Chapter 3: The Edge of Jasmine: Chapter 3

SAMANTHA’S BREATH STOPPED. ONE SECOND she was taking air in, and then, she wasn’t. Her diaphragm remained locked as she took in Mr. Sinclaire’s tall, lean, and handsome body.

He was wearing a pair of suit pants and a crisp linen shirt, very much like what had been wearing the first time she had met him at the Hotel Bentmoore. Had it really been less than a year ago? It felt like so much longer. His sleeves were rolled up, and the first couple buttons on his shirt were undone, revealing a strip of smooth, tanned chest.

The blond hair on top of his head was shorter than the last time she had seen him, Samantha noted. When she had first met him, Mr. Sinclaire’s hair had been long enough to fall in front of his eyes. Samantha remembered how he would run his hand through it now and then, as if trying to get it out of his face. But it always fell back down, giving him a rascally, roguish look. Now it was trimmed and slicked back, making him seem more clean and proper.

But his eyes…his eyes were just as bright and seductive as they always had been. Slanted, half-hooded beneath furrowed blond brows, they pierced into hers like they were stripping off all her turmoil and gazing down into her very soul. Samantha exhaled, then took a short, shallow breath. She could not tear her eyes away. Nor, apparently, could Mr. Sinclaire.

He watched her as she took him in, smiling at her reaction to his presence. She had grown her hair out: it was longer now than it had been when he’d seen her last, a good four inches longer. It reached the middle of her back, and fell in soft waves. The red highlights of her chocolate brown tresses shimmered in the light, making her hair sparkle. Her eyes, always an innocent brown, were just as wide and revealing as he remembered. Samantha had eyes that could hide nothing. At least, not from him.

They stared at each other for a long time, long enough for someone else, someone who was apparently there with Mr. Sinclaire, to come up and join them.

“What’s going on here?” He asked, directing his stare at Mr. Sinclaire, then at Samantha, then at the bouncer, and then, finally, at Scott, who was kneeling down at the floor and cradling Kimberly’s head in his arms.

“The lady here has had too much to drink. She needs to leave,” the bouncer said in answer. His voice held more respect now, and Samantha realized the man who had just joined them held some kind of authority over the bouncer.

“She’s not drunk, she’s sick,” Samantha said again, this time to the stranger.

“Sick? Does she need medical help?” Mr. Sinclaire kneeled down and touched Kimberly’s face. Kimberly reacted by rolling her head in the crook of Scott’s elbow. She opened her eyes for a brief second, looked at Mr. Sinclaire, and then closed them again.

Mr. Sinclaire frowned. “Maybe you should take her to the hospital.”

“No, she just needs to go home,” Scott said, looking back at Mr. Sinclaire with a grimace, making it clear he did not appreciate the interference. Mr. Sinclaire looked at Scott blandly, then shrugged and stood up. He folded his arms.

“Did she come with you?” He asked Scott.

“Yes. She’s my girlfriend.” Scott’s voice was clipped.

“This is my sister, Kimberly,” Samantha cut in. “And her boyfriend, Scott. Scott brought us here in his car. He can take my sister home.”

“Okay then.” Mr. Sinclaire unfolded his arms. “Do you need help carrying her out of the club?”

“No, I got her,” Scott said. He tried to pick up Kimberly in his arms, but couldn’t lift her. Without saying a word, Mr. Sinclaire reached over, took Kimberly’s limp body from Scott’s arms, and hefted her up. “I’ll carry her to your car,” he said. Scott’s scowl deepened, but he gave Mr. Sinclaire a quick nod.

“Take her through the side door,” Mr. Sinclaire’s friend said. “It leads right out to the parking lot. You won’t have to go through the crowd. You–” he said, looking at the bouncer– “show them.”

“Yes, sir.” The bouncer began to lead them across the floor, clearly assuming they would follow. Mr. Sinclaire began to walk right behind him, holding Kimberly firmly in his arms. Scott and Samantha trailed behind, but made sure to keep up.

Once they got outside, Scott quickly ran ahead of the group to unlock his car. He held the back door open as Mr. Sinclaire gently lay Kimberly down across the row of seats. Kimberly didn’t react at all. She looked asleep.

“Are you sure you don’t want her checked out at the hospital?” Mr. Sinclaire asked Scott again. “She looks like she might have been drugged.”

Samantha inhaled sharply, shocked. Scott’s scowl deepened. “No, she just needs to go home and sleep it off,” he said. “Thank you for your help.”

“No problem,” Mr. Sinclaire replied, moving a couple steps away.

“Samantha, get in the car,” Scott said.

“I–” Samantha looked at Mr. Sinclaire. Mr. Sinclaire frowned, looking like he was about to say something. Then he took his wallet out of his pocket, slid out a small square card, and handed it to Samantha.

