trans·fer·ence: a novel

by Ava Harrison

  “He what!”

  I smack her arm playfully and shoot her a look that says “Shut the fuck up.”

  “Yes.”

  “He kissed you?”

  “Dry humped me against the wall would be more accurate, but yes . . .” My lips turn up in a smile.

  “Wow.”

  “Yep.”

  “So, how was it?” She smirks.

  “Amazing.”

  “That’s all I get?”

  “That’s all you get,” I deadpan. I couldn’t tell her this was the kiss to end all kisses. That his kiss ruined me for all other men. That his kiss left me breathless and desperate and begging for more.

  “What will you do now?”

  “What can I do? He doesn’t want to see me.”

  “Wait! What? What do you mean? And what about therapy? The nightmares. The panic attacks. You can’t stop seeing him.”

  “He freaked out and told me I had to go. He offered me a list of referrals.”

  “Okay, good,” she says and I pinch the bridge of my nose. “What?” Her eyebrow lifts.

  “I kind of forgot it at his office.”

  “What do you plan to do about that? Because if your answer is nothing, I’ll smack you upside the head.”

  “What do you expect me to do about it?”

  “I expect you to man up, head to his office and get it back.” I look down to the floor, playing with the hem of my skirt. Sydney takes a step closer to me. “It will be okay. You just need the referral list. In and out.” My eyes must bug out of my head at her choice of verbiage, because she busts out laughing.

  “Grow up.” I roll my eyes and step away.

  “That’s it? No more gossip?”

  “I would have thought that was juicy enough for a lifetime.”

  “ I don’t know about a lifetime. I’d say a week, maybe two.” She shrugs and I shake my head. I’m a few steps from the office door when I realize she’s no longer next to me. Turning back to where I was, I see she’s still standing there.

  “Come on, Sydney. Before you catch flies in that mouth.”

  She lets out a laugh and then rights herself. It’s good to have us back.

  “If you don’t hurry, we’ll be late to the meeting,” I say to her as I stand waiting for her to catch up. She doesn’t say anything but I know the previous conversation is far from over.

  Everyone on our team is already in the conference room when we make it back into the office. Grabbing my notepad from my desk, we jet inside and all eyes turn to us. I sit down and stare up at Michael, who is already going over the budgets and objectives for the rest of the week. We’re working on a campaign for a new fashion publication that’s set to launch in six months. Around the room everyone throws out random hashtags and concepts for an Instagram program we will kick off the beginning of the next week.

  It seems the office has returned to normal. The excited energy is back from before Richard’s death. This should make me happy. I know Richard would be pleased. Instead, it tightens my chest. Rubbing at the muscles there, I concentrate on what is being said. Breathing in and following Preston’s techniques helps keep the panic at bay. Every day that passes, the anxiety lessens when I’m in the office. I only wish the nightmares would stop, too. They’re so strange. They make absolutely no sense. I have never seen blood like I have in my nightmares. I have never felt fear like I do in my night terrors. As I rub the fatigue out of my eyes from another restless night, I know I need to follow Sydney’s advice and get the referral list from Preston.

  When I get back to my desk, I grab my cell phone and dial the number for his office. On the third ring the phone is answered.

  “Park Psychology. How may I help you?” A high-pitched voice answers. I know instantly I have never met this receptionist. Her breath comes through the phone in a ragged burst and sounds as though she’s just run a marathon.

  “May I please speak to Dr. Montgomery? This is Eve Hamilton calling. I wanted to get a referral from him.”

  “Ca-Can you hold on a minute? Let me see if he’s with a patient.” The phone drops and echoes on the desk. Then I hear the sound of her heels on the wood floors. A little laugh escapes me as I realize she forgot to put me on hold. I wonder if she’s new? A few seconds later, she returns out of breath again. “I’m sorry, Ms. Hamilton. He’s on a call, and will be on and off calls for the rest of the day. He said he will send a courier to you with the chart and referral list.” Courier? Wow.

