Soft kisses fan my skin. They trace my collar to the hollow of my neck. My fingers thread in his hair. A soft, desperate moan escapes me. I want him so much. Right here, right now. He trails his hand downward. Tingles spread across my body, lower and lower until he’s teasing my entrance.

“Preston.”

I shoot forward. My breath is uneven and ragged. I try to gain my composure, but it’s virtually impossible as I’m brought back into the first dream I’ve had in weeks. I exhale a shallow breath.

What the hell is going on with me?

First, disturbing nightmares filled with blood, and now, sexual dreams about my therapist. I’m starting to think Preston—Dr. Montgomery—should give me a referral to a doctor who can medicate me. I’m obviously crazy.

Needing an outlet for my pent up frustrations, I pick up my journal and start writing.

Journal Entry

I thought of him all day. I dreamt of him all night. I dreamt of how his hands would feel while he rocked me. 

With every minute that passes, I wonder how his lips would taste. For some reason, I want to tell him everything, and I want him to hold me in his arms as I confess the demons that lurk inside.

By the time I calm myself enough to look at the clock next to my bed, the damn thing starts blaring with upbeat tunes. It’s after six in the morning. When I enter the kitchen, I find Sydney already dressed for work.

“Good morning, sunshine. Where were you yesterday?” she asks from her perch on a stool at the kitchen island.

“After breakfast, which you were too hung-over to attend, I went to my mom’s. You were sleeping by the time I got home . . . or were you still sleeping?”

“You know, if you had woken me I would have joined you for breakfast.”

“Um, I did try to wake you. We had a whole conversation, you don’t remember? How drunk were you?” I chide, but secretly I’m happy she was holed up in bed yesterday. My cheeks warm and a flush spreads across my body.

“Why are you turning bright red? Did something happen?”

“Um, no.” It’s no big deal, but I doubt she’d understand my schoolgirl crush. I have it completely under control. Nothing is happening. Nothing will happen. It’s completely innocent. Just because he unnerves me, comforts me and makes me feel stronger, doesn’t mean . . .

Fuck.

God, why does he have to be my therapist? Why did I have to see the other side of him? Why does he have to take my breath away?

Fuck. I’m screwed.

Yeah, no way can I tell Sydney anything.

* * *

Monday comes before I know it.

Then Tuesday.

By the time Wednesday arrives, I’m ready for the week to be over. The clock on my desk says its only three p.m. Two more days to go.

The phone rings on my desk and the light for my line rings. “The Stone Agency. This is Eve.”

“Eve, it’s Michael.”

“Hi, Michael. How can I help you?”

“When you have a free minute, can you come to my office?”

“Yes, of course. No problem.”

What could he want to talk to me about? Maybe he’s noticed my lack of work, or maybe a client complained. Maybe he’s noticed my attacks? My heart pounds and my hands shake at my sides as I approach his door.

When I walk into his office, he motions for me to close the door and take a seat. If my heart rams against my ribs any harder, it might pop out of my chest. He looks tired as he continues to study me for a few more minutes before he exhales.

“How are you?”

“I’m okay.”

“I’ve been meaning to check on you. Richard would have wanted me to.” I recognize the remorse in his voice.

My lips part slightly. “There is no obligation, Michael. It’s okay.”

“I’m not sure you know this, but Richard and I were really close. I started working for him straight out of college. Your father had just passed.” He bowed his head before looking back up. “He was hurting. He had lost his best friend. I understood his loss. I had lost my older brother to drugs. I guess what I’m trying to tell you is, I know how close you and Richard were. I know how much he loved you. You were for all intents and purposes his daughter, and if there is anything you ever need, I’m here for you. I’ll never be Richard. I wouldn’t try to fill his shoes. But I can be your friend when and if you need one. I would consider it a great honor to be a part of your life.”

“Thank you, Michael. I’d like that.” His lips turn up and his eyes crinkle, aging him.

We sit in silence for a moment and then he coughs, clearing his throat. “Oh, I forgot to mention earlier, but the lawyers are coming at the end of next week to go through the paperwork in regards to the company. Can you mark it on your calendar?”

“Okay. Sure. No problem.”

“Great, well, I’m sure you have much work to catch up on, so I’ll speak to you later.”

If he only knew how much . . .