by Boone, Azure
“There are lies that count? I don’t get it.” This was rather upsetting news about her.
“Well, I mean, if you’re hiding at my house from the big bad wolf, I’m not going to just say, hey, he’s here, let me hand him over to you.”
Micah instantly got a hard on. Shit. This was not what he would call lying at all. That’s what he called sainthood. A person that was willing to violate their greatest principles for a greater good; that was holy to him.
She was as close to an angel as he’d ever found.
She was perfect for him.
Chapter Three
Sarah checked her apartment one last time. Her first private session was in fifteen minutes and she was a fricken wreck. And why was she nervous? That wasn’t a good sign, was it? It was her first home session, she needed to cut herself some slack. She took her profession seriously. Plus she was attempting unchartered territory as far as traditional therapy went, and well, out there on the ledge, it suddenly didn’t seem like a one hundred percent positively fantastic idea. Cold feet. That’s what she had.
Her patient—friend—she mentally corrected, had gotten moved in, but asked that she not visit him yet. She understood his obsessive need to have things perfect and orderly, so of course she obliged. A phone call away, that’s what she told him if he needed. Which he apparently didn’t. The first she’d heard from him was two days ago, when she finally made the excuse to call him, confirming their appointment. She couldn’t believe how she worried about him.
She decided to refer to her new practice as Sessions. She fervently believed that the impersonal rules of standard therapy were the main ingredient in failure rates. It was just common sense that genuine love and caring was a key component in true healing. Patients were victims and people, they could sense a mile away when somebody gave a damn or not. Who wanted to divulge painful secrets to an uncaring person? She sure as hell wouldn’t. The plan was to give her patients just that, despite her colleague’s warnings of burn out, or plain old-fashioned psycho fixations. She knew the risks. She’d navigate them and come out on new, successful, solid ground.
The doorbell rang and she jumped. Shit.
Professional but friendly. Like a brother. Micah was nothing more than a brother. She opened the door enthusiastically. “Oh my God, come in!” Sarah had also decided being transparent—in most things—was the way to go, as well as treating him like a normal man. “You look great!”
“Thanks.” He walked in. “I kind of miss those comfy hospital clothes.”
“Ha,” she laughed, shutting the door and looking over her shoulder. She met up with a perfect lower body in perfectly fitted jeans. Add black t-shirt over a muscular top, and wow, give all the ladies a valium. She definitely would need to watch out for him.
She smiled brightly and jumped right into getting things off on the right foot. “If you’re wondering what that amazing smell is, that is me, slaving over a real meal!”
“You didn’t have to,” he mumbled, humor hinting in his voice.
She zoomed right past him and headed to the kitchen, like she would a family member that came to visit every day. “Of course I did. I had to take an entire YouTube course. I realized it was unacceptable for me to serve you lousy food. Go ahead and have a seat, would you care for something to drink?” she called.
“What do you have?” he called back.
“I have lemonade, fresh squeezed, orange juice, um, milk, I can make coffee?”
“Coffee sounds nice.”
“Coming right up,” she sang before whimpering, “Could use a cup myself with a dash of whisky.”
She paused briefly next to the counter and took several calming breaths. Breathe in. Breathe out. “So, how are you liking it here so far?” She opened the grinds canister. “Did you go to the pool yet?” She laughed, letting him know she knew he hadn’t and likely wouldn’t.
“Yes, I go there every morning.”
She walked into the living room just to see if he was serious. At seeing the mirth in his eyes, she laughed. “You little shit.”
His laughter rang out deep. “You cuss?”
She widened her eyes. “Why yes, I do. Very little though. And glad you called it cuss and not curse, there’s a huge difference. Oh, let me finish the coffee.” She hurried back into the kitchen and finished putting on a pot, then returned and sat on the single overstuffed mocha chair some five feet from him.
“So, what’s the difference to you? Between cussing and cursing?”
She was grateful for the question, hating to carry the easy atmosphere by herself. “Well, cuss words are adjectives, curse words are not. They’re curses.”
“How do you figure?”
She focused on not focusing on him. “Take for instance…you fucking moron.” She met his wide gaze. “Which of those words is the greater offense?”
His smile was utterly irresistible and she returned it with her own. It was just fabulous seeing him happy. What a victory. “Contextually, moron is.”
“That’s right!” She pointed at him with a laugh, “And the other word, while I rarely use it, is just an adjective, but the real curse word is the one that damages. I try to never curse. Well, not people.”
“Just animals?”
She gave a little chuckle. “More like cabinet doors and other inanimate objects.”
He studied her and she bit her lower lip. She realized she’d done it probably the second after he noticed. “Whoops,” she said.
“I’m making you nervous.”
Disappointment colored his observation and she hurried to dispel it. “That’s because I’m a hermit and never have company, remember? This is like the first time I have anybody into my home. Well, my age. First patient in my home too,” she added with wide eyes. And first male.
His light grin and nod said he bought that. “It’s a brave thing to do, have strangers into your home. Crazy even.”
“Oh, please, you’re like a brother to me.”
The look that flashed over his face concerned her. It wasn’t a good one. Shit. But why. “Bad analogy?”
