Until I Break

by M. Leighton

  And then, as I watch through the small part in the curtains, he bares his sharp, deadly teeth.

  Like Daire, I see the fangs. I feel the danger.

  It’s just that neither makes a difference.

  CHAPTER EIGHT- Alec

  The place where the fundraiser is being held isn’t far from Samantha’s condo. I had already been invited to it, actually. I work with several big hospitals across Georgia and North Carolina. South Carolina as well. It’s not surprising that they’d invite me. Had I known someone like Samantha would be there, I would’ve made a point to go.

  Or maybe I would’ve found a good reason to stay away, a better reason than just the fact that I should.

  She’s quiet all the way there. I know what she’s thinking. She’s wondering why she agreed to a deal with the devil. She might be reconsidering. But she won’t change her mind. I’ve known a lot of women like her. She’ll see this through. Curiosity will get the best of her. And then, in the end, so will I.

  I shouldn’t be looking forward to this. I should see it as a failure. It’s been a long time since I’ve given in to my…predilection.

  In some ways, the guilt is a good thing. It means I’m still on the mend, that I’ve managed to put some things into perspective. But the fact that I’m doing it anyway means I’ve still got a long way to go.

  Maybe after this one time, maybe after I get it out of my system, I can make some more forward progress.

  Maybe.

  CHAPTER NINE- Samantha

  The valet pulls away from the curb in Alec’s sleek, black Range Rover, leaving us standing alone on the sidewalk. We arrived in plenty of time. This event doesn’t officially start until eight. But most people come early to mingle. No doubt the inside is packed.

  My stomach twists into a knot when Alec offers me his arm. His eyes are drilling holes into mine. I wonder if he’s always so intense.

  I reach out and curl my fingers around his bicep. It flexes beneath my touch, tightening and making me shiver.

  He’s in wonderful physical condition, as I knew he would be. I’ve seen every inch of him in my head, only, up until now, I’ve called him Mason.

  I’d be willing to bet that Alec is equally beautiful. Like déjà vu, I recall words written in the pages of a book. My book. Only now Mason seems very, very real.

  Mason’s smooth bronze skin gleams in the low light. Through the clear glass of the shower door, I can see the perfectly formed muscles in his arms move and shift as he drags the soap over his chest. I’m the maid. I shouldn’t be watching him this way, but I can’t seem to help myself. I can’t seem to make my feet carry me away from the door.

  This isn’t the first time I’ve seen him in the shower. Or lying naked in the bed. Or worshipping a nameless, faceless woman’s body with his lips and his hands and his body. More than ever, I want to be the one beneath him. But more than ever, I know he would leave nothing but wreckage in his wake. He’s too much for a girl like me.

  Still yet, if he ever turned those knowing green eyes on me in invitation, I know what my answer would be.

  Once again, I’m forced to remind myself that this isn’t Mason, that Mason isn’t real. And that’s probably a good thing. Mason breaks hearts. He can’t help himself. It’s what broken people do.

  I feel short of breath and lightheaded as we walk through the doors into the elaborate foyer of the ballroom. My step falters and I squeeze Alec’s arm to keep my balance. He looks down at me, at first in question, but then his expression changes.

  He looks quizzically into my eyes before he scans my face. “You’re blushing,” he states. There’s a long pause before he continues. “Maybe tomorrow you can show me what you were thinking about.”

  He continues staring for a few seconds more before he urges me into a slow walk at his side. “Smile,” he says as we enter the main room. “Or people will think you’ve been doing something you shouldn’t.”

  I glance up at him to judge his expression, but I see only his profile.

  How does he do that?

  It’s like he’s inside my head.

  As well as under my skin.

  Following Alec’s suggestion, I plaster a smile on my face and look casually around the room. I doubt anyone here would guess that I’m wondering how I got here. And I don’t mean “here” as in this address. I mean “here” as in so wrapped up in a man I’ve only just met.

  Only it doesn’t feel like we just met. It feels as though I’ve known him longer, that I know him intimately.

