The Master Undone: An Inside Out Novella

by Lisa Renee Jones

  I lean forward, lowering my voice. “And what are your secrets, Crystal?”

  “They’re called secrets because they’re secrets,” she replies tartly, to put me in my place.

  I’ve done my damnedest to keep my thoughts pure over dinner, but my cock thickens with what I see as a challenge. Can I make her reveal all to me? Instantly, I’m delving into the deep, dark waters of desire for this taboo woman, wondering what it would take to learn her secrets. Wondering how she would handle me tying her up. That’s when you see what people are really made of.

  “Back to you,” she directs, as if she’s in charge, when she absolutely is not. “And the question you avoided several times already. Why’d you leave New York?”

  I lean back in my chair, putting distance between us and studying her, intrigued by how well she handles herself. It is both a natural gift and a conditioning of those skills by life lessons. I wonder what hers have been. “If I don’t tell you why I left, my mother will, which is one answer to your question,” I finally concede. “While my family is private about most things, they tend to make my life much more public than I prefer. Distance gives me privacy.”

  “That’s not an answer.” Her tone is a schoolteacher reprimand. “It’s a side step of the question yet again.”

  She’s right. I am sidestepping. My reasons for leaving New York run through a muddy history I try not to travel. I sure as hell don’t talk about it.

  My cell phone rings, giving me a reprieve, and I glance at the screen and see Chris Merit’s number. It’s a call I need to take, yet dread answering for many reasons. Not only is he involved with what went down with Rebecca, he’s also deeply involved with a cancer research organization.

  I hit the “answer” button, not bothering with “hello.”

  “I hear you’re back in Paris.”

  “I am. How are you holding up?”

  Uncomfortable with where this conversation is going, I glance at Crystal and cover the phone. “Give me just a minute.”

  “Of course,” she says and reaches for her wine. “I’ll just drink, since I handle it so well.”

  So far she’s handled it just fine, I think, leaving the table so I can talk more privately. “I was going to call you,” I tell Chris, leaning on the bar with my back to Crystal. “I’m in New York. My mother has cancer.”

  Silence ticks by for several heavy seconds. “What kind and what stage?”

  “Breast. Stage 3.”

  “Operable or nonoperable?”

  “Operable. She’s having a mastectomy tomorrow and starts radiation in three weeks.”

  “That’s positive,” he says, and they’re welcome words from a man who says little and is so knowledgeable about cancer. “You know, we’ve had our differences, Mark, but I’ll walk through hell and back to help you help her, if you need me to.”

  “I know.” The gnawing in my gut starts all over again, this time created by guilt. I knew Sara meant a lot to him, but I tried to get between them. She reminded me of Rebecca, and I was pissed at Chris for warning Rebecca away from me. He was right, though. Rebecca should have stayed the hell away from me.

  “Mark. You still there?”

  Mentally, I shake myself. “Yes. I’m here.”

  “You didn’t cause Rebecca’s death. You know that, right?”

  The pain moves to my chest and becomes crushing. “I used one woman to keep another at a distance. One of those women killed the other one. How is that not my fault?”

  “You didn’t do this. Ava killed Rebecca.”

  My other hand curls into a fist on the bar. “I should have listened to you when you said Rebecca was in over her head with me.”

  “Don’t do this to yourself. Take it from me—I’ve been down this path. I’m still on it now. It won’t lead you anyplace good.”

  “You don’t know everything. She left me for another man. She was traveling the world with him, living the good life, and I convinced her to come back to me. That things would be different between us. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. I knew I was incapable of being different. And she did. She came home, and Ava got to her before I could. I didn’t even know she’d returned.”

  Silence stretches between us, and I am certain he’s judging me—and, for once, I know it’s deserved. Hell, I’m judging me.

  “I know this is hard to swallow,” he finally says. “I know it’s eating you alive, but this was the work of one crazy woman. Not you.”

  “A woman I pushed over the edge.”

  “I could tell you everything you need to hear, but you won’t hear me. Sometimes there’s only one solution.”

  “And that would be?”

