The door swings open and a stern looking man in a doctor’s coat walks in holding a clipboard. “Mr. Pierce,” he says. “Sorry to interrupt, Miss, but this will only take a moment,” he says to Brianne. “Frankly, you were very lucky, Mr. Pierce. From a crash of that magnitude, I would have expected broken bones and worse, but you somehow managed to walk away with bruises, scrapes, and a microfracture to your foot. You’ve already proven to be a fast healer, so I expect we should have you out of here in a week or two as good as new.”
“Thank you,” says Brianne. She gives me a relieved smile as soon as the doctor leaves, but the look is quickly replaced by something else. Fear, maybe. “Jackson,” she says suddenly, eyes growing hard. “There’s something I need to know. It’s--well--not really that important, I just feel like I need to know.”
“What is it?” I ask.
“Did you really think my writing was prudish and forgettable?”
I laugh, but it hurts my chest, making me wince and cut it short. “I honestly don’t think I even read it.”
“So you just send out soul crushing response letters for no reason?”
Her tone is light, but I can hear the emotion just behind it. I hurt her with my letter, and I feel like shit for it.
“I haven’t been myself these past few months. It’s no excuse. It’s just the truth. To be honest, it has only been since we met for lunch that I’ve started to feel normal again.”
“Is that a line?” she asks. “Something you say to make girls feel special?”
“It’s the truth.”
“So, what happened?” she asks, sitting beside me on the bed. “You said you weren’t yourself.”
“It’s a long story,” I say.
“Good thing you’re stuck here, then,” she says with a grin.
I chuckle. “You know, my chest is killing me. I don’t think I should talk anymore.”
“Faker,” she teases.
I bite my lip, feeling the grin fade from my face as I draw up the memories. Memories that would be better off buried, but no matter how much I might want that, I am who I am because of my past. I can’t bury it any more than I could bury myself.
She doesn’t need to know everything, though. If I told her my story from start to finish, she’d run off before I even made it to the middle. She deserves to know about Karen. I can give her that much, especially if she is still thinking about signing the contract. The contract. The thought sends a jolt of excitement through my sore body. Our relationship has already deviated so far from the norm that I had almost forgotten.
Another time though. I need to be at my full strength to completely enjoy her. Besides, Brianne is special. I can’t risk pushing her too fast and scaring her away.
“It has been close to a year since I was with another woman,” I say, not admitting I know exactly how many months, weeks, and days it has been. Not admitting I wake up every morning with the memory of what happened to her digging into my conscious like a thorn. “Her name was Karen. She was a few years older than you. She had an MFA in art and she loved to paint. I met her through the same site you found me on.
“I decided to call things off early. She was paid the full contract fee and I thought that was the end of it. But she was found dead in her apartment a few days later. Turned out her rebound boyfriend considered himself a dom. Except his idea of BDSM was...”
I lower my head. The shame and guilt that are normally my constant companions rise to their full force, feeling as if they might break me at any moment with their intensity. To my surprise, Brianne puts a hand on my arm. Her touch is soothing. I focus on her hand against my skin and regain a little of my control.
“His idea of BDSM was beating her to death.”
“You can’t blame yourself,” she says.
I huff a dry laugh. “Turns out I can. It’s pretty easy, actually.”
“I’m serious, Jackson. You couldn’t have known that would happen.”
“Maybe if I had paid more attention to her. Maybe if I hadn’t been so jaded.”
“No,” she says. “It’s not your fault,” she leans down to hug me gently. “It’s not your fault,” she whispers.
Her words punch straight through the haze of darkness that surrounds me. I’ve spent a long time thinking of how horrible I would look to anyone who knew about Karen and I. I’ve thought of how they would see me as a cold, heartless billionaire playboy who used and threw away a young woman. They’d see that my carelessness cost Karen her life. They’d hate me, and I’d be right beside them in their hatred.
There’s no hatred in Brianne’s big blue eyes. Only compassion.
“You really are special,” I say.
She frowns, shaking her head. “I’m not. I’m just a college student who writes forgettable fiction.”
“I didn’t even read it. You bring me something you wrote by tomorrow morning. I’ll read it and give you my honest opinion.”
“Oh, God. No, no way. I only submitted it to you in the first place because I had to keep my grade. I could never--no. Thank you, but no.”
“I don’t remember making a request,” I say darkly.
The silence hangs between us and I love every second of it. I can see the full meaning of my words circulating in her head, raising questions, sparking images. She can feel it. I may have started soft with her. I may have let her begin this slow, but if she’s going to be involved with me, she needs to learn sooner or later that I’m her Dominant. She needs to learn to submit.
“Okay,” she says. “I’ll bring it.”
“Good,” I say, biting back the urge to order her to call me sir. Not yet. She’s new to this, and I need to make sure I don’t overwhelm her. “Now let me get some rest, Princess.”
She nods her head quickly, taking a step back at my tone. “Right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have stayed so--”
“No,” I say. “I’m glad you came. I’d like you to keep coming when you have time. And that is a request, not an order,” I add with a smirk.
She smiles and bites her lip. “Okay. I’ll see what I can do.”
She turns to leave, giving me a tantalizing view of her perfect ass, making me wish it didn’t feel like I just drove into a wall at two hundred miles per hour a week ago. As the door closes behind her, my mind circles back to the way the steering column detached from the axle. That’s not a normal car issue. Someone fucked with the car. Someone wanted me to crash. And I don’t think whoever did it was expecting me to survive.
I grit my teeth and clench my fists until the tender muscles in my arms burn with pain. Those fucking businessmen from the Dominican Republic tried to have me killed, and it nearly worked.
Fuck.
I’m not sure how this sort of thing usually gets handled, but I know one thing for sure. If they think I’m just some rich asshole they can push around, they are going to learn how seriously wrong they are. I’ll make sure of it.
9
Brianne
I rub my bleary eyes as I wait in the hospital elevator. I tried to cover my sleepless night with makeup this morning, but I look as tired as I feel. I spent almost all night agonizing over what part of my story I would show to Jackson. I know he said he didn’t read the original chapter I sent him, but there’s a chance he really did. After all, he said it was forgettable, wouldn’t it make sense that he doesn’t remember reading it?