This is purely a psychological tactic, to beguile him into revealing more during today’s session. And yet, knowing that doesn’t stop the heat from gathering between my thighs as his hungry gaze tracks over me, his tongue skating across his bottom lip.
He’s in no hurry to reach my eyes, but when he does, he says, “Welding. Off the coast. Hyperbaric welding, or underwater welding. I worked on ships and pipelines.”
I know this much. All the easily attainable information I’ve gathered. I wait for him to continue, but I’m getting impatient, wanting to ask why someone with such a high IQ would choose to work with their hands.
He releases a slow breath. “Yes, I liked it,” he answers my unspoken question, and I allow another small smile to form.
I wait. Measure my breathing. Watch his tongue sweep his lips.
A smug grin hikes the corner of his mouth. “Look at how tense you are,” he says, his tone amused. “The need to ask your little questions tightening every muscle in your body. Especially those thighs.” His gaze drops to my legs, and my pulse trips. “Go ahead. Ask me.”
“Why welding?”
“You mean, why didn’t I go to college and pursue a career more befitting to my level of intelligence?”
I lift my chin. “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. Didn’tyour parents encourage your education?” He’s refused to discuss his parents so far. I won’t stop pushing for the answers.
He rolls his shoulders. “My parents encouraged me as little as possible.”
I crane an eyebrow, anticipating more on the subject, but he looks away. “The ocean is quiet,” he says instead. “When you’re down there, you can’t even hear your own thoughts. It all just fades into the background, serene, calm.”
On reflex, I glance at the saltwater tank.
“I think you crave the same thing,” he says, drawing my attention back to him.
I don’t confirm or deny his claim.
“Aren’t you going to ask, doctor?”
I shake my head slowly. “This isn’t about me. I’m not interested in what my thoughts are, only yours.”
“But aren’t you dying to know what I think you crave?”
Yes. The answer burns through me like a fever, but I refuse to let it pass my lips.
He shifts to the edge of his seat, tugging his pants higher on his thighs before leaning in. “I bet you keep that fish tank in here because you crave that same moment of solitude.”
A light laugh escapes. “So you’re the doctor now?”
His expression opens, stealing my breath. “I’d love to ask you questions. I’d like that game a lot.”
If this is what will lower his guard—even for a second so I can capture it—then I’ll play. “All right, I accept.” I take a seat in my chair and cross my legs at the ankle. “No, Grayson. I don’t crave solitude, because I take my alone time every day.” I raise my eyebrows in challenge.
“It’s not the same,” he counters. “Being lonely and solitude are two different things.”
I draw in a breath, forcing my lungs to expand past the tightness. “Is that how you see me, lonely?”
His smile is cutting. “I’m the doctor today. I’m asking the questions. Are you lonely?”
I press my tongue against the back of my teeth in an attempt to hide a frown. “At times, yes. Everyone feels lonely every once in a while. That’s human nature.”
He becomes engrossed in the game, in his performance. “You think you handle it better than most, though. Why, because you’re a psychologist?”
I bite back a laugh. “No, because I don’t like—” I stop myself short.
His head tilts. “You don’t like what…relationships? Too complicated? Too intimate?”
“I don’t particularly like people,” I confess.
