Page 28 of Torched Spades
And it’s working.
We’re sitting in our usual seats, me in my chair and him on the couch with the coffee table acting as a referee between us, but something feels different. It’s like he’s closer, stealing not only my concentration but all the air in the room. All I can breathe is him, and God, he smells good.Strong. Manly.An unholy mix of spice and burnt pine.
Burnt pine…The thought jerks me out of my lusty haze and slams me back into reality.There’s a reason for that, and it’s exactly why he’s here.
Lowering my head, I force my attention on the folder resting on my lap. We sit in thirty seconds of awkward silence as I try to refocus by reviewing the notes from our last session.
I might as well be reading a second grader’s attempt at Pig Latin.
“What’s wrong, Dr. Brennan? You seem nervous.”
“Nervous?” I echo, wincing at the slight wobble in my voice. “No, not at all. I just...” I lift my head to find his elbows propped on his knees, another playing card tucked between his fingers. Each rotation hits like a bucket of cold water. I nod to his hand. “This is the third week in a row you’ve brought that in. Care to discuss it?”
“Ace of spades,” he says, holding it up. “Did you know it’s called the death card?”
“Can’t say I did, no.”
“The spade represents the shovel used to dig graves.” He drops it on the table in front of him. “American troops used to leave these on the bodies of their kills like a calling card.”
“Why?”
“To say ‘we won.’ Or if you’re into more modern symbolism, a middle finger to the enemy.”
“According to your file, you never served,” I note, offering a polite smile. “So why doyoucarry it?”
He smiles back, but it’s nowhere near as polite. “It’s the ultimate fuck you.”
“To whom?”
“To whoever deserves it.”
My breath stutters at the coldness in his voice, but I refuse to be intimidated. As the licensed professional in this room, I control the conversation, not him.
Adjusting my glasses, I meet his stare head-on. “So, how have you been, Mr. Malone?”
“Are we still playing this game?” He leans forward, his knees bumping the table. “It’s been three weeks. How many times do I have to tell you my friends call me Johnny?”
“And how many times do I have to tell you I’m not one of them?”
A deep laugh rumbles in his throat, and he shifts backward, draping his arms over the back of the couch. “You got balls, Dr. Brennan. I’ll give you that.”
I can feel my cheeks burn, so I quickly glance down, causing my glasses to slip down my nose. His crude praise shouldn’t please me as much as it does. I’ve never stepped close to any professional line, much less crossed one. But there’s something dangerously magnetic about this man that makes me want to shatter every rule.
I can feel his eyes on me again, waiting for another flustered reaction.
Which is precisely why he won’t get one.
Lifting my chin, I temper my expression.He’s just another hero-laced devil, nothing more.Emboldened, I press my finger to the center of my glasses and slide them back into place. “How has the new medication been? Any side effects?”
I can’t help but wince at that last one.
Unfortunately, his impulse “high” isn’t the only thing Naltrexone dulls.
Johnny shrugs, those full, sinful lips curling into a smirk. “Are you asking if I can still get it up, Becca?”
Yes.
No!
