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Kael
Sienna Jones might act all tough and threatening, the exterior she wants the world to see, but something tells me there’s more to her than just acerbic looks and a steely gaze that could cut through glass.
It’s a good thing she’s in the dark about me because the light is blinding from where she’s standing, and let’s be fucking honest here, getting to know me is like digging yourself out of one hole and diving head first into another.
Sienna’s currently got her head buried in her notebook, scribbling things down so fast she looks fucking ridiculous. Not that I’m complaining, because as it stands, I’m loving the way her tits jiggle inside her blouse when she writes, and the way they push together every time she squeezes her elbows into her sides, that ain’t too bad either.
While she’s preoccupied, I take the opportunity to look quickly around her office. It’s warm and quiet in here. The furnishings have been set up to look like a small living room, with tall lamps, fat cushions, and paintings in ornate frames hung on the walls. There’s a built-in bookcase that takes up one wall. The other wall is made entirely of tall windows that look out onto the garden at the rear of the building.
Music plays softly in the background, but I can’t pinpoint exactly what kind of music it is.Is that country?
Oh, fuck no. God help us all.
It is. Willie Nelson.Jesus Christ.
After a few moments, Sienna eventually sets her notebook down on the coffee table again and looks up at me.
“Okay, so this is how we’re going to play this out. You’re going to turn up to our sessions on time every day, you’re going to talk to me, and in return, I’m going to get you out of this place in one piece.”
I shrug. “If you say so.”
Her forearms rest on her knees as she sits forward so there’s no missing the fact that she totally means business. “There are no cameras in here, Kael. There’s no audience. You aren’t going to get a standing ovation for putting on the perfect performance. It’s just me and you in this room. I will listen to you for as long as you want to talk to me, but as you so eloquently pointed out before, I do get paid either way. It’s completely up to you how much you get out of our sessions together. Have I made myself clear?”
My jaw almost hits the floor.Talk about cutting straight to the chase. Her words sting a little, but I guess she’s right. I’m not on stage. I’m not auditioning. I’m not playing a role, least of all the role she expects from me. The role the world expects from me.
Sienna isn’t the enemy here. If anything,I’mthe enemy. I’ve always been my own worst enemy.
Same shit, different day.
“If you ever need me on the weekends, I’m on call for the duration of your time here at Rochester,” she persists. “That was the deal when I took on your case.”
“You don’t get weekends off?”
“I don’t work, per se. I’m on call. It means if you need me or something happens while I’m out of the office that you can have one of the orderlies phone me, and I’ll be available to talk you through whatever it is that’s going on.”
“Okay.”
“If it can’t be sorted out over the phone, then I can come in and see you in person if you really need me.” I can tell she’s about to lay down the law. “But no more…flirting. I’m not one of your adoring fans, and I’m definitely not one of your groupies. I’m your therapist, and you’re my patient. Got it?”
Agitated, I scratch my fingers over my head.Well, damn.Flirting with this woman gave me something to focus on other than my sobriety and the dark, cold numbness that comes with it. The women I normally flirt with love it, and they dish it back to me just as well. I’ve always gravitated to party girls, with big mouths and zero standards. Jonesy isn’t like those girls. She’s different. She’s the polar opposite of those girls. But what choice do I have? She’s got me bent over a barrel here, and I can’t see any other way around it.
“Got it.”
“Good. Now we’ve got that sorted out, is there anything special you’d like to talk to me about? You could start by telling me a little more about what I walked in on this morning.”
“Nothing to tell. Devon’s a pussy who doesn’t know shit about my life. If you want to know more about what happened this morning, then you should probably ask him.”
“What did he say to upset you?”
“It’s not important what he said.”
My gaze rakes over her pretty face and down her long throat, pausing briefly at her breasts again because man, they are seriously magnificent. Her skin looks soft, really soft. I wonder what it might feel like to reach across and touch her, to dip my finger into her cleavage, tracing a lazy pattern from one breast to the other, circling her nipples over and over while I gently squeeze…
“You sure about that?” she asks, tugging gently at the front of her blouse, and the small movement ignites an ache deep inside my chest.
Shit.
Now I feel bad. Really bad.
