by Lynn Cooper
Straightening my spine, I shrug his hands off my shoulders and say, “You can take your smartass condescension and shove it where the sun doesn’t shine.”
“That’s not a diagnosis.”
“This is. I don’t think you’re a sociopath at all. I think you like hiding behind a label because it’s safe and convenient. Because it gives you a built-in barrier between you and the rest of the world. A secret place to barricade your emotions so you no longer have to feel anything for anyone.”
He furrows his brow, rubs his beard and asks, “What type of a case study do you base this ludicrous assessment on?”
“A personal one. It takes a battered heart to know one. And Quill, yours has been beaten up more than most,” I say, sighing. “Because I lost Ritter and couldn’t deal with the suffocating agony of grief, I created fictional scenarios around myself. I moved out of my parents’ house and rented a little place not far from here because I couldn’t bear to live in this apartment. But I couldn’t stay away from it either. I left my job as a data-entry clerk and became a dog walker for Dominic—who is real by the way—and a personal assistant to Myrna. By making her my alter-ego, I was able to move about and function in a world that no longer made sense to me. A world without the man I loved.”
He runs his fingers through his thick, black hair, and I can tell he’s giving himself a few moments to absorb what I’ve said before speaking. “You’ve got a great handle on what’s happened to you. I’m proud of the clarity and understanding you’re demonstrating. But you have no fucking idea what you’re talking about when it comes to me or my situation.”
“Don’t I? You wear your tailor-fitted suits and expensive footwear while writing with a fancy pen and arrogantly passing judgement on every patient you treat. You say you’re the best at fixing everyone else, yet you can’t seem to see how broken you are.”
“I am not broken. I am just fine.”
“If that were true, you wouldn’t be a lone wolf. A nonstop workaholic. You’d be married by now or in a serious relationship at the very least.”
“What makes you think I’m not head-over-heels in love and deeply seated in a monogamous relationship?”
“If you were, you wouldn’t have fooled around with me. You and I are alike in a lot of ways, Dr. Midian. When we hurt, it runs deep. When we love, it’s forever. I know for a fact you would never cheat on the woman of your dreams.”
He picks up his torn shirt and jacket and quietly slips both of them on. For a brief moment, he looks at me with eyes that are no longer guarded. They are completely transparent, and in those onyx orbs I can see an emotional hurricane. The debris of loneliness, anger, sadness, loss and grief are flying at dangerous speeds in all directions. As quickly as I get a glimpse of his soul, it disappears again. His voice is graveled and strained, and it warms me all the way to my toes just like it did the day we met. “Be in my office at eight sharp in the morning. We have work to do,” he says, opening the apartment door.
I want to reach for his arm and stop him, but I know I have to let him go. Just like I have to turn loose of this apartment. Of my make-believe friend Myrna. Of my beloved Ritter.
Chapter Ten
Quill Midian
GREYSON FINISHES OFF HIS apple pie and wipes his mouth with a pretty, cloth napkin his talented wife Latasha embroidered by hand. Pushing his chair back and stretching his legs, he looks at her and says, “Honey, take the children upstairs for a while. Quill and I have some business to discuss.”
She gives me a warm smile, and I thank her for another delicious meal as she walks around the dining-room table. After planting a kiss on top of Greyson’s bald head, she herds Lucas and Layla toward the archway leading to a winding, spiral staircase.
Before their exit is complete, I call out to the kids, “Goodnight, Booger Butts.”
They both twist around at the same time, squeaking their tennis shoes on the marble flooring. Layla sticks her tongue out at me, and Lucas says, “We don’t pick our noses and wipe the boogers on our pants anymore.”
“Oh, yeah. What hobby have you taken up now?”
Layla answers, “We’re digging in our navel holes until they get raw and make scabs.”
“Sounds healthy,” I say, giving Greyson a why-the-hell-are-you-letting-them-do-that look.
He ignores me and yells at his offspring. “If the two of you don’t get upstairs right now, I’m going to send your bratty asses back to boarding school.”
