Page 98 of The Witch's Heart
“Oh.”
My disappointment is almost painful. The idea of leaving this place, of never seeing him again, is a wound I don’t want to inflict.
“What I mean is that I desire your company as a friend.”
I look up sharply. “Do you say that to all your patients?”
“None actually. You’re the first.”
The silence is awkward, and I’m all too aware that if I’m not paying him for this session—this meeting just ventured into a territory that feels a bit inappropriate given my engagement. Or maybe it’s the inexplicable attraction I feel for the stranger I’m currently alone with.
“I appreciate the offer but…” I push to my feet, urging myself to go while I still feel rational. “I’m engaged.”
“I’m aware.” He follows me to the door and when I turn back, he’s careful to keep his distance. “I’m not asking you to do anything that would insult your fiancé, Celeste. I enjoy your company and I feel a connection with you that I’ve rarely felt with anyone else. As friends,” he adds when I don’t answer. “To be honest, I don’t have many of those.”
His quiet admission affects me, and my heart opens a little at the way he glances everywhere but at me now.
“Dr. Livingstone. Logan,” I correct before he can remind me. He looks up and our eyes meet. And he’s right. There’s no denying a connection between us. Maybe it is something platonic. Something innocent that won’t make me feel like I’m betraying my promise to Corbin. “Your intentions seem pure, but I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
I reach for the knob as a wave of dizziness washes over me. My feet falter and I can feel myself swaying as the room tilts.
“Celeste?”
My knees buckle and the ground comes up to meet me.
Strong arms come around me and lift me off my feet before I can faceplant into the worn carpet.
My stomach rolls with the sudden upending of my equilibrium and I squeeze my eyes shut against the nausea. When I feel the couch against my back, I open my eyes and look up at Logan hovering over me. His expression is tight with concern as he studies me.
“Are you all right?” he asks anxiously.
“I’m fine.” I try to push up onto my elbows but he eases me back.
“Careful. You nearly fainted.”
“I must have…I’ve been feeling…not myself.” I struggle to find a reason for the sudden episode.
“Do you have a history of fainting? An illness?” he asks.
“No.”
He cups my face in his hands and my mind goes blank at his touch. “You’re pale,” he murmurs almost to himself. Then, “Low blood sugar? When was the last time you ate?”
I bite my lip, trying to remember. “Yesterday?”
His expression turns clinical, and he tsks. “That’s not healthy.”
“I’ve had a lot going on.”
This time, when I try to sit up, he helps me. His hands on my shoulders are distracting enough to send my thoughts scattering all over again. But finally, my body registers how hungry I am.
When I look up at Logan, he’s sitting back on his heels, assessing my movements. “You really need to eat.”
I make a gut decision. “Do you like tequila?”
He smiles. “Only in large quantities.”
I laugh and the effort doesn’t feel nearly as forced as it does when I’m with Corbin—or anyone else for that matter. “I know a great place that has the best tacos and tequila. If you’re not busy.”
