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My cheeks flush and I concentrate fiercely at the computer screen, hoping he thinks I’m just shy, not appalled by my own stupid weakness. Ever since the disastrous appointment call I took from him on my very first day—where he was so patient with my bumbling rather than getting me into trouble…
It doesn’t matter how many times he comes in. He always hits me like a sledgehammer between the eyes.
I hold my breath for several moments until I regain control. Then I give him my best customer-service smile—without exactly meeting his gaze. “Good afternoon, Mr. MacNiall. Dr. Wentworth is almost ready for you. You’re our last client today.”
He smiles, flashing a killer dimple in his cheek. “I’m not in a rush.”
It’s all I can do not to let out a ridiculous little sigh of pleasure. He’s not watching me, so I soak him in quickly—the way his curly hair tumbles down across his forehead, his full lips, the warmth in his dark eyes. His cheeks and nose are ruddy, his hair windblown more than usual, as if he’s been outside a long time. Maybe he’s been sledding, though there’s hardly enough snow to make it worthwhile.
He rubs his bare hands together as if he’s cold. “I’ve been playing hooky. Sheba’s had me at the park all day.”
On the day before Christmas Eve, our unpredictable Missouri weather has finally chilled enough to be called winter, putting me in an extremely rare holiday mood. It has to be a temporary sugar stupor that makes me open my mouth. “We’ve got a pot of hot chocolate in the back. Would you like a cup to warm you up?”
“I’d love one, thanks.”
I bite my lip to keep from cursing out loud. I’m not supposed to engage him in conversation. It’s too risky. I’m certainly not supposed toservehim anything. That leads my wayward fantasies down a twisty, narrow corridor to a dark room equipped with a rack, some leather straps, and an entire wall of torture implements.
Relax. It’s only a cup of cocoa. I’m not hitting on him. He’s not hitting on me. This is just a nice, friendly offer of a hot drink on a chilly day.
I don’t have to go into take-me-to-your-dungeon territory.
Yet I can’t stifle the kernel of anticipation that sprouts in the dark secret corner of my mind that I’ve fought so hard to control. Even worse, the little sprout threatens to grow into Jack’s beanstalk when he and Sheba follow me into the break room. Clients never come back here, but I don’t think Dr. Wentworth will mind. She claims not to have any favorites, but Sheba’s too perfect not to be on our office’s most-beloved list.
I’m not sure what Mr. MacNiall does for a living, but we often have the pleasure of boarding Sheba while he’s out of town. Truth be told, we spoil her rotten and give her the run of the office when she’s ours for a few days.
I start to scoop him a cup from the crockpot, but decide I’d better warn him first. “This didn’t come out of a box. It’s a recipe I came up with and now it’s become a sort of tradition at the office.” I take a deep breath, forcing myself to stop babbling. “It’s got coconut milk in it. Is that okay?”
He shrugs off his coat, treating me to hints of the powerful cuts of muscle beneath his sweater. “As long as it’s hot and chocolaty, I don’t care.”
And then he looks at me.
I mean, he really looks atme. Not at my breasts or checking me out, but as if he can see everything inside me. Everything I’ve fought to fix and the things I pretend aren’t broken and painful. Some days those things ache so badly I’m afraid I’ll shatter into a thousand pieces.
He sees that darkness in me. He sees how damaged I am.
And he doesn’t turn away.
He doesn't look at me with pity. Or revulsion. His gaze doesn't skitter away. He doesn't start making excuses so he can retreat unscathed before my compulsions trap him in a web of crazy he'll do anything to escape.
Oh, the way he looks at me...
I can’t move. I can’t blink. I can’t breathe.
With all that scorching intensity, he’s either all in or completely out. No in-between. No safety net. No flirting. No escape.
A lot like me.
Which makes him entirely off-limits. I jerk my gaze away. Too dangerous by far.
He takes a long drink, and I’m able to suck in a loud breath. I manage to get my heart beating again. My fingers are icy, my hands shaking, and my face is probably glowing as brightly as Rudolph’s nose. Desperate to hide my reaction, I kneel and concentrate on Sheba.
The dog gives me a knowing look, as though to say,I know he’s a great Master, but he’s all mine, human.I scratch behind her big perked-up ears. If she jumps up on her rear legs she’ll be taller than me, yet, like her master, she’s unfailingly gentle despite her power.
“Ranay?”
The soft tone of his voice makes me close my eyes, even as I want to turn my face up to him and let my hunger show on my face. Hunger for him, for the control he wields so effortlessly. I’m already on my knees. It’d be so easy…
Too easy.
