Chapter Ten
Sitting at the table across from Forge, Hope stared at him, searching for flaws. She needed to find a whole bunch. Pages full—right now, but well . . . her strategy wasn’t working. Luck and intellect had abandoned her half an hour ago. No matter how good the argument, she couldn’t deny his appeal. Her gaze drifted over his face. The strong line of his jaw, the sculpted cheekbones, the color of his eyes, and dark day-old stubble—each feature pointed to one god-awful conclusion. He was gorgeous. Pure male beauty. The kind no woman on earth could ignore.
Or resist.
Bad news for her. Even worse for professional ethics. The longer she looked at him, the less her brain worked. Now she didn’t know what to do—keep talking to him or push the pancakes aside and kiss him senseless.
The urge startled her. Worried her a whole bunch too. She’d never been attracted to one of her patients before. Never sat across from anyone meant for her therapist’s chair and wondered what he tasted like . . . or if he was any good in bed.
The thought made her choke on a strawberry.
As she coughed, Hope tried to make sense of her reaction. Why Forge? Why now? What about him shoved her beyond the limit of her usual calm? She never had these kinds of problems. Compartmentalizing her thoughts and feelings came naturally. No matter the client, no matter the issue, she managed to put each one aside. Something about Forge, though, unbalanced her. Put her on edge. Sent her skidding uncontrolled into the danger zone.
All right, so the man oozed sex appeal. Sexy. Strong. Smart with a wicked amount of charm. And his mouth. Holy God. It should be illegal. Or at least on the most wanted list. Every time he opened it and that delicious accent rolled out, she got a little hotter. A little hornier. A little more imaginative about the best way to wrap herself around him.
Hope shifted in her seat.
Stupid brain.
Stinking libido.
Both were in overdrive, putting unethical thoughts in her head. Now all she could think about was how good he’d taste. Like maple syrup and man, no doubt. Sweet and sultry. Hot as all get out. Dark and delicious. Erotic with a debilitating dash of just-do-me-now. Stabbing another berry with her fork, Hope indulged in a silent redirect. She needed somewhere else to look. Something else to focus on. And while she was at it? A way to shield herself from the vibe he emitted like pheromones would be advisable too.
Help.
She was here to help, not jump into bed with him.
But oh, wouldn’t that be nice? Oh, so nice. The best way to scratch her itch, assuage the growing ache, and get some relief. It had been ages. Hope pressed her knees together beneath the table. Far too long since her last man-induced orgasm and—
“Are you all right, lass?”
“I’m fine.” She put her fork down. Grabbing her napkin, she wiped her mouth and waved her hand. “Just a little sex on the brain.”
Fork poised over his pancakes, Forge blinked.
She drew a shallow breath. Oh crap. Bad brain. Bad, bad mouth. Had she really just said that out loud? “I mean . . . I didn’t mean . . .” Cheeks flushing hot, Hope sputtered, struggling to find words. The ones that would backpedal her right out of the situation.
One second ticked into another. Nothing came to her rescue. No great epiphany. No humorous just-laugh-it-off comment. Nary an interruption in sight.
Silence throbbed through the room.
A look of consideration on his face, he raised a brow.
“God.” Planting her elbows on the tabletop, Hope palmed her forehead. So much for professionalism. She’d just blown it sky-high, imploding any chance of hiding her attraction to him. She pressed her thumbs to her temples. Dear God. She needed a reset, a do-over . . . whatever. Just as long as it wiped out the past thirty seconds and put her on firm footing again. “I can’t believe I said that. Talk about awkward.”
“Why?” he asked, setting his utensils down. The knife and fork clinked against fine china as Forge sat back and stretched out his legs. He nudged her foot with his beneath the table. “I want you too.”
Surprise brought her chin up.
He met her gaze, pure challenge in his.
Hope froze. “You do?”
“Aye. I have from the second I saw you.”
