My chin wobbled and I had to blink away the stinging moisture in my eyes. “Have you lied to me?”

“No. Not about anything.” His words were immediate, and desperate with sincerity. “But, not telling you…there are things you should know before we take that step. And I won’t ever let you go once it happens. I realized that the night you came to my apartment wearing your little red dress and no underwear.” He swallowed, and I saw nothing but raw conviction in his eyes. “You’d never be free of me.”

My arms twisted tighter around his neck and I kissed him softly; I needed to feel his lips.

I withdrew, but rested my forehead against his as I spoke, not wanting him to see my watery eyes. “Oh, Alex, I think you underestimate how completely selfish I am.”

His smile was small, hopeful; Alex cupped my cheek with one hand and forced our faces apart so that he could look at me. “Can we wait?”

It was my turn to sigh. So I did, with heavy exaggeration and drama. “I don’t know.”

He flinched.

I hurried to explain so he wouldn’t misunderstand. “I want everything, all of you, right now. And I’m not patient. I’ve never been good at waiting for what I want.”

Alex’s mouth tilted ruefully. “Waiting has never bothered me,” he mused, and his expression became distant. “It’s the wanting that’s new.”

I searched him, his face, and I believed him. The possibilities for why caused a shiver to race down my spine, and I fought to keep my mind from contemplating worst-case scenarios. His abusive father was a big candidate, as were his years in prison. Both were likely enough to break most people.

I didn’t see him as broken. He was cocooned, but intact.

But something he’d said before, weeks ago, floated across my mind like a news ticker at the bottom of a TV screen.

“You said before that you don’t like psychiatrists.” I let the statement hang out there; let him get used to it before I asked, “Are you willing to tell me why?”

He pressed his mouth together then drew his top lip into his mouth, chewed on it before answering. “When I was young, I was….” His eyebrows-” his forehead wrinkled; he glanced downward, but I doubted he saw anything. “A psychiatrist once told my mother that I was a savant. I remember that this caused her a great deal of distress. Later, when I was in prison, I had to see one every day.”

“Every day?” I frowned at that. That seemed excessive. I wondered if the government had hoped to hack into his brain like he’d hacked into computer systems.

He lifted his gaze back to mine. He looked like he was bracing himself, steeling himself against not just me, but everything.

“I don’t like psychiatrists.” He said the words with finality, his tone flat.

I winced a little, my eyelashes fluttered, but then his hands stroked me—my legs, my backside, my hips, my waist—and he said, “But I like you. I like you a lot. I liked you a lot before the power of the red dress compelled me. And that was very disorienting.”

I gazed at him in wonder, at the risk he was taking in being with me. He also knew better. And yet, here we were.

I felt the tension of the moment in the room, thick and heavy on my head and shoulders. It was the kind of tension that accompanies a major confession. Since his hands were still heating me up, the tension was heavily laced with sexual undercurrents. At least, it was for me.

For my own sanity, since he was a psychiatrist-despising virgin who refused to answer the majority of my questions and I was falling for him, I decided to defuse the situation with humor.

Because it was all I could do.

“Well then. I guess we’ll have to wrestle to see who wins.”

Alex’s gaze, which had been throwing sparks in the direction of my mouth, refocused on my eyes. He blinked. “You want to wrestle with me?”

“Heck to the yeah I do. And I would win, too.”

His smile was quizzical and sincere as he said, “Sometimes you feel more like an adversary than a….”

“Than a what?”

“Than a girlfriend, a partner.”

I thought about that for a moment, let it roll around in my head, realized—given what I knew about Alex’s past—it made quite a lot of sense.

“With a girlfriend you’d need to give away some of your control. But with an adversary, it’s all about control.”

“Don’t.” His voice was a growl, and held more than a hint of warning.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t start psychoanalyzing me.”

“I’m not.” I sighed, rubbed my forehead, and removed myself from his lap. I sat down heavily on the couch. “I’m just trying to figure out how to get in your pants without asking you any direct questions.”

