Solstice Seduction

by Bronwyn Green

  The boy with the guitar eyed him suspiciously before looking back at Emerson. “Who's the new guy?"

  "Hey Robbie,” she said. “This is Taliesin. He's going to sit in with us today."

  Robbie nodded at him before continuing to play.

  "How's the song coming?” Emerson asked the boy.

  He shrugged. “Meh. Writer's block."

  "There's no such thing,” Taliesin responded. He glanced at Emerson. Her brow furrowed and her eyes narrowed on him. She reminded him of a mama bear ready to protect her young.

  The boy scowled at him. “What would you know about it? You play?"

  Taliesin gestured toward the piano. “You mind?"

  Robbie shrugged and began playing again. “Whatever."

  Taliesin sat at the bench and listened for a minute to catch the melody. He had to admit, the kid was good. Damn good. Playing counterpoint, he subtly prodded Robbie in a slightly different direction. After a few moments, the boy took it and ran with it like he'd hoped he would. Still playing quietly, he watched as Robbie stopped and scrawled the new phrases in a notebook, while Emerson crossed the room to stand behind the boy, in perfect glaring range. Taliesin winked at her and continued playing, satisfaction growing as he listened to the emerging brilliance. With the satisfaction came the regret. This was what God had intended he do—inspire. But on a global scale—not one on one in a mental hospital. But he'd made his choices and he'd been dealt with accordingly. Pride and superiority didn't sit well in Heaven.

  Robbie looked at him, his mistrust and hostility faded somewhat. “Wanna run it again?"

  Surprise widened Emerson's eyes as she looked between him and the kid. Slowly she sank into a chair against the wall and continued watching, making notes in her files.

  Taliesin nodded and followed Robbie's lead, enjoying the evolution of the song and the growing wonder in Emerson's eyes. After a while, she stopped writing, picked up a tambourine and joined them. Her enjoyment warmed parts of him he hadn't known were cold.

  "Are you taking requests?” asked the woman with the maracas.

  Robbie grinned. “Sure Maybelle, if we know it, we'll play it."

  The woman smiled shyly. “It's almost Christmas. Can you play Angels We Have Heard on High or Hark the Herald Angels Sing?"

  Taliesin smirked as he played the opening chords of Maybelle's first suggestion. He always did enjoy irony. Robbie joined in on the second bar and they all sang. Everyone except Emerson. Instead, she'd returned to jotting notes, a pinched look around her mouth. The pinched expression grew more pronounced when they started the second song. When they finished, he motioned for Robbie to hand him the guitar.

  "What about you, Dr. Matthews?” he asked, drawing her attention away from her file folders.

  "Beg your pardon?"

  "Do you have any requests?"

  She shook her head. “No. Please, play whatever you'd like."

  "There's got to be something you'd like to hear,” he coaxed.

  "I can't think of anything."

  "Okay then, I'll just play the song I've had in my head ever since I met you."

  Her breath caught in her throat, and he wondered if she'd make that same sweet sound when he kissed her. That was assuming he convinced her that he wasn't suicidal or psychotic or any of the other psychiatric evaluations she might come up with in the meanwhile.

  He strummed the guitar, noticing as she followed his hands with her eyes. He'd rather let his hands roam over her gorgeous, taut body. Her full breasts had his mouth watering to strip the soft looking white sweater from her and feast on her creamy looking flesh. He longed to feel her nipples pebble against his tongue.

  Instead, he lowered his head and began to play, watching her through the fall of hair over his eyes. He didn't miss the way her gaze lingered on his lips. Either she was a lousy therapist, unable to hide her feelings, or he was having one hell of an effect on her. He chose to believe the latter—it made the seduction he had planned that much more likely.

  Emerson caught her breath as Taliesin held her gaze and began to sing. His voice was low and a little rough. Ignoring the shivers shuttling down her spine, she scoffed at herself. She was in the midst of a common adolescent fantasy—the hot guy in the rock band singing only to her. As annoyed with her reaction as she was, she couldn't disregard the pleasure that wound around her.