  “No, that’s okay. If he can just leave the file with you, I have a lunch meeting in the area so I can stop by afterward. Say two p.m.?”

  “Um, okay. I guess that’s okay. He has a patient then. I’ll just grab it from him before he goes in.”

  “Thank you.” Hanging up, I pinch the bridge of my nose. He won’t even speak to me. I shudder at the thought, then let out a deep sigh.

  It will be fine. Everything is fine.

  Don’t get upset.

  In. Out.

  In. Out.

  I turn back to my computer and start my search for stock images for the new Instagram campaign.

  People scurry past me as I make my way uptown to my meeting. The sky is its usual shade of New York City grey. It’s dark and dingy and utterly ominous. I pull my coat tighter around my body. A skirt is not appropriate for this weather. Neither are the Louboutins I’m wearing as I walk the ten blocks to StreetSide Grill where I’m meeting Nicolette from Posh Life. We are meeting to go over and finalize the details for the #PerfectlyPoshLife campaign. When I enter the restaurant, my heart picks up until it’s pounding rhythmically in my chest. “Believe in yourself. If you do, no one will doubt you.” I straighten my posture and walk toward the hostess.

  “I’m meeting—” I start to say but I stop speaking as I notice a tall, lithe brunette waving at me. “I see her.” I smile and make my way to Nicolette.

  For the next forty-five minutes, I run over the ideas we pulled together to build hype for the launch. I gathered a group of the top trendsetters in the fashion industry to launch the hashtag as well as a living storyboard of what it means to live the #PerfectlyPoshLife. I knocked it out of the park. She loved the idea. What an amazing feeling to believe in myself and succeed because of it. Sure, I second guessed myself—but then I did it. I used Preston’s technique of remembering Richard, but now I see that I can do it and I didn’t need anyone’s help. I succeeded on my own merits. Preston would be proud—

  Preston.

  Looking down, I glance at my watch. 2:45. Lunch ran a little later than I anticipated, but once we started to talk, we couldn’t stop. The ideas just kept flowing. I debate whether to call before heading to his office. I said two o’clock, but I’m sure the forty-five minutes I’m late won’t be a big deal.

  I smile to myself and turn in the direction I need to go. When I see Preston’s large, ominous building spanning in front of me, my grin drops off my face. You can do this. As much as you want him to be your doctor, maybe he’s right. Maybe you need space from him.

  Stepping inside, I present my ID and head for the elevators. You would think after coming here for months, maybe just maybe they would let me pass, but alas, I need to present my ID every time.

  Once I make it to his floor, I’m met by an empty reception desk. I push open the door and look down the hall. I wonder if she’s in the bathroom? Maybe she left my file on her desk. I scan the neatly organized surface but don’t see anything. Not wanting to rummage, I walk down the narrow hall to investigate whether someone who works here knows where she put it. As I pass Preston’s door, I expect to see it closed. Instead, I’m met with cerulean blue eyes staring up at me.

  “What are you doing here?” he says from his desk and I take a step into the room.

  “I needed to get my file. She told me to come.”

  “Who told you?”

  “Your receptionist.” He shakes his head and groans to himself. “Of course she did.” Then he pulls himself from his chair and stands, “I
told her I would send a courier,” he mutters more to himself than to me.

  “I know, but I was in the area. I said I would pick it up.”

  “Did you do this to see me?”

  “No.” His eyes widen and I swallow. “Maybe.”

  “You can’t be here.” The muscles tightening in my neck tense as he watches me. His unwavering gaze has me on edge.

  “I needed—”

  “What did you need?” No more lies, or false truths. As easy as it was to have the files sent over, I chose to come here, and it’s time I lay my cards on the table and be honest.

  “To see you,” I admit on a sigh.

  “Why?” The mesmerizing blue of Preston’s eyes swallows me whole. They unnerve me as I step closer. A small frown line develops between his brows.

