I park my car in the short-term lot and carry my bag into the airport, heading straight for the bathroom. Fifteen minutes later, I come out as Laura Drake, confident on the outside, devastated on the inside.

Ari is waiting for me on a bench just outside. He stands when he sees me. “Ms. Drake,” he says formally with a bow of his head.

“Mr. Nelson,” I reply in kind.

He takes my bag and leads me to where a limo is parked. “Limo,” I say in approval. “Nice.”

We say very little on the trip over. I must be emitting back-off vibes. They’re the only kind Ari ever pays any attention to. And I’m pretty sure that, today, I’ve got them in spades.

By the time we arrive at the store, I’m ready to get this over with and get back home. There’s already a line out the door, so I plaster on a smile and head around the building to the rear entrance.

Inside, the women in line are chatting quietly as the shop owner, Patricia, finishes stacking copies of my books on a table set up at the back of the store near the cash register.

I approach her and she turns toward me, smiling. “I just can’t thank you enough for having your signing here. It means the world to little bookstores like mine.”

The trip starts to feel more worth it as Patricia’s sincerity penetrates the cloud of my despair. My smile comes a little more easily this time. “It’s my pleasure. Thank you for having me.”

She leaves to get me a cup of fresh-brewed coffee as I get situated. I sit down behind the table and scan the room. I’m dumbstruck when my eyes collide with intense pale green ones. Then my day takes a turn for the…confusing.

Alec isn’t standing in line. He’s leaning against the wall near the door with his arms crossed over his chest, silently observing me. Surprisingly, I recover quickly, but I’m glad when Patricia returns, providing me with some welcome distraction.

Ari gets the signing started and I do my best to concentrate on my readers rather than the man watching me from across the room. It’s not easy, though, and it makes for the longest two hours of my life.

When I’m signing the last book of the day, my eyes stray to Alec. I’ve glanced surreptitiously at him two dozen times at least and not once have I seen him move, speak, gesture or even flinch like he might be considering approaching me. He’s just watching me, always watching me. Silently. Broodingly.

I’m a bundle of nerves by the time I’ve thanked everyone, said my goodbyes and am letting Ari shuffle me out the door. Without looking back, I hop into the limo. But as I sit inside, waiting on Ari who got caught by a fan, I can’t stop myself from looking back at the store for signs of Alec.

I don’t see him, which further confuses me and stimulates the whirlwind of questions circling my mind.

What could this mean? What does he want? Why didn’t he speak to me? Where did he go? Will I see him again?

As my head spins out of control, the limo door opens. I expect to see Ari duck inside. But I don’t. My heart leaps up into my throat when I see Alec scoot onto the seat across from me instead.

His eyes search mine for a few seconds before he speaks. “I promised I’d help you. And I will. But you have to be honest with me. Can you do that?”

My pulse is fluttering like butterfly wings inside my chest and I feel nearly giddy that he’s here, in my limo, sitting across from me, back in my life. I didn’t realize how much I wanted him here until he was gone.

But there are still things that can’t happen, things I can’t do.

“I can’t—”

“This is about you, Samantha. Not about me. You have nothing to worry about,” he interrupts, putting my mind at ease as if my thoughts are completely transparent to him.

Relief washes through me. Is it possible to have him? My way? To have it all? Like I’ve hoped right from the beginning?

Before I can thoroughly investigate the downside to this—and I’m certain there is one—I find myself agreeing. The lure of Alec, of my real-life Mason, is too strong.

“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 masturbation. 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?”

“No.”

“Did you like watching her?”

“No!” she says emphatically. “Oh, God! It was horrible.”

“Then why did you?”

“I didn’t for a long time. I would put a pillow over my head to drown out the sounds. It wasn’t until I heard more than just one woman’s voice that I ever went back to her door at night.”

“And how old were you then?”

“Fifteen.”

“Tell me about it.”

I see her chest rise and fall with her deep inhalation. “I went because I was afraid for my mother. I didn’t know what more than one person might do to her. So I crept down the hall and stood in front of her door. I just listened for a while. It’s when I started to hear some banging around that I got up the nerve to twist the door knob and crack the door just a tiny bit. I did it and then ran back to my room, just in case someone inside noticed.”

“And did they?”

“No, no one noticed. I’m sure they were far too busy enjoying themselves.”

“You must’ve gone back.”

“I did. I waited until I was sure no one would notice and I crept back down the hall and pushed it open just enough so I could see inside.”

“And what did you see this time?”

“My mother was with another woman and a man on the bed. Both the woman and the man were doing things to her. To each other, too. When I was satisfied she wasn’t being hurt, I started to back away.”

“But you didn’t?”

“No. That’s when I saw the other couple in the room.”

“And what were they doing?”

“The girl probably wasn’t much older than I was. She was on her knees with her face on the floor. Her hands were tied behind her back and he was holding on to them as he pushed something in and out of her. Hard. And fast. She was moaning and he was telling her to take it all like a good little girl.”

“Did that scare you?”

Her mouth opens and closes twice before she speaks. “A little.”

“Why?”

“Well, the two times I’d seen people ha**g s*x were both…unusual and, to a child, almost violent. Painful looking. So yes, it scared me.”

“Could you not understand that she was enjoying what he was doing to her?”

“Yes, but I think that was part of the problem.”

“How so?”

“To a kid’s way of thinking, it looked like the only way to find pleasure in sex was through violence and pain.”

“Were these the only times you saw things like that?”

“No. I watched a few times after that, but only when I knew there were other people in there, not just my mother.”

“And were those experiences similar?”

“For the most part. There was some variety to it, but every night seemed to reinforce the theme of pain equaling pleasure.”

“Did your mother ever find out that you watched?”

A long pause. “Yes,” Samantha answers in a small voice.

“What was that night like?”