  She'd never heard the song he sang—something about being caught between the things you wanted and the things you needed. Didn't that sound familiar? Like now, for instance. She needed to be the consummate professional and help her clients, but all she wanted to do was drag the man in front of her back to her office and beg him to fuck her. What was her problem? In the seven years she'd worked in the mental health profession, she'd never experienced anything like this. And she'd come into contact with plenty of gorgeous men—clients and doctors alike.

  She sighed. Letting him attend music therapy was obviously a bad idea—except for the connection he'd made with Robbie. She'd never seen the boy so open. Heck, he'd even smiled and joined in a group sing-a-long. That had never happened before. She glanced at the young man. He stared at Taliesin as if he were a god. Of course, if he kept singing to her like he was, she might have to jump on the bandwagon with Robbie.

  When the song ended, she added her polite applause to the group's more raucous cheering. Surprisingly, Taliesin actually looked a little embarrassed. He looked like he was about to say something to her, but before he got a chance, Robbie brought his journal to him to get his opinion on the lyrics he was working. Annoyance throbbed behind her left eye. She'd been working with Robbie for months and he hadn't trusted her with his journal and now he was showing it to Taliesin? She watched as heads bent close together, they spoke in quiet tones. Taking a deep breath, she tamped down her anger. It was more important that Robbie find someone he connected with, than it was for her to be the one. She really needed to get over herself.

  Molly squatted by her chair. “Wow. The new guy is hot,” she whispered.

  Emerson scowled at her assistant who showed no repentance.

  "I'm just saying,” she whispered again. “And it looks like he's into you ... or would like to be."

  Checking her watch, Emerson tapped the face. “It's time for supper. I'm going to finish rock star's intake. Will you please have two trays sent here?"

  He'd let down his guard once he'd begun playing, she hoped he'd give her more information if she kept him in that relaxed frame of mind.

  Stifling a grin, Molly nodded as she gathered the rest of the patients, motioning for him to stay seated.

  Emerson flipped back to his intake page and glanced up at him. He strummed the guitar absently as he watched her and a nervous knot formed in her belly.

  "I'll provide the mood music,” he said with a wink. “I trust you're taking care of the candlelight?"

  How dare he wink at her? She hated guys who winked, but he managed to pull it off without looking like an ass. “Funny."

  "Let me guess, you thought maybe I'd be more forthcoming in a room where I was comfortable and distracted by things I enjoy?"

  She raised an eyebrow at him. “Funny and clever. Lucky me."

  He laughed, delight evident in those dove gray eyes.

  The more time she spent with him the more she wondered if he actually belonged in a mental health facility. But even the most seemingly sane person could have dissociative breaks with reality. She really hoped that wasn't the case with him. She was starting to genuinely like him. Bad idea, Emerson. Bad on so many levels.

  A knock sounded and an orderly pushed a cart into the room.

  Taliesin sniffed the air. “Turkey?"

  Emerson lifted the lid. “Yep. Hungry?"

  He shrugged and put down the guitar. “I could eat.” As she passed him his plate, he leaned toward her and said, “I have a suggestion."

  "I'm listening."

  "Let's just have dinner like two normal people...” He eyed the utensils sceptical
ly and then frowned. “With our plastic cutlery ... so I can't kill myself."

  Emerson laughed.

  He looked at her in surprise.

  "Sorry,” she murmured. “You just look so ... cute.” She pressed her lips together. Cute was hardly a therapeutic evaluation. She couldn't believe she'd just admitted to her patient she found him attractive. As much as it pained her, she was beginning to think he might be better off if she referred him to another therapist.

  "So you're turned on by pathetic?” he asked. “You're a complicated woman, Emerson Matthews."

  She wished she didn't love the way he said her name. With that lilting accent, it was as if he'd caressed the words with his lips. She shifted in her chair as she imagined him caressing her body with that gorgeous mouth. “You were amazing with Robbie, today,” she blurted, desperate for something to quell her imagination which was getting more carnal by the moment.