  I’m relieved when I spot Chris across the sea of glamorously clothed patrons. Within seconds, she looks up and sees me, too. I watch as she makes her excuses to the couple to whom she’s talking and starts toward us.

  As she moves closer, I have a moment of insecurity about masquerading as something I’m not—a gorgeous, confident woman. Like Chris.

  She’s like a cover model come to life in a scarlet sheath that sets off her golden skin and platinum hair. She’s just the type of arm candy one would expect to see with a man like Alec Brand. I’m nothing more than an imposter. A wallflower in a clever costume. But surely no one’s fooled. Surely they can see the real me.

  I glance at Alec from the corner of my eye. His face gives away nothing.

  “You’re here,” Chris says enthusiastically as she glides up to my side.

  “Of course,” I say, as if there was no doubt, which there absolutely was.

  “You say that as if it was a foregone conclusion that you’d be here.”

  “Wasn’t it?”

  Chris rolls her eyes. “Are we even talking about the same person?”

  “Where’s Mom?” I ask, redirecting her.

  Chris cranes her neck, looking toward the center of the room. “Oh, she’s somewhere around here. You know she’ll find you before long. That woman has a sixth sense.”

  “Tell me about it,” I mutter.

  Chris finally turns back to me then her eyes flicker to Alec. Her smile is brilliant, like she just now noticed he’s with me. “I’m sorry. I’m so rude! I’m Chris, Chris Wells, Sam’s sister.”

  “Chris and Sam?” He directs his question to me, cocking his brow again. I’m beginning to love that gesture. It says so much without him actually having to say a thing. He turns back to Chris. “Alec Brand,” he says, inclining his head slightly. The action is almost regal. It suits him, making me wonder about his life. I haven’t even gotten that far in my head. And it’s not as though I don’t care; I’m insanely curious about the real life Mason. It’s just that, so far, my brain seems to stop working when he’s around.

  “Yes, I remember,” Chris replies, still smiling broadly.

  Alec nods. “Ah, the coffee shop. Right,” he says, his smile a mere curve of the lips. Pleasant yet bland. I feel a little thrill that he’s not flirting and doesn’t seem to be instantly enamored of her like most men. Most of them lose their wits completely when she smiles.

  But not Alec. In fact, he seems almost oblivious to her beauty and charm, a fact that makes me like him that much more. It also makes me that much more intrigued.

  I wonder that he doesn’t seem surprised at the lack of family resemblance. Our coloring, our features, our build—nothing is even slightly similar. We couldn’t be more different. He seems not to have noticed, and if he did, must not think anything of it. It’ll be interesting to see if he’s equally blasé about the differences between me and my parents.

  “A drink?” Alec asks.

  “Yes, please. I’ll have a rum and Coke.”

  He nods once and turns to Chris. “Would you like a refill?”

  “Rum and Coke for me, too, please,” Chris says, holding up her half empty glass.

  With another nod, he moves away toward the bar. I worry my bottom lip with my teeth as I watch him go.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” Chris asks. “Are you trying to find a way to sabotage yourself, just like you always do?”

  I turn a frown on her. “I don�
��t sabotage myself.”

  “Yes, you do. You let your past screw up your present all the time!”

  “No I don’t.”

  Chris shakes her head. “We’ll see.”

  “Just because I prefer not to subject myself or anyone else to certain…shortcomings, that does not mean I’m letting my past screw up my present. It simply means that I can use wisdom and discretion.”

  “Well, I’m glad that, for the moment, you’re turning off ‘wisdom and discretion’.”

  I glance toward Alec again. He’s walking back toward us with two drinks in one big hand and one in the other. “Boy did I ever,” I say softly.

  “Well,” Chris begins, taking one of the drinks from Alec’s hand when he extends it toward her. “I suppose I ought to go rescue Greg. He’s been captured and is currently being held against his will.” She tips her head to indicate a group of blue-haired elderly ladies encircling one handsome, blond Greg on the other side of the room. “Don’t you know he’s got some powerful pheromones to penetrate that kind of cobweb.”

  I grin. I’ve long since given up on trying to curb Chris’s colorful commentary.

