Inside the Lines: Without a Trace series, a contemporary erotic romance novel (21 page)

The room seems to expand, grow larger and larger, and I feel like Alice getting smaller and smaller until I can’t reach the doorknob to get out. Red pill, blue pill.

“I think so.”

When I was eighteen, I got my tattoo. At the time, I believed that I was rebirthing myself in a way, as I lost myself in the BDSM subculture and tried to survive on my own. And in so many ways, I was right.

Somewhere along the way, I lost the idea of rebirth and instead started building walls around my heart, my thinking, and my identity. I drew lines I refused to cross, and instead of liberating me and giving me control, they kept me tied down and afraid.

I guess we all do that at some point, right? When life gets too painful or too hard, we back into a corner and put up our defenses, in hopes of staving off the inevitable hurt.

I’m not sure when the shift happens, but after the first brutal few weeks of therapy where I keep swearing I won’t return, things start to turn around. I begin to understand why I ruin relationships (fear of vulnerability), why I’m afraid to be open (afraid to trust the wrong person), and why I have a hard time being out of control (see previous). And as I start to piece together the ruins of my childhood and adolescence, I find an odd emotion surfacing amid the rage and bitterness.

Happiness. With an added dash of acceptance.

But I also discover that a lot of the things that I thought were just “shortcomings” of my personality are actually part of the walls I’ve built around myself. Sleeping with clients was a way to maintain that numb space, rather than embrace the emotions that overwhelmed me.

I can be both dominant and submissive in a relationship, without betraying the core of who I am and what makes me a good Dom. I don’t think I’m a true switch, as I can’t see myself fully embracing the submissive role, but knowing that I can let go of the reins and enjoy someone else in control doesn’t threaten who I am.

While all of this gives me hope, the reality of my mistakes are a painful blow. Some can be repaired, like the overdue apology to Noah and examining Kinked’s future. Other things, though, no matter how much duct tape and glue you bring to the table, can’t be reassembled.

Chapter 24

A Spark of Life

“Today is, regrettably, my last session with you, Mistress Hathaway.”

I’m in my standard getup, modestly covered in my trench coat, perched on one of the chairs in the living room of the suite.

Charles’s handsome face wears his emotions, and I admit to being surprised by his announcement. “I’m sorry to hear that, Charles.”

He sits down across from me—carefully, as we had a pretty intense session involving a rubber whip—but he smiles easily. “I hope I’ll be back in a few years, but I’m headed overseas for some work in the meantime.” He lets a beat pass, then asks, “I’ve noticed you seem a bit sad, as of late. May I inquire as to why?”

While Charles and I haven’t had any heart-to-hearts, he’s been very forthcoming about his own struggles in meeting the right woman, and I feel disingenuous not responding in kind. “I’ve been working on some elements of my mental health recently.”

“Good for you.” His smile widens. “All of us can use a good tune-up on occasion.”

“That’s a good way to look at it,” I say with a laugh. “I’ve realized that by not seeking help sooner, I missed out on some once-in-a-lifetime opportunities.”

His dark eyes meet mine. “Surely they are not permanently out of the picture?”

I look down at my hands, the nails elegantly polished for the first time in months. “Some things are, unfortunately, permanent.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” His smile turns compassionate. “There are other opportunities, though. You are young, beautiful, accomplished.”

I aim for a smile, but I fall a bit short. “Yes, there are. I have some new business pursuits that will hopefully be successful.”

“I’m intrigued. Will you share them with me?”

I nod, surprised by his interest but glad to be able to gush a bit. “I’m in the process of finalizing a business proposal that I’ll be sending out to investors for a sleek, sexy, and discrete dating service that caters to fetishes and alternative sexual preferences. I just hired a graphic designer to do some mock-ups of the website design, and I’ve enlisted the help of some very business savvy friends to help me. I had an investor—a powerful one—but due to the lawsuit involving that dating service that the serial rapist used, they decided to hold off on moving forward.” One corner of my mouth turns up. “Now, it’s just a matter of seeing it through and hoping others will have the same vision that I do.” Absently, I smooth the edge of my coat over my thigh. “I’m hopeful though. It’s something that has been calling to me for a while.” I manage half a smile.

“Sounds wonderful. What is your timeline for it?”

Since he seems sincere in his curiosity, I lay it out for him with details. He listens, attentive and thoughtful.

“You’ve really thought this through.” He steeples his fingers, eyeing me as though seeing me for the first time. Then he nods. “I agree—the current trends in online dating for fetishists and BDSM practitioners range from unimpressive to bizarre. You have a forward-thinking plan and a good mind.” He nods. “I look forward to hearing more about this.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a business card. “I leave next week, but I’ll let my assistant know to forward your emails to my personal account.”

His invitation takes me off-guard, and after a moment, I reach for his card. “I hope you didn’t think I told you these things in an effort to ‘sell’ you on my idea.”

“Of course not.” He shakes his head. “I can see your excitement and passion. And what you are designing could be of help to me, personally, so I have a vested interest, you could say. I’m very intrigued by this.”

“Thank you.” I don’t know what else to say.

We walk to the door, and he takes my hands. “Mistress Hathaway, I would like to ask you a personal favor.”

Curious, I narrow my eyes at him with a smile. “What is it?”