  “Because I can’t stand the idea that I never will again.” His gaze softens at my words. He takes a step toward me and I move further into the room.

  “I know this is wrong,” Preston says as he takes another step. “I know we have to stop.” Step. “But this feeling weaves through me every time I see you. It takes control of me. It’s like I can’t . . . I can’t stop myself.” Step.

  “I’m not your patient anymore.” I breathe out. One more step will place him directly in front of me. My chest heaves as I wait.

  “Semantics.” Step. His voice drips with heat. It sends shivers down my spine as he reaches out and pulls me toward him. “God dammit, I fucking want you but I can’t be with you. This shit is fucked up. I’m fucked up. You are . . . were my patient. There is a statute of limitations. Two years. There’s a reason they say a minimum of two years after terminating the doctor/patient relationship, and even then . . . Even then it’s frowned upon. This thing between us could do irrevocable damage to you. Statistics have shown—”

  I lift my hand, place my finger on the soft skin of his lips, and silence him as I shorten the length between us.

  “I don’t give a fuck about statistics. Don’t fucking care about any of it.” Lifting onto my tiptoes, I place my lips almost to his. Our mouths barely touch, but as the seconds pass between us all I feel is the soft caress of his breath fanning over my lips.

  I could breathe him in.

  Inhale him.

  Consume him.

  Ours breaths mingle in a slow beat. One so hypnotic, I have been placed under his spell.

  Finally, he closes the remaining distance that separates us. He reaches for me, pulling me into his arms. Soft fingers turn my chin up. I soften my body into his as he hovers . . . almost touching

  His exhales caress my lips.

  “What do you want? What are you doing to me?” he mutters more to himself than to me. But I answer him breathlessly nonetheless.

  “I don’t know, I don’t know.” The real words I want to say won’t come out, so instead I answer the question with the only answer I have . . .

  I press my mouth to his.

  He responds eagerly, his lips spreading against mine, his tongue seeking entry until he’s kissing me with abandon. His hands cup my cheeks and our movements slow until we are left panting.

  “That kiss, did it feel fake? Did that feel like transference?” He doesn’t speak as I wind my hands up to wrap around his neck. “Does this?” I pull my body closer and grind up against him. “Does this feel like transference?”

  Our mouths crash together again. If it is at all possible, it’s even more frantic than before. This kiss is a fire. One that is sure to burn us, but neither of us cares. We can’t get enough.

  On a gasp, I realize I’m being lifted off the floor, carried a short distance, and then lowered onto the smooth top of his desk. My skirt lifts and I feel the cool surface against my exposed skin. I shudder and Preston pulls away and surveys me. A primal groan escapes his mouth as he takes in my now exposed garter. His normally blue eyes have grown dark and needy, almost black with heat.

  He reaches out and traces my swollen lips then passes a hand down my neck to the hollow of my chest. He continues a trail until he unbuttons each button on my blouse. Slowly.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  I shiver as he passes lightly over each breast, his fingertips stroking each pert nipple. He touches me, but it’s not enough. I need him inside me. Wrapping my legs around his waist, I pull his body in toward me. His rock hard length presses against my core. He looks at me through hooded eyes as he pulls his hand away from my chest and tips me backward so my back hits the broad surface. Leaning down, he removes my legs from around his waist and traces up the exposed skin of my thigh. When he reaches my thong, he runs circles over the sensitive flesh hidden beneath. Teasing me. Torturing me.

  “Please,” I moan.

  “What do you need?” He rubs a little harder. “Do you need me to touch you? Taste you? Or do you want me inside you?” A ragged moan leaves my mouth as I push up to apply more pressure. He nods in understanding, then drops down.

  Soft fingers pull at my thong.

  Remove it.

  Leave me bare.

  Soft lips touch my skin. Traveling at a punishingly slow pace, sure to drive me mad with need.

  Preston’s mouth kisses up higher. Inch by inch.

  Sucking.

  Nipping.

  Drawing it out, making me pant.