  She turns to Alec. “It was great seeing you again, Alec.”

  “The pleasure was mine,” he says politely.

  “I hope to see you again,” she adds pointedly. I feel my face go up in flames. “You know, Sam here is pretty irresistible.”

  Oh God, oh God, oh God!

  I hold my breath, hoping she’ll stop there. Chris has a nasty habit of embarrassing me.

  Alec glances at me, his expression unfathomable. “I get that feeling.”

  Chris’s face splits into a broad smile. Her eyes flicker to me and I know what she’s thinking. I wait anxiously, praying she’ll hold her tongue.

  “Well,” she begins. My heart stops. “I’m off to play heroine.” Chris winks at me and I exhale.

  Crisis averted.

  As she walks away, Alec turns toward me. “What did you think she was going to say?”

  “Pardon?”

  “You held your breath. What did you think she was going to say?”

  I stammer for a moment, a bit disconcerted by his perceptiveness. It gives me a little thrill that he’s paying such close attention to me that he can hear me breathing. “I, uh, she, um. With Chris, it’s hard to tell.”

  “Were you afraid she’d divulge some deep, dark secret?”

  I would say that I don’t have any, but I’d be lying. And I’m a terrible liar. Instead, I go with silence.

  “A woman with secrets. I’m even more intrigued,” he says softly, his eyes dropping from my eyes to my mouth. “Maybe I can work my magic on those lips of yours, make them open up a bit.”

  My lips tingle as if he were actually touching them. Or kissing them.

  “Alec Brand,” a voice booms from the right, breaking the spell of the moment. “Glad you could make it.”

  “Glad you could make it”? He was already invited?

  A white-haired bear-of-a-man stops in front of us, clamping one meaty hand on Alec‘s shoulder and grasping his hand with the other. The man’s chest is barreled and his face is red as he huffs breathlessly. He looks like a walking advertisement for a heart attack.

  “Dr. Simmons, it’s good to see you.”

  Dr. Simmons smiles and pumps Alec’s hand, his eyes drifting over to settle on me. They twinkle with mischief.

  “Ah, now I see the trick to getting the elusive Mr. Brand out for the night. Put a beautiful woman on his arm.”

  “What won’t a man do for a night with a beautiful woman?” Alec says amicably, smiling blandly at the doctor.

  “A good question, my boy.” The doctor laughs heartily, as though Alec just made a great joke.

  “Dr. Simmons, meet Ms. Samantha Jansen.”

  “A pleasure, my dear.”

  I smile politely and nod. “Sir.”

  Dr. Simmons turns back to Alec. “Helps with the boredom, am I right?” He elbows Alec in the ribs and laughs an inordinately boisterous laugh again. “I’m sure you’ve been to your share of these things, what with your father being in the business.”

  Alec nods, but says nothing. I wait anxiously for the good doctor to reveal another tidbit about Alec Brand. When he doesn’t, I make an inquiry, trying to keep it as light and nonchalant as possible.

  “Your father’s in medicine?” I ask.

  Before Alec can answer, Dr. Simmons chimes in. “Oh yes. One of the most brilliant minds in the field.”

  I nod, tucking away the tiny piece of information in the pitifully empty mental file labeled Alec Brand.

  “It was a pleasure seeing you again, Dr. Simmons,” Alec says abruptly as he places his hand in the small of my back. “Samantha, shall we?”

  I’m puzzled by his curt response to Dr. Simmons. Puzzled, but very curious. Does he not want his business associate giving away any more details of his life? Does he not like him for some reason? Why the hasty departure?

  Rather than ask any questions, I nod and smile politely at Dr. Simmons.

  “It was nice to meet you, sir.”

  “Likewise,” he says in his gruff voice, seeming a bit more subdued now. If I had to guess, Dr. Simmons is probably accustomed to people sucking up to him. Although Alec was polite, he certainly wasn’t unduly impressed or too keen on making more conversation with the doctor. Just another facet of Alec’s personality that reminds me of Mason.

  Stop doing that, I chastise as Alec guides me off in the opposite direction.