“Oh well . . .” She trailed off as her libido raised its unruly head. Butterflies took flight, fluttering in her belly. Hope shut that crap down, refusing to be pleased. It was a dumb reaction. She shouldn’t be happy Forge wanted her. She should be finding something to say instead. Something intelligent. Something that didn’t start with “Where’s the nearest bed?” and end with her unbuttoning his jeans. “Guess it’s good we got that into the open.”
“Mayhap. Mayhap not.” Wiping his mouth, he tossed the cloth napkin beside his juice glass. Unruffled, he shoved his plate aside, set his forearms on the table, and leaned toward her, one hundred percent comfortable in his own skin . . . and the topic at hand. “But now that it is, we need tae decide what tae do about it.”
“Ignore it?” she asked, hoping he agreed.
“Or we could follow our bliss and fuck ourselves silly while you’re here.”
“Not a good idea.”
“Why not, lass?”
She scowled at him. “I’m a professional. I don’t sleep with patients.”
“Good tae know,” he said, sounding pleased . . . with her. Hope squirmed in her seat. Weird. His approval did something for her, warming her inside, making her want to please him again. Do anything to hear his sexy Scots voice deepen into a rumbling purr one more time. “But we’ve a problem, you and I.”
“You think?” A huge understatement. Colossal, really, given her inner sex addict adored his suggestion. Was lapping it up like a kitten would cream. “Serious issues.”
“Simple tae fix, Hope.”
Her eyes narrowed.
His mouth curved. “You’re here to help me regain my memory. ’Tis unlikely to happen with both of us suffering.”
“Really,” she said, whipping sarcasm out like a sword. “Big ego, much?”
He huffed, the soft sound full of laughter. “Nay, not really, but something needs tae be done. The attraction will come between us. Make things more difficult in the long run.”
“So what—we screw like rabbits?”
“It’ll take the edge off.” An untrustworthy gleam sparked in his eyes. He bumped her with his foot again. “Be a helluva lot of fun too.”
Well, at least he was honest. In an unthreatening, playful kind of way.
The psychologist in her appreciated the first. The woman in her enjoyed the second. Despite his outrageous suggestion, she liked him. Was enjoying the conversation along with the man, but . . . sleep with him? Cross professional boundaries? Break rules she always adhered to, no matter what? Chewing on the inside of her lip, Hope entertained the notion for a moment. Really thought about it, imagining how much fun she could have with him. How much pleasure he would give her. How well he could help her forget what her brother had done.
The thought stopped her cold.
Damn it. She was better than that, more responsible.
Using Forge to bury the pain was a bad idea. It wasn’t right. She deserved better, and so did he. “I’m not in the habit of using people.”
“Neither am I, lass.” His brow furrowed. “What would make you say that?”
Holding his gaze, Hope hesitated before answering. Should she deflect or be honest? Dodging his question would be easier. A helluva lot less painful too, but as she held his gaze, instinct warned her to tell the truth. Honesty could be a weapon, an effective one when dealing with grief, pain, and trauma. Intuition told her Forge would respond best to a little give and take. The more she shared with him, the more he would with her.
All of a sudden, she knew what to do. This was her strategy, how she would get through to him, how he would learn to trust her, and—despite her aversion to sharing her past—it was the best way to begin their first session together.
Taking a fortifying breath, she sat straighter in her chair. “I lost my brother. He was everything to me, my whole world. Now that he’s gone I tend to . . .” Without mercy, old memories surfaced. Happy times. Challenging times. All the times Adam shielded her, taking the brunt of their father’s anger. Her heart started to hurt. Hope swallowed past the tight knot in her throat. Sweet, sweet Adam, loyal despite his troubled end. “I don’t know . . . I guess I bury myself in work, distract myself to keep from thinking about the fact he’s never coming back.”
“I’m sorry, Hope.” Concern in his eyes, Forge reached across the table.
Hope moved her hands and leaned back, getting out of range. She didn’t want him to touch her. Not right now. Fragility had set in, unearthing vulnerability, making her feel brittle and broken, tainted by a past she refused to let go. “Thank you, but I’m not telling you because I need sympathy.”
“Why, then?”