  “Get drunk.”

  I laugh humorlessly. “This coming from a man who hates booze.”

  “There are times when it’s called for. I could use a good stiff drink right now myself. What’s going on with the investigation into Rebecca’s death?”

  While I fill Chris in, I turn to check on Crystal, and my eyes collide with hers. I feel the connection with a surge of adrenaline like nothing I’ve ever experienced. No woman affects me like this. None. Ever. What is it about Crystal? Is it the challenge? The time in my life?

  “I’ll call you tomorrow to check on your mother,” I hear Chris say.

  “Right.” I can’t look away from Crystal. And “can’t” isn’t usually in my vocabulary. “Tomorrow. I’ll talk to you then.”

  “She’s going to be fine,” Chris adds and hangs up, as if he wasn’t ready to hear any other answer.

  I’m not, either. She has to fucking be okay. There isn’t another option, and damn it, I plan to tell her that in the morning.

  Sliding my phone back into my pocket, I motion the waiter over and have him put the tab on my room and order a car to pick up Crystal. The distraction does nothing to stop the heat racing through my blood. I walk toward Crystal, fighting that predatory male instinct I own as completely as my name. That part of me that wants to take her upstairs and fuck her until I remember nothing but the pleasure. I need that. I need it like I do my next breath, but I know it’s wrong. I know I’ve been so fucking wrong this past year about too much. I can’t do it again. I won’t do it again. I won’t fuck up Crystal like I did Rebecca.

  I stop in front of Crystal’s chair and, unable to resist the need to touch her, when I’d swear I never need to touch anyone, I hold out my hand and she slides her palm into mine. It’s tiny and soft, as I know she would be in my arms. I pull her to her feet, so close that the delicious scent of her is licking at my senses the way I’d like to be licking at her mouth, her body.

  Her gaze lifts to mine, and there is heat in those intelligent blue eyes—but there’s also concern that tells me she sees far more than she should. Far more than I let anyone see, and yet I still hold on to her hand. She’s real to me in a way no one else has felt in too long. In a world that seems painted in false shadows, I need something real in my life right now.

  “Everything okay?” she asks softly.

  “No. Everything is not okay.” I have no idea why I’ve admitted this. What the fuck is this woman doing to me? I’m feeling angry. I want to bury myself in her and forget everything, and it kills me to know how wrong that is. How impossible.

  Her expression softens. “I know, and I’d tell you it’s going to be okay—but that won’t make it better and it won’t make you believe it.”

  Almost exactly what Chris said, and he understands me because he’s like me. Maybe she is, too. Truly, though, I have no clue. I’ve never been so clueless. I need to get away from this woman before I make another mistake we’ll both regret. I release her hand and step back from her. “I’ll walk you to the car I just had ordered for you.”

  “You don’t have—”

  “I’m walking you to the car.”

  “Okay.” Her chin lifts with challenge. “You have my permission to walk me to the car.”

  My lips tighten and so does my groin. “As long as I ha
ve your permission,” I say sardonically.

  She simply gives me a nod and starts walking and, as I’m becoming accustomed to, she seems to expect me to follow. And holy hell, I do. But I want to grab her and pull her to the elevator and upstairs, where I can punish her with pleasure for making me this willing to chase her.

  Once we’re outside, and a driver opens the door to the black sedan I’ve hired as her ride home, Crystal turns to me. Her mood has softened. “I’m going to the hospital in the morning, and I have to pick up my car here. You want to ride with me?” Her eyes light with mischief. “I’ll let you drive.”

  That’s it. I grab her and pull her to me. “You’ll let me?”

  She blinks up at me, and I watch the emotions flicker over her face, from stunned to aroused, and then to rousing challenge. “If you ask nicely,” she assures me, and no matter how coolly she tries to deliver the words, she can’t hide the breathless quality to her voice.

  “I wonder if you’d ask nicely?” I’m not talking about driving the car, and I know she knows it.

  Her lips curve into a teasing smile and she pushes out of my arms, stepping closer to the car. “I wonder.” She slides into the backseat and the driver shuts the door behind her.

