She laughs. It's a bitter sound. “I think it’s safe to say it was one of the worst nights of my life.” She pauses again, as if to gather strength to relive that night in the retelling of it. “It was a Tuesday. I’d had a date that night. I was sixteen and he was my very first boyfriend. He’d taken me to the movies then dropped me back off at home a little after nine. I was too excited to sleep, so I was awake when she came in. It was just after eleven. She and her…guests went straight to her bedroom. It was probably fifteen or twenty minutes later when I got up to go to the bathroom. Her door was wide open this time, which was a first. As I passed, I only saw her and one guy. He looked a little familiar, but I didn’t really think much of it. I always tried to look away from Mom when I happened to see her. It was as I was going back to bed that I saw him sitting in the corner of the room.”

“Who?” I ask, but she doesn’t hear me.

“I thought at first my eyes were playing tricks on me, but when I saw Jamie’s letterman’s jacket crumpled on the floor, I knew it was him. It was Jamie Nunley, my boyfriend.” There’s a faraway, pained look in her eyes as she stares straight ahead. She’s lost in the past. “He was sitting in a chair across from the bed with his pants unzipped, jacking off as he watched one of his football buddies screw my mom.”

When she doesn’t continue, I give her a few minutes to collect herself before I ask my next question. “What did you do?”

“I gasped. I couldn’t help it. I was…stunned. I tried to cover my mouth, but I wasn’t quite quick enough. Jamie looked toward the door and smiled. I’m sure that’s who opened it to begin with. Anyway, I ran back to my room. He followed me. I thought he’d try to explain it or make up some crazy excuse, but he didn’t. It’s almost like he wanted me to see. I tried to shut my door on him, but I couldn’t get it closed fast enough. He pushed it open and came in. Just walked right into my room like he hadn’t been doing what he was doing. He was smiling, even. I got mad, of course. I slapped him. And it felt so good. Until he slapped me back. From there, the angrier I got, the more it seemed to turn him on. Finally, he grabbed me and threw me on the bed and started kissing me. I struggled. Told him over and over to get off me, but he seemed to like it the more I fought him. He slapped me a few times. Harder and harder each time. ‘Oh, so that’s how you like it, huh? Like your mom? You like it rough, baby?’ I was terrified by then. I reached up and scratched his face. I’d have done anything to get him off me. But that just made him madder. That’s when he pinned my arms underneath me so I couldn’t move them, so I couldn’t fight. I couldn’t even stop him when he reached between my legs.”

When Samantha stops, I don’t prompt her to continue. I’m letting her recover as I digest what she’s told me thus far, what she’s been through and how she must’ve felt when I took her to the club.

“I started screaming and Mom finally heard. She came in and made him leave before he could rape me.” Another bitter laugh. “After he was gone, she went to her room for a long time. I kept expecting her to come and comfort me, but when she finally came out, she was furious. The funny thing is: She wasn’t angry with Jamie. She was angry with me.”

I grit my teeth in anger. I’ve never been able to understand parents who could stand by and watch their children be hurt.

“So she didn’t have any sympathy for what you’d been through?”

“No. She said the whole thing was my fault for being out of bed when she had visitors. She accused me of doing something to bring Jamie to my bedroom, to lead him on. She said that I’d gotten what I deserved for being a c**k tease. She said I should’ve left him with her.”

“So she didn’t see anything wrong with doing things like that with your boyfriend?”

“No, she just couldn’t understand why I’d be upset by it.”

When she doesn’t go on, I ask, “And then what happened?”

“Word got around school pretty fast about what my mom was into, and what people were saying that I was into. There were rumors about people paying me and my mom for threesomes and rumors that she was my pimp. I got…approached a couple of times. Scared me pretty bad. Once was in the chemistry lab after school. He wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Luckily, one of the teachers happened to come by. She’d already been hearing the talk. I was a mess by then. She called Social Services. Naturally, they investigated. When they talked to my mother, she didn’t even try to deny it. I think she sort of wanted to be rid of me. She didn’t fight it at all when they took me from her and put me into foster care.”

There is resignation in her voice. She must’ve come to terms with her mother’s inability to love her a long time ago.

“Have she ever attempted to find you since then?”

“Yes. She spent two years in prison. After that, I saw her at school twice. Both times, she was across the street, watching me as I walked to my car. The look she gave me…” Samantha shivers.

“Do you think she would’ve hurt you?”

“I don’t know, but she sure looked angry. Maybe she blamed me. I don’t know.”

“Were you afraid?”

She shrugs. “A little, I guess. Enough to tell my foster parents.”

“What did they do?”

“I don’t know, but I never saw her again after that.”

“And how do you feel about that now?”

“I feel relieved. I don’t ever want her to find me.”

“Hence the disguise.”

She nods. “I don’t want her in my life anymore. Meeting the people that I call my parents was one of the best things to ever happen to me. They took me in, loved me like I was their own. Made me part of the family. Gave me a life, helped me to start over. They even moved us across the county line so I wouldn’t have to go back to the same school. When I tell people they saved my life, I’m not really exaggerating. It’s hard to tell what would’ve become of me had I stayed with my birth mother.”

“How has all this affected your relationships as an adult?”

Samantha shrugs again, not in flippancy, but in consternation. “I don’t know. I may have a few trust issues, but not as many as you’d think coming from a childhood like that. The Johnsons helped me with that. And Chris.”

“And what about your other relationships? Intimate ones?”

“I suppose I’ve never been able to truly let go of what I saw and what happened. Even though I know in my head that fear and pain don’t have to accompany pleasure with sex, there’s something inside me that just can’t…move on. It’s not nearly as much of a problem for me as it is for the men I’ve dated, though.”

She keeps her eyes tightly focused on her feet as she walks. She’s embarrassed.

