Soul to Soul (RUSH, Inc. Book 2)

by Carol Caiton

  A computer geek, she thought. He was tall, quite a bit taller than she, and the most handsome blond-haired man she'd ever seen. Blonde herself, she'd always considered dark-haired men more attractive. But not this time. And apparently he felt the same way because the truth was, he could be with anyone he wanted tonight. He was one of the owners of RUSH, for pity's sake. He had a wide selection of sexy women to connect with. But he'd asked her out on a date. Her. Even knowing what he knew. She had no idea why. But she didn't doubt that he'd show up on her parents' doorstep at exactly six-thirty.

  Holding the dress up to the mirror, she thought it enhanced the blue of her eyes and decided it was a good choice. Plus, she hadn't worn it before, which made it sort of special. A special dress to mark a special occasion, because this was indeed her very first date.

  She didn't want to set herself up for disappointment by imagining it could be more than a platonic evening. She knew better. Still, she was actually going out on a date. She'd been asked before. Many times. But no one else had known the things Michael Vassek already knew. So everything about tonight was already different.

  She adjusted the fit of her slip and stepped into the soft blue dress. She was a young woman of twenty-three. She'd worked hard to come into her own and she was ready for this.

  Little darts of excitement tingled up her arms. She couldn't help it, and she really didn't want to. For once in her life she wanted to relish the experience of spending the evening with a man.

  Three light knocks on the bedroom door pulled her from her daydream. "Just a minute," she called, sliding her arms into the dress.

  "It's only me," her twin said from the other side, then opened it to poke her head into the room.

  Rachel frowned. "I should have known Mom would phone you."

  Jill grinned and slipped inside, closing the door behind her. "Of course she did. The other half of me is going out on a date."

  "Luke is your other half now, remember?"

  Jill grinned. "I guess I've been split into thirds then. Turn around and I'll zip your dress."

  Rachel scooped up her hair with both hands, gave her sister her back, and felt the zipper slide snugly up her spine.

  "Mmm, soft," Jill commented. "So who's the lucky guy? Mom didn't tell me much."

  Rachel turned around again and looked in the mirror. "It's a little form-fitting, isn't it?"

  The dress was a smooth, flawless fit from shoulders to hip. The scooped neck exposed a touch of cleavage and the slightly flared skirt reached mid-thigh.

  "I think it's perfect. It's sexy and demure at the same time. I'll probably ask to borrow it." She stepped back for a better look. "Now stop stalling and tell me who he is."

  Sifting her fingers through her spiraling curls, Rachel leaned to one side and fluffed them to help them dry quicker. "His name is Michael Vassek and he works with Mason."

  Jill's smile faded and became a look of concern. "Luke's Mason? He works at RUSH?"

  "I should have phrased that differently. He doesn't just work with Mason, he's one of the partners Mason had to convince to give me a chance."

  Jill plopped down onto the bed and her identically long curls caught beneath her backside. Shifting, she gathered them up and slid them over the front of her shoulder. "So this Michael . . . he knows?"

  "Yes. And I can't begin to explain how freeing that is." She reached for a wide pick comb, then frowned, bemused. "I flirted with him, Jill. At least I think I did."

  "Honestly?"

  "I didn't mean to. I meant to ask him something different altogether, but it just happened." She shook her head. "You wouldn't believe what I said."

  "Why? What did you say?"

  Rachel moaned. She described the way she'd met Michael, ducking behind a group of palm trees when he emerged from the jungle at the koi pond. "So when I saw him sitting at an outdoor table, I walked up to him and told him I hadn't picked my nose for at least two weeks."

  Jill's mouth fell open. They stared at one another. Then they both burst into laughter and the more one laughed, the more the other did. Finally Rachel had to dab at her eyes.

  "He's a little rough around the edges—blunt and a little coarse—and I like it. I like that he uses foul language in front of me. Isn't that peculiar? I thought about it for a while and I think it's because he doesn't walk on eggshells."

  "And we do."

  "Only in the most loving way," Rachel answered, smiling. She walked over to the bed and sat down beside her twin. "Turn around and I'll do your hair."