“This is my information,” he said to her. “Don’t lose it.”

“Thank you Sir,” she whispered, staring down at the precious card.

He looked at her with that purely Dom look of his that always made her shiver. “Samantha, tell me your phone number number.”

“Get in the car,” Scott said again, louder this time. He had already gotten in himself, and was watching the byplay between the two people out of the window from the driver’s seat, looking impatient.

Ignoring Scott, Samantha gave Mr. Sinclaire her telephone number, slowly and clearly. When she was done, Mr. Sinclaire nodded, looking satisfied. “I’ll call you,” he said.

“Please,” Samantha replied, giving him a pleading look.

“I promise. Go, take care of your sister. I’ll call you soon.”

They stared at each other for one last moment. It was all Samantha could do not to rush into his arms and kiss him with all the longing and desire she felt, but she held back. After a moment, she got into the backseat, holding her sister’s head in her lap.

Samantha stared out the window, focusing on Mr. Sinclaire as Scott began to drive away. She looked through the back window over her shoulder until she couldn’t see him anymore.

Mr. Sinclaire watched the car speed away with furrowed brows, staring at the woman sitting inside for as long as he could.

Jake came up to stand next to Mr. Sinclaire. “What the hell just happened?” He asked.

“A miracle,” Brian replied.

~ * * * ~

Samantha held her sister’s head in the back seat of the car and lightly slapped her face, trying to get Kimberly to wake up. It wasn’t working.

“How is she doing?” Scott asked from the front. He was watching the road, being careful as he drove, but Samantha could see his white-knuckled fingers squeezing the steering wheel.

“Not good,” Samantha said. “I think maybe she does need to see a doctor, Scott.” She tapped Kimberly’s face again with the back of her hand. Kimberly moaned, but didn’t open her eyes.

“No, she just needs to go home and sleep it off,” Scott repeated. Samantha could feel the car speed up. Scott was hitting the gas, trying to get them home faster. She didn’t like it that Scott was so quick to dismiss the thought of taking Kimberly to the hospital. Then again, he couldn’t see how bad Kimberly looked. In Samantha’s opinion, Kimberly didn’t look good at all.

Finally, as they were pulling into the driveway, Kimberly opened her eyes. She had to blink a few times before she could focus on Samantha’s face peering down at her.

“Where are we?” She asked. Her voice was hoarse and slow.

“We’re home,” Samantha said. The passenger side door opened, and Scott reached into the back, ready to help pull Kimberly out. Working together, he and Samantha managed to get Kimberly up the driveway and through the front door of the house. Then they led her down the hallway and around the corner to her bedroom, where they carefully laid her on the bed.

Samantha took off Kimberly’s shoes, but when she moved to unbutton her blouse, Scott stopped her.

“I’ll do it,” he said. “Why don’t you go and, I don’t know, wash up or something? Go get a drink?”

“Yeah,” Samantha said. “I think I will.” She left the room and quietly shut the door.

A few minutes later, she heard Scott’s bare footsteps in the hallway coming her way, toward the kitchen. Samantha had already changed into her pajamas and had washed her face of all her makeup.

“I’m going to stay here tonight, keep an eye on Kim,” Scott said, leaning over the small kitchen island. He said it like he was asking Samantha if it was okay…which he was.

“Sure,” Samantha replied. He didn’t really need her permission, he had already stayed over more than a few times in Kimberly’s room, but it was nice of him to ask. And this time, Samantha didn’t mind Scott staying over at all. She actually preferred knowing he was sleeping next to her sister, keeping a watchful eye over her. That’s what good boyfriends were supposed to do when their girlfriends got sick.

Scott sighed. “Crazy night.”

“Agreed.”

“Can I ask you something, Sam?”

“Sure.”

“You seemed to know that guy who carried Kimberly out of the club. Who was he?”

Samantha turned around to get a glass out of the cabinet. “Just someone I met on a trip a while ago,” she said vaguely. She poured some tap water into the glass and gulped it down, keeping her face averted from his.

“So you don’t really know him. Not a lot,” Scott said.

“No, not a lot. I just…know him. Why?”

“You think he could have drugged Kimber’s drink?”

Now Samantha looked at Scott in surprise. “No,” she said. “There’s no way he could have done that. Why would you even think that?”

“Because of the way he showed up so quickly to ‘help.’ And how he said right away he thought she was drugged, like he knew.”

“He offered us help because that’s just the kind of person he is,” Samantha said. “He helps people. He’s very…capable. And knowledgeable.” She walked to the sink and put her glass down into it with a clang of glass hitting metal. “If Kimberly’s drink was drugged, it was probably done by whoever sent over that free round.”