He huffed a startled laugh. “And what have you determined?”

My eyes skated over him, took the measure of his lips, neck, chest and nether regions. “If an adversarial relationship is what it takes, then I’ll just have to seduce you....” Then, for no reason other than I’d always wanted to say it, I added, “Mr. Bond.”

His eyes lit at both the challenge and the teasing in my tone. Alex reached for my hand, but instead of allowing him to touch me at will, I moved my hand away.

“Ah, no. I think we’ll have no more of that.”

His eyebrows shot upward on his forehead. “None of what?”

“No more touching.”

“What?” Again, a growl.

“No more touching, Mr. Bond.” I was now speaking in a very poor imitation of a posh British accent. “If I’m to seduce you, then I’ll need to ration your daily allotment of touching.”

“Who are you supposed to be?”

“Don’t tell me you don’t know who James Bond is?”

“No, I know who James Bond is. Who are you supposed to be? Which of his conquests?”

“Nein, Herr Bond.” I switched to an atrocious German accent. “You are my conquest. Ich bin eine new and unknown female adversary. Sie call me Sookie Von Cockencunt.”

“Must you murder the German language?” A smile split his face, though his eyes became hard with what I guessed was determination.

“Ja wohl.” I stood and crossed to my discarded jacket.

I felt his eyes on me as I moved, heard him clear his throat when he also stood. “Are we leaving?”

I nodded as I pushed my arms into the sleeves of my jacket. “Yes. It’s past one, and I have work in the morning. Frankly, if I’m not getting any ass tonight, then I might as well go to sleep.”

“Are you thinking about moving here—into this apartment?” Alex walked toward me; his steps were measured, cautious.

“No. I can’t afford it.” I glanced around the vaulted ceilings with longing. “But it’s pretty amazing, right?”

He nodded, and when he had reached me, he fingered the zipper of my jacket. “Maybe we could come back tomorrow. We’ll need a code name for it.”

“Let’s call it Cloud City,” I said.

I saw recognition and admiration in his gaze. “You like Star Wars?”

“I do. But,” I said, studying him, my eyes narrowed, “I thought you had something planned for tomorrow.”

He nodded again, shrugged. “We can do that another time.”

When I just stared at him, he continued. “Plans change. Now that I’ve been here, I can see why you wanted to come.”

“Okay.” I finished my zipper and crossed to the hall leading to the door. “But how about we go with what you already had planned for tomorrow.” I needed time to plan my seduction attack and didn’t want to be alone with him again so soon. His zing kisses made me lose my mind.

“I’ll meet you in the hospital cafeteria; five thirty okay?” he said.

“Sounds good. And we’ll pick a Saturday to come back here. I’ll cook.”

“Can you cook?” He sounded doubtful as we exited the apartment.

“Yes, I can cook.” I waited until I had the door locked and was walking away from him, down the hall toward the elevator, before I tossed a sinister smirk over my shoulder, “Just wait ’til you try my figs.”

CHAPTER 18

Thursday’s Horoscope: You will be faced with an impossible situation today. Don’t sweat the white lies you tell enemies, and be creative with your allies.

“You look like carp today.” Ashley’s eyes didn’t lift from her chart as she volunteered her opinion.

“You mean crap?” I felt like crap. I was tired. My head and my heart hurt. And I was pretty sure my female reproductive system hated Alex.

“No. Carp. The fish. You’re all frowny and buggy-eyed, tired and frightened.” Her blue eyes lifted, scanned my face. “And you need to pluck your eyebrows.”

“Do carp have eyebrows?”

“They have little weird feeler mustaches, like catfish. I suspect they tie other fish to little fishy railroad tracks.”

This earned her a smile. She smiled in return, obviously pleased with her ability to break through my fishy mood.

“Seriously, girl, what’s going on? Are you still thinking about dating that ex-con?”