“Because I want things to be clear between us and . . .” Fighting to find the right words, Hope stared down at the place mat. Tiny dragons, embroidered on the fabric, made her mouth curve. Such a pretty sight, unlike her messy confession at the moment. “I thought you’d understand. You know what it’s like to lose someone you love.”
“More than just someone,” he said, dark shadows in his eyes. “Everyone.”
“Then I’m sorry too.”
He murmured a “Thanks,” accepting the gift of her comfort. Silence descended. Seconds ticked into more. Forge shifted in his chair. Hope resisted the urge to do the same and waited him out. She’d opened her heart, entrusting him with a piece of her life. The next move needed to be his.
A line between his brows, Forge picked up his orange juice. He took a sip, set the glass down, then turned his attention back to her.
Dark-purple gaze full of pain, he tipped his chin. “What was his name?”
The question, softly spoken, startled her.
After a second of surprise, Hope answered. “Adam. Fun-loving, generous Adam . . . until he walked into a library with a semi-automatic and killed eleven people.”
“Christ.”
“Yeah, I know. Shocked the hell out of me too.” Fighting tears, she cleared her throat. “I blame myself for not knowing he was in trouble. I think that’s probably why I can see you’re doing the same.”
Forge’s hand flexed around his napkin. “Different situation.”
“I’d like to hear about it.” She paused, backed off a little, giving Forge the space she sensed he needed. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“Is that how this works?”
“It can,” she said. “All I ask is that you be honest with me. Surrender to the process, Forge, and tell me the truth. I’ll keep your confidences. Whatever you choose to share with me, stays with me.”
Taking a deep breath, he nodded. And she didn’t push.
With the groundwork laid, he needed a chance to process. To think things through and decide what he wanted to bring to the table. Fair play, after all, was her strong suit. So was honesty, which meant she couldn’t stall any longer. Forge needed an answer to his outrageous proposition, the one that landed her in his bed.
A shiver ghosted through her.
Hope breathed through the tremor and . . . crap. Much as she wanted to, she couldn’t accept his offer. Sleeping with him was a terrible idea, for so many reasons. For one, sexual intimacy would muddy the waters—for her, for him, for everyone counting on her to do her job. And two? Her integrity meant something. She couldn’t cross into uncharted territory and hope to find her way back to a place where professionalism lived and values mattered.
“Listen, Forge, I—”
“Donnae decide now,” he said, cutting her off. Hope eyed him. He raised a brow, as if he expected her to challenge him. She wanted to, almost opened her mouth and told him where to stick his gorgeous accent. At the last second, she decided against it. His mouth curved in approval and . . . weird. It was almost as though he could read her mind and knew what she wanted to say. “Think on it. Take all the time you need, lass. I’m not going anywhere.”
Hope smothered a snort. There went his ego again . . . along with the deepening of his sexier-than-sin voice. She grimaced. Wrong thought. Not at all helpful given the gorgeous man seated across the table. Her gaze drifted to his lips. Full. Perfectly shaped. A mouth made for kissing. She swallowed her dismay and dug deep to unearth her resolve. No way would she give in to her urges. Her inner alley cat was not running the show. She repeated that to herself, pointing a mental finger at her out-of-control libido. Not—she shook her imaginary finger again—absolutely NOT in charge, no matter how much the bitch whined.
“I don’t need time.” To emphasize the point, she treated Forge to her best no-nonsense look. “I’m not going to change my—”
A loud crack split the air.
Bright light flashed, bleeding in from the living room. The house shuddered around her. The table shook, dancing across the hardwood floor. Covered dishes clanked. Glassware clattered, spilling juice onto expensive place mats.
Male voices shouted.
“Holy crap,” Hope said as Forge leapt to his feet. “What is it—an earthquake?”
Already on the move, he spun toward the living room. “Stay here, lass.”
The house shook again, rattling picture frames on the walls.
A man roared in agony.
Shoving away from the table, Hope shook her head. “Not on your life.”
