Page 16 of Physical Therapy

He eyes me with interest while I take a healthy swig of the alcohol. “Is this a professional question? Or personal?”

“Both.” I lift an eyebrow.

He smiles. “A man can always make time for the things he wants the most.”

“Things.” I nod, pointedly looking around his apartment. “You don’t seem to have many of those.”

“Perhaps I don’t need much.”

I take a seat on the arm of the sofa, legs crossed at the ankles and the tumbler pressed lightly to my bottom lip. “What do you need, Boe?”

If this man were a lion, I’m positive he’d be purring given the look on his face. “I don’t see your notepad anywhere, Edith.”

“Does that stop you from answering my question?” I take another small sip of courage.

He moves a step closer. “No. But it does make me question the intent behind it.”

“The same as I question why you decided to hold the rest of our session here? Where you live.”

I crane my neck back to maintain eye contact as Boe moves closer, his legs either side of mine.

“Perhaps I wanted to see how you’d fit?”

“I’d fit?” I raise one eyebrow before downing the last of my drink.

He doesn’t say any more, instead removing the empty tumbler from my hand. Boe twists to the left, a leg still braced over mine, and sets the vessel down next to the empty wine glass. I pull a lungful of air, certain I’ll drown in his charm if I fail to ready myself now.

“What do you hide?” he whispers, facing me once more. “Who are you really?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

The backs of his fingers graze my cheek in the barest touch. “Edith, baby. I might not be a shrink, but I can tell that underneath this sensible composed exterior lies a much more passionate creature.”

“You assume too much.”

“I understand so much more.” His hand lingers against my face as he leans down to capture my lips with his own.

My breath hitches, my hands finding purchase on the arm of the sofa. I shouldn’t allow this. But I want to. His lips sear against my own, the heat from his touch incredible. One sweep, and then two before he pulls back far enough to search my eyes.

“Let go,” he urges. “Follow your instinct.”

I do as he says.

Boe steps back, clearly confused when I extract myself from between the furniture and him. I run my clammy palms down the sides of my dress, my pulse heavy in my neck.

“I have to write a report on you.” One of the thousands of reasons this is wrong. “I can’t do that if my opinion is biased.”

He cocks his head to one side, the slightest hint of mirth in his gaze. “Engaging with me in a sexual nature shouldn’t change your opinion of my temper with strangers.”

“It’s unavoidable,” I argue. “Not only that, but it’ll be imperceptible how it has altered my opinion once I cross that line.”

The cocky bastard closes the space between us, taking my upper arms in his firm hands. “You admit it then? You do want to cross the line with me.”

“Why do you need reassurance?” I narrow my gaze on him, curious as to why this fine specimen of a man would feel so insecure.

“Perhaps I’m simply a gentleman who wants to be sure I’m reading your body language correctly?”

A gentleman…A smile parts my lips, a chuckle waiting to break free. “I’m sorry. But considering why you were referred to me, a gentleman?”

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