“Nah, not really.”
Not really. Hmm. Maybe she’d bring that up in their session. The coffee pot gurgled. “Would you like to eat then have our session, or session then eat?”
He took a deep breath. “I better eat first in case you ruin my appetite in session.”
Sarah cracked up. “Oh please, you know I’m slow as molasses with my job. I like taking your time.”
He chuckled.
“I don’t mean literally,” she said, realizing how bad that sounded. “Heck, I’d do sessions for free, it’s my passion.”
He gave her one of those sweet smiles that meant she’d made it all better. “I know you would.”
“You better damn well know that.”
She could stare at him smiling all night. But then she knew in order to keep that smile, she’d have to eventually bust down some walls.
“Sit right there while I get your food, our food, I’m starving, we can have coffee after if that’s okay with you?”
“Coffee with sessions. Sounds good.”
“Great. I can’t believe I actually cooked.” She hurried to the kitchen and maintained her professional mode, her he’s my visiting brother mode. It was so much nicer too that way. She felt way more at ease with him in that light.
“Here it is,” she sang as she sashayed into the living room. He took the plate from her. “It’s called Creamy Cajun Chicken Pasta. I know, fancy sounding. Hey,” she sat with her own plate and sniffed the dish, “might as well go all out if I’m going to take the cooking plunge, right?” She stabbed her fork into her food and stuffed her mouth with it. “Oh my God it’s actually good!” She looked at him to find him watching her with a smile. She covered her mouth with one hand and aimed her fork at him. “Don’t think this means you aren’t teaching me how to cook, mister.”
“I didn’t.” He took his first bite and she waited for his reaction.
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“Not bad,” he said.
She balked. “Not bad? It’s fantastic!”
He laughed and took another bite. “Yes.”
He licked his lips and she jerked her eyes back to her plate.
****
Micah was enamored. Sarah was as beautiful as he’d expect she’d be in normal clothes. White casual shorts that went to her knees, modest of course, and a lavender silk top with a frilly collar, no cleavage. Her auburn hair was down and tucked behind her ears. It was just past her shoulders, as he’d guessed. She always wore it up at the hospital and he’d hoped, maybe even prayed, that she’d wear it down for him. She had on little makeup, just enough to accentuate her natural beauty and it was all he could do to not sit and stare at her. She was putting on a superb act all for him, despite her clearly being nervous. For him, she could surpass any fear, any inhibition. And that was a total turn on in every possible way.
After dinner, she led him to “the office” which turned out to be her back patio on the third floor, scented candles—cedar and sandalwood, he was sure—a plastic table with a bowl of pinecones and two chairs. White. “I was thinking this would be much less traditional, more comfy?” She stared at him closely for the verdict, fully preparing to meet his preference.
“This is nice.”
“Great. Have a seat my dear sir.”
“Yes, madam.”
They sat and she smiled at him like she was just thrilled to have him over, like he were some celebrity all while wondering what approach she needed to take. He recognized that she’d moved their personal space to a three foot distance suddenly. Nice.
“So,” she began, “How do you like the apartments?”
Ice breaker. “I like it well enough.”
“You have a bottom floor, lucky you.”
“Nooo, I’d prefer a third floor like you. I like being on top.”
“Ohhh okay.” She bit her lip and looked down.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.” Though yes, he did.
“Meet any neighbors?”
Sex was definitely not a topic she was going near in any shape or form. Yet. “Yes, I met the woman right next to me.”
“Oh? Tell me about her.”
“There’s not much to tell yet. She’s nice. Helped me organize a few things.” Micah looked at her, wanting to smile at how well she didn’t hide her troubled expression. “Is that…a bad thing?”
“Oh! No, not at all. Just be careful, okay? The world is full of…danger.”
He looked down, smiling. “Yes.”
“Did you catch her name? I mean I may know her. Been here…quite a while.” She laughed a little, still not hiding her disapproval very well.
“I probably shouldn’t have opened myself up to strangers so soon.”
“Absolutely not. You did well, don’t be ridiculous.”
“Her name was…I’m bad with names. I think Tammy.”
“Ah. Hm. Can’t say I know a Tammy. So you got settled in okay? When do I get a tour?”
He shrugged. “Never maybe.”
“Okay, that’s fine.”
He was amazed to hear it hurt her feelings. That he let a perfect stranger over and not her. “I was joking. You can come over whenever you want. Maybe call first so I can at least pretend I’m not a slob.”
She smiled knowing he was as OCD as they came, but he noticed it lacked the bubbly warmth. Would she ever fully recover from the other woman announcement? He also wondered why exactly that bothered her so much. He was almost sorry he’d told her but at the same time, desperate to know every reason for this reaction. Possessive he hoped. Fixated even better.
She angled her head, a question on her beautiful face. “You know, somebody forgot to enter your date of birth into the files and I’m trying to recall how old you are exactly.”
He studied her a bit, wondering. “I’m thirty-two. And you are?” He shook his head. “Sorry, I suppose that’s not my business.”
Her face scrunched with cute indifference, “No, it’s fine, it’s just age, not a huge deal.” And yet she bit her lip and wagged her foot rapidly. “I’m thirty-five.”
