Finding Nora: A Reverse Harem Romance (The Searchers Book 2)

by Ripley Proserpina

  Blushing, she thought about the moments they’d shared before she left. God, he overwhelmed her.

  “Are you alright?” He pulled her to a stop. “Do you hurt? Do we need to go back?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I was just thinking.”

  He waited, raising one eyebrow. When she didn’t answer right away, he led her to one of the park benches nearby. He waited for her to sit before seating himself. Pushing her hair back from her face, he leaned in close to her and pressed a kiss to her eyelids when they fluttered closed.

  “What were you thinking about, Nora?” he asked, his breath drifting along her skin.

  “Us,” she answered, opening her eyes.

  His brown eyes darkened, deepening to jet black. He lifted a hand to tangle in her hair and then kissed her. The tight grip he had in her hair was at odds with the gentleness of his kisses. They were delicate, and had her arching into him, desperate for more, something to ease the ache he built inside her.

  He pulled back, holding her in place when she sought to fix her mouth on his again.

  She opened her eyes, staring up at his face. His mouth was tight, his eyes narrowed. “I can’t kiss you here the way I want to,” he ground out. “Please don’t tempt me.”

  She gave an experimental tug to see if he’d let go of her head. He didn’t. She winced at the small bite of pain, but it only made the ache inside her intensify., and when he released her, it left her bereft and unsatisfied.

  He peeked at his watch and then back at her. “If I had more time…”

  She blushed again. If they had more time, she might end up in his lap, grinding against him. Shifting awkwardly, she pressed her thighs together before before standing.

  Seok held out his hand again and she took it. His fingers pressed against the back of her hand, and his thumb traced a pattern along hers, rubbing gently against the skin and then circling her knuckle. She shivered from the sensation.

  “Cold?” he asked.

  She met his eyes, and his smug, handsome face. Without any real heat, she jerked her hand away from his, and crossed her arms. “Fine,” she huffed. “Perfectly fine.”

  She walked to the lamppost and jammed her thumb against the walk button.

  “Nora.”

  She ignored him. Sexy, hand-holding, dirty-minded, black-eyed…

  “Nora.”

  She bit her lip to keep from smiling. The walk sign blinked at them, and she took a step into the street.

  “Nora.” This time his voice held a warning, and when she still didn’t answer, he swept her into his arms.

  A bunch of cars honked at them, voices calling out, “Nice! Get her man! Kiss her!”

  “Happy now?” he asked, smiling at her.

  She nuzzled into his neck, giving him a quick little suck and kiss against his skin. He inhaled sharply, and someone else yelled, “Do it!”

  Rolling his eyes, he let her down once they reached the sidewalk. “If you are upset, tell me. Don’t ignore me.”

  “I was punishing you,” she informed him.

  “For not shoving my hand into your pants in the park?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “No!” She covered her face with her hands.

  “I can’t hear you,” he said, attempting to pry her hands away from her face.

  “For the finger thing you were doing when you held my hand. Teasing.”

  “Oh!” He seemed surprised. “You didn’t like it? I thought when you shivered…”

  “I did!” she answered quickly, glancing around to see if anyone overheard them, but they were alone on the street. “It just— it got me worked up, and you were so full of yourself.”

  He crossed his arms and stepped back.

  “There!” she pointed. “That’s the look!”

  He pressed his hands against his chest in mock innocence. “What look?”

  It was her turn to roll her eyes. “You’re the worst.” The counseling center was two houses away, and she started toward it.

  Seok jogged to catch up, turning around so he could walk backward. “I think if I was the worst, then you would not be so worked up over my hand-holding skills.”

  She couldn’t help giggling, but shrugged. “Well, it wasn’t very nice.”

  “I think it was very nice.”

  “Oh my God.” She threw her hands in the air. “You are such a guy right now!”

  “Nora?” It was Dr. Murray. He held the door to the counseling center open. “I’ve been watching for you. The door locks automatically when it shuts. Are you ready?”

