Lying on the couch a few days later, I hear the sound of the front door opening. Then I hear the click of Sydney’s heels as she walks into the living room. Placing my magazine down, I stare up at her.

“Hi,” I mutter out beneath my breath as I sit down in the chair. I know I shouldn’t be mad at her. I know I need to get over it.

“How was your afternoon?” she asks, gnawing on her lower lip. She’s nervous, unsure of how to act toward me. I need to forgive her. I need to tell her it’s all right. Preston is right. This is more than Sydney having sex with Richard. So much more. This is about him—Richard. I held him to unrealistic standards. In my mind he could do no wrong, and the realization that he was only a man, a human being who made mistakes is liberating. I need to forgive her, because this had nothing to do with her and everything to do with me. My lips turn up. It’s a tight smile, but it’s all I have to offer right now.

She knows we’ll be okay. I know we will, too.

It will just take time.

“You left work early. Is everything okay?” Her lips purse and she narrows her eyes in my direction.

“Only a few minutes early. I figured I would grab my dry cleaning,” she says and I notice she’s carrying a stack of mail.

“Anything important?”

“Just the usual bills. Oh, here’s one addressed to you.” She leans over and hands me a large, rectangular business envelope. It’s non-descript and lightweight. I flip it around and check out the return address. Lord knows we get enough crap mail; no reason to open it if it’s not important.

Bold lettering jumps off the back of the envelope.

From the Office of Dr. Preston Montgomery.

Shit. I tear at the seal until a folded paper sits heavily in my hands. The weight of it, though less than an ounce, feels heavy . . . ominous. I open it with shaky hands. My eyes burn and my heart thumps rapidly in my chest. What is this? What the fuck is this?

Dear Eve Hamilton,

As you know, a good relationship between a psychologist and his or her patient is essential for quality medical care. Times arise when this relationship is no longer effective and the psychologist finds it necessary to request the patient select an alternative psychologist.

This letter is to inform you that I am no longer willing to be your psychologist. My office will continue to direct your care for any emergencies that arise over the next thirty days. It is imperative that you select another psychologist and arrange with our office for your records to be transferred to their office. If you need a referral, it would be my pleasure to assist you.

Sincerely,

Dr. Preston Montgomery

My emotions are like a storm. They batter me. Engulf me. They rip me apart. Anger coils in my blood. The destruction from his words is immeasurable. I knew this was coming, yet I made myself believe I could will it away. Apparently not.

I need to see him. I need to talk to him. I need to understand.

Now.

I make my way to his office in a state of haze and fog. Nothing registers other than the pounding of my heart. Streets, avenues . . . it makes no difference. Muscle memory leads me there.

The building looks ominous. Towering taller than the neighboring buildings, the floor to ceiling windows reflect the gleam trickling out from the cloudy skies. Once through the revolving door, I make my way to the security desk and flash my ID. With a brief nod, I’m allowed up. Step after step, my destination grows closer. A strange feeling weaves its way through me. What will I say to him? What will he say in return?

Trepidation.

Maybe confronting him is a bad idea?

No. It must be done, and nothing but divine intervention will halt me now. I’ve made up my mind.

Entering the office, I head straight for his door.

“Ms. Hamilton,” the receptionist calls out but it’s too late, I’m already halfway down the hall. With a heavy push, the door opens, and then slams against the frame. The sound ricochets, slicing through the silence as I step, no barrel into the room. Once all the way inside, I close us in together. There he is.

Mesmerizing me with his eyes.

Captivating me with his stare.

A man so imposing I no longer can remember why I’m here.

He arises from his desk. His eyes are wide as he steps toward me. He’s noticeably tense. His back is upright and a small line pinches between his brows. When he’s only inches away, I raise my trembling hand.

It feels so heavy.

The letter.

“What is this?” I fling the paper in his face. “What. Is. This?” My words come out staccato as I repeat to wrap my brain around what’s happening.

“It’s a formal letter terminating our professional relationship,” he replies. The words are spoken so matter of factly and they slice at me, causing a laceration to form inside my gut.

“You can’t.”

“I did.” His gaze is vacant and I take a step closer to study him, to understand why this is happening.

“How can you do this to me? A letter. You sent a letter. What type of bastard are you? “

“It had to be done.” I move past him, walking to the far wall and bracing my arms on it. Tears pool in my eyes. He can’t leave me.

He can’t abandon me.

“You’re discarding me?”

“I’m not discarding you. I just don’t think I’m the right doctor for you.”

“H-How could you?” I stutter, the anger once harboring in my body recedes into panic. He steps forward and I step back.

