11. Talia
Chapter 11
Talia
A s I take off my blazer and toss it onto a deck chair, Kieran’s jaw goes slack. He chokes when I step out of the water to unbutton my slacks.
“Stirling—”
“Turn, please.”
Water splashes as he pivots. I strip off my pants and chuck them. Still semi-decent in a thong, bra, and a black silk tank top—all of which are about to be ruined—I slip into the water. Heat cocoons me with prickling pleasure, the contrast of cold air on my face and shoulders near-euphoric. I settle against the smooth seat, tugging my floating tank down and tucking it between my legs.
“You can turn around.”
Kieran’s wide eyes—no longer empty, thank God—take me in. He laughs roughly. “I can’t believe you did that. ”
I shrug. “Compromise rarely kills. Now you have to hold up your end of the bargain.”
His smile fades but doesn’t entirely vanish. “Can we renegotiate? Maybe if you take the top off.”
“Kieran,” I chide.
He swipes hands over his face and through his hair, then gives his cheeks a few light slaps. At my questioning look, he says, “Trying to sober up enough to remember why I can’t touch the pretty lady.”
“Cute,” I mimic him.
Another short laugh, then a grunt as he hauls himself out of the water and drops onto the tiled border. Steam spills off his flushed skin. Water sluices along cuts of muscle in his arms, chest, stomach…
“Like what you see?”
I swallow and drag my gaze to his boyishly crooked grin. He’s so beautiful it hurts, a tightness in my chest and a sharp ache between my legs. My inner conflict must be on my face because his grin disappears. Predatory intensity replaces it. His muscles quiver like he’s a second from launching at me.
“Just say the word,” he murmurs.
A modicum of reason returns.
My complicated response to him notwithstanding, he’s my client . He’s high and drunk—even if he does have a Herculean constitution—and teetering on a cliff of emotional and professional disaster. He also uses sex as a weapon to avoid real intimacy .
He doesn’t want me .
Maybe in another life… but not in this one.
“No, Kieran. For many reasons, not the least of which being I’m your therapist.”
The intensity melts away. He watches me another moment, then shrugs in indifference. “Worth a shot.”
I release a slow breath, my heart convulsing as it accepts its newest bruise. “Why don’t you come back in the water? You’re shivering.”
He slips in without protest, dunking and surfacing before slouching against the opposite wall, head canted against the edge. I don’t push him, instead staring into the darkness beyond the bluff, visualizing the waves whose muted roar rides the breeze.
“I should have been there.”
My mind kicks into focus. I remember what I asked him for—the truth. “When?”
His eyes are closed, voice thready. “In the car that day. Liz didn’t want to go to the store. She felt nauseous from the pregnancy and was craving peanut butter. It was a Saturday, but I’d stayed up all night working. She hated it—the fact I couldn’t switch off my brain on command, just go to the office then come home like a normal husband. Anyway, I blew her off when she asked me to go, told her to order a delivery.”
His throat bobs, brow furrowing slightly. “I think she wanted to spend some time together, you know? Maybe get breakfast or something. She was never good at asking for what she wanted. I had to guess a lot. I think… sometimes I think she was afraid of me. Not physically. Just, dunno, emotionally maybe.”
“Why do you say that?”
He shrugs. “We didn’t date long before we married, and I worked all the time after. Could be she was starting to figure out she’d made a mistake. I’m a bit of a moody bastard, if you hadn’t noticed. A hothead.”
“Moody—maybe. But you’re not a hothead. That would imply you’re easily swayed to violence.”
He lifts his head and offers a humorless smirk. “Pretty sure you saw what I’m capable of in that warehouse.”
I hold his stare, letting him see how serious I am. “There’s a definitive line between passion and uncontrolled rage. Intensity and cruelty.”
“I’ve been cruel to you, haven’t I?”
It’s obvious he wants to direct the conversation away from his wife, and I let him. While I’m glad he shared what he did, he’s not in the right headspace to delve deeper.
Neither am I.
“No, Kieran. You’ve been an asshole a few times, sure, but it’s nothing I haven’t seen before and nothing I can’t handle. I was poking emotional sore spots—you were protecting your secrets.”
A bit of lightness returns to his face. “Like a child who doesn’t want to give up the dirty blankie for a wash.”