  “Sure.” All of her good feelings disappeared. It was like she and Seok never kissed and never teased. She’d been relaxed and happy, and now, all at once, she was nervous and tense.

  “Do you want to wait?” Dr. Murray asked over her shoulder to Seok. “Or do you want to come back? It will be at least two hours.”

  Her stomach dropped. Seok watched her to see what she wanted. She wanted him to stay, but she also didn’t want him giving up hours of his day when he could take a nap or work in his woodshop if he wanted.

  “Meet me back here?” She finally decided to ask.

  “I can bring you home,” Dr. Murray offered.

  “I’ll be back.” Seok gave her a reassuring grin, and checked his watch. “Two hours. I’ll be here.”

  She nodded and gave him a small wave before she followed Dr. Murray inside.

  “Your sweatshirt?” he asked holding out a hand.

  She egan to unzip her sweatshirt. From where she stood, she could see Seok hesitating on the sidewalk. Finally, he took out his phone and made a call. He shook his head, staring at the house for another moment before turning on his heel and striding away.

  She peeled the sweatshirt off her shoulders and handed it to Dr. Murray.

  “Ready?”

  No.

  The counseling center was designed like someone’s house. The only thing giving away the purpose of the building was a receptionist’s desk sitting unobtrusively near a window.There was a small kitchenette toward the back of the house, and near her, a set of stairs.

  “Offices are on the second floor.” Dr. Murray indicated the stairs. “Can I get you something first? Water?”

  Her throat was dry. “Please.”

  He smiled and led her toward the kitchen. She examined the house while she walked. At the end of the reception room was a fireplace, a large map of Brownington’s campus hanging over the mantel. The hallway leading to the kitchen was lined with framed photographs and portraits of the original building. There were black and white photos of the house when it was still a private residence, more recent photographs of the building in various states of repair, and a small painting of the house as it stood now.

  “It’s on the ghost tours, too,” Dr. Murray called over his shoulder.

  She shuddered. Even though it was an obvious attempt to put her at ease, her skin erupted in goosebumps. She lingered in the hall, admiring a small sepia toned photograph showing a family standing on the outside stoop.

  “That’s Anna Smith.” He handed her a small bottle of water. “She turned the house into a tea room after her husband died.” He tilted his chin toward another photo. “And her family.”

  She opened the water and took a small sip. “Oh,” she remarked after swallowing.

  Lightly, he touched her shoulder, urging her to turn toward him. “I know you’re nervous, Nora. I get it. I really do.” He gestured toward the stairs. “Let’s go upstairs and talk.”

  She wanted to drag her feet, but she didn’t. Squaring her shoulders, she followed him to the second floor. He walked into the first room, waiting for her to enter before nudging a round, white object into the hallway and closing the door.

  At her confused expression, he explained, “It’s a sound conditioner. It cancels the noise. No one can hear us while it’s on. It’s pretty standard for offices, but especially for counselors or psychiatrists.”

  She took another sip of water, waiting awkwar
dly. He gestured toward an overstuffed chain, and seated himself next to her.

  “I thought I would meet your team,” she finally ventured.

  Dr. Murray twisted in the chair, picking up a notebook from the floor. “You are,” he replied while opening the folder and scanning its contents. “But I need a little more information from you first. We’re meeting for coffee and my associates will stop by there. I thought it’d be less overwhelming that way.”

  “Seok is meeting me back here,” she countered, and winced. It sounded like she needed permission from her boyfriend before meeting people, but she had no way of getting in contact with Seok. She didn’t know the landline to their house, and she had none of their cell phone numbers.

  “I’ll have you back when he gets here.” He finally found what he was searching for and gave her another smile. Not giving her a chance to argue, he launched into his questions. “Okay. Let’s start with the basics. Full name?”

  “Honora Amber Leslie.”

  “Date of birth.”

  “October 30th, 1995.”

  “Oh!” he remarked. “You have a birthday soon. I’ll have to remember to sing.”

  Appreciating his attempt at levity, she forced a smile.