  Taliesin smiled. “Thanks. He seems like a great kid. A little angsty, but a brilliant musician.” He paused. “Of course, most brilliant musicians seem to be on the angsty side."

  "Well, I've never seen him take to anyone like he did to you,” she said, taking a bite of the instant mashed potatoes and gravy. “And he showed you his journal. That was a huge step for him. So what about you? What's your musical background? Do you play anything else besides the piano and guitar?” God, she was babbling. Shut up already Emerson.

  He grinned at her and she felt her cheeks flame. With her fair skin, she probably looked like she'd gotten a second-degree sunburn.

  "So is this what you're like on a date?” he asked.

  "I don't date.” She couldn't control her mouth where this guy was concerned. Frowning, she tried to adjust her professional demeanour. “I don't think that's an appropriate question for you to ask me."

  "Why? We're just two normal people having dinner with our non-lethal silverware.” He popped a bite of turkey into his mouth. “Why don't you date?"

  Did it really matter if she answered his question? She'd all but decided that she needed to refer him elsewhere as soon as possible. “I spend most of my time here. Let's just say that the men I meet outside of work don't interest me."

  He leaned forward. “And the men you meet at work?"

  "Don't either. And even if they did, they're off limits."

  He sat back in his chair, looking for all the world like the cat who'd swallowed the canary. “Why don't you like Christmas?” he asked.

  What? Where did that question come from?

  "What are you talking about?” She crossed her arms over her chest and then quickly uncrossed them as soon as she noticed her defensive posture. “What makes you think I don't like Christmas?"

  "Mostly your scowl and refusal to join in while we were signing Christmas carols,” he countered.

  "Maybe I'm Jewish."

  He shook his head. “Not buying it."

  She'd loved Christmas when she was a kid. Her mom had always made cookies with her and her brother and sisters. They'd made popcorn balls and Christmas cards. They'd skated on the pond behind the house and made snow angels. It was perfect until the year she'd turned eleven. It was as if someone had taken the perfect snow globe of their world and shaken until everything broke free and swirled around with the fake snow and water.

  Emerson shoved her plate out of the way and met his stare dead on. “I just don't like this time of year."

  "Not even a little?"

  The year she'd turned eleven, her mom had a cold she couldn't shake, six days before Christmas, they found out it was cancer. Emerson had prayed until her knees were sore, she'd said the rosary every night, begging God to heal her mother. She took care of the house and her brother and sister, bargaining with God that she wouldn't complain if he'd just make her mother better. It hadn't worked. Nothing had. Not the chemotherapy. Not the radiation. Certainly not the prayers. Or the tears.

  They'd buried her mother the following year in the middle of December. The holiday decorations had mocked her pain, and Christmas greetings poked at the emotional wounds. Her home was no longer the warm, loving place she'd known. Her father stayed in bed for days at a time, a bottle of whiskey his only companion. She'd been terrified that he'd die and leave her too. After the New Year, he'd dropped all of the kids off with his wife's parents and never looked back. Turned out he didn't need to die to vanish forever. For years she lived in fear that the rest of her family would be taken from her too. They hadn't. Yet.

  Her love life was no mystery. Superficial relationships only, thank you. Once a guy started hinting that he wanted more, she was gone. She couldn't survive loving completely only to lose him.

  "Nope. Not even a little,” she said finally answering his question about the wretched holidays.

  Taliesin looked like he was about to push the topic, but closed his mouth as if he'd thought better of it. “I'm guessing it's time to get back to your questions about me."

  She grabbed her files and pen from the table top. “Let's start over. You said you were pushed. By a friend. Any idea why he pushed you?"

  He picked up the guitar and absently strummed a few chords. “Look, it's a long story. I could make up something to satisfy your curiosity and your forms, but I respect you too much for that."

  "Right,” she scoffed. “Because you know me so well.” Her behaviour was downright deplorable. He was getting a new therapist first thing tomorrow morning.

