Healing Touch: Play Doctor, Book 2 (7 page)

“Why? I mean, why stop now?” She elaborated before he could explain the allure of a threesome. That part she’d have to think about some more. Later. When she was alone.

“My heart hasn’t been in it. Physical pleasure wasn’t enough anymore. Things degraded to the point where I couldn’t…perform.”

“Wow. You weren’t kidding earlier about everyone having their moments.” Brielle whistled.

“Rub it in, why don’t you?” He faked a pout before a wicked gleam darkened his eyes. “Somehow I don’t think that’s a
moment
I’ll be having again anytime soon.”

Sort of the opposite of overcompensating with an enormous chromed Hummer in the middle of the city, Luke’s easy admission made her sure sexual prowess wasn’t something he worried about. What would it be like to sleep with a man like him? Someone unselfish, fun and caring?

The stuff fantasies were made of, she imagined.

“It would be great if you could say something right now.” Luke’s fingers twisted his straw wrapper into a knot.

“You think
I’d
judge
you
after all we’ve shared this afternoon? Hardly. Thank you for telling me that. I would have felt weird talking to Becca about, you know, everything, and wondering. Or finding out later. I would have felt foolish.”

“Does that mean you’ll do it? You’ll meet with her and see if she’s a good fit for your counseling?” Luke seemed to hold his breath.

“Yes.” With him by her side, she thought just maybe she could do it.

“One more thing.”

“Uh-oh, I don’t like the sound of that.” She finished her lunch, wiped her mouth and tossed her crumpled napkin on top of the wreckage of their plates, unable to remember the last time she’d devoured her food with such gusto.

“I mentioned Kurt and Becca’s uniqueness earlier. I think you should also be aware that they are known for utilizing unusual, but highly effective, methodologies in their practice. They’re not conventional in any sense of the word.”

“I got that from the threesome discussion.” She grinned. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m not very by-the-book myself. What about my life has been ordinary?”

“Right. So now that you’re not my patient anymore…” He smirked. “Can I pay for your lunch? We could call this our first date.”

A
what
? A real-live-boy-and-girl-go-out-to-dinner-and-get-to-know-each-other thing. She’d gone on one and not even realized it. With him, everything seemed organic, completely natural.

“What the hell? Sure.” She grinned like an idiot when he plucked her check off the scratched hardwood and pumped his fist.

“Since I’m on a roll, will you let me drive you home? Mrs. Allerton saw you get off the bus. It’ll be packed, and can’t be comfortable in this heat. On my motorcycle, you won’t be closed in.”

Why would she say no? She couldn’t drum up a single reason. Except that her whole world had turned on its axis in one afternoon.

Still, the idea of clinging to him while they raced through the wide-open air—irresistible. “Okay, but on one condition.”

His raised eyebrows had her amused again. “Bold, Ms. Norris. Let’s hear it.”

“Take the long way.”

“You got it.” He tugged her from the booth, leaving a few crisp bills in their wake without bothering to ask for change.

Luke winced when he rolled up in front of the shabby apartment building Brielle pointed to over his shoulder. The motion pressed her soft breasts into his back completely. He could all too easily imagine what it’d be like if she were riding him instead of his bike.

He’d driven them around the entire city, through some of his favorite scenic routes. The ten-minute commute had turned into almost an hour of sweet torture. Yet he didn’t relish the thought of letting her go. Not when he’d finally found someone who held his attention for longer than the couple of minutes it took to attend to baser needs.

He braced them on the pavement, groaning softly when Brielle peeled herself off him. He missed her light weight and the clutch of her arms around his waist. The plan he’d formulated on their journey came pouring out. “I’ll call Becca when I get home and see what her schedule looks like this week. What time do you usually work until?”

“Six. And I have an hour lunch break.” She glanced away. “But I’m not sure I can handle going back to my job after, you know?”

“Of course.” He reached for her hand, brushing her knuckles with his thumb. “It’ll be emotionally draining, I’m sure.”

“I’m a little worried about people from work noticing me going to Becca’s office too.” A flush deepened the effect of the wind on her cheeks.

“It’s none of their business what you do on your own time.” He sighed. “I understand though. I can join you at their office in the evenings. Unless I’m already over there for meetings, it would be hard to find time during the day. I don’t want to rush you either. Or possibly Becca would consider the weekends so she can lead some in-depth sessions.”

“I’m already being difficult. You’re calling in favors for me. Inconveniencing her isn’t my goal.”

“You don’t understand. This is what we do. It’ll give her a great deal of satisfaction to work with you. And, my guess is—if anything—you two will have trouble not breaking the no-friend rule too. I think you’ll get along really well.”

“If you’re sure…”

“I am.” He stared into her rich chocolate eyes.

“I guess I should go inside now.” She extracted her hand from his gentle hold.

“Brielle…” Her name rolled off his tongue. Nothing else would come, despite the snarl of emotions making him feel alive for the first time in months.

Terrified too.

When he struggled to find the right thing, she let him off the hook.

“Thank God. I don’t know what to say either, Luke.” Walking backward, she took a step and then another until the magnetic field bonding them seemed to lessen a bit.

“Wait a minute.” He stood, digging in his back pocket for his wallet. Fishing around, he located a card then held it out to her. “My number. Call me if you need…anything, really.”

“Thank you. For everything.” The thick paper earned his envy when she clutched it to her chest. “Mmm. It’s warm, like you.”

“Screw this.” He reached down and placed his hands on either side of her face. His fingerless gloves prevented him, somewhat, from touching her supple skin, but the leather didn’t seem to bother her in the least. Her lips parted and she held still as he descended. The featherlight brush of his lips across hers did nothing to ease the hunger gnawing at his guts.