  He squinted at the next question and sighed. He took off his glasses and put them on his head, then he dug into the pocket of his button down shirt, pulling out a different set which he perched on his nose. “Sorry. Two sets of glasses. I know. I’m old, but I refuse to get bifocals.”

  She shook her head, laughing politely. He wasn’t old at all. When she’d first met him, she was surprised to see a guy in his late thirties. She expected a college professor to be a bit more dignified.

  Judge much? She winced inwardly at her choice of words. She meant white-haired, maybe someone wearing a neat beard. Scholarly. Someone with a passing resemblance to either Dr. Freud or Sean Connery.

  Dr. Murray was more action hero than Ivy Tower resident. He had dark hair, a little long for a military-style cut, but definitely a cousin to the high-and-tight. He was muscular, though not quite as defined as Apollo. At least, not that she could see. He was, after all, wearing a shirt, even if his sleeves were rolled to reveal his tattoos.

  Her face flushed. Crappity. Now she was thinking about Apollo’s bare chest.

  “There we go,” he said, blinking at the notebook and interrupting her contemplation of her boyfriend’s physique. “Ready?”

  She cracked her knuckles. “Yup.” He is not the police. This is not an interrogation. But her brain disagreed, and her heart pounded. Get out of here. Got to get out of here. It took everything she had to stay in the chair, and not leap over Dr. Murray. She thought she could actually do it, too. She was so flooded with adrenaline, if he stood in her way, muscles or no muscles, she’d get past him.

  “Mother’s name?”

  “Amber Leslie.”

  “Date of Birth?”

  “December third, 1976.”

  “Father’s name?”

  She answered, and he continued with his questions. Eventually, she began to relax. These were simple questions: her race, her ethnicity, her parents’ race and ethnicity. Lulled by the dry nature of his questions, she curled back in the chair, and the tension draining from her body.

  “Date you were placed in foster care?”

  Every muscle in her body seized. It was another basic question, sure, but in order to answer, she had to piece together the events causing it. She remembered it was the winter, and she was eleven. She remembered the social worker who met her at the front of the school as she headed for the bus. She remembered being told her mom had made some unsafe choices, and now she would have to live with another family while her mom learned how to make better choices.

  “How do you know I was in foster care?” she asked. A tiny bead of anger began to form inside her. She didn’t like feeling at a disadvantage; he knew something about her she hadn’t told him.

  The same thing had happened to her when she was interrogated by the police. Detective Vance knew more about her than she realized, and he used it against her when he questioned her about the school shooting. He flung her past in her face to disarm her and back her into a corner. Now Dr. Murray seemed to be doing the same thing, and she shut down.

  “Reid,” he answered, kindly. “I know you lived with the same family.”

  “Oh.” Her foster brother, Reid, was one of Dr. Murray’s subjects. She wondered how much Reid had confided in the doctor before he died.

  Clearing her throat when it became apparent he expected her to answer, she stuttered, “Um… December. No. January, 2006.”

  “Do you know why?” he asked.

  She nodded. Please be a yes or no question, please be a yes or no question.

  He waited and then, “Tell me why you were initially placed in state custody.”

  “My mother sold drugs.”

  Dr. Murray wrote it down and nodded. “How long where you in a foster home?”

  “The first home? Or how long before I went back to my mother?”

  He took his glasses off and folded them in his lap before sighing and leaning back. “Do you remember how long you were in that home?”

  “Sort of.” She shrugged. “It is easier to remember because it’s the first.”

  Shaking his head, he stuck the notebook between the cushion and arm of the chair and leaned forward. She hazarded a glance at his face, expecting to see pity etched in his features. Instead, he smiled encouragingly, and it disarmed her enough, she answered, “Umm…A month there, and then I went a cousin’s for a few days, and then to a new foster home when my social worker learned my mom showed up at my cousin’s. Why do you need to know all this?” she asked.

  “Your past is an important part of who you are and how you shape your personal philosophy.” He stood up and walked over to the desk, picking up a folder and handing it to her. “This is your assignment.”

  Opening the folder, she found a list of questions. “There’s not enough room to write here,” she said without thinking.