  Jill didn't hesitate. Sweeping her hair back over her shoulder, she sighed. "Mmm . . . I've only been living with Luke for three weeks but I've really missed this. I handed him the pick one night and he didn't know what to do with it."

  "I miss it too," Rachel admitted. She missed a lot of things now that Jill was no longer living at home. In a way, it gave her an understanding of the past, of the dark time all those years ago when her sister used to cry and say she couldn't find Rachel.

  "What's it like, Jilly—being with a man?"

  Her sister grew still. Intimacy—sex—was one of the eggshells everyone tiptoed around. Unless Rachel asked questions or brought up the subject herself, no one spoke about the day that shattered all their lives or anything that might lead to it.

  "I don't think Ali's ever been with a man either," Rachel said quietly.

  "No, she hasn't. She asked me the same question just a few days ago."

  Rachel fluffed her sister's hair. "It affected all three of us that way, didn't it?"

  Jill turned, looked into her sister's eyes, then took the comb from Rachel's hand and gestured for her to turn around. "It used to worry me," Jill said. "I dated a lot—well, a lot compared to you—and I had fun. But I didn't want to be with anyone like that. I think I needed to fall in love first. That's what I told Ali. And maybe it'll be that way for you. Maybe once you make it through these sessions at RUSH . . . ."

  She let the words trail off. Quietly, without touching Rachel, she continued working the pick through her hair. Eventually she gave it a last fluff and asked, "Do you think the instructor will be able to help? Mom's a little worried because you didn't have much to say about it. She didn't want to ask questions because . . . well because it's personal."

  Rachel held her hand out for the pick. "I should have been more forthcoming. I was still caught up in the wonder of it . . . and then the idea of going out on a date." She turned to look at her sister. "I lasted four minutes, Jill. Four minutes and thirty-eight seconds. I was already crying from the miracle of it when they told me. And then I couldn't stop crying and had to leave the room."

  "Four minutes." This time tears welled in Jill's eyes. "Tell me." She stopped. "You're allowed to talk about it with us, right? Just not about RUSH."

  "Yes, I can talk about it. The instructor—his name is Dalton. Dalton Cooper and—" She paused to consider her words. "He only touched my shoulders, my neck and my jaw, but the sensation . . . . It was the sort of touch I'd imagine coming from a man caressing a woman he cherishes. A woman he adores. It made me want to . . . curl into him. Me." She shook her head, still bemused. "That's the best way I can describe it. Even now, thinking about it brings emotion to my throat."

  "I'm . . . I don't know what to say." But hope shimmered in Jill's eyes as they stared at one another.

  "It lasted four and a half minutes," Rachel said again. "And I could have gone longer if I hadn't realized something extraordinary was happening, if the emotion hadn't . . . . It was beautiful. An amazing gift. But afterward it frightened me."

  "Why?"

  "Because the conclusion to these sessions is going to be intercourse. I went into this with that in mind and I've been preparing for it all this time. But if I do that, two men will have owned my body—one in violence and the other for money. Nothing resembling love, Jilly. Nothing like what you have with Luke. And I don't want to end up more of a mess than I am right now."

  "Oh, Rach."

  "And w
ith Dalton Cooper it might work. I just might get that far. Until today I didn't think it was a real possibility. Not really. But now I'm considering calling the whole thing off because, well, what if I fall in love with the man? The gift he's given me . . . the emotion in his fingers . . . the fact that he could touch me for four minutes . . . . Maybe I'll go for a couple more sessions, but only to see how long I can last before the touching becomes intimate."

  "Is there a chance he's attracted to you? The way you describe him . . . sometimes that's how it feels when Luke holds me. Like I'm more precious to him than anything in the world."

  Rachel reached over and clasped her twin's hand. "I'm so happy you have that. And I want what you have so badly."

