Page 3 of His Beguiled Bride

The relationship between me and Madlen started out normal or somewhat normal at least. Truth is that she wasn’t my fifth patient. She was my seventeenth and technically not qualified for a discount but judging by the way she was dressed, I could tell she couldn’t afford me. At first I simply wanted to help her like I want to help all people but the more time she spent with me the more I realized that I wasn’t reacting to her like a normal therapist would.

I breathlessly hung onto her every word, drank her in every time I saw her, counted the hours until her visits, refused to open the windows to let some air in after she’d been here as to not cause her perfume to flee. I cut other patients time short and never rescheduled Madlen’s sessions. Whenever she called in sick it was torture. And whenever she leaves this room the torture begins again and doesn’t stop until the next time I see her.

If I could, I’d keep my eyes on her at all times but I have a business to run, patients that need my care even more than Madlen does. And yet I would leave all of them hanging if she needed me to. If Madlen was stuck at the other end of the world and needed me, I’d be there. She thinks she’s my patient and I’m her therapist. In reality she’s my angel and I her worshipper.

Looking down at my notebook, I realize I’ve been sketching her face again and written little details about her such as that she’s wearing knee high stockings today and a tweed skirt. Her sweater is low cut and each time she breathes her breasts rise. When she speaks her breaths sometimes turn short and frantic as if she’s thinking about something that distresses her... or excites her and blood rushes to my groin at the thought and I discreetly adjust myself.

“You didn’t answer my question, Madlen,” I rasp. “Do you agree with my analysis?”

She twirls her hands, pushing her arms together and it makes her breasts softly squeeze. I shift in my seat when my temples start pounding.

“I wouldn’t know,” she replies in a low voice. “The human mind is so confusing to me. That’s why I see you, I suppose.” Tilting her head back she graces me with a smile and I wish she wouldn’t do that. I prefer observing her in private without her knowing. That’s how you truly get to know another human, by watching them when they don’t know you’re watching.

I’ve learned one or two things just by observing her. Talking about nightmares gives her goosebumps which means they scare her even when she’s awake. She smiles a lot when she talks which means she’s good-natured and every couple of ten minutes or so, she rubs her thighs together which means she is easily aroused.

We could be talking about anything, something that wouldn’t usually cause a carnal response and my Madlen would still be rubbing her thighs. They are lush and firm and the insides a little bit pink from the friction caused when she walks. Pulling at my tie, I clear my throat before glancing at the clock. To my relief it is still thirty minutes left. And to my disappointment there is only thirty minutes left.

“How are things at...?” I begin but she suddenly interrupts me and I frown. She never tends to interrupt me.

“Maker, there is something I should tell you,” she says, troubled as if she can’t hold something in any longer and she sits up. Her movement is so sharp and quick that her legs automatically spread, giving me a chance to see the little triangle of transparent fabric underneath her skirt and I bite my lip. Hard. She doesn’t notice, I’ve noticed and continues, “I haven’t been completely honest with you.”

Closing the notebook, I tense because I do not like the sound of this. “Honesty with me is crucial. You know that.”

Guilt flashes her face and her cheeks redden. “I know, which is why I’m telling you now. To be honest I’m b...better.”

Better? Better as inI’m all good now so good bye?

My heart squeezes in my chest. “Are you saying you don’t need me anymore?”

She lowers her face. “I’m afraid so.”

A muscle ticks in my jaw. “Exactly how did you reach that conclusion?” Has she been talking to someone? A male? A male who wants her to himself and is trying to take my role in her life?

“I haven’t had any night terrors for weeks now,” she begins, “been sleeping like a princess and its unfair of me to still act like I need your help when in reality I...don’t.”

The air leaves my lungs and I know I’m watching her with a stony, distant expression. “That is...good.”

“Isn’t it?” she says, her face suddenly excited. “You’ve done so much for me and I couldn’t have asked for a better therapist.” The excitement turns into sadness. “I guess that this is it then, isn’t it?”

This is it? Over? It can’t be. It’s not over until I say so.

“Why did you keep coming to me if you’ve been better for quite some time now?” My voice is stern, accusatory because she can’t simply walk out on me because she isbetter. She might be healed but if she leaves me, I will be ruined.

A blush covers her slender throat.

“I shouldn’t have, I’ll go now...”

“Do not go.”

She flinches, looking at me in surprise and inwardly I curse. I need to tone it down. I’m her therapist not her tyrant. She trusts me more than she trusts anyone. She told me so.

“What I mean is that I’m going to need one session more with you. To wrap things up.” I just need one session more, buy myself some time and figure out how I’m going to take things further from there.

“If you think that will be necessary then alright,” she agrees and the corners of her mouth curve. She reaches for her purse and I rise as if to stop her.

“Where are you going? There’s fifteen minutes left.”

Flicking her purse over her shoulder, she shrugs. “I’m working an early shift today. And I gotta go home and get ready.”

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