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She queried, “What do you think about when you’re alone, Jude? When you’re masturbating in the shower after you’ve sent someone home?”
“Enough of the extreme professionalism, Kate.” He took a step closer to her. And felt the unmistakable shift in the air. A crackle of electricity that had nothing to do with the tempest outside. “Don’t be so damn clinical with me when we’re delving this deep. Ask me what I think about when I jerk off.”
His gaze held hers and he caught the flare of heat in her tawny irises.
Holy fuck.
He’d been wrong all along—all this time.
Kate wasn’t immune to him.
She just hid it incredibly well. Until now.
While her eyes remained locked with his, she inched forward, seemingly involuntarily, nearly closing the gap between them.
“What do you think about when you jerk off, Jude?”
“Damn,” he murmured. “My bad. I meant, who do I think about…?”
“Jude. Don’t push my buttons. Just tell me outright—”
“You, Kate.” He knew his gaze was even more penetrating as he said, “It’s always you. For the two years you were my therapist and for the entire year you haven’t been. I think about you, Kate. I imagine you naked, beneath me, wanting me more than you want your next breath.”
Her jaw slackened, but for a moment. Then she took a step away, retreating.
“I’m allowed to fucking say it, Kate,” he quietly contended. “You’re not my shrink.”
“I—”
“You’re allowed to fucking respond. To say something, anything. You’re not my shrink,” he repeated.
“I have a professional obligation to uphold and—”
“Kate. There’s no official doctor/patient scenario here. And damn it… You’ve been clutching my shirt for five minutes now. Stop staring me in the eyes and take a good, long look at me.” Jude unfolded his arms in a silent dare.
Kate’s glossy lips pursed. “You’re crossing boundaries, Jude. I came here to help you with—”
“I’m not crossing boundaries. You asked a question. I answered it. And by the hitch of your breath, Kate, and the fire in your eyes…I’d say you liked my answer.”
She gaped again. Clearly shocked by his audacity. Though she shouldn’t be. He’d never sugar-coated things for her. Baring his soul did not come naturally or easily to Jude McMillan, but Kate possessed the uncanny ability to peel away the layers.
Maybe that was why he’d suffered a moment or two of unfamiliar contemplation last night—before he’d headed out on the town. The urge to call Kate had struck him hard and fast. All because of that newly indefinable, vicious sensation threatening to obliterate him.
But he’d bypassed hitting the number in his Contacts list that would have connected him with Kate. Instead, he’d located his invitation to the exclusive club opening and had literally gone on the prowl.
Only to end up reaching for his phone at the crack of dawn, anyway, because Kate was still on his mind.
Jude recognized watershed moments when they materialized before his very eyes. Sure, sometimes it required some runabout stimuli to reach this point. But he eventually did reach it.
He suggested, “It’s entirely possible we’ve danced around each other a bit too much, Kate.”
She was less inclined to turn the corner with him, though. Saying, “I don’t see it that way. And…time’s up, Jude. I have patients on the books today.” She thrust his shirt at him. “Get dressed, please.”
She snatched her medical bag from his desk and stalked toward the door. “If you want to resume our professional arrangement, make an appointment with my office. Don’t call me on my cell, Jude. Unless it’s an emergency. If you want my help—”
“Jesus, Kate.” He glowered. “You can’t undo what’s been done. You can’t pretend you’re not affected by me.”
“You’re clearly episodic again, Jude. I urge you to make an appointment with my office.”
