Chapter 15
15
SAMANTHA
T he sounds coming out of me aren’t human. They’re the whistling grunt of a hungry guinea pig and the whine of a lonely dog and the purr of a cat being scratched in the perfect place behind her ear. I’ve hooked one foot behind Braiden’s knee, holding him close, framing the heat of his heavy erection between my thighs.
He’s caught my lip between his teeth, and I’m pinned just short of pain. His fingers rake my hair like low-hanging branches of a tree. I’m melting beneath him, losing my thoughts, losing my bones.
“Excuse me!”
Alix’s voice cuts through the boiling sap that’s taken the place of my brain.
I squeak as Braiden pulls away from me. My skirt is hiked halfway to my hips. My top has slipped from my waistband, and my nipples stand out against the silk like searchlights in a storm. I’m breathing like I’ve just run the bases for an inside-the-park home run, and I’m not entirely sure I remember my name.
“I’m so sorry,” Alix says, as Braiden steps between us, giving me a chance to tug my clothes back in order.
I catch a glimpse of Alix’s face. She’s blushed the color of a good rosé. Her eyes are locked on Braiden’s face, as if the world will end if she notices anything below his belt.
“I’m so sorry,” she says again. “I realized I didn’t show you a prototype of the auction catalog. We had one last month that’s a good example…”
Apparently she realizes her computer offers good cover, because she opens the laptop with enough force that the screen nearly sails across the room. Balancing the device on one hand, she starts typing with the other. “I’ve got it here somewhere,” she says. “Just a second… No, that’s not the right file…”
My skirt is back where it belongs. My top is tucked in, its pearl buttons all in a line. My breasts aren’t cooperating entirely, but I remind myself of warm summer breezes and lazy days in the sun. My heart still pounds, but I no longer sound like I’m about to hyperventilate.
I turn around and move to Braiden’s side, brushing my hand against his sleeve as a silent thank you for his gallantry. A quick glance shows he’s tamed his erection either with his own guided imagery or the sheer embarrassment of our being caught necking like two horny teenagers.
Braiden clears his throat. “Why don’t you just send me the file?” he says to Alix. “I need to check something in my gallery.” And then he asks, “Samantha? I’ll meet you at the car in half an hour?”
“Perfect!” I say, wincing as my voice comes out in the too-bright tone of the weather forecaster on the nightly news.
I wait until he closes the door before I slump into one of the chairs at the table. Covering my eyes with one hand, I try to smother an embarrassed giggle. “Sorry about that,” I say .
Alix sits beside me. “ Please ,” she says. “I’ve seen worse.”
“God, I hope not.”
“I was just coming back to make sure you’re okay. Things seemed off at the start of the meeting.”
“They were,” I say. “I got some bad news as I came down to the freeport this morning.”
“Bad news?”
A detective—Tarrant, he said his name was—called from the Philadelphia police department. He wants me to come down to the Broad Street station. Just a conversation. Just a chance to go over facts.
Facts about how I killed three people and did my best for eleven years to cover it up.
I’ve known for weeks that there will be some sort of formal investigation into the three bodies I left on that mountaintop. But I’ve been so focused on the ethics proceeding and the potential loss of my law license that I wasn’t prepared to hear from the actual police this morning.
I can’t imagine what I’ll say when I stop in at the station. How I’ll defend myself. How I can ever justify what I did.
The instant I got off the phone with Detective Tarrant, I called Sonja, my lawyer. She said I should find someone else to represent me in “the fucking criminal matter.” Sonja’s strong suit is ethics. Not crime.
But she administered another dose of disaster before she ended the call: “I spoke with Alyssa Lopez this morning.”
“Alyssa Lopez?” The name is familiar, but I can’t put my finger on why.
“She’s the one with the Mousetrap podcast. True crime in real time .”
“Jesus,” I said, remembering the motto.
“They’re turning your story into a ten-part serial. She’s sending over the first episode as a courtesy. It’s set to air a week from today. ”
Seven days before my name is smeared by the most popular podcast in the country. But I can’t burden Alix with all of that now. So I sigh and tell her a different truth: “Braiden and I had a rough weekend. But, um, we just talked it out.”
“So I gather.” Her voice is as dry as a silica pouch in the bottom of a new purse.
I lean my head back against my chair. “Do you ever feel overwhelmed?”
“Every single day,” she says.
I wave a limp hand at the room. “Not by this. Not by work. I mean...” But then I chicken out and shake my head. “Forget it.”
“No,” she says. “Go on. What were you going to say?”
“I have no business prying into your personal life.”
“Pry away. I’ll let you know when you get too close to home.”
I still can’t say the words.
“Sam,” she says. “You look like you need a friend. You can trust me. I promise.”
I take the leap. “Do you ever find yourself doing things you never thought you’d do? Accepting situations you never believed you could? Do you ever feel like you’re drowning in a sea of testosterone? Like you’ve slipped a leash onto an alpha wolf, and you might not survive the ride?”
“Every single day,” she says. And then, after barely a hesitation, “Every night.” Then: “You’ve met Trap.”
I nod. I have met Trap. He’s my boss. The man who hired me. The man who cuts my paycheck. And I’ve seen the way he looks at Alix—with the same calm mastery that scares the shit out of me when I see it in Braiden’s eyes.
“I’m a strong woman,” I say. “I put myself through law school. I’ve built a career. I don’t need a man to run my life.”
“Of course you don’t need one. But it can be a hell of a lot more fun to have one.”
I laugh, because something swells in my throat. If I don’t pretend to be amused, I might burst into tears. “I just don’t know if I can do what he wants me to do,” I say.
She stiffens. “Does he hurt you?”
I don’t answer right away, because I’m ashamed of my reply.
“Sam,” Alix says. “This is important. Does he make you do things you don’t want to do?”
I shake my head. It’s easier to answer with my eyes closed. “I want it. All of it. He’s never forced me to do anything.”
Her exhale is long and low and tells me more about her past than I think even she realizes. “What are you afraid of?” she finally asks.
I’m afraid Braiden’s life and my life are too tangled to ever pull straight. His marriage to Birte. His responsibility to watch over Aiofe. His running the Fishtown Boys, and whatever pull Fiona has over him, and Madden’s fucking lies.
I’m afraid he’ll find someone braver than I am to wear his collar.
I’m afraid he’ll get tired of me.
But I say out loud: “I’m afraid he doesn’t need me as much as I need him.”
Alix’s smile is soft. “What can you do for him that no other woman can do? That no other person can do?”
The question takes me by surprise.
Braiden has all the money in the world. He has loyal men who’ll put their lives on the line without question. He has power and glory and prestige. There is literally nothing he can’t buy.
That leaves my body.
The only thing I have that Braiden might want is my physical body. The one he puts in a collar. The one he uses until I ache, in my heart and in my flesh. The one I give to him, over and over and over again, because I can’t imagine a life without the release he gives me in exchange.
I don’t know if Alix reads my answer on my face. But she puts her hand over mine and says, “Think about it.” Squeezing my fingers, she climbs to her feet. “And if you need another place to make out, be sure to reserve the room on the master calendar.”
My laugh is only a little shaky as I follow her out of the conference room.