Page 47 of Spooked

Meera was already in the limo when Brax jogged out of the front door five minutes late. She’d carefully placed a backpack, her purse, and both laptop bags on the back seat between them, and his heart sank. The Dark thing had really upset her, hadn’t it?

“You have everything?” he asked.

A nod.

He had to do it. He had to roll up the privacy screen and talk to her. If the driver was one of Carissa’s spies, Brax was fucked, but the risk was worth taking, the odds low. When his previous driver had retired, instead of hiring a replacement, he’d contracted with a service Dawson had recommended that would provide security-trained drivers “as required.” There was no guarantee they’d send the same person each time, and that suited Brax just fine.

Meera didn’t say a word as the screen closed.

And for once in his life, Brax didn’t know where to start.

The silence stretched out, an uncomfortable, tangible thing that wrapped its fingers around his throat and squeezed. Kind of like Roxanne had done to Michael earlier, but minus the leather and other accessories.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered finally.

He’d noticed that she apologised a lot. It was almost a default setting. What had happened in her past to make her that way?

“What are you sorry for, Meera?”

“That I went into the basement. That I saw…that.”

“It made you uncomfortable.”

“Yes.”

“Which part made you uncomfortable?”

“Do we have to talk about this?”

“Yes, we do.”

“Now you’re making me even more uncomfortable.”

“That’s not my wish. But I do want to understand you. Because…” Brax tried without success to swallow the lump in his throat. “Because I don’t want to lose you.”

“I…I don’t want to quit.” That wasn’t entirely what he’d meant, but okay. “I guess… I guess I was embarrassed for the people on the stage. I walked in on a private moment, and they were in such a vulnerable position. And also I was afraid that you’d be angry with me for interrupting you in a place where you’d told me not to go.”

At least she was talking now, even if her concerns were ungrounded.

“I wasn’t angry. The reason I told you to avoid The Dark was that I wanted to protect you.”

“Protect me?”

“You’re a candle in the wind, Meera, and The Dark is a hurricane.” At least she hadn’t run from the building screaming. “You did the right thing when you came downstairs to fetch me.”

“I should apologise to those people.”

“There’s no need. Roxanne is a dominatrix. Part of her role involves performing for a crowd. If she’d been upset by your presence, she wouldn’t have been suitable for the role she was applying for, and I wouldn’t have hired her. As for Michael, he gets off on being humiliated in front of an audience.”

“He does? That’s…” Meera crinkled her dainty nose. “That’s weird.”

“People have different sexual preferences. To Michael, quiet sex in bed with the TV on to cover up the noise while two kids sleep in the next room is like watching paint dry, and yet half of Americans find that a perfectly pleasurable experience. And for maybe half of that fifty percent, vanilla sex is their number-one choice. But the other half? They enjoy the vanilla because they’ve never tried strawberry or chocolate or banana peanut butter chip. In The Dark, they can try anything they desire, and they can keep tasting new flavours until they decide on a favourite.” He studied her for a moment, the quickened breathing, the slightly parted, pink-painted lips, and willed his dick to behave. “I’m guessing you haven’t tried many flavours?”

Slowly, she shook her head. “Not even vanilla.”

Holy fuck. “Not even a taste?”

It came out as a whisper. “No.”

---