Page 16 of Rather: The Therapist

Before going inside, I gathered my bearings and brought her closer. I freed her from my grasp and allowed her to catch her footing and her breath. From the unsteady chest movement, I knew it was a struggle.

“You smell divine, by the way.”

Hoping to soothe the nervous energy flowing through her body, I finished the compliment I’d started a minute or so ago.

“Thank you.”

She nodded, clutching her purse with both hands.

“First time?”

“Here? No. But indulging, yes.”

My head was spinning. She was swimming around my shit, no bathing suit and no reservations.

Fuck.

I turned and unlocked the door, ready to welcome her to the suite I’d yet to get acquainted with myself. The freshness of the food piled atop the plates covered with clear domes filled the air, coating the vanilla-scented fragrance I’d encountered earlier.

“Dinner?”

The rhetorical question didn’t need a response, so I didn’t give one.

As I watched her round the table, taking in the presentation, I removed my jacket and hung it on the designated rack. I busied my hands with soap and water, eyes hardly leaving her frame. Mentally, I was logging her in, making sure I didn’t miss a detail.

She joined me near the sink, finally freeing her hands and sitting her bag on the counter. Red lipstick coated her lips. It was as fierce and bold as her. Against her dark skin it was timeless.

Her orbs stalked mine. Holding my gaze, she leaned against the counter and interlocked her hands in front of her. She waited. She wondered. She withered.

Her head fell. I lifted it, instantly. Naturally. The reaction shook me to the core. But, the defeat in her posture did the true damage.

“Heartbroken?”

My readiness to let my chopper sing was frightening. Whatever was happening with her heart had nothing to do with me. It wasn’t my business, but somehow I wanted to make it mine.

“Not even in the slightest.”

Relieved, I nodded. “Head up, my dear.”

I yearned for distance. She was too much, too soon.

Just sex. I repeated in my head. Just sex.

Obliging, my feet drifted in the opposite direction, near the table where dinner was waiting.

“But you are,” she said, barely above a whisper.

On the heel of my feet, I rotated. “What did you say?”

Standing tall, she squared her shoulders and straightened her posture. “You are.”

My eyebrows caved inward as I tried comprehending her dissection. It was quick. It was lethal. And, it was accurate.

“Tonight won’t fix it, but it’ll help. For a little while, at least. And then, yo–”

“I didn’t pay for a suite to get advice, therapy, tarot reading–”

“You’re right,” she admitted with a smile. “Neither did I.”

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