Forge didn’t hear her. Arms and legs pumping, he sprinted past the fireplace, under the archway, and into the living room. Shoe soles scraping over the hardwood floor, Hope lunged after him. She skirted the end of the table as he disappeared from sight. Nuts. Freaking guy. Where did he think he was going without her? Nowhere, she hoped. Being alone while powerful tremors tore the house apart wasn’t a great idea. She might end up buried alive with no one to help her. And standing in the open under a timber-beam ceiling? List that under things she refused to do. She didn’t know much about earthquakes, but obeying Forge didn’t seem like a smart play.
She remembered something about taking cover in doorways. Or hiding under tables, but neither of those options felt right. Forge seemed like the safer bet. Despite his fast exit, she knew—without proof or complete understanding—he would protect her. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was insanity. Maybe she’d somehow come to trust him, just a little, while sharing her past—and denying him sex—but none of that mattered. Only one thing held sway . . . following and finding him.
Picking up the pace, Hope hightailed it after him. She rounded the base of the enormous stone fireplace. Cursing erupted from the living room. She ran beneath the arch, down a short corridor and—
Straight into chaos.
Her brain took a quick snapshot: a huge hole in the wall, shattered glass on the floor, Mac prone, covered with a blanket, and unconscious. Tania on her knees beside him, tears running down her face. Bastian holding his legs down while Mac’s body shook, Rikar checking his vitals. Forge knelt on the floor at Mac’s head, using his hands to keep his neck from moving. Classic CPR maneuver. An indication of injury. Alarm jolted through her. Her heartbeat ramped into a full gallop as concern punched through. It looked serious. Really bad and . . .
Hope took a steady breath and pushed panic aside. Mac was hurt. He needed help, not her freaking out. Fighting to stay calm, Hope slid to a stop beside a sectional sofa, bumping into its leather side.
“What happened? Is he all right? What can I do to help?” she asked so fast the questions ran together.
Forge’s focus snapped toward her. “I told you tae stay put.”
“I didn’t listen,” she said, stating the obvious. He scowled at her. She flexed her hands and stepped forward until she stood a few feet away. The earthquake subsided. The house settled. The rattling stopped as she fought to contain her worry. “What can I do? He’s my friend too, Forge. Please, give me a job.”
His hard-ass expression softened. “Ange went tae get the stretcher. Go help her.” Hands steady around Mac’s head, he tipped his chin toward a door leading into the kitchen. “Through there. Take a right into the main corridor.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
“Good lass,” he murmured, his gaze locked with hers.
Hope told herself to turn and go. She needed to help Angela, be useful, but . . . Forge wouldn’t let her. The heat in his eyes held her immobile. His irises started to shimmer as he stared at her. The purple glimmer expanded into a simmering glow. A warm current rolled in on a strange wave. Tingles washed over her shoulders and down her spine, relaxing tense muscles. Her heartbeat slowed. Her eyelids grew heavy. Her mind ceased its rapid racing. Hope blew out a long breath as panic receded.
The corner of his mouth tipped up. Forge looked away, breaking eye contact. The shimmer disappeared, releasing her, making her question whether she’d seen it at all. “Off you go, jalâyla.”
The odd endearment whispered through her.
Hope shivered and, remembering her task, hurried toward the door. But not before she looked back one last time. She couldn’t help it. That glow. So strange. A trick of the light? Conjured by a flight of fancy? Or something else entirely? She frowned. Crazy thought. Nothing but her unruly imagination hard at work. But as she rushed through the kitchen, past glossy cabinets and marble countertops, intuition told a different tale. Black Diamond was not all it seemed.
Something odd was going on.
Something intriguing.
A something she couldn’t explain.
The situation, each inconsistency, roused her curiosity, prompting her need to know. She loved a good mystery. Enjoyed the hunt and chase of unearthing an interesting story. She did it with her patients all the time, asking the right questions, reading between the lines, revealing the truth anchoring their lives. She wanted to do the same with Forge, but more than that too. The urge to figure out what made Angela’s friends different hummed in her veins. The idea sparked her interest. Irresistible. Undeniable. A secret waiting to be uncovered. A dangerous game given the men who called Black Diamond home.