Dark Attraction: The Corde Noire Series by Alexandrea Weis Page B

figure. Her father’s nagging, however, had turned Sam into a rebel, balking at every order he had laid down and crossing every line he had drawn in the sand.
    You are a disgrace, a harlot, an abomination, and no daughter of mine. His cruel words from the morning she had arrived home from the fraternity house still stung.
    Forcing her father from her mind, she concentrated on Doug’s deep voice singing along with the soft music.
    “I wonder what Aunt Gertie would have thought of you?”
    The timid voice of the purple-haired aunt she had always admired floated into her head. Life is a one-shot deal, Sam. Grab it by the balls.
    “What if it’s a mistake, Gertie?”
    There are no mistakes, my sweet girl, only adventures. Live yours with him.
    As Gertie’s essence faded, Doug’s singing returned, once again melting her very core.
    “All right, Master Morgan. Let’s see where this goes.”
    *     *     *
    The next day work was a blur after an eight-car pileup on the I-10 filled her ICU. Sam never got a break for lunch as she juggled between the head injury in one room and the broken pelvis in the other. Even Piper had been too busy to visit, and Sam never got a chance to share her plans with her.
    By the time the elevator car stopped on the fourth floor of The Shallows, Sam was so exhausted she doubted if she could make it to her bedroom before collapsing. But when the elevator doors opened, a sudden rush of adrenaline brought her to life. Doug’s apartment door was open, and a rich jazz tune was drifting into the hallway.
    She wasn’t prepared to confront him now. With little sleep the night before, a hectic day at work, and an assortment of stains on her rumpled blue scrubs, Sam was convinced she looked like death warmed over.
    Deciding she needed to change and at least put on lipstick before she confronted him, Sam hugged the wall to avoid being seen. Padding across the burgundy carpet, she was inching her way closer to her apartment. When she finally reached the oak door with the gold A on it, she quietly removed her keys from her backpack. Trying not to make a sound, she slowly turned the lock. Sighing with relief as her door edged open, she snuck inside.
    Leaning against her closed door, Sam plotted what to do next. She needed to get him in her apartment. Dropping her backpack on the sofa, she searched for something, anything to jog her mind. Eyeing her kitchen, Sam thought of what Brenda had said about having him come over to fix something … but what?
    Her eyes fell on a cabinet door that had never closed all the way. Maybe she could use that as an excuse. Heading toward the kitchen, she kept her eyes on the cabinet door above her stainless sink. Deciding she needed to make the door look worse than it did, Sam climbed up on her countertop to give it a good tug. Then she would change, put on some makeup, and go to his place asking for his help.
    Perfect.
    Perched precariously on the edge of her sink, Sam opened the cabinet door and inspected the hinges. First, she gave the door a quick yank. Nothing happened. It was a little crooked, but nothing worse than before. Another quick tug yielded the same results. Deciding to put her whole body into it, Sam jerked hard on the cabinet door, and this time, the entire door broke away from the cabinet, sending her hurtling to the ground.
    For several seconds, she lay stunned on her tiled kitchen floor.
    The next thing she knew, arms were lifting her into the air.
    “Sam? Sam, say something!”
    Focusing, Sam discovered she was under the intense scrutiny of Doug’s frosty eyes. “What are you doing in my apartment?”
    He carried her to her floral sofa. “I heard you cry out. When I came over, your door was unlocked. I told you about locking it, Sam.” He set her down on her sofa. “I found you on the floor. What were you doing?”
    She sat up. Why did her hand feel wet? “I was trying to fix my cabinet.” She glanced down at her hand. There was blood on her