I smile. “You said it, not me. ”
His answering chuckle fades quickly. “You’re letting me off too easy. Men shouldn’t speak to women like?—”
“Your inner misogynist is showing,” I interject. “You’re hung up on the fact I’m the so-called weaker, fairer sex. But I’m not. I’m your equal, and some part of you knows it because when you’re not being a brat, you treat me like one.”
He makes a pained face. “Bloody hell.”
“Am I wrong?”
“I’m starting to think you rarely are,” he mutters, then huffs a laugh. “My mam would’ve loved you.”
My focus narrows at the past tense—she’s still alive as far as I know—but I file it and ask, “Why’s that?”
Humor creases the corners of his eyes, but their depths hold a sudden edge that puts me on alert. “She was a straight-talker, like you. Never held back an opinion. Always made sure my dad knew when he displeased her.” His voice lowers to a throaty purr. “Can’t lie, I’m starting to see the appeal of displeasing a woman. One in particular.”
I’m defenseless. Summarily defeated. All I can do is lower my head as my body revolts: tingling, tight nipples, throbbing clit, and a mental slideshow of a hundred different ways I could prove to him that displeasing me is mutually beneficial.
“You all right?” There’s enough heat in his voice to turn up the temperature of the ocean. “Let me know if I can help.”
“Stop talking,” I snap.
His dark chuckle only makes matters worse .
I finally resort to thinking about Alan—who hasn’t stopped calling me despite my clear communication that we aren’t happening—and the unsolicited dick pic he sent me this morning. On my to-do list for the weekend is a phone call to Mia, as I’m pretty sure he sent the photo from his office at the middle school.
The mental image of Alan’s underwhelming, half-erect penis does the trick, instantly shutting down my libido. After a few deep breaths, I glare at a smug Kieran.
“Would you like to explore why you’re so comfortable loading innuendo into a conversation about your parents?”
His laugh is immediate, loud, and long. While his delight is intoxicating, I keep a straight face. Thanks, Alan.
Kieran sobers with effort, wiping tears from his lashes. “I’m sorry,” he says, trying not to laugh again. “God, I can’t seem to help myself around you. Getting a rise out of you is too satisfying.”
“Let me know when you’re done.”
“Yep. Right. Carry on with the interrogation.”
I swallow an exasperated sigh. “How did your father typically respond when your mother confronted him?”
A grin flashes. “He’d sputter until she laughed him from the room. My dad’s more the traditional sort. Stereotypical gender roles and all that. Not to say he was bad to our mam. He thought she hung the moon, just…” He trails off.
“Sometimes he treated her like she was breakable instead of powerful enough to control tides?”
Surprise flickers over his features. “Nail on the head. But I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. They had a happy marriage. Loved each other madly. I know I’m lucky.”
I press a mental bookmark to the fact that despite his clear admiration and love for his mother, he’s habitually chosen partners who emulate a different type of woman.
“I need to apologize,” I tell him softly. “I shouldn’t have called you a misogynist. I know you don’t hate women, Kieran.”
I half-expect him to make a joke, but he doesn’t. “I appreciate that, but I don’t blame you for saying it. I still feel bad about the unhinged shit I’ve said to you.” He grimaces. “That I keep saying to you.”
Before I can think better of it, I tell him, “Think about what happens when two alphas of the same species meet.”
His eyes narrow, glinting with the type of intelligence that intoxicants can mellow but never truly dent. “Competition. Are you’re implying we’re in a war for resources and breedable females, Stirling?”
“Hypothetically speaking, yes. Me being a woman is merely information you’ve exploited in an attempt to assert dominance over me. We’re animals, Kieran. And we’re alphas.”
He stares me a beat, then shifts in his seat and looks away. “Jesus. How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
His eyes pin me, almost accusing. “See me so clearly?”
A crack appears in the wall around my heart; I patch it, then pick my next words carefully. “Ever since I can remember, I’ve been fascinated with people. What makes them tick. It started with my family and expanded from there. Growing up, I heard ‘stop staring, Talia’ multiple times a day.” I shrug. “You could say I turned my voyeuristic tendencies into a career. I understand people instinctively. I see their layers, fault lines, and strengths. All the hidden treasures