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Maybe I should cut him some slack. He shared more than ever just now, and I don't want to force him back into his shell by pushing for answers he's not ready to give. "Okay. Your session is over. But next time, I do want to delve into your feelings a lot more."
"Aye," he all but moans. Then he pushes up out of his chair. "I'll see you on Wednesday."
He looks so dejected that I want to hug him. I shouldn't do that. After our fling on Saturday, I need to keep my distance as much as possible. Fling? We made love for two and a half hours. We laughed, we teased each other, we touched and kissed, and we lay in each other's arms. And yes, we gave each other fantastic orgasms. No matter how hard I try, I can't forget about that. But if it had been only hot sex, I wouldn't be in this mess. I could put it behind me.
I can't forget the intimacy of what we did. Wish I could, but I can't.
Without thinking about the ramifications, I approach Callum and pull him into an embrace. He remains stiff at first, probably stunned that I'm hugging him. I rest my cheek on his chest. He tentatively drapes his arms around me, then his entire body relaxes and he holds me snugly in his arms. This feels so good, almost better than sex.
"Kate, I—"
My desk phone rings.
"Sorry," I say as I pull away from Callum. "I can't ignore that."
"It's fine."
Turning away from him, I pick up the phone. "Yes?"
"Kate? Is your session running late?" Mary asks. "Hugh wants to know how much longer it will be. He says it's almost lunchtime, and he's starving."
"We just finished. Callum will be out in a minute."
"Oh, there he is. Thank you, Kate."
Mary hangs up.
I drop the phone back into its cradle and turn around.
Callum is gone. The Scot sneaked out while I was on the phone. Maybe our hug rattled him. Why I felt the need to comfort him baffles me, but I'll have plenty of time to mull over that issue later. Right now, I have another client to help.
Even while I do that, I can't stop thinking about Callum.
Chapter Twelve
Hugh
Something strange is going on around me, but I can't put my finger on what it is. The strangeness began on Friday, escalated over the weekend, and has reached its zenith today. Yesterday when I drove Callum to the clinic, he didn't speak until we got there, and then he only spoke to inform me he didn't want to "haver" with me. So we slouched in uncomfortable chairs in silence until Kate called for him. He seemed much happier then.
But after his therapy session, he raced out into the waiting room like his trousers had caught fire. He wasn't limping either. I'd noticed his lack of limping on Saturday too. But after he went on his secret mission for several hours, his knee had clearly gotten worse.
I won't even think about the car trip back to the apartment. Let's just say that I realized within thirty seconds of getting into the vehicle that trying to talk to Callum was not worth the trouble. I suppose if a bloke likes responses that consist entirely of grunts and huffs, then it was a fruitful conversation. The second we walked into the apartment, Callum hurried into his bedroom and shut the door. He emerged for lunch and dinner, but otherwise, I had an invisible roommate.
What on earth is going on? I feel like I'm missing something very important.
The next morning, Callum emerges from his cocoon seeming more relaxed, though he limps a bit.
"Good morning," I say. "Ready for a new day? I was thinking we should do something fun today."
He drops onto the sofa, at the opposite end from where I'm sitting, and groans. "Stop trying to be my cruise director. I came to Inverness for physical therapy, not to have a good time."
"There's no law against having fun, even when you're getting medical treatment."
"Leave a body alone, Hugh."
He's telling me, in his charming Scottish way, to shut up.
Yes, I definitely smell a whiff of weirdness. The time has come to grill my best mate. "What happened on Saturday?"
