Page 5 of Risk

Lifting my head and extending my arm to shake his hand, I was shocked when I took him in. I blinked slowly, as if in a dream. The man before me looked like JKF Jr. in the flesh with longish brown hair that was sexily tousled like only the rich seemed to be able to do. Only this guy had blue eyes that reminded me of a stormy ocean. The scruff on his jaw made me want to feel it between my legs. The fact that he had that much power over me in only a few seconds spelled bad news.

Stepping closer, I greeted him. “Good afternoon. I’m Dr. Belle. It’s nice to meet you.”

Taking the hand that was still hanging, he gave me a grimace of a smile. His low, but deep voice grumbled out. “I wish I could say the same thing.”

Alright, he was going to be one of those clients that hated being here and talking about their problems–typical American.

“Why don’t you have a seat wherever you feel comfortable, and we’ll start. Would you like something to drink?”

“Water would be nice. Thanks.” He looked around at his seating options before he chose the leather chair in front of my desk.

I didn’t like to tell my patients where to sit, especially the ones who didn’t want to be here in the first place. It seemed all the new ones who’d never been to see a therapist before expected me to demand they lie on my couch and spill all their deep dark secrets in the first hour after meeting me.

Taking my seat behind my desk, I cleared the lust from my throat before I hit the intercom button. “Maria, could you please bring us two bottles of water?”

“Yes, Dr. Belle. I’ll be right there.”

We remained quiet, examining each other as we waited for Maria to bring our drinks. I didn’t want to have to stop when she came in, and the view before me didn’t hurt.

I couldn’t remember the last time a man affected me so viscerally. Not even Alejandro had made me forget myself for a split second when we’d met.

Again, Maria knocked before she came in, as she always did. She placed both water bottles on my desk without a word or even a glance at the dream-like man in front of me before she left.

Leaning forward, he took one of the bottles, twisted off the cap, and then drank almost half the contents in one swallow.

“Shall we get started? I was told you needed an expedited process, but that’s all I was told. Whoever called for you didn’t seem to understand therapy doesn’t really work that way. It’s ongoing work.” I got right to the point. There was no sense in us wasting time if he was going to scoff at this being more than a one-time session.

Twisting the lid back on this water, his blue eyes locked with mine and rendered me incapable of thought for a moment. I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to help him if I couldn’t get my libido in check. Had no sex for four months reduced me to a woman who couldn’t control herself?

“I’m a bit of an emergency case. I’ll admit I’ve never been to a therapist, although my boss’s wife is a counselor and there have been times when I felt like I was in a session, or what I imagine a session to be like when talking to her.” He slid his hands over his jean-clad legs. Jeans that were plastered against muscular legs that had me wanting him to rip them off and show me what he was hiding. “Sorry, I’m rambling. I’m nervous that you won’t be able to help me and while I hate to admit it, I need help. And fast.”

“May I call you Callum?”

“Yeah, of course,” he answered as if it was a silly question.

He had one of those voices that made you want to listen to him say anything. If he wanted to recite the phone book to me, I’d happily lie in a puddle of my own drool as I sat and listened while ogling him. Which was a problem.

He was my client, not meat on a stick, and I needed to remember that. He was probably going to leave here thinking how unprofessional I was after I sat here and stared at him the whole session.

“Let’s start with what brought you here today, Callum.”

“Well, that’s easy. I’ve had two panic attacks in the last two days, making it impossible for me to do my job.”

“And what job is that?”

He sat up a little straighter in his seat, even though he already had perfect posture. “I’m a Formula One race car driver.”

He was proud, and I was impressed with his profession. I’d never seen a race in person, but I’d caught it on TV once or twice. Before I moved from the States, no one made a big deal out of it, but in Barcelona, it was a huge event. The citizens went crazy when the Grand Prix hit their country, and I knew from all the excitement there had been a race yesterday.

“Did you just start as a driver?” Maybe his nerves got to him with it being his first race.

“I’ve been doing it since I was nineteen years old.” A bit of a southern twang came out, making me wonder where he was from.

“You mentioned you had two panic attacks recently. Were they your first ones?”

“I thought I was dying while in the cockpit of my car.” His gaze became unfocused as he most likely remembered the feeling of those attacks. “Yesterday I couldn’t even get inside the car. I started to, and then it hit me. My entire body seemed to crank up ten degrees, which might as well have felt like a hundred in my suit. When my heart started to race, and it sounded like I was in a tunnel, I knew I couldn’t race. If I had got in my car, I would have lost control in the first few minutes of being out on the track and then most definitely died or killed someone else.”

Having a panic attack while driving wasn’t safe, but it was a whole other level when going over two hundred miles per hour. I was glad he understood how serious it was.

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