The kids reply in unison like only twins can do, “We’ve never been to boarding school!” Then Layla asks Latasha, “Mama, why does daddy keep saying that?” When she answers her daughter, they are too far out of earshot for me to hear.
Without any further ado, Greyson gets right to the point. “How’s Miss Patton coming along?”
He has never been one to beat around the bush. Even if it’s a sexy one covered in soft, springy curls, located between tasty thighs. Given the direction of my thoughts, it’s becoming more and more obvious I need to get laid. I should have taken his advice the other day when he suggested I consult my little black book of fuckbuddies.
“She came just fine in our morning session.”
Greyson gasps, sputters and chokes on the last sip of his coffee. I really should have waited until he set his cup down before answering.
“You bat-shit-crazy moron! She’s your patient for Christ’s sake. Please tell me you did not fuck that woman.”
“I did not fuck that woman with my dick. Just my finger.”
“Holy Mother of Pearl! That’s it. Your career is over.”
“Calm down,” I say, placing a firm hand on his forearm. “Everything is going to be fine. In fact, Zuri had a real breakthrough today.”
“Do tell.”
I tell him all about following her to the apartment and verifying Myrna is make-believe. But he is more interested in the confession I made to my patient.
“So let me get this straight,” he starts. “Not only did you diddle Miss Patton to orgasm before stalking her after she left your office, but you also confided in her things I haven’t been able to pull out of you in years of therapy.” He balls his fists on top of his thighs. “Are you telling me that, in ten minutes time, this former data-entry clerk turned dog walker was able to reach the darkest depths of your soul when, with all of my training and expertise, I couldn’t peel back even a few layers?”
I nod. “Yep. That about sums it up.”
“Get out!”
“What?”
“You heard me, Quill. Get the fuck out of my house, you sick sociopath.”
“For your information, Zuri doesn’t think I’m sociopathic at all. It’s her opinion that I’ve been using this convenient, textbook condition to protect myself from any further hurt. Apparently, my mind couldn’t handle the possibility of ever experiencing the kind of pain and grief I suffered when my mom died. When I discovered what a perverted son of a bitch my dad was. Most of all, my brain could no longer process the gut-wrenching sorrow caused by Benjamin’s death. When my emotions shut down and my heart became encased in ice, my psyche drew the only conclusion it could. I must have become a sociopath. It was the perfect psychological shield for me to hide behind.”
Greyson snarls, “Un-fucking-believable! What in the hell do you think I’ve been trying to tell you since our college days?”
I shrug a shoulder. “Basically, the same thing.”
“Yes! So why in the devil did it take an uneducated, babbling twat to make you see it?”
Without a single thought to our years of friendship, I grab Greyson by the collar. “Don’t you damn dare disrespect Zuri. She’s never done anything to you. If you ever say another unkind word about her, I’ll break your fucking neck,” I say, releasing him and grabbing my jacket off the back of the chair. Without so much as a backward glance, I stalk toward the foyer.
My hand’s resting on the doorknob when he yells, “You’re hopelessly in love with her. Now you get to play the game.
And it’s nowhere as easy as I make it look.”
I shoot him a bird before stepping out into the cold night.
KNOWING I WON’T BE able to sleep for quite a while, I drive around, thinking about what Greyson said. There’s no sense in denying it. I’m most definitely, unequivocally in love with my patient. I set the radio to a classic rock station and, amidst the drums and bass guitar riffs, I try to figure out when it happened. When Zuri melted the glacier around my heart and inserted herself into every chamber.
Was it when she first opened those gorgeous, periwinkle-blue eyes and looked at me in Doyle Pleasant Hospital? Or was it when I took her delicate wrist in my hand and sensuously caressed the pad of my thumb over that life-confirming pulse point?
Maybe it was when she stepped into my office wearing that old trench coat. Or when she took it off. Perhaps it was the moment she opened her legs and let me touch the most sacred part of her. Or it could have been the soul-searing kiss we shared right before her orgasm crashed over both of us.
