making my
way to the cleverly-concealed bar against one wall, “you might as
well have a drink.”

There’s a pause before I hear her sharp,
judgmental reply.

“It’s eleven a.m.”

“Yes, it is. But my body is still on Eastern
Standard Time.”

“It’s only two o’clock there.”

I shrug as I pour a finger of perfectly aged
scotch into each of two snifters. “Right you are, but I think we’ve
both earned a little liquid relaxation, don’t you?” I ask, turning
with a glass in each hand.

She’s still standing near the door, looking
like she’ll bolt if it so much as cracks open. It’s
incongruous—seeing her react this way while dressed as the
confident Laura Drake. It’s just a testament to how dramatically I
underestimated Samantha Jansen. She’s so much more than meets the
eye!

I walk to the sofa, situated directly across
from the fireplace, and I hold one glass out to her. I see her eyes
dart from my face to the glass and back again. When, after a few
seconds, she has neither moved nor spoken, I try to reason with
her.

“You were all set to explore a very sexual
relationship with me and now you won’t sit in a professional office
and have a drink?”

“I was
not
going—”

“Don’t lie, Samantha,” I interrupt sharply.
“It doesn’t become you.”

I set her snifter on a coaster on one end of
the coffee table and I take a seat on the couch at the opposite
end. I cross my legs and throw my arm over the back of the cushion
in a non-threatening manner as I sip my drink. The alcohol burns
all the way down, not unlike this whole situation.

I know it’s for the best. I shouldn’t have
been…dabbling again anyway. I should see this unfortunate turn of
events as fortunate. Now, we are
both
safe from me.

“This doesn’t have to end uncomfortably. We
can be civil, have a drink before you go your way and I go mine.
Our goodbye doesn’t have to be ugly.”

But, judging by the expression on her face,
it very much will be.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE- Samantha

I was all right until he added that last
part. The word “goodbye” shakes me. I don’t know why. It’s not like
this—whatever “this” is—has really had a chance to become anything
yet. In fact, a large part of it has blossomed inside my head,
where Alec and Mason have become inextricably entwined.

The part that stings is the loss of hope. The
loss of the hope of
more
. The lure of it. I would never have
admitted it to Chris or myself, but, deep down, I had begun to
agree with her in thinking that Alec might be the one to help me
move beyond the past. Despite the flip-flopping and indecision,
ultimately I was hoping Alec was my Mason—the destructive force
that can be extremely caring in the right hands. In
my
hands.

Pain at the thought of this being over before
it started, however, is only part of what has me pausing in my
retreat. The other motivator is the idea of getting some answers. I
don’t particularly like the thought of
me
answering
Alec’s
questions, but I
do
like the thought of him
being agreeable to answering some of mine.

I’m not sure which is the more powerful
incentive, but something urges me across the room toward Alec and
has me sitting cautiously on the end of the couch, opposite him. He
already knows my secret. Answering a few more questions surely
won’t be the end of the world. In fact, some small part of me
almost looks forward to finally being able to bare my soul to
someone, even if I have to use the excuse of quid pro quo to do
it.

“I go first,” I say as I lean forward to wrap
my cold fingers around the even colder glass.

Alec nods, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Okay.”

“What’s your real name?”

“Alexandre Buraquinho. My parents are of
Brazilian descent.”

“Why do you use a different name to do your
work in—”

“I believe it’s my turn,” he interrupts
calmly. I nod and wait for his question. “Did your mother involve
you in her…work?”

My mouth drops open.

I start with a reasonable question and he
jumps in with this?

“That’s not…I don’t think…”

“I answered your question, Samantha,” he
points out nonchalantly.

“But I—”

“It’s not my fault you chose to start with
such banality.”

I feel the tension around my mouth as my lips
draw into a tight, straight line. Already, I feel like I’ve been
had. If I’m to continue this, I need to be smarter about the
questions I ask because I have no intention of answering all Alec’s
probing inquiries about my childhood.

But this one, I have to answer if I’m to get
any insight of my own. “No, she never did.” Which is true. It was
never
her.

Alec nods, his eyes piercing my soul as he
searches for…something.

“Why didn’t you introduce yourself as Dr. B
when we met in Charleston? I was already your patient.”

“I knew you weren’t ready to meet
face-to-face yet.”

“Yet you came to see me anyway. Don’t you
think that’s a bit unprofessional?”

Alec shrugs, completely unconcerned. “Maybe.
But I wanted to see Laura Drake in her natural environment.”

“Why?”

“She fascinates me.”

“Why?” I ask again.

“Because I felt like we had a lot in
common?”

“You don’t know anything about me. You—”

“Oh, I can deduce plenty from reading your
work.”

Understanding dawns, and with it comes
crushing disappointment. I feel a lump form in my throat. “So I’m
like some sort of work project to you? Some kind of freak to
observe and dissect?”

Again, he shrugs. “I have a clinical interest
in you, yes.” Hearing him say it aloud is nearly devastating. On
top of everything else, I feel like such a fool. I take another sip
of scotch, focusing on the sting of the fluid as it sears my
throat. I have to get out of here.