  I don’t move, staring at the tinted window, certain she is staring back at me, looking for a reaction I won’t give her. The car pulls away from the curb and, with adrenaline licking at my limbs all over again, I turn away and head into the hotel. Alone. I am alone. It has never mattered before. It’s always been my preference, but tonight . . . tonight I hate it.

  Once I’m in my room, the first thing I do is call my father to check on my mother. She’s sleeping and my father sounds like utter shit. He’s exhausted and worried, and for the first time in a long time I don’t know how to make things right. I pace the room, the booze I’d tried to drown this with having absolutely no effect. Chris’s advice sucked. I go to my suitcase and open it. On top is a red leather journal and a small velvet box. I take them both to the bed and set them there.

  I stare at the two items and finally manage to open the box to stare at the rose-shaped ring nestled in the black velvet. The one Rebecca had worn when she’d been my submissive. I want to flush it down the toilet, as much as I want to cherish it forever. It is a part of her, but it’s also the symbol of what led to her destruction . . . our bond.

  I sit down on the bed, open the journal, and start to read. I know it’s not a good idea, but I can’t seem to help myself. And damn if I don’t hear Rebecca’s voice in my head. He is my Master, the one who commands me, but he is so much more to me. Am I foolish to believe I am more than a sub to him? Am I insane to believe that deep beneath his hard surface he might have real feelings for me? I’ve memorized this passage and heard it as if she were reading it to me a million times over. I’ve read it often since finding one of her journals under the mattress of my bed months ago, when she’d left town with another man. My bed. I cringe. I’d always made her feel everything had been mine, not hers, even when she’d lived with me. It is one of the many things I regret about the past that I can now never mend. She deserved better than me. She deserved the love I couldn’t give her, yet I selfishly called her back to San Francisco, knowing I could never be all she wanted me to be. She would never have been attacked had I not done such a thing. I’d been the end of her. Never again will I pull someone into the BDSM world who’s not already there and reveling in the experience.

  My thoughts go to Crystal, and my new resolve forms. I won’t touch her.

  It simply can’t happen. I won’t let it.

  No matter how much I want her.

  And I do.

  Five

  _

  Between my guilt over Rebecca and my worry over my mother’s surgery, sleep is nearly impossible. Knowing I’m not likely to leave the hospital today, I dress in boots, jeans, and a brown Riptide T-shirt. Remembering the colder East Coast weather, I slip on a brown leather jacket.

  Crystal is waiting for me in the lobby when I step off the elevator. Dressed in dark blue jeans, a pale blue silk blouse, boots, and a black leather jacket, with two coffee cups in her hands, it’s clear she doesn’t plan to head to Riptide today, which pleases me. Though I should want her there at Riptide, taking care of business.

  She gives my similar attire an open inspection and smiles. “I like you like this,” she says. “Less ‘master,’ more man.” I stiffen at the “master” reference, and my eyes narrow, trying to read her. Does she know more about me than I think she does? And, holy hell, do my parents? She thrusts the cup at me. “White mocha.”

  I reach for the coffee, unsure of what she knows. I am on such unsure footing with this woman, I barely know myself. “White mocha?” I inquire, never having had anyone assume this to be my drink. But then, people don’t get the chance to assume with me.

  She nods and sips from her drink. “My favorite, and all macho alpha men like you have a secret softer side and a sweet tooth. It’s part of the breed.”

  She’s dead-on. I have a major sweet tooth, but I don’t admit it. “Macho alpha men?”

  She pushes her tousled blond hair out of her face. “Alpha man. Control freak. Type A personality, which I share. Whatever you want to call it, it’s you. Anyway, try the drink. The place I got it from is a block away and open twenty-hour hours. It’s really pretty good.”

  Already my resolve to keep a distance from her is crumbling. Her outrageously bold personality seems to work for me. “Considering the time change and the early hour, I can certainly use the caffeine. Thank you.”

  “My pleasure,” she says, holding up her keys for me.