His cock twitched at this discovery. Another vulnerability. She could never have too many with him. She clearly saw herself as beyond the dating age. A true blue spinster woman. A comical concept with her rare beauty.
“You don’t look thirty-five.”
She laughed a bit louder than normal. “Well…thank you. You certainly don’t look your age either. You mentioned once you had a brother, I believe.”
Therapy time.
“Yes.” She knew he didn’t want to talk about it. But the therapist in her insisted.
“Is he older than you? Younger?”
“He’s younger. And dead.”
Brief silence and then a silky, “I’m sorry.”
His cock jerked again. It did that a lot with her. The depth of emotion he heard in those words was erotic for him, fascinating even. “It’s been a very long time. He died when he was four.”
She was silent but he knew she wanted details. She’d have to work harder for those. “You have siblings?” he asked.
She cleared her throat a little. “I have four. I’m the youngest.”
“Wow. That’s a lot. I was an only child after my brother.” He hoped she got the hint that he’d like an information exchange. Patience was definitely one of her virtues. But then it was one of his as well.
“How about I tell you a little about myself?”
Micah smiled at the unexpected treasure. He turned in his chair and scooted to the table, mostly to hide his hard on. “I would love that.” Utterly true. She had taken his information exchange bait, and was being honorable by going first. He already knew what he’d tell her when it came time to sharing.
“Well, I had a normal life, maybe even boring by some standards. My mom was a regular Betty Crocker…too bad it didn’t rub off on me. My dad was a philosopher and doctor. He loved William James.” She smiled fondly.
“I see who you took after.” He felt like a young boy at an amusement park for the first time.
“Yes.” She bit her lip, still grinning while delving into her beautiful shoe box of innocent memories. “I loved playing in my dad’s office. The smell of books was just…wow, I still love the smell.”
“So do I.”
She bit her lip again, flashing a look his way. His arousal had colored the words and she’d caught it. So perceptive. He wondered why she looked at him though. To see him in that emotion?
“My mom was forever chasing after me to be girly and I hated it. We were three boys and two girls, and apparently my sister just before me stole all the girly genetics from my mom and she had none left to give me.”
Micah laughed out right at that. “You seem to have grown into your girlie, I think.”
The surprise on her face, or adamant disbelief, crimped her forehead. “I’m so not girlie.”
He chuckled and lowered his head a bit. “Okay. You’re not girlie.”
“I’m not! I’m not into fancy clothes or make up, or jewelry. I even hate shopping!” She seemed desperate to prove her delusion.
“Well, if that is your definition of girlie, then you’re right. You’re not girlie. I thought you meant something else.”
She seemed to relax a little. “I mean I know I look like a girl,” she muttered, fishing for him to elaborate.
“You’re free to believe what you want about yourself,” he said.
“Fine, tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“What is your definition of girlie.”
He shrugged a shoulder. “I said you grew into your girlie. And I meant you became a beautiful woman.”
Her reaction was one for the books. He’d never seen her look so shocked. “Please doc, you’re far too intelligent and perceptive to not be aware that you’re beautiful.”
“You’re right,” she conceded too casually. “It is rather thick of
me to not be aware of my beauty. I can’t tell you how often I’ve been called the blind professor. And with all the guys knocking down my door, how could I miss it? And me being single, well, that sort of just slaps me in the face with it, just amazing that I’ve managed to miss your delusion.”
Micah had to laugh. “So, because I think you’re beautiful, I’m delusional?” He loved being able to say I think you’re beautiful to her face and yet not.
“Oh, stop, enough. And I guess you know how gorgeous you are.”
Micah shifted in his seat readjusting his hard on. Was she playing? Did she really think that?
“I assure you, in a matter of days, you will have every woman knocking at your door,” she knocked on the table for emphasis. “I, on the other hand, have been living here for seven years and have had zero men, aside from maintenance, knock on my door.”
He was shocked and thrilled. “It’s not my fault they’re blind.”
She became animated in her frustration. “Oh hell, forget it, I’m glad you’re blind to whatever it is they apparently see or don’t see.”
“You’re glad?”
“As in, for your sake, I could care less if you think I’m beautiful or hideous, that is hardly the point of our relationship.”
“Ah. Yes, you’re right.”
“Would you like some coffee? I’d like a cup, I’ll bring you some.”
“Yes, please.”
Micah watched her hurry off, unable to contain his grin. He’d never seen her so flustered. What he’d give to feel what was going through her head in that moment.
Chapter Four
Sarah made it to the kitchen and gasped, holding on to the counter. My. God. The man was not making it easy, was he? Nobody called her beautiful! Ever! He was being utterly ridiculous. This no doubt meant she’d hit on a hornets nest and he was turning the tables to keep her at bay. And it had to do with his brother.
She went over her earlier mantra, refocussing her mission. The mission was Micah. Broken Micah. She was a doctor. His doctor. Because I think you’re beautiful, I’m delusional? Ugh, nice move Romeo, but she knew better. He was evading. She poured their coffee and loaded the tray with coffee fixings and headed back out. Shit, she’d admitted to thinking he was gorgeous.