  I’m distracted by the voice in my head, so the question gets out before I can stop it. “So your father is in medicine?”

  “Yes,” he replies.

  “I’m surprised I haven’t seen you before then. My father is a neurosurgeon.”

  Alec doesn’t even glance down at me as he answers. He just keeps moving us through the crowd, his answers still short and clipped.

  “My father is out west.”

  “Oh. So you’re not from around here?”

  “No.”

  “But you work here now, right?”

  “I have an office here, yes.”

  “What kind of office?”

  “Consulting.”

  He doesn’t hesitate to give me the answer, so I don’t doubt that it’s true. But it only serves to spawn more questions.

  Consulting? What kind of consulting? It must be something in the medical field for him to be at a function like this. That or he’s some kind of rich big-wig donator. That’s not entirely out of the question considering that he has a tailor-made tuxedo on hand and he drives a Range Rover.

  The questions keep coming, but at least they stay inside my head. I get the feeling by the firm set of his mouth that he isn’t enjoying my interrogation nearly as much as I am.

  “What k—”

  Alec comes to a sudden stop and turns toward me.

  “This really isn’t necessary, you know.”

  “What isn’t necessary?”

  “Knowing every detail of each other’s life. I already know everything I need to know about you for what I have in mind. I don’t want you to be confused about what’s going to happen between us.” I’m disappointed that he doesn’t want to know me and doesn’t want me to know him, but I don’t have time to consider it before he takes a step toward me. “The things I’m going to do to you, the things I’m going to show you have nothing to do with your job or your family or where you spend your time. It’s just about you. And me. And all the pleasure we can give each other.”

  There’s fire in his eyes. And fire in my belly. There’s no denying that he kindles a reaction in me.

  In addition to the excitement he makes me feel, however, there’s dread and unease. Anxiety. Yes, I feel a nervousness about stepping into the unknown, but I also feel an old, familiar fear clawing its way up, the fear that this will end just like all the others—badly.

  But it’s not too late. I can stop it. I can spare myself the pain and humiliation, the de
vastation of my reality. All I have to do is walk away from this man, from what I see in his eyes.

  It sounds so simple. And it might be. If he were anybody but Mason. My Mason, come to life. Whether it’s the right decision or the healthy decision for me remains to be seen. Maybe this could be a breakthrough. Maybe this could be a setback. I have no way of knowing.

  Maybe that’s a question for someone who’s paid to see things objectively.

  For the first time since Chris badgered me into therapy, I’m seeing a possible use for the advice of a professional.

  “I’m not trying to scare you away. I just want you going into this with the right mindset. I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you don’t regret it,” he says earnestly as he reaches up to take a curl from my shoulder. He brings it to his nose and inhales before he lays it against my chest, the backs of his fingers barely brushing the curve of my breast. Chills shoot down my arm and my nipple puckers, a silent vote on behalf of my body. “And trust me when I say, I’m a very determined man.”

  I’d all but forgotten the rest of the room when a familiar voice calls my name from somewhere over my left shoulder. I turn toward the woman I consider to be my real mother.

  Her smile is quick and bright inside her mocha face, and her dark brown eyes are wide with delight. “Samantha! I knew you’d make it.” I see her eyes dart to Alec before she kisses my cheeks and hugs me to her. She whispers in my ear, “I’m so glad you’re not alone, baby girl.” When she leans back, she winks at me and then turns her attention to Alec. “Who is your friend?”

  “Mom, this is Alec Brand. Alec, this is my mother, Deandra Johnson.”

  “Ma’am, it’s a pleasure,” Alec says with a nod, his smile warm and polite.

  “The pleasure is all mine,” Mom says. Her thick Southern accent is evident in the dropped R, making the word sound like pleashuh, and the fact that each word is drawn out to twice its normal length.

  “Sammy,” Dad says as he steps up behind my foster mother, interrupting the conversation. “There’s my girl.”

  He reaches around to envelope me in his arms, arms that seem to shrink each time I see him. I feel a pang in the vicinity of my heart. It’s so hard to watch age claim him.