  When she had to let go, she covered it by saying, "But no, Dalton is doing it for the money . . . and maybe the challenge. He was completely unmoved while I was standing there falling apart and I don't want a broken heart on top of everything else. Even now I can't wait to go back. I loved it. I'm . . . hungry for it. You can't imagine how much." She sighed. "A big part of me wants to know how far he can take me. But I don't want to go back into therapy for something I've done to myself."

  This was the fear she'd skirted around when Michael Vassek asked why she was afraid. So many different emotions had been churning around inside. Hope, joy, excitement, disbelief, and a fear that hadn't occurred to her until she'd seen how unmoved Dalton Cooper was when she turned around.

  "I have a suggestion," Jill said.

  "Tell me."

  "Go see Mason. Tell him you've been thinking about this and ask if all those legal documents you signed can be amended with a stipulation that doesn't allow for actual intercourse. Stop everything before you let yourself take that last step. If you get that far along with these sessions, maybe you won't need to go further anyway. Maybe that'll be enough for you to know you'll be able to make love with someone when you're ready. And having it in writing will make you feel safer. What do you think?"

  Rachel smiled. "I think I've got the better third of you, but don't tell Luke. Thanks."

  Jill smiled back. "You would have figured it out for yourself. You're just too close to it right now."

  The doorbell rang. She and Jill looked at one another.

  "It's Michael," they both announced, then laughed.

  "Does he know you have a twin?" Jill asked.

  "Not unless Mason mentioned it."

  "Want to have some fun?"

  Rachel eyed the mischievous sparkle in her sister's eyes but shook her head. "Not this time. But you can go downstairs first while I put on my shoes. How's that?"

  Jill grinned, fluttered her fingers, and darted out the door.

  * * *

  Michael already guessed that she still lived with her parents. When he'd typed in her street address and stared at the satellite image of a two-story contemporary house in an upscale neighborhood, he didn't figure she needed all that space for herself. So okay, she was twenty-three years old, living with her parents. But there were extenuating circumstances. And he'd been through a parental grilling before. Yeah, it had been a while and it hadn't gone too good, but he was alive to tell about it, so no big deal.

  Being the adopted son of a now deceased U.S. senator was probably a trump card that would open a hell of a lot of doors, but he'd never used it and never planned to. He didn't talk about that block of time in his life. Or the block before it. He didn't want to think about those years, didn't want to remember they existed.

  In fact, he'd taken his old name back after the senator died. It had been his for fifteen years and he'd wanted it back. Not that it ever did him any good, but it was his and he was pretty damn possessive about what was his 'cause growing up on the streets didn't offer a guy a whole lot to be possessive about. His background—his whole life—was rooted in poverty and filth. It was the kind of filth that people living in contemporary houses in upscale neighborhoods didn't want to know existed. It sure as hell wasn't the kind of background that sheltering parents wanted their little girls exposed to. And the fact that he was now co-owner of a sex club . . . well, that pretty much said it all, didn't it.

  So maybe he should prepare himself for the worst. What the hell had he expected—sunshine and roses?

  What he got though was outside his orbit of experience.

  Her father answered the door. His hair was blond like Rachel's but wavy, not curly. Behind him the foyer was lit by a single overhead lamp that hung down from a two-story pitch. And farther in, a wide carpeted staircase stretched up to the second floor.

  The father smiled and held out a welcoming hand. Nothing out of the ordinary there. But when he and Michael locked eyes, something happened. It was like the guy had some kind of second sight or something. He suddenly stared, hard and focused. And man did he read it right . . . just pried the showy gemstone out of its setting and took a look at all the crud underneath. It was sorta like when Michael had looked into Rachel's eyes that first time and knew what had happened to her. This time though, he knew what it was her father saw.

  Shit. He braced himself for the door that was gonna slam in his face—only it didn't. The smile faded, sure enough. Then suddenly it was back, all full of warmth and shit. He kept hold of Michael's hand and shook it all the more.

  "Good to meet you, Michael. I'm Wayne Oslund, Rachel's father. Come in and meet my wife."

  Michael stared back at him. The guy had actually invited him inside to meet his wife?