  I take them from her, thinking her pleasure is exactly what I’d like to discover. Once we’re in the car, she keeps me talking and I let her. Anything to keep my own thoughts at bay.

  —

  Thirty minutes later, I stand by my mother’s bedside and lean down to her. “You’re going to be okay.”

  She grabs the back of my head and pulls me close. “Yes,” she vows. “I will.” She hugs me so tightly, I feel like she’s clinging to me for dear life.

  My eyes burn and my chest is on fire. She releases me and I lift my head to find Crystal standing in the doorway. There’s no hiding how emotional I feel, and I don’t even try. This woman is seeing parts of me I show no one. Parts I’m not sure I believed existed anymore, and I’m beyond stopping her. She’s too present. Too deeply embedded in my family’s life. This is why I need to be in San Francisco. It’s why I left.

  The doctor enters and sends us on our way, so I give my mother another kiss, leaving my father alone with her. Out in the hallway I walk to the waiting room and sit down, letting my head drop into my hands, elbows on my knees.

  I feel Crystal next to me. And then her hands are in my hair, she is touching me, and I don’t push her away. There is tenderness and comfort in her touch, comfort I swear I don’t need . . . and yet I do.

  Slowly, I lift my head and look at her, staring into those pure, blue eyes, and feel like my heart’s being ripped from my chest. I feel something for this woman. I swore I’d never feel anything for anyone again, and for ten years I’ve managed to hold to that vow. Now, though . . . I am lost and she has found me.

  “Three hours,” she whispers. “It seems like forever, but it’ll be fast. She’ll be out of surgery and feisty as ever, telling you how things are, and ruling the world.”

  I laugh humorlessly. “Please let that woman make my life hell for another hundred years.”

  Crystal smiles. “Don’t you worry. She’ll outlive us both.” She reaches into her purse and grabs a deck of cards. Then she moves a small table and sets it in front of me before pulling a chair up opposite. “Let’s play. What’s your game?”

  This is another part of my past I don’t want revealed, and I’m suddenly aware of how exposed I am with this woman. Too exposed. “I don’t play cards.”

  “Oh, come on. You’re human. You play cards.”

&
nbsp; “No, Ms. Smith. I do not.”

  “Crystal,” she corrects softly, “and if that’s true, then there’s no better day to learn. It’ll occupy your mind, which I happen to know is too sharp to remain inactive for the next three hours.”

  “I’d rather discuss the auction coming up.”

  “Poker? Why, yes, I’d love to play.”

  I glance up to find my father, and it’s impossible to miss how bloodshot his eyes are. He grabs a chair and pulls it between mine and Crystal’s. He lifts his Styrofoam coffee cup. “Nothing better than coffee and poker, except beer and baseball.” He glances at Crystal. “Look out, darlin’. Mark was a damn good player back in his college days. He was the undefeated champion. If not for—”

  “Dad,” I warn, stopping him and then looking at Crystal. “Deal.”

  She studies me a moment. “Whatever you want, Mr. Compton.”

  And damn if I don’t correct her. “Mark. My name is Mark.”

  —

  Three hours later I’ve won every hand of poker, and my father and Crystal are laughing as they team up against me and threaten to count cards.

  “That’s only done in Blackjack,” I remind my father.

  “Mr. Compton?” a man says.

  We all rise and turn toward the doctor who’s standing in his scrubs, his mask on his chest, looking calm. Every muscle in my body eases. “She’s doing well,” he reports, and my shoulders slump, the tension sliding from my weary body, as he adds, “You can see her soon.”

  I glance down at Crystal, who smiles at me. And for the first time in days, I truly breathe again.

  I’m still talking to the doctor when Crystal gets a call. By the time the doctor departs, she’s grabbing her purse and walking toward me. “I need to run over to Riptide. Can you please tell your mother I was here and I’ll be back as soon as can?”

  “Is there a problem?”

  “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  “What’s wrong, Crystal?”

  She surprises me by reaching out and pressing her hand to my chest. “Trust me, please. Go be with your mother. I won’t let you, or your parents, down.”