He’d imagined this since the day their paths had crossed, regretting that he hadn’t slipped his card to her along with the candy that afternoon.

Time to make up for that mistake.

Once, twice, he kissed her before sealing their mouths in a deeper exchange.

Music blared from someone’s open window. Carly Rae Jepsen’s “Call Me Maybe” instantly became Luke’s favorite song. Brielle tasted so honeyed. Her lips moved in time to his, meeting him halfway on every motion, as if she could project where he’d venture next. No awkwardness stole the perfection of the moment. They met and matched as though they’d been made for each other.

A simple kiss from Brielle affected him more strongly than the raunchiest club sex he’d ever indulged in. With any partner. Even the ones he’d convinced himself he loved.

Infatuation, maybe.

He’d been there, done that enough times to know that this was something else entirely.

Lost in the heat, he advanced their kiss from a chaste exchange to something resembling a claiming. When Brielle nipped his lip, he came to his senses and backed off. Breathing hard, he chastised himself for pressuring her. She didn’t need him adding to the confusion today would certainly bring. It seemed impossible they’d only been introduced hours ago.

She touched the tip of her index finger to her lips, smiled and began her retreat once more. This time, he let her go with his contact info laid against her heart, where her hand pressed it to her chest.

“When I left this morning, I never expected this. It’s…a lot. I have to go now.”

“I know.” He nodded. “Take some time to reflect. I can wait.”

She seemed as torn as he was between needing distance to deliberate and craving more of the drugging, if simple, pleasures they’d shared. “Luke, you’re turning out to be very…
complex
.”

He gawked at her for a second then burst out laughing. “My friends are going to adore you. And for the record, so do I.”

A wave and a smile later, she disappeared behind a bed of wildflowers.

Luke’s smile still hadn’t faded as he drove away, glancing in his mirror at least a dozen times before rounding a bend in the street.

Chapter Five

“Get in the closet, Brielle.”

It was Brad, not her father, who ordered her this time.

“No!” She thrashed in his iron hold as he dragged her across the floor of their bedroom by one arm. Her shoulder burned as she writhed. The hardwood afforded her no purchase. “Don’t put me in there. I swear. I’ll clean the bathroom better.”

“Damn straight you will.” He swung her around like a rag doll.

Her ribs connected with the edge of the molding that surrounded the door, stealing her breath. He jammed her inside, kicking her when she tried to scramble out despite the lightning scorching her side.

“Don’t act like you hate it. You chose this. Asked for more. You did this to yourself.” He glared at her when he swung the door shut. “You’re so fucked up. I can’t believe you actually want this.”

Her leg shot out, preventing the closet from closing. “I don’t! Brad!”

“Bitch, if you crack the wood, you’ll pay for that too.” He became quiet and cold. She knew better than to challenge him when he got so dangerous. “You said it yourself, Brielle. You’re curious about being held down. About why you liked shutting yourself in the closet in the first place. Now you’re going to get your wish, you freak.”

“I take it back. I didn’t mean it. This isn’t what I pictured. Brad! Don’t leave me in here. Please, Brad. Please. I’ll do anything.” When her begging fell on deaf ears, she resorted to action.

Her survival instinct kicked in. She smashed into the door. The sturdy construction of the old plaster and solid panel didn’t budge. That fact didn’t keep her from trying. She banged on every surface until her hands and feet were bruised and throbbing, maybe broken. Lying on the ground, she could see a shard of the outside world. Enough to calm her a bit.

That’s when she realized Brad still lectured her. “You causing all this drama isn’t making me want to stay, Brielle. Maybe it would do you good to have some time alone to think about how messed up you are and how lucky you are that I know what you really like.”

“No! Brad! No!”

And when he plunged her into complete darkness, flipping off the living room light, deserting her in her own personal hell—probably to fuck his new girlfriend—her shouts turned to screams.

Brielle slumped with her shoulders leaning against the wall as she perched, wide-awake, in bed. Cold sweat saturated her cotton nightgown. The air mattress she slept on didn’t exactly have a headboard. Or a frame at all, for that matter. But the pile of pillows she’d collected from garage sales did the trick. She could make mounds out of them to help steady herself without feeling trapped.

All the lights blazed in her apartment after the nightmare that had wrenched her from slumber. The closet. That fucking closet—her sanctuary turned hell on earth. Had her father even had to steal
that
from her? And Brad… What a disaster. After seven years together, she’d thought she might be ready to open up about the root of her issues. Had hoped maybe exploring her fantasies would help them grow together instead of drifting apart.

How wrong she’d been.

She couldn’t afford any more bad decisions when it came to the men in her life. This time she might not survive.

Brielle stared at the business card propped against the lamp on the floor beside her bed. Blue and gold, it shone. The weakest part of her yearned to dial the number printed across the bottom.

Luke.

But the strongest fragment knew if she was truly to heal, the courage to change had to originate from within.

A quick flick of her fingers flipped the card over so she wouldn’t be tempted to use the crutch he’d so graciously given her. Especially not at two in the morning. Or three. Or four, because she’d probably still be awake then too. Instead, she hugged one of her pillows to her chest and rocked while repeating the chant he’d taught her. “I’m okay. I’m not trapped. I’m safe. No one can hurt me here. I’m okay.”

Maybe if she said it often enough, it might start to be real.

Tuesday afternoon, Brielle stared out the open segment of her cubicle. If she put her chair on its highest setting and strained, she could peek out the window across the aisle to the parking lot. Denying she craned her neck every time she heard the roar of a motor would be futile. But it didn’t seem like Dr. Malone had any intention of ending his boycott of State Street in this century.