  On guard now, he stepped into the foyer, eyes scanning his surroundings. What he really wanted to do was step back outside though. He wanted to take a few minutes to figure out what had just happened. And that only increased his caution because he hadn't felt this off balance since he was a kid. Wayne Oslund somehow knew about him, no doubt about it. What Michael didn't understand was the reception he was getting. It didn't make sense. And when things didn't add up, he didn't like it.

  So he didn't pull out the charm when he met Rachel's mother—Eileen was her name—and she was the one who gave Rachel her blonde curls. He wasn't rude. He used all the right courtesies. But he didn't make any special effort to smile and play nice.

  She was polite, too. Reserved like he was, but polite. And that was okay. It was her husband—the father—that Michael needed to keep an eye on.

  But the guy just kept surprising him, smoothing the way and making conversation when it was usually the hostess who did that. He offered Michael a drink, which Michael declined, and he took a good hard look at his busted-up cheek.

  "Have a seat, Michael. That's quite a cut there under your eye. Were you caught up in that free-for-all we saw on television?"

  Michael waited for Rachel's mother to sit down first, then lowered himself onto a cream-colored sofa with wide, moss-green stripes. He liked that the room wasn't all crowded with furniture. Their Christmas tree reached the ceiling and stood in the far corner, but the space was comfortable and roomy like the foyer. "Yes, sir, I was," he answered.

  "And the girl in the overturned car? Is she all right?"

  "For the most part. Her hand was cut up a little. But she got married last night so I don't guess it was as bad as it looked."

  Mrs. Oslund blinked a couple of times. "She was engaged?"

  Her expression, her posture . . . hell, the tone of her voice made it clear what she was thinking. —What was Nina doing at a place like RUSH if she was engaged to be married?

  He had to struggle not to say what he really wanted to say. But before he came up with something else, her face turned pink and she apologized. "That was horribly rude. Please excuse me."

  And that surprised him. But okay, he'd give her that one. So he nodded and explained. "She's a friend," he said. "She married one of my business partners."

  Then Rachel appeared in the doorway and he got to his feet. And damn if she didn't do something to his insides when he looked at her. But that was only until he saw her eyes.

  Sky-blue, all sparkly with mischief, just like when she'd
approached his table that afternoon. Logically he had no reason to be wary. But he was. Something wasn't right. Something was missing. Or maybe too much was there. He didn't know which it was and he didn't know who she was, but he figured out real fast she wasn't Rachel. An identical twin?

  "Where's Rachel?" he demanded. There was too much weird shit going on in this house.

  The girl's smile disappeared.

  Michael turned to look at the father. Wayne had risen from his own chair and was staring at him curiously.

  "How did you know?" the girl asked.

  Michael switched his gaze back to her.

  She held out her hand and walked across the room toward him. "I'm Jill, Rachel's twin. But how did you know?" she asked again. She tilted her head to the side, just like he'd seen Rachel do.

  He shook her hand. "Michael Vassek," he said and released her. He wanted Rachel. And he wanted out of this house.

  And then there she was, standing in the doorway, and it happened all over again, sort of like a settling of something inside him. Only this time it didn't disappear when he looked into her eyes.

  He crossed the green carpet and positioned himself between her and the rest of the room.

  "Michael?" she questioned quietly.

  He went still. What the hell was wrong with him? This was her family. And each one of them was staring at him in surprised confusion. Even her father stood there with his mouth slightly open.

  He forced his muscles to relax some and stepped to the side. "I apologize," he said to the group as a whole. He took a moment to make eye contact with each of them. Then Rachel stepped around him, smiled up into his eyes, and goddamn if the world didn't tilt.

  "So how did you know?" she asked, echoing her sister's question.

  He grabbed hold of himself, looked over at the twin, then back again. "She just wasn't you."

  He wanted out of this house in the worst way. These people made him uncomfortable. "It's cold out tonight. You got a coat?"

  "Yes. In the closet."

  He faced her silent family once more and said, "It was nice to meet you." But the truth was, it was just the opposite. Maybe a parental grilling would have been preferable. So he turned toward the foyer to go help Rachel with her coat.