“Why is that?”

“I can only fake something I don’t feel for so long. Once a relationship turns sexual and the guy realizes he’s not doing it for me, he takes it personally, like a knock against his manhood.”

“And that threatens their masculinity, so they blame you. Is that about it?”

“Yeah, pretty much. I’ve been called frigid and broken and cold, all sorts of things. They can be very mean and hurtful. Ugly.”

“And do you see yourself as any of those?”

“I don’t know what I am.”

I grab Samantha’s hand, pulling her to a stop. I turn her toward me. “You aren’t broken. And I’m gonna prove it to you.”

“How?” Although her question is skeptical, I can see the hope in her eyes. And I know why she was so upset with me that night at the club. She really wants me to fix her.

“You don’t need to know the details. You just need to trust me. Trust that I will give you pleasure and never pain. Let’s start with that, okay?”

She attempts a tiny smile with her nod. “Okay.”

“For the rest of the weekend, keep an open mind. Do as I ask without fear that I will do anything to scare you or to remind you of what you saw in your childhood. Trust that every time I touch you, I will bring you that much closer to experiencing pleasure in ways that you’re truly comfortable with.”

She glances away and I see her pull her lip between her teeth to gnaw it anxiously. “What about you? How…I mean, won’t you…”

“Don’t you worry about me. This will be good for me, too.”

I say that, hoping I sound convincing, hoping she never finds out that I’m turned on by what she’s most afraid of.

Samantha isn’t the only broken one.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE - Samantha

I wake to an empty bed. To Alec’s empty bed. The sheets on the other side are smooth and untouched. I don’t know where he slept last night, but it wasn’t with me.

I’m more than a little disappointed. So much weight was lifted from me after our talk that I fell asleep on the couch downstairs in front of the fireplace before Alec could even return with the drinks he was pouring us. I remember him carrying me up the stairs and I remember him pulling the covers up over me, but that’s it. I slept more soundly than I have in months. Maybe longer.

But where is he? Where did he spend the night?

I slide out of bed and walk to the windows that look out over the ocean. It’s a beautiful day and, by the looks of the position of the sun, it’s not exactly early any more.

I turn and head for the bathroom. As I pass the sink on the way to the toilet, I see the note stuck to the mirror.

Make yourself at home. There’s bagels and coffee in the kitchen. You’ve got the place to yourself until lunch. I’ll be back by then. Enjoy the sun.

—A

While it would’ve been nice to wake up next to Alec, having some time to relax and collect myself is probably a really good idea. This is a lot to wrap my head around. I’ve never been in a relationship like this before. Nowhere near it, in fact.

I walk down to the kitchen and grab half a bagel, slather it with cream cheese and pour a cup of coffee from the already-brewed pot. I wander the house as I nibble, admiring the flawlessly-positioned artwork, the immaculate décor and the breathtaking views from nearly every window.

Within thirty minutes, after roaming the entire empty house, I’m back upstairs. I stare out at the secluded balcony off the master as I sip a glass of lemonade, listening to the silent call of the padded chaise lounge and the ocean just beyond it.

I glance at the clock. It’s only a few minutes after ten. It’s warm enough to get some sun and it’s early enough that I’ll still have time to shower and be ready for Alec by noon.

But I didn’t bring a bathing suit.

Feeling more daring and lighthearted than I have in a long time, I strip my clothes off, grab two towels from the bathroom, wrap one around myself and head for the balcony.

I set my glass down beside the chair, drape one towel over the cushion then look nervously around before I drop my own towel and lay face down on the cushion. I giggle, imagining Chris rolling her eyes at my silliness. She’s the type that would sunbathe in the nude without thinking a thing about it. I, however, am not.

Until today. Today, I might be that girl.

I relax in the warmth of the sun. When my skin begins to tingle, I roll onto my back to feel the hot rays caress my face and chest. I’m in that drowsy state between sleep and wakefulness when I hear his voice.

“I must admit, I’m very happy with the way you ‘make yourself at home’.”

I jump when Alec speaks from somewhere near my left ear. Instinctively, I sit up, crossing my arms over my chest and drawing my knees up to hide my nudity. I shield my eyes from the sun to focus on him. He’s standing slightly behind me with only a towel draped loosely around his hips. My mouth goes dry as I take in his wet black hair and the drops of water that glisten like specks of gold on his bronze chest.

Instantly, I’m right back in my book with Daire and Mason. The setting is so similar, it’s like déjà vu. Only Alec is real. And he’s really here. And so am I.

“I thought you were going to be gone until lunch.”

“After my workout, I decided to come home for a shower. What can I say? I couldn’t stay away.”

That makes me inordinately happy, but not enough to make me drop my guard.

“If you’ll hand me that towel,” I say, nodding toward the one I left crumpled on the floor at his feet, “I’ll go get a shower, too.”

Alec kicks my towel out of the way. “How about this one instead?” he asks, reaching for the towel that encircles his hips. My mouth falls open and no sound comes out. My gaze is glued to his hand and my mind is willing him to remove the towel. “No?” he says when I don’t answer. “Well, now you have no options. I don’t think I’ll let you have your towel,” he says casually as he moves to stand at the foot of the chaise. “I don’t think I’ll let you go back inside either. Or get dressed. You’re here. I’m here. And you did agree to do as I say, did you not?”

I nod. Even though he told me I have nothing to fear, and I believe him, a thin thread of anxiety works its way down my spine. He’s already shown me what he likes, what he can be like. But I find that it also excites me. I remember his words, the things he promised he’d do to me, things he promised he’d make me feel. And I don’t doubt I’ll feel them all.

Anticipation blooms in my stomach like a lazy lotus blossom.

“Remove your arms. I want to see your breasts.”