It might have been the adorable way she looked after getting drenched in a downpour of rain. Or the way she managed to drag fifteen years’ worth of my denial and bullshit to the surface, showing me I’m not a monster. That I’m not some closed-off, unfeeling asshole who’s incapable of love. Maybe it was all of those things combined. Or maybe it was simply a case of love at first sight.
Whatever the reasons, realizing I’m more than capable and willing to love the temptress if she’ll let me gives me a sense of well-being I’ve never felt before. The big question is, will she reciprocate my affections or reject them right out of hand? I guess I’ll find out soon enough in our session tomorrow morning.
Chapter Eleven
Zuri Patton
SLEEP DIDN’T COME EASY last night. I had a lot of shit to sort out on my own. But this morning, I’m ready to get down to business and let Dr. Midian help me work through the rest. For the first time in ages, I feel hopeful about the future.
Walking into the empty waiting room, I exchange a bright smile with Helen. She doesn’t have to say it for me to know he has had her once again block off a large segment of time for me.
The weather isn’t nearly as bitterly-cold as it was yesterday, so she offers me a choice of a warm or cold beverage. While she answers the phone, I take a glass of chilled orange juice from a large, silver tray and show myself into Dr. Midian’s office.
When I step over the threshold, he looks up from his computer and says, “Close the door and lock it behind you.”
I’m not sure why, but I blush at his request. Maybe it’s because the last time he locked this office door, I ended up stripping naked, baring my pussy to him. But there’s no way that’s going to happen today. For one thing, I’m wearing clothes—a silky, button-up blouse and a black miniskirt with matching knee-high boots. Even though I decided not to wear panties, I’m determined to conduct myself in a proper and professional manner. The way he has been asking me to do since the day we met.
I take a sip of my drink before setting it in the cup holder on the console of the theatre seats. When I start to sit down, he stands and says, “I thought we might do something different during this session if you’re up for it.”
“Don’t you mean if you’re up for it,” I say, winking wickedly. Damn it! I can’t seem to behave myself around this man.
“About that,” he says, smiling warmly. “Perhaps we should try to curtail any naughtiness until after you finish up your required therapy time. Neither of us need Judge Warren breathing down our necks, do we?”
“Definitely not. What did you have in mind, Doctor?”
Whatever he wants to do will be perfectly fine with me. Heck, I’d be content to just sit and look at him. As handsome as he always looks in his suits, he looks even yummier today in black slacks, showcasing his powerful thighs and prominent package. A grey, ribbed sweater makes his onyx eyes appear even blacker while accentuating the massive width of his chest and shoulders.
Ever since he showed me his bare torso, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Scars of such mass number and magnitude on any other man might have been off-putting but, on Quill, they looked like a work of art. If I could replay that moment between us, I would kiss every single flesh-colored line he had cut and replace the painful recollections with pleasurable sensations.
Stepping out from behind his desk, he takes both my hands in his and says, “When we attempt to move forward with our lives after a profound loss, making new memories can go a long way toward our healing.”
“I agree. Last night I thought a lot about why I couldn’t stay at the apartment Ritter and I had leased. It was because everywhere I looked, I saw him. Each room was filled with the precious moments we had shared there. The times we cuddled on the couch, watching classic movies. The meals we cooked and ate while standing up in the kitchen. The baths we took together in that antique, claw-foot tub. I had no way of escaping those memories.”
He gives my hands a gentle squeeze. “In time, you won’t want to escape them. Those treasured moments will be like a comforting friend. But, for now, you need something new to focus on.”
“Something or someone?” I ask, squeezing his hands back.
“Both. Now tell me about any activity you enjoy doing. One you didn’t do with Ritter.”
It takes me a minute to think of something because Ritter and I did most everything together. Everything except the one thing he didn’t know how to do and was too uncomfortable or embarrassed to learn. “I love to dance,” I say, beaming.
He frowns. “You never danced with your fiancé?”
“Nope. It wasn’t his thing. We didn’t know what we were going to substitute for the tradition of the bride and groom having the first dance.”
