Page 31 of Prey for You

“Good. Me too,” he said softly, then brushed a kiss against my lips.

I yanked my head back, but he was already straightening. His expression softening. Acting like he hadn’t just 007ed my car and thrown me around. He didn’t let me go though. I was still trembling, my breath quick and heart racing.

Sam was breathing heavily too, but not as much.

“You’re insane,” I muttered.

“You were pulling away,” he said in that low, ragged voice I’d learned to love as Cain. “Next time, just say that part instead.”

I was stunned. He still hadn’t broken eye contact, but he let go of my wrists and reached for my face instead. “You aren’t in control of this, Bridge. And trust me, that’s a good thing.”

He kissed me like I was precious and my pulse sped up for entirely different reasons.

11. Is that Your Kink, G?

SOUNDTRACK:Shadowsby Killboy

~ BRIDGET ~

I was still half-stunned when I pulled up at Gerald’s office that afternoon, images of that morning flickering through my head on a never ending loop.

Sam taking control of the car.

Sam storming around like he would kill me.

Sam kissing me like I was precious.

Sam darting out of the car with a haunted look in his eyes when we reached the city because we couldn’t afford for anyone to see us on the street together, just in case.

I’d driven so fast, I had time to go home and shower before driving to Gerald. But now I was here and the bubble I’d been walking in for the past hour popped.

I had to go talk to someone who wasn’t Sam. Someone who was very perceptive. Someone who probably knew my tells better than anyone else.

Fuck.

I had to keep Gerald diverted so he didn’t ask the right questions.

A few minutes later, I plopped into the couch in his office and picked up a magazine off the coffee table and pretended to read it.

“It’s good to see you too, Bridget. Yes, it’s been quite the week—I imagine it was for you too. Me? Oh, I’m fine, thank you for asking. But I think we should talk about you. How areyou?” he asked pointedly.

I flipped a page in the magazine, then looked up to meet his eyes for a second before dropping back to the magazine again. “What’s the point?” I muttered.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he sighed, pushing his glasses up on his head and rubbing his forehead like I was giving him a headache. “You fell for a guy who you got arrested. Who’s a Priest, a felon,anda stalker. We’re three months from Christmas. And you still haven’t spoken to your father.”

I glared at him and tossed the magazine back down onto the table, folding my arms and crossing my legs when I sat back on the couch. He’d know I was defensive, but hopefully he’d think it was because of Dad.

At least he wasn’t hinting that I’d been up to anything this week. Good sign.

“Funny thing about Christmas,” I muttered. “It happens every year.”

Ihatedthat entire season. Thank God for Halloween. I was convinced that if it weren’t for that holiday, they’d start Christmas carols in July.

“Funny thing about things that traumatized you: Time isnota healer unless you’re processing and… moving forward.”

I rolled my eyes. “Funny thing about therapy, it’s kind of like beating a dead horse. Why don’t we record you this time, G. Then when we get here next year you don’t even need to be here. You can just press play and walk out. In fact, why not email it to me. Save us both the energy.”

He cocked one brow. “I’m glad to hear you assume you’ll still be coming to me next year.”

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