“You mentioned that you lost a rare opportunity, and I have my own suspicions as to what you refer.” He glances down at our joined hands before meeting my gaze again, and I am reminded that he must be near sixty, though with his spirit and personality, he has always seemed like a much younger man to me. “Life, as they say, is short. And while you may think that all hope is lost, often, when given a strong wind, it takes flight when we least expect it. Perhaps you might rethink giving up on that ‘lost opportunity.’”

I don’t say anything, in large part because a lump has formed in the back of my throat. My eyes threaten to well with tears, but I ignore them, focus instead on Charles’s tie. After a moment the emotion passes, and I look up at him. “I will consider your request.”

He squeezes my fingers with a small nod of his head. “Thank you for my punishment, Mistress Hathaway. I will endeavor to be less naughty for you.”

“Take care of yourself, Charles. That’s a command. I look forward to hearing from you upon your return.”

As I walk away, the wave of emotion returns with a vengeance, and I’m thankful for the privacy of the elevator, where I can let my tears fall without witness.

Chapter 25

Best Laid Plans

“Call him.” Ella holds out my phone.

“I can’t. This isn’t a phone call sort of thing.” Mia lies asleep in my arms, her belly full and her chubby cheeks relaxed. Every now and then, I swipe a finger over her cheek, just to see the reflexive smile she offers in response. Which only serves to remind me of someone else who smiles in his sleep.

I sigh. “I have to do this, don’t I?”

“Yes, you do,” Noah answers, rejoining us in the living room with a wine bottle and two glasses. We’re at Ella and Ian’s house, supposedly having a night of movies and drinking, except that Ian ended up staying late at the office, and, well, there is a four-month-old in the room. That limits the drinking. And the movie watching.

He pours the wine, handing me a glass and taking one himself. Ella refuses to drink anything until Mia’s weaned, and I can’t say I blame her. Trying to time drinks while nursing sounds like a feat worthy of Archimedes. So we partake for her, and we’re starting on our second bottle.

Noah sits beside me, pulling me back against him, his arm loosely around my shoulder. “Or you could just sleep with me. You know you want to.”

“God, you are drunk.”

Ella and I say it almost at the same time, and I cheer her with my glass. “Soul sisters.”

He rolls his eyes. “Well, just for that, I will deliver a low blow: I might be off the market.”

We both stare at him in disbelief.

“Say it ain’t so, little bro,” she teases.

“It may be. I’m not certain, but I might have met the right woman to cure me of my lascivious ways.” He winks.

I’m not sure how seriously to take his claim, so I lean back against him and close my eyes. He’s warm, I’m drunk, and I have a sleeping baby in my arms. What gets better than that?

My alcohol-sodden brain is not beyond debating Ella’s insistence that I call Fin, though. I want to. God, I really want to. But if I’m going to seek him out one last time, see if there’s any hope left, I have to do it in person. I can’t apologize without doing at least that. The thought of actually doing it makes me sick to my stomach. Not a good thing when you’ve had this much alcohol.

I fall asleep listening to the playful, quiet banter of Noah and Ella talking about a problem client, thankful that I have friends with whom I can know what family feels like.

***

Ella offered her car, probably so she could insist on coming with me. “You can’t go out there alone. You can drive, since you don’t trust my abilities. I’ll stay in the car. It will be like I’m not even there.”

Mia stayed with Ian, and Noah wished us luck. But the sadness in his eyes didn’t bode well.

Eripio Farm seems even farther away than the last time, and my stomach ties in knot after knot as we get closer. Ella lays a hand over mine, which is gripping the gear shift. “It’s going to turn out the way it’s supposed to, Lux.”

I nod, not trusting my voice or emotions. When I pull up outside the barns, I stare out over the acres for a few minutes, gathering my strength.

I glance quickly at Ella for moral support, and she nods. “You can do it.”

“What if it’s too soon? What if I haven’t been in therapy long enough? It’s been, what, a month? That’s hardly enough time—”

“None of us are perfect, Lux. Just go. Give it a shot.”

I exhale. “Yeah. Here we go.”

Unlike the last time I was here, the barn is packed with people—children, adults, several dogs. This time, I wore jeans and a sweatshirt, both because I don’t want to be noticed, and because I don’t want to give Fin anything but my honesty to focus on. I can only hope that’s enough. And that he isn’t dating someone else already.

That thought definitely gives me pause.

I push one foot in front of the other until I’ve walked through the barn, past people who aren’t familiar to me and don’t look like they work here. I’m nearly to the round pen when I see Willie sitting on a hay bale, petting a cat. Grubby, in pants a bit too small for him, he looks up at me. He’s lost a tooth, giving him a mischievous expression.

“I remember you,” he says by way of greeting.

“You do? I’m glad. Willie, right?”

He nods, then returns his attention to the cat.

“Is Fin around anywhere? I’d hoped to find him.”

He looks up at me, one eye squinted against the midday sun. “Nope. He’s gone.”

Whatever knots my stomach had tightened into quickly turn to wet noodles. “Gone? What do you mean?”

“He went home. Back to Scotland.” He over-pronounces it, as though I might not be able to understand him otherwise.

“Really? How long ago?” I don’t know why I’m asking. Whatever small dash of hope I’d sprinkled on this venture has dissolved into thin air.

“Dunno. Couple of weeks, maybe?”

I swallow hard. “Thanks for telling me, Willie.”

He doesn’t respond, and I watch him with the cat for a moment, focused on keeping my breakfast from coming up. Then I walk away.