  “You can type it. Email it to me if you don’t have a printer. We’ll meet again on Monday, have it then.”

  Her stomach clenched. “I can give it to you then?”

  “Yes. Now. A few more questions, Nora.”

  She took a deep breath, gripping the arms of the chair with both hands. “Okay.”

  “Date of high school graduation?”

  The question left her off-balance. She’d relaxed earlier, and then he threw the curve ball question about her past. Now she was uneasy and tense, on edge, her body in fight or flight mode. “Um… June, 2013.”

  “Grade point average?”

  “3.95.”

  He whistled. “Wow. I’m impressed. That’s incredible with what you had going on in your life.”

  She was proud of how well she’d done in high school. Even if she hadn’t gone onto college, she knew she was smart. She worked really hard to get be successful in school. “Thank you.”

  “Dan?” A deep voice called.

  Dr. Murray grabbed his notebook and shoved it into a backpack resting next to the chair. “That’s my team. Ready?”

  Fixing a smile on her face despite feeling awkward and nervous about meeting the people who would soon learn everything about her, she nodded. Dr. Murray smiled back at her and opened the door, leading her back down the stairs.

  Three people, two men and a woman, waited for them in the reception area. They lounged on the couches, postures relaxed. They spoke in low voices to each other, completely at ease. They stood up when Nora and Dr. Murray came into the room.

  “Nora Leslie, this is Jessica Chase, Nils Gunderson, and Grant Peretti. Everyone, this is Nora, our newest study participant.”

  “Nice to meet you, Nora.” Jessica Chase approached her first. She was not much taller than Nora, but willowy. She had pale skin, with a deep cleft in her chin, and dark red hair. She shook her hand firmly, stepping away to make room for the next pers
on. “Please call me, Jess.”

  “Miss Leslie.” Nils Gunderson walked toward her. He was tall and broad shouldered. His long, shaggy hair was such a pale blonde it was nearly white.“You can call me Nils.”

  He barely finished speaking before he was interrupted. “Hello!” Grant Peretti took her hand in a loose-limbed grasp. He didn’t shake her hand so much as squeeze it. He was shorter than Nils and Dr. Murray, but wider. Despite his weak handshake, his shoulders stretched the cable knit sweater he wore. “Everyone calls me Grant.”

  “Nora still calls me Dr. Murray in her head,” he said, glancing at Nora while he spoke. “I can tell. But they’re doctors, too, you know. If you use their first names, you’ve got to use mine.”

  Jessica raised her hand, “Medical, not philosophical.”

  Reflexively, she glanced at the other two.

  “Guilty,” Nils responded.

  “Guilty,” Grant added.

  She got the feeling they were purposefully bantering with each other to set her at ease. They seem nice. Not at all like people who want to dissect my brain.

  “So where are we going?” Dr. Murray put his backpack on his back and handed Nora her sweatshirt.

  “Maglinaro’s,” Grant answered right away.

  “All the way by the waterfront?” She worried about getting back in time to meet Seok. She didn’t want him waiting around for her.

  “I’ll have you back, Nora. Promise.”

  Her stomach cramped with worry, but she nodded anyway. This your job. And sometimes there are parts of your job you don’t like. Did you like cleaning the toilets at Brownington? No. But you did it. This is coffee. Suck it up.

  “Okay.” She pasted a smile on her face. “I’ve never been to Maglinaro’s.”

  “Oh, you are in for a treat,” Grant said, putting his arm around her shoulders and leading her outside. “I will get you their cappuccino, and a biscotti. It is the only place I go when I’m in town.”

  He led her to a shiny, black SUV and opened the back door. She got in, sliding across the leather seats. A thought occurred to her; she understood why Dr. Murray had called these people his team. They worked as a seamless unit, disarming her with their friendliness and their general attitude of, we’re not scary! The four of them kept up a steady, comfortable stream of conversation as they drove down the hill toward the water. She stared out the window, listening with one ear. They only stopped talking to order their drinks. Grant insisted on paying for everyone’s and got a basket full of biscotti.