Page 86 of Thorns of Silence
I rolled my eyes and snatched the phone from him, typing my reply with shaky fingers.I didn’t say one kiss.
The way his eyes sparkled with the challenge, I knew he’d bite. He kissed me roughly, touched me even rougher, and I loved it. But he never went further than that.
When I let out a noise of frustration, needing more, he just said, “I’m dating you first.”
Then he kissed me some more. I felt the fireworks explode in the vibration of the building and I felt exhilarated at the thought of the year ahead.
In a daze and barely remembering my name, I stood and made myself presentable, unaware of Dante hacking into my phone and sneaking in his number.
The memories shattered like the heart of a fragile young girl. If only I had known how wrong I’d been. That New Year, and every one after, signaled the start of my most challenging experiences yet.
THIRTY-THREE
DANTE
“You do know I’m not an on-call type of therapist, right?”
“Maybe.”
“And I don’t do house calls, especially not when my client is out of the country.” She crossed her legs, her stilettos swinging back and forth. “I have other clients, and most of them are in Italy.”
I rolled my eyes. “They’ll live. I might not.”
Dr. Freud’s lips quirked. “Well, I did take an oath to help those in need. So let’s get to it. And make it quick so I can get back to Italy.”
We sat in the living room of my chateau outside Paris, vineyards stretching as far as the eye could see. Yes, I liked the building, but the location and the crop value were what drove my purchase.
I sat back in my chair, resting my ankle on my knee. “Don’t worry, my plane will take you back.”
She scoffed. “It better. And I’m billing for travel time.”
“Of course.”
She touched her pen to her chin, tilting her head. “Now, tell me. What is so urgent?”
“I want to know if it’s possible to remember things through my dreams, even with my amnesia.”
She didn’t have my file; she didn’t need it. She’d worked with me enough over the years, she probably knew everything I said by heart. She was itching to solve me, figure me out, like an unfinished puzzle.
“Sure, it’s possible. When we sleep, certain self-imposed blocks lift, leaving us open to revisit more traumatic events. I believe your amnesia in its current state is self-imposed. I believe your behaviors to be more habits than compulsions.” She paused, leaving her unsaid words to hang in the air like the ticking of a bomb. My unwavering gaze locked on her, urging her to continue. She swallowed. “I also highly suspect during your abduction—”
“I never said anything about an abduction.”
She didn’t contradict me and continued in a calm tone. “You were affected to the point that you couldn’t deal with the consequences. Whatever those were.”
I’d always found mental diagnoses boring and inconclusive, but not even I could deny this. Deep down I knew there was a reason I hated physical touch. My dick refused to get hard unless I pictured a certain brunette with blue eyes. Of course, sleeping with any other woman was out of the question. In the span of… well, forever… I had only fucked one woman—Phoenix Romero. And then she shot me.
Twenty-six years; one fuck. Being shot by that same woman. Yeah, that wasn’t working for me.
I needed to put that ring on Nix’s finger before I lost another marble.
I smirked. “So that’s your final diagnosis, Doc?”
“As of now.” She crossed her legs, averting her eyes for a moment. “So will you tell me what you remembered?”
I looked out the window, running a hand across my jaw while her thoughtful gaze settled on my face.
“Not much,” I finally said.
