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He seems to withdraw from me even further. Not in the way many of my patients do, by becoming visibly upset or distant. Now he is looking at me as though he wants to eat me—and my tummy is in knots.
He stands and moves towards me. Every single fibre of my being is vibrating on high alert, but I don’t withdraw. Maintaining control of the session is vital. He is right beside me, at least a foot taller than me, and close enough that if either of us were to sway forward slightly we would be touching. Crazy thought! Where did that come from?
He looks down at me, so dominant, so strong and somehow so broken.
I stare at him for a long time, waiting for him to speak, determined not to break first.
Finally, his throat bobs as he swallows. ‘I don’t need therapy,’ he says gruffly, as though I’ve dragged him here kicking and screaming.
‘I see.’ I nod, not wanting to mock his assertion, nor to question why he emailed at midnight if that’s the case.
‘I just...’ He drags a hand through his hair and shakes his head. ‘This is fucking ridiculous.’
‘What is it?’ I urge and, damn it, I step closer. Stupid, stupid move, because now there’s barely a whisper between us and I can’t surrender the strength of my position by pulling away. If I do, he’ll know how he affects me, and that would be a disaster.
‘I’m not sleeping.’ He turns away from me and takes a step towards my desk, pressing his fingers against the wooden corner.
It is highly irregular for me to have people on this side of my office and I feel the invasion of Noah in every way. This is my space—my personal space. But the moment he’s started to open up to me, I can’t make him feel at fault. I move towards him and put a gentle yet professional hand on his elbow.
Tension is radiating from his bulky frame, as though this small admission of a perceived weakness has offended every iota of his hyper-masculinity. He flinches when I touch him and glares down at me.
Not with anger, though.
The desire that has me hostage is of a mutual kind. I feel him shift and it is all the confirmation I need that this crazy, dark lust surges through us both. My fingertips are still pressed lightly to his elbow. I nod towards the chair he’d been sitting in.
‘Please, sit down.’ It’s a quiet murmur and for a moment I think he’s not going to do as I say. He continues to stare at me and I find myself staring back, wondering what it would be like for those lips of his to drop to mine.
Temptation is thick in the air. I could push up onto the tips of my toes and kiss him... Would it really be so wrong? I step back just as he reaches for me, his fingers curling into my hair, wrapping it around his big masculine fist. ‘Is this real?’
The question catches me utterly off guard. I take in a deep breath that barely reaches my lungs and stare at him with a sense of helplessness. I have a thing for bad boys, remember, yet I’ve never known anyone quite like Noah Moore.
I force myself to remember several things, and to remember them quickly. He is waging a battle against demons I don’t yet comprehend; he has come to me for help.
And I don’t do this.
I don’t let men, no matter how sexy, make my pulse race and my knees knock.
That kind of thing was a million years ago for me.
‘Is this real?’
The words are husky from his mouth and all my certainties and good intentions quiver inside me.
‘What?’
Step away, step away! my brain is shouting at me, but I don’t move. Instead, I swallow and his eyes drop to my mouth, then lower, to the column of my throat, watching the convulsive movement, before resuming their fascination with my lips.
Moist heat slicks between my legs and I clamp my lips together. My nipples press against the bra I’m wearing, little arrows darting through me from each hardened nub, radiating heat through my body. There is a fine tremble that passes over my spine.
‘This. Your hair.’ And his fist moves higher, towards my head, so his palm curves around my skull, his fingers still tight in the blonde lengths. He angles my head upwards and our eyes are locked. Our bodies are separated by inches and yet I feel the essence of him pulse into me, throbbing inside my gut. This is, hands down, the most intimacy I’ve ever felt with a man.
‘Yes.’ It’s a word weakened by desire and my temptation to surrender to it completely. ‘It’s real.’
He nods but doesn’t otherwise move. If I don’t do something, anything, to grab control of this situation, I’m going to be in serious trouble.
‘Noah.’ I clear my throat and step away. For a second he doesn’t relinquish his hold on my hair, and then he drops his hand to his side. His expression is knowing. As though he understands that I am now fleeing what we just shared.
‘Please, sit down.’ The words lack conviction and yet he complies, moving back to his seat and owning it with his body. I don’t sit behind my desk, though. Instead, I cross to the other side of it and perch on the edge, crossing my legs at the ankle.