  He raised an eyebrow at her. “Better than you think, Em."

  The way he said her name sent flutters of awareness riffling through her body to pool low in her abdomen. She shifted in her chair trying to ease the arousal that had dogged her all day—ever since seeing this man through the two way mirror.

  She waited for him to say more, but he didn't. Instead he continued playing. And watching her. With a sinking sensation, she remembered, she was the only psychiatrist at the facility for the next three days. She'd have to deal with him whether she wanted to or not.

  She met his gaze. “So, that's it?” she asked. “You respect me, so you're going to keep your mouth shut?"

  "It's not that simple."

  A soft knock sounded on the door and Molly stuck her head in. “Robbie wanted to know if he could use the music room tonight. Do you know how long you'll be?"

  Closing Taliesin's file, she checked her watch. “He can have it now, we'll just take this back to my office."

  "Thanks, I'll let him know,” Molly said and let the door swing shut as she left.

  Emerson rose to her feet, and he followed. A shiver skated across her skin at his nearness, but she ignored it and walked to the door.

  Taliesin seemed lost in thought as they walked to her office. She thought about returning to the intake room, but she didn't want to be interrupted if someone else came in tonight. Usually, the facility was jammed packed this time of year. The holidays tended to bring out the worst in people.

  She looked at him as he walked silently beside her. Her stomach slipped nervously as he met her gaze and she turned away, annoyed that he affected her with little more than a glance. What was it about him that transformed her from a skilled professional to a nervous school girl? It was frustrating as hell.

  Stopping in front of her door, she slid her key through the magnetic card reader and entered the code. She turned the knob, pushed open the door and flipped on the light switch.

  "Go ahead and have a seat,” she said gesturing toward the furniture.

  He eyed the couch but sat down in one of the wing chairs instead. Grabbing a pen from her desk, she sat in the chair opposite him and opened his file.

  "Let's start at the beginning. Are you taking any medications, either prescription or street drugs?"

  "No."

  "Have you used any medications in the past few days?"

  "No."

  "Weeks?"

  "No."

  "Months?"

  "No. I haven't taken any mind altering substances.” His accent thickened as he continued.
“I haven't even taken a bloody aspirin. Can we move this along, a bit?"

  "Do you have anyone who may be concerned about your whereabouts?"

  "No."

  She tried not to frown. Everyone should have someone who worried about him. She might not have her parents, but she had her grandparents and her siblings.

  "Anyone you'd like to contact and let them know where you are?"

  "Not really."

  "No friends?"

  "A few, but no one I really care to call."

  She adjusted her glasses on her nose. “Significant other?"she asked as if she weren't inquiring to satisfy her own curiosity.

  His lips curved in a slow, provocative grin. “I'm all alone."

  Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. Thankfully, the lighting in her office was dim at best. “I doubt that. Let's move on to something else. Where do you live?"

  "I don't have a permanent residence. I travel a lot."

  "For work?"

  "I suppose you could call it that."

  She didn't bother trying to hide her frown this time. “Look, it would be a lot easier to finish this interview if you would stop trying to be so cryptic."

  Elbows on his knees, he leaned forward. “I'm not trying to be difficult, Em."

  Stifling a growl, she stood up, walked to her desk and counted. To fifty. “Well, for not trying, you're succeeding admirably,” she said as she whipped around and ran smack into Taliesin's broad chest.

  His hands settled on her shoulders to steady her. Dread and desire mixed in her stomach as she raised her eyes to his. “I need you to move, please."

  "There's something I've been dying to do all day,” he murmured.

  She frowned. “Whatever it is, I'm betting it's not a good idea."

  He slid one hand up the side of her neck and brushed his calloused thumb across her cheekbone and her breath caught in her throat. The intensity in his gaze shot through her body to settle low in her clenching body.

  "This is a very bad idea,” she murmured as he slipped her glasses from her face and tossed them on the desk behind her.