I toss my phone into my bag and collect everything I need because I’ll be back at the center tomorrow.
It’s almost eight. My stomach is complaining after only a sandwich on my way back from Russ’s so I wouldn’t be late to my next appointment.
My files are updated and the only things I want are a frozen dinner and my bed.
I swing open my office door to the reception area that barely holds a few stiff, uncomfortable chairs.
I stop at the threshold and barely catch the tote that falls from my shoulder.
“You always work this late?”
Shit.
Filling the small space, he hasn’t even bothered with the uncomfortable chairs. Like a statue of a Greek god, he’s standing between me and the exit to the hallway—my only escape route.
My gaze darts from him to the door that I swear I locked after my last patient left.
“What are you doing here?”
His large frame comes to life, closing the gap to my now-erratic heart. I take a step back and grip the door. “I tried to call you today. Over and over and fucking over. I’ve texted you so many times, I’d be surprised if I still have fingerprin—”
“Interesting,” I interrupt. “I didn’t get them.”
“Yeah, I know. You know what else is interesting? You don’t seem like the kind of woman to ignore people. Sometimes when people don’t respond, it’s because—” he steps forward as I try to slam the door on him but his big boot might as well be a boulder “—a certain someone blocks you.”
I push on the door for the sheer fact I’m no quitter. “Someone blocked you?”
“Stupid is not a good look on you, Aria. I’ve had nothing but respect since the moment we met. Don’t disappoint me and prove that you’re some average bitch who likes to play games. I’ve experienced enough of that in my thirty-seven years.”
I hold on to the door like a lifeline and try not to think about the very real orgasm and very fake fantasy that played out last night between my own fingers and demented head. And that’s saying something since I’m a doctor of the brain.
He moves closer, and since I’m not in heels today, towers over me in an angry rage. Being near him again makes me wish I could block fantasies as easily as I can phone numbers.
He lowers his voice and his words tease my face with a trail of spearmint. “I know people, Aria. I’ve got more contacts than you have hairs on that beautiful head of yours. Guess how much you cost me today by not answering my calls and texts?”
He advances again and I’m forced to let go of the door. An echo vibrates off my white walls when he kicks it shut and my tote holding my phone falls to the ground.
“Two fucking markers and two-thousand bucks. I now owe someone at the center a favor when they confirmed you weren’t on duty today. I also have a new contact at your apartment complex. That cost me two grand to confirm you weren’t sick or dead in that shithole you call a home.”
“My apartment is not a shithole. It’s nice.”
He backs me up until my hamstrings hit the arm of the sofa. Finally, I put a hand to his abs, which will not help tame my fantasies. For the sake of my own sanity, the man seriously needs to back off.
“And the last marker to an asshole hacker who I fucking hate but he can break into systems that the Chinese government only has wet dreams about doing. He confirmed that you,” he leans in closer, and I smell his body wash, as if the feel of his abs weren’t doing enough damage to my resolve, “blocked me.”
I finally find my voice. “You toss around a lot of markers and money for a firefighter.”
“I am not someone you want to fuck with, Aria. I don’t dole out markers or money easily. In fact, when I woke up this morning hard as a rock thinking about you, no one had a marker on me, and I was two grand richer. How happy do I look right now?”
“Fine,” I spit. “I blocked you. You seem like a man who follows through on a threat, and I’m a woman who means what she says. I don’t have time for you.” I give him a push and remove my hand from his body, hoping it will clear my head. “Or this.”
It’s true. I opened my eyes this morning from the best sleep I’ve had in a long time, floating around on my fantasy-orgasmic cloud. It was more delicious than my ten-ounce filet and the first beautiful thing I’ve experienced in a long time that has given me a break from reality.
But, like everything else good in life, I remembered the cloud of thunderstorms that continue to follow me, threatening to disintegrate from under me any moment.
And I know the landing won’t be a soft one.
I should’ve ignored my curiosity and fantasies.
So I blocked him this morning before my feet hit the floor.
The two homicide detectives had nothing to do with it.
“You need to leave.” I continue, ignoring his full lips flattening into an angry line, as I side-step him and grab my bag off the floor to dig for my cell.
I have the door halfway open when his palm flattens on the wood in front of me, closing it in my face. “You’re not leaving.”
My teeth find the tender skin inside my mouth I abused earlier during my session with Russ. It’s everything I can do to control my tone. “It’s been a long day. I want to go home.”
He fits his front to my back, but it’s different than last night. He’s different than last night. He emanates the same power, but tonight his muscles are tense and heated—wired.
He presses me to the door.
Again.
I’m an athlete. I made it to the Olympic trials. I still swim countless laps a week and run at least two marathons a year.
But none of that has tested my heart as much as him. I can’t catch my breath. I have office neighbors and could scream. There’s a speech pathologist across the hall and a nail tech next door, but I doubt anyone is around at this time of night.
“Look at me,” he demands.
With my cheek to the door, I angle my face to his. He easily slides my phone out of my sweaty palm and I hear its soft thud on my area rug.
“Brand,” I whisper. “What are you doing?”
“I need your full attention.” He twists and looks straight into my eyes. He has me anchored so snug I have to work for shallow breaths. “I know what happened this morning.”
“I already admitted I blocked you.” I rebound.
“After that.” He narrows his eyes. “Did they question you or just warn you off?”
“Who?”
“Don’t play stupid. The cops.”
I say nothing.
In the short time I’ve been around him, Brand Vitale has been direct and says what he means. I talk to enough people in my line of work, I know the difference between a straight-talker, a bullshitter, and an ass-kisser. The man who has me glued to my office door is definitely the first in that list.
But he’s even more. There’s something about him…
And I wonder … if I give him the truth, will he return the favor?
“Both.”
He nods.
I keep talking. “They saw us together and asked what I knew about you. They told me your wife was found dead and you’re the main suspect.”
“That’s what I hear.”
“And they warned me.”