  When I think I can’t take much more, his hands cup me from beneath, lifting my pelvis to meet his mouth. Warm currents electrify my body. His arms are braced around my hips and pull me closer. His warm breath hits me where I need him most.

  Desperate.

  I’m desperate for him to touch me there. To feel his tongue lap at my sensitive skin.

  His fingers part me. One slips inside as his tongue swipes at my buddle of nerves.

  I lift my hips and he buries his face deeper into me.

  He licks with a ferocity I have never felt before. His fingers keep up the pace, matching the swipe of his tongue.

  A demanding rhythm.

  His assault drives me higher and higher.

  Faster and Faster.

  Until the ripple of sensations flood my senses.

  When I come down from my high, I find him staring down at me with hooded eyes.

  “God, you’re beautiful when you come undone.” Lifting to a seated position, I reach for his belt buckle.

  “What are you doing?” he says as I start to unzip his pants.

  “I want to taste you now.”

  “Jesus, we can’t do this here! We’re lucky Maggie hasn’t returned from lunch yet.” He looks toward the half open door to his office and then back to me. “Fuck it,” he groans out as he frees himself from the confines of his pants. “If I’m on borrowed time, I want to be inside you.”

  Gripping his shaft, I guide him to where I need him.

  “I got you,” he whispers in my ear, sending a shiver to spread down my body.

  He settles between my hips. My heat pulsates around him as he dips just a bit inside.

  Teasing.

  A whimper escapes as he pushes deeper within, then withdraws.

  Then with one powerful thrust, he’s fully seated in me, stretching me open as my body tightly fits around him. This feels too good. As though our bodies are meant to be joined together.

  I wrap my arms around his shoulders. My nails grip at his skin.

  His movements increase. His body slams into me at a punishing pace. Like a man exorcising his lust for something he cannot have. Again, an all-encompassing bliss spreads through me. My whole body tenses with the need to release. With a final slam of Preston’s hips, I fall into a heavenly bliss. With one last shudder, he falls, too.

  As our breathing regulates, he lays panting on my chest. When we finally calm our breaths, he separates our bodies and stands. The haze of desire has left his eyes and something else is there that I can’t pinpoint. I straighten my own body and lift up to sit on the edge of the desk.

  Preston runs his hands through his hair. “Shit. We didn’t use a�
��”

  “I’m healthy and on the pill.”

  “Me too, but still. Shit. I can’t think when you’re around.” His brows knit together as he studies me. “You’re a dangerous temptation. You’re an addiction. One I fear I’ll never kick now that I’ve tasted you. Now that I’ve felt you.” His words are barely audible.

  “So don’t.”

  “We can’t be together. We shouldn’t. If this came out, I would be ruined. All my work at the hospital—” His blue eyes morph into swollen red-rimmed slits as he rubs them furiously. “But I’m not willing to stop.”

  What the fuck have I done?

  This girl renders me fucking blind. Hell, when she’s around I don’t know up from down. She clouds my judgment. But I’ve never had a choice. Not with her. There is no choice when Eve’s involved.

  Even now I can’t get her out of my mind. She just walked out the door and already I’m itching to call her back.

  I’m not done. Not nearly done.

  Sitting back in my chair, my eyes roam over my desk. The kiss…my mouth touching hers…

  One kiss, I’d told myself. What a lie that was. I knew the moment I kissed her that everything inside me would implode.

  But I kissed her anyway.

  And it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t nearly enough.

  I’ll never forget how my tongue felt against her skin. How it felt as I licked the soft hollow of her neck. I can still taste her. I can still smell her. She lingers in my office like a sin.

  She’s my sin.

  Not my salvation.

  And I don’t give a damn.

  Glancing down at my watch, I see it’s after five p.m. Where did the afternoon go? Heat spreads across my face. I know exactly where it went. Preston.

  When I walk into my apartment, I hear water running in the kitchen. I hang my coat in the closet, then make my way inside and find Sydney filling a pot with water.