“That settles it, then. Today’s session will be all about dancing. Tell me which style you prefer, Miss Patton. Shall we tango, waltz, slow dance, do the Electric Slide?”
I crinkle my nose and giggle. “None of the above.”
“Really? What’s left?”
“Dirty dancing.”
“You mean like in the movie?”
“Exactly. You got a problem with that?” I ask, praying the answer will be no. Despite my earlier vow of proper behavior, I am desperate to get my groove on with the doctor.
“None whatsoever,” he says, going over to his computer. In less than a minute, he has clacked his way to the Dirty Dancing soundtrack.
The sultry, rhythmic sound of Cry to Me pours from the speakers like a seductive siren. I sway in time to the beat. Quill catches the feel of it right before placing his hands on my hips. As if we had been dancing together for years, we begin to move as one.
For a man of his height and muscular build, I can’t believe how light on his feet and graceful he is. Honestly, he’s making Patrick Swayze look like a klutz.
I shiver from excitement and tremble with want when he closes in, pressing his chest to mine. His hands leave my hips to frame my face, and it’s the sexiest thing ever. His dark and intense gaze sparks with spine-tingling currents of electricity, showing instead of telling me all the sinful things he is thinking. My legs go weak when he rocks his cock against my mound and wedges his knee between my thighs.
He perfectly orchestrates every filthy move I’ve dreamed of, dirty dancing with me in complete and utter unison to the music. I didn’t know it was possible to be so in sync with another person.
Nothing is hotter than the heavy sound of his breath in my ear while he rotates his hips, thrusting his way through the lyrics. Shamelessly, I ride his thigh. Every un-choreographed but harmonious motion we make is so naughty. I finally understand why dancing is called the vertical expression of a horizontal desire. Right now I want nothing more than to fuck Dr. Midian’s brains out. I’ve never experienced this level of sexual tension before.
When the song stops, I’m feverish with need. Quill doesn’t release me. Instead, he smothers me with his body. I can feel him everywhere. Without a w
ord and without breaking contact, he quickly but carefully walks me backward. I’m breathless by the time he presses my back against the wall, digs his fingers beneath my thighs and lifts me off the floor. As if it’s the most natural thing in the world, I wrap my legs around his hips, reveling in the grind of his cock against my pussy.
He captures my mouth, and his tongue moves hungrily inside, seeking the same, satiny pleasure we’ve given each other before. I can’t get enough of his flavor. He tastes like an intoxicating combination of hot chocolate and cinnamon.
When he breaks the kiss, we stay almost reverently still with our bodies pressed tightly together. The only sounds are our ragged breaths filling the room. The energy crackling between us is magnetic, shifting the electron-filled air with the whisper-soft touch of butterfly wings. He continues holding me up with one hand while moving the other up around my neck. The possessive nature of the gesture is heavenly. When I feel the pad of his thumb brush across my bottom lip, my throat goes dry. His touch is searing.
Before I realize what I am doing, my lips part. And I suck his thumb into my mouth.
He growls, “You shouldn’t have done that, Zuri.”
“Why not?’
“Because you have awakened a sleeping giant.”
“Have I?”
“Yes. And there’s no way in hell to get him back to sleep. The consequences are yours to take, Temptress.”
“Then give them to me.”
I can sense his struggle for restraint as he presses his forehead to mine. Closing his eyes, he says, “You weren’t supposed to wiggle your way under my skin or penetrate the ice covering my heart. And you sure as hell weren’t allowed inside my head. But here you are, Zuri, filling every part of me to the brim. I love you, Temptress. I need you to know how I feel before I fuck you.”
Chapter Twelve
Quill Midian
MY DECLARATION IS MET with a soft, sexy feminine moan as she reaches between us to unbutton and unzip my pants. When my cock springs free, it’s damned exhilarating; but, I can’t move past her not verbally reciprocating my feelings. I know it’s silly and selfish, but I was certain she would say the words back to me. Of course, my love for her isn’t contingent on her response or lack thereof. It’s just that I’ve kept myself closed off for so long, it hurts like hell to fillet myself wide open for her and not have her acknowledge it.