Page 80 of Hungry Like the Wolf

Geoff’s desire had tasted like an approximation of food. Like cereal served with water instead of milk. She could vividly remember the explosion of sugar and sweetness and all of the deep-fried richness that had been Robbie. Nadja had thought it might just be Geoff, so she opened her bookings to new clients. Everyone was the same, like she was watching The Wizard of Oz in reverse, beginning with Technicolor and sliding backwards into a black and white haze. She hadn’t logged on since. That had been six weeks ago.

Nadja was in more trouble than she’d ever been in, and she knew, she knew, that eventually, she’d have to do something. She’d have to suffer through the limoncello sparkling water, through the watery marshmallow fortune cereal to save her own skin. It would have to be tonight. The thought made her want to weep.

“Hey, hey now,” Hank’s deep bass cut through her musings. “It’s gonna be okay, Nadja. If you don’t have someone to call, I can call 9-1-1. Or I can drive you myself.”

“No,” she protested, not realizing that she actually begun to cry until she felt the tears slide off her chin. “Please don’t call 9-1-1. It’s not that sort of thing.”

“Nadja, I can’t not call someone,” Hank said gently. Nadja cursed his damned hero complex. Why couldn’t her session tonight have been with the client who walked into her office in the middle of a thought and then talked without stopping until Nadja broke through to tell him that time was up? Why did it have to be Hank? Gentle, sweet Hank who had a nearly pathological need to make sure that everyone he cared about was safe?

He was still checking her pulse and she gripped his wrist with her other hand.

“It’s not something they can treat at the hospital, Hank. I’m…” She closed her eyes. She would have to tell him. It was the only way to keep him from calling an ambulance. And then she’d have to release him from her service. “I’m a?—”

The door to her office flew open with so much force that it bounced off the wall and swung on its hinges. In the doorway, wreathed in the light from the exterior lamps, stood Robbie.

This is it. I’ve reached such dire straits that I’m hallucinating, she thought.

But this Robbie was not a version she knew. Her brain would never have conjured this Robbie. He was bigger, the muscles of his arms and shoulders testing the tensile strength of his T-shirt. His hair was longer, past his chin, and he had a beard, full and thick and in that moment, she wanted nothing more than to bury her fingers in it, delving deep to find the sharp line of his jaw.

But if she had doubted her eyes, the smell of funnel cake wafting into the room with the force of a storm would have been proof enough that he was real. He was here.

“Who the hell are you?” Hank said, rising to his feet. “Wait… Robbie?”

“Hank,” Robbie said, but his eyes never left hers.

“This is a private session,” Nadja protested weakly, gripping the arms of the chair to keep her from either throwing herself into his arms or passing out. She wasn’t sure.

“Fuck your private session,” Robbie said.

“Robbie,” Hank said, putting his body between Nadja’s and the nearly feral man in her doorway. “She’s not well.”

“I know she’s not well,” Robbie said from between clenched teeth.

“She needs a doctor. She needs an ambulance. She needs?—”

“Me,” Robbie interrupted. “She needs me.”

Hank took a step toward Robbie, his hands held out placatingly. “Robbie, let’s step outside. I’ll call an ambulance, and they can take her to the hospital. You and I can follow in the truck.”

“I’m not leaving her, and nobody is taking my mate anywhere.” For the first time, Nadja heard a proper growl behind his words, as if the sound was coming from a deep within his chest.

“Your…” Hank turned to look at Nadja. “Nadja?”

“I’m not his mate,” she whispered, flinching when Robbie snarled.

“Do you want me to get him out of here?” Hank asked, and Nadja could have wept anew.

The whole situation was so fucked. Hank, her client, was such a good person that he was willing to put himself in danger to remove Robbie if that’s what she wanted. She should want that. Her control was slipping, her fingers trembling against the linen of the chair from clinging to the armrests so desperately. She was seconds away from hurling herself into Robbie’s arms. But she couldn’t. She wasn’t his mate, no matter what he thought.

“Robbie and I should talk,” she whispered. “I obviously won’t bill you for this session. Maybe call in the morning to reschedule or”—she gasped for a breath—“or I’ll just see you next week.”

That gasp had Robbie ducking around Hank, leaping over the coffee table, and landing on his knees in front of her. He wrapped his hands around the back of her calves and squeezed. She choked on another sob, another gasp.

“Nadja, I don’t feel right about leaving you alone with him,” Hank said, his eyes wide with bewilderment. Poor man. He’d be talking about this night in therapy for weeks. But it would have to be with someone else. She’d gotten too close. She could see that now. She had come to think of Hank as a friend.

From that same, deep, growling space in his chest as before, Robbie said, “I would carve out my own heart before I let anything hurt her, Hank.”

Hank was staring at Robbie now. But he must have seen some truth in Robbie’s face because after a long moment, he nodded and reached for his coat, hanging on the rack in the corner by the door.