“Look at me,” he demands and I turn to face him. The expression reflected back at me makes my legs instinctively take a step back. “I think it’s for the best.”

“Give me a reason. W-why are you leaving me?” More tears well and threaten to fall. “Is it because of what happened? I-I-told you I was sorry. Do you hate me? Is this why you’re throwing me out? Is this why you’re leaving me, too?” My dad, my mom, Richard . . . I can’t stand to lose him as well.

“This has nothing to do with you, or your self-worth. This is completely my fault. It’s because of me, not you.”

It feels as though every last breath has been extracted from my lungs.

“No, it’s because we kissed. It’s because we spent time together outside of the office. I know you said it was wrong, but I like spending time with you. You make me feel as if everything will be okay.” His jaw clenches at my words. As if they pain him.

“This is my fault. I ruin everything. I promise I’ll do better. I promise,” I plead as moisture slides down my cheeks. My pulse accelerates at the thought of not having him in my life. Of not talking to him. Of not seeing him.

“No,” he affirms. “This isn’t your fault. I should have known better.”

“Known better than what?”

“This. This is all wrong. I can’t talk to you about this. This dependence on me. It’s not appropriate. This is—”

“No. Preston, don’t you dare say it! Don’t you dare say it’s transference. It’s not that. My feelings for you . . . I am not projecting my issues of abandonment from my childhood and my need for reassurance from an older figure. Damn it, you don’t know how I feel. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted you.”

His breath is ragged as he rakes his fingers through his hair. He opens then shuts his mouth, pulling at his roots until he finds his words. Swiping away an escaped tear, I stare at him. If this is transference, I don’t care.

“I could—”

“Enough.” My movements halt at the desperation in his voice. “What do you want me to say? You want me to say that every time you walk into my office, my world stops? That when you’re here, rather than helping you, I imagine what you would feel like beneath me? Do you want me to admit that all I see is you, and when I close my eyes you’re still there? That you’ve embedded yourself so far in my psyche that I’m the one who needs help, not you? Is that what you want to hear?

“You want to hear that I think the universe is playing a sick joke on me? Yeah, that’s what you want to hear. That I have never felt this way before, and of course it’s my patient who makes me feel this. My fucking patient. The greatest temptation ever laid before me.” His voice bleeds with emotion.

“Of all the fucking people . . . Eve.” He snatches the letter from my hand, my heart racing. “This is self-preservation.” It drops to the floor. He inhales deeply, his hand shoving his hair back from his face.

I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know how to feel. All I can do is turn my back on him to gain some distance. My emotions teeter on the brink of eruption and I can’t let him see me crack.

“I—” I can’t bear the torment in his eyes, and turn toward the wall.

“God, all I want . . .” He steps up behind me, his lips tingling the sensitive skin where my neck meets my shoulder. “All I want is to taste you, savor you, but I can’t.” Feathery breaths send chills up my spine.

“I was warned in graduate school this could happen. That one day a patient could walk in and knock me on my ass. Make me rethink everything I believed about myself. But what I feel surpasses all that. What I feel threatens everything I know, because this isn’t some hunger I need to quench. You’ve embedded yourself in my soul. And without you I would cease to be.”

His lips hover against my skin.

Taunting me.

Tempting me.

Teasing me.

Each pull of oxygen through my lungs releases in ragged bursts. I need him. I need him so much I can barely breathe.

I want to reach for him . . . but I can’t.

I want to touch him . . . but I don’t.

He needs to be the one.

“Touch me, Preston,” I groan. “Stop fighting it.”

He reaches out. His fingers fan my rib cage as he pulls me into him and proceeds to spin me around. Our chests brush with each heave of our breaths.

“What are you doing to me?” he mumbles as his heart hammers a familiar beat against mine. It screams of need and want. Of desperation and fear.

“I don’t know.” And I don’t. I have no clue what I’m doing. I’m blind to everything but this man.

“Tell me to stop.” His voice is husky.

“Touch me.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“But I do.” Hunger courses through me. A new resolve. I have no care for consequences. All I’m concerned about is what I want, and what I want is for him to touch me. For him to kiss me. For him to want me.

He stares at me with an expression that makes my whole body tremble. His emotions mirror my own.

It’s unequivocal. 

It’s absolute.

This man wants to consume me and I yearn to let him.

“God damn it. I’m not supposed to feel this way.” The lights from the city trickle in through the window, illuminating his crystal blue eyes that are darkened with lust.

“Feel what way?” I breathe, my chest heaving.

“That I want you. That I need to touch you.”

I step toward his voice.

