Samantha.
With Mr. Vitale hardly coming into the office, the past few days have been amazing.
Up until the moment I walked into Paradiso, I felt ready to conquer my fears and was excited to spend some time with my mystery man.
I’ve been looking forward to seeing him again, but I’m also nervous as hell because I’m moving to the next stage.
When I made the appointment, I requested that he sit on the armchair while I lay on the bed.
My heart lurches in my chest when I think about it. It won't be easy but I feel it would be a massive win if I can get through it.
But the fear of not being able to go through with it keeps me from leaving the table and going to the room.
He’s waiting. Get up and go. You won’t know until you try.
Sipping on my second martini, I stare at the olive in the glass while I try to build up my courage.
I can do this.
He works for Paradiso, so I know he won’t try anything. I’m sure I’m safe with him.
I can do this.
Suddenly, someone sits down across me, and my head snaps up. My eyes meet my mystery man’s dark brown ones briefly before I stare at the olive again.
Knowing I’m wasting his time, I say, “I’m sorry. I just need a couple of minutes.”
“There’s no rush, Samantha.” His tone is so gentle it makes me feel slightly emotional. “We can just talk.”
I shake my head, and taking a fortifying breath, I put the glass on the table and get up from the stool. “No. I want to try.”
He stands up, and I’m suddenly overly conscious about how much bigger than me he is.
I wait for him to lead the way before I follow. My eyes are locked on his broad shoulders and muscled arms.
He could easily hurt me. He could kill me.
A light layer of sweat beads on my forehead, and my breaths come faster.
When he opens the door and walks into the room, my feet come to a stop, refusing to take me a step further.
Shit.
My heart beats heavily in my chest, and it feels like the next step will throw me over the edge of a cliff without a parachute.
Don’t panic.
“You’re safe, Samantha,” my mystery man says, his voice filled with a world of patience.
Nothing is going to happen.
When I force my feet to move, my arms wrap around my waist, and I hold myself tightly as I enter the room. My eyes lock on the bed, and hearing him shut the door, my lips part so I can take deeper breaths.
I watch as he takes a seat in the armchair, and leaning forward, he rests his forearms on his knees and links his fingers.
I step closer to the bed, and once I’m next to it, I stop to calm my racing heart.
“This is insane, right?” the question bursts from me, and unable to stop, I start to ramble, “All I have to do is lie down while you sit there. It should be easy.” My breaths come faster and faster. “I should be able to do this.”
“Samantha.” When my eyes snap to him, he tilts his head. “Nothing about this is insane. You have all the time in the world and don’t have to lie down right now.”
The man’s voice has some kind of magical power because I instantly feel calmer.
Nodding, I set my handbag down on the bed. “Thank you for being so understanding.”
“There’s no need to thank me. I’m not a therapist, but I’m glad I can help you in some way.”
My gaze settles on him, and a smile wavers around my lips. “Are you always this nice?”
Instead of answering the question, he lets out a soft chuckle. My eyes return to the bed, and I stare at the black covers.
Just get on it.
My hands curl into fists as I sit down on the side of the bed, and I have to close my eyes to focus on breathing through the wave of panic that threatens to overwhelm me.
“Can you talk, please?” My voice is filled with the tension I’m feeling. “Earlier this week, I had to listen to two grown men argue about country music. It was the most tiring conversation I’ve ever listened to.”
The corner of my mouth lifts. “Yeah? I take it you’re not a fan of country music?”
“Not when I have to listen to it on a daily basis.”
While he’s speaking, I move further up the bed. My body tenses and my breaths speed up, but I keep going until I can lean back against the pillows.
My stomach churns, and the memories creep around the edges of my mind.
“What kind of music do you like?” he asks.
“Ah…” My tongue darts out to wet my dry lips, and my heart is beating so loudly it sounds like it’s taken up residence in my ears.
My side is on fire, and my mind is reeling with horror as I feel his tongue swipe over my skin to lick up my blood.
“Samantha?”
My eyes fly open and snap to the corner of the room where my mystery man sits. I notice his fingers are tightly linked. It’s the only sign that he’s on edge.
“What kind of music do you like?” he repeats his question. “Uhm. Anything. I’m not fussy.”
I wrap my arms tightly around my waist and glance down to where the blue and white top I’m wearing covers Todd’s name that he carved into me with a scalpel.
Licking my lips again, I ask, “Do you have any tattoos?” “Yes.”
My gaze darts to his. “Can you recommend a tattoo artist?” “I’ll give you the address before you leave.”
My attention returns to the bed, and my muscles lock in place when I think about moving down into a lying position.
Come on! You can do this.
It takes a lot of strength to unwrap my arms from around my waist, and placing my hands on the covers, I slowly scoot down.
“After I spent time with you last week, I realized I don’t get out much. I can’t remember the last time I went on a date,” he admits, much to my surprise.
“Really? Is it because you’re too busy?” I ask as I slowly lower my head to the pillow.
When I’m in a horizontal position, I stare at the ceiling and listen for any movement from him.
“Yes. I’ve been swept up in my work and forgot there’s more to life.”
I hear him shift, and my eyes dart to the corner, only to see him leaning back in the armchair.
“I just wanted you to know I’m also getting something from these meetings.”
I nod while my fingers dig into the covers. “I’m glad to hear that.”
I try to close my eyes, but the moment they’re shut, I’m bombarded with memories.
Even though I was in a relationship with Todd, and we’ve had sex before, feeling him push inside me this time makes a crack rip through the very foundation my entire life has been built on.
He lets out a groan. ‘Do you feel how good we fit together, Sam?’
He thrusts into me again, and my mind screams for him to stop. Another tear escapes from the corner of my eye and disappears into my hair.
‘I’ll never let you leave me. If you try, I’ll kill us both.’
I dart off the bed, and with my arms wrapped around me, I rub my hands up and down my biceps in an attempt to comfort myself.
“I’m here and won’t allow anyone to hurt you,” my mystery man says, his tone sounding harsher than usual.
The sound of his voice is so familiar I find myself stepping closer to him. When I’m next to the armchair, I sink down until my butt hits the floor and lean back against the wall.
Feeling disappointed with myself, I mumble, “It was worth a try.”
“You’ll get it right,” he murmurs, sounding more confident in my abilities than I am right now. “There’s no rush.”
Still wanting to make a success of tonight, I glance up at him. “Can you come sit next to me?”
I watch as his powerful body rises from the chair, and when he moves closer and sits down beside me, I’m surprised when I don’t feel a wave of panic.
Maybe it’s because my eyes are open?
He’s left a couple of inches between us, so I scoot closer until my arm brushes against his, which gets my heart racing.
I take a slow breath before I close my eyes.
With his voice no louder than a whisper, he says, “After my dad passed away from a stroke, my mother started getting panic attacks. It took years and a lot of medication before she managed to deal with her grief.”
I keep my voice soft as I reply, “I’m sorry to hear that. It must’ve been hard for your family.”
“It was, but with time, things got better.”
He’s right. It’s been a year since I left Houston, and in a way, I’ve learned to live with the trauma.
What else can you do when giving up is not an option?