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you,
Dr.
Buraquinho,
but you won’t be getting inside my head.” My smile
is tight and sarcastic, and my jaws ache from gritting my
teeth.

I set my glass down and move to the edge of
the cushion, preparing to stand. Alec’s words stop me. “But I have
a very different interest in you as a woman. As Samantha.”

“And what’s that?” I ask sharply, anger
rising up as a natural attempt to conceal hurt and humiliation.

Alec looks down at his glass where he swirls
the amber liquid inside it. “Well, that’s a little more
complicated.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I think it’s my turn to ask a few questions,
don’t you?”

I want to pout and refuse to answer any more
of his queries, but that would make me seem like a petulant child,
and I don’t need to make a bigger fool of myself than I already
have.

Relaxing back into the cushion in a manner
that belies the tension I feel on the inside, I clasp my hands in
my lap and answer, “I suppose so.”

There are a dozen questions I can think of
that I hope and pray he doesn’t ask. I hold my breath in the
silence before he speaks.

“When was your last relationship?”

I’m both puzzled and caught off guard by his
question. For whatever reason, I wasn’t expecting for him to go in
this direction.

“Two and a half years ago.”

“Why did it end?”

My muscles tighten defensively. This is the
tip of an iceberg that’s haunted my entire adult life. I have to be
careful how I answer. I can’t risk revealing too much.

“It just…didn’t work out.” I pick at my
pants, knowing my answer is a cop out. I hope he doesn’t dig
deeper.

“I thought we were being honest here,
Samantha.”

There’s something about the way he says my
name. Even now, in this office, surrounded by tension, it’s like a
caress. I feel it all the way to my core. And I shiver in
response.

“I
am
being honest. That’s the—”

“All right then, let
me
be more
specific. What was the exact cause of death? Did you end it or did
he?”

“That’s two questions.”

“Stop deflecting.”

“I’m not—”

“Yes, you are.”

I want to huff. Or stomp my foot. But I
don’t. Thankfully, being Laura Drake has taught me a lot about
maintaining a façade, even during difficult times. She’s a strong
rock behind which I can hide. And I do. Very often.

I clear my throat. “The ‘cause of death’ as
you put it was a result of my own insecurities. It always is.”

“Self-sabotage?”

I think on this. “No, I want nothing more
than to have a normal relationship, but—”

“Normal? How do you define normal?”

I feel color bloom in my cheeks. I’m at a
total loss on how to answer him without giving too much away,
without giving him a glimpse of my shame.

I remind myself that I could just get up and
walk out. I don’t
have to
answer anything. It’s only my
curiosity about Alec, my unwillingness to just let the possibility
of him go, that spurs me on.

“You can tell me, Samantha,” he says softly.
“There’s no judgment here.”

Something inside me clicks, as if for one
moment in time, all the walls and the guile and the scars shift
just enough to let someone in. And it all happens before I can make
the conscious effort to stop it.

“A normal sexual relationship, where I
can…receive pleasure as well as give it.”

“Do you feel that you don’t receive
pleasure?”

“No. I
do
get pleasure from an
intimate relationship. But some of the men I’ve dated expect…”

“Expect?”

“Isn’t it my turn to ask a question?”

“After this one, yes.”

I hold in my sigh. “The men I’ve dated have
wanted more…response from me than what comes naturally,” I say
vaguely, my cheeks heating again.

Why the hell are you still here?

I honestly don’t know the answer to that. I
feel like I’ve been taken over.

By Alec.

Even though no one is making me stay, I’m
feeling trapped and mortified when Alec leans forward to put his
elbows on his knees. When he speaks, his voice, as placid as a calm
lake, soothes me. I feel almost hypnotized, as though I’m not in
complete control. As though I’m being eased into submission.

“You don’t need to hide things from me,
Samantha. I knew from reading Laura Drake’s work that she had some
sexually traumatic experiences in her life. Now, after putting you
together with her, it paints a picture of someone who needs to come
to terms not only with her past, but with who she is today. Who she
is, what she wants and how to go forward.”

He’s so right. About all of it. But even as
I’m laid bare before him, I can’t forget that he has his own
secrets. I can’t forget that, while he is distracting me like a
world class snake charmer, he’s the one hiding fangs.
He’s
the dangerous one, capable of great harm and a wicked bite.

“Why are you so fascinated by someone like
Laura Drake? What brings a man like you into a profession like
this? I’m beginning to think you have as much to hide as I do.”

The corners of Alec’s mouth curve into a
small, cool smile. It’s not warm or genuine. It’s ironic. Bitter,
even. I’m certain I struck a nerve when he doesn’t answer me, just
continues to watch me with that odd expression.

When a muted beep sounds from the desk behind
me, Alec’s expression turns curiously blank and clinical. “Our time
is up.”

I know he’s speaking about more than just
today and this visit. He’s saying that
our
time is up, that
we’re done. Over, even though we never really started.

“You’re not going to answer my question?”

“Unfortunately, I have a lunch
engagement.”

“How convenient,” I say, standing to my
feet.

With every intention of walking away and
never looking back, no matter how bad it hurts, I head for the
door. Alec’s voice stops me.