“You’re right,” Scott said, sounding relieved. “I didn’t think of that.”

“It could even have been one of those guys who had been bothering us before. They looked kind of shady.” Her brows creased. “Scott, if you were so sure Kimberly was drugged, why didn’t you take her straight to the hospital?”

Scott tilted his head. “What were they going to do to help her, Sam? She’s breathing fine, her color is good. She’s just…sleeping. If I had taken her to the hospital, they would have insisted on running all these tests and sticking needles in her, and you know how much she hates needles. Then they would have sent her home anyway, but with a big fat bill.”

“You’re probably right,” Samantha was forced to agree.

“Plus, if they had found drugs in her system? They might have wondered if she took them herself. Then they would’ve had to ask her a whole bunch of questions. Kimberly doesn’t need that. You know her history.”

Samantha let out a sound like a groan and shook her head. She knew what Scott was talking about. “I didn’t even think of that,” she said.

“It’s best she’s home and sleeping it off. She’ll be fine. And you know what, if she’s not, and still looks bad tomorrow, then we can still take her to see her own doctor. But at least her doctor will believe her when she says she didn’t take anything herself. She’s working hard to get her life cleaned up, Sam. I don’t want anything to happen to set her back.”

“You’re right, Scott,” Samantha said. It felt like Scott had given this a lot more thought than she had, and she felt a little guilty about it.

Scott stood up. “I’m gonna head to bed and snuggle in next to Kimber.”

“Goodnight, Scott.”

“Night, Sam.” He looked like he might say something more, but decided against it, and left the kitchen.

Samantha turned off the lights and headed upstairs to her own room. The townhouse she and her sister shared had two bedrooms upstairs, but Samantha used both of them. One of them was her bedroom; the other was her office.

One of the conditions Samantha had given Kimberly before she had agreed to let her sister move in was that Kimberly take the guest room downstairs. It didn’t have its own bathroom like Samantha’s bedroom did, but it was right next door to the small guest bathroom, and that good enough for Kimberly.

Samantha needed the upper floor to herself. Living with her sister was hard enough; Samantha needed as much privacy as possible, and it seemed to her that, especially now, her sister needed some extra privacy, too. Samantha did not want to be right next door to her sister, listening as she and her boyfriend had sex.

Samantha was just pulling the blankets down on her bed when she heard her cell phone ring. She ran to it and picked it up quickly, feeling her heart beat twice its normal speed.

She knew who it was. There was only one person it could be.

“Hello,” she said.

“Hello, Samantha,” Mr. Sinclaire’s rich voice came through the phone, making her skin tingle. “Did you and your sister get home okay?”

“Yes, Sir. thank you.”

“You don’t have to sir me. How is she?”

“She’s sleeping. Her boyfriend is taking care of her.”

“That’s good.” His thick baritone voice was like a caress against her senses. “I was wondering, Samantha, if you would like to have dinner with me tomorrow night.”

“Yes, Sir,” she said. “I’d like that very much.”

“Good–and you don’t have to sir me. Amelia’s, downtown. Do you know it?”

“I can find it.”

“Do you want me to pick you up?”

“No.” Her voice was firm. “I can drive. I’ll meet you there. What time?”

“Let’s say seven?”

“Seven it is.” Her tone softened. “Thank you, Sir.”

“We’re not at the hotel anymore, Samantha. You don’t have to keep calling me sir.” He sounded amused. “It will be a pleasure to see you again. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

Samantha sighed and fell back against her pillows. Mr. Sinclaire, her Mr. Sinclaire, was taking her out for dinner. Taking her out on a date. It was a date, right? He couldn’t mean it as anything else, could he?

Yes, she realized, he could. He could mean it as two friends getting together to talk. Or he could mean it as some kind of business opportunity, to try to convince her to come back to the hotel for another visit.

But Samantha pushed those thoughts aside and let herself indulge in her fantasy, that Mr. Sinclaire, Master Sadist of the Hotel Bentmoore, was taking her out on a date. As she imagined what sweet heaven tomorrow night might bring, she slipped her hand down her pajama pants between her legs and began to rub furiously.

As she rubbed, she remembered their time together at the hotel, everything they had shared, everything he had taught her. Samantha’s memories, even after all that time, still sprang fresh in her mind and still aroused her like nothing else did. The way he had flogged her…cropped her…caned her…the way he had cared for her after….

Tomorrow, she would not have to settle for memories. Tomorrow, she would see the man in the flesh. She brought up her other hand to her breasts and squeezed her nipples as she rubbed her clit, pinching them so painfully she almost cried out. When she came, she bucked her hips up and down the bed, making it creak.

Tomorrow would bring reality, and maybe reality wouldn’t measure up to her hopes. But tonight, she could dream.