“So, touch me.”

“I can’t.” His eyes dilate. A look passes through them that has my knees going weak. The hot intensity of his stare sets off an inferno inside me.

“I’m not your patient anymore.”

And those words break the dam. He crosses the invisible line that separates our bodies. He reaches out and makes feather-like contact with the skin of my jaw. I become lost in a heady trance.

There’s a fervor growing inside me.

It’s intoxicating.

His hand travels the distance to the hollow of my neck. One touch and it’s over for me. Electricity quivers off the pads of his fingers as they trail down to the swell of my breast, peeking out from my blouse. The only thing that matters is his touch. He leans in closer, inhaling me. I feel his breath against me, tickling my skin.

“Eve.” It’s a warning.

Tilting my head upward, our gazes lock as he traces the lace of my exposed bra. The look in his eyes penetrates me to the core. It has everything inside me halting.

I need there to be no distance between us.

This feeling is all consuming.

I push to my tiptoes and our lips meet.

It’s soft.

A gentle touch.

The warmth of his mouth is intoxicating as the kisses grow harder, more passionate. He nips, he sucks, it seems as if he’s pulling me in ten different directions.

His movements are full of purpose, full of need.

His hands grip my hips as he presses his body into mine.

Snaking my arms around his neck, I deepen the kiss. The stroke of his tongue is fierce and possessive. Every cell in my body comes alive with this kiss.

I’m lost in the kiss.

I’m found in this kiss.

He pushes me back into the wall and I let out a broken sigh as I collide with the surface. His arms tighten around my waist, pressing us so close together there’s no separation between us. Lifting up, I rub my core against him. The hard ridge of his length presses against me. My body shudders at the contact. The feel of him against me makes me forget anything and everything other than my hunger for him.

Sensing my desire, Preston reaches around and lifts my legs to his hips. The movement pulls me in closer, making the friction more intense. He grinds into me. His arms that are still bracketed around me pull away as he separates my legs farther. The hand on the small of my back holds me steady.

He drags his mouth from my lips and trails his lips down my throat. A moan escapes and I can’t suppress the shivers from the feel of his tongue sliding against my skin. Warm hands lift the hem of my shirt. Fingers stroke my spine, and then graze across the swell of my hip. 

My back arches.

His tongue glides across the skin above my breast, and frantic hands pull away at my blouse. Opening, exposing me to him. As the air hits my nipples, they pebble and peak. Continuing his exploration, Preston trails circles across my nipple. His teeth graze the sensitive flesh.

Pulling lightly. Nipping.

His hand slides down my body to the waistband of my pants. He pauses.

The pressure of his hand is a reminder of what I want. Of what I desire. Pushing my body firmly into his, I let him know what I need.

I need his hands on me. His fingers in me. 

He finds the button and undoes it. Wedges his hand between the thin material and my skin.

The pads of his fingertips slowly work themselves further downward. Each inch they travel sends a wave of chills to flow through my body; each nerve ending is pricked alive.

He pushes his hand lower and lower until I feel him trace the lace covering my most intimate spot. A whisper against my sensitive flesh.

“Please,” I moan, rotating my hips to help alleviate the hunger growing inside me. The flimsy material that covers me moves aside and his fingers trace down the seam of my skin. The movements are so slow, every part of my body quivers with anticipation.

“Dr. Montgomery, your next patient is here.” The receptionist’s voice slams through our lust filled haze.

Preston’s head rears back at the same time he jerks back his hand. I lift my eyes to meet his stare. Regret. That’s what I see staring back at me, and it rips me to shreds.

I’m pinned by his eyes. I know I won’t like what’s coming, but I can’t make myself pull away. He doesn’t answer her, but puts distance between us. Our breathing is shallow.

Shock.

I see it in his eyes for what he just did.

They’re haunted and hollow. We both inhale and exhale. What the fuck am I still doing here? It feels as if my heart may break free from my chest, it’s beating so hard. Pulling away, I fix my skirt.

“You have lipstick . . . ” He reaches out, and then catches himself. Our eyes lock in a moment that feels as if it will last a lifetime. There is so much remorse in his crystal blue eyes.

It breaks me apart. Severs me.

“I have to leave.” My voice is rough. My stomach crashes, and what’s left of my heart rips in two. Grabbing my coat from the back of the chair, I turn my back and head for the door. 

“Eve.” I look over my shoulder and meet his gaze. With all my strength, I hold back the tears threatening to expel. One lone drop escapes and trails down my cheek. “I’ll write you a referral.” His mask is back on.

I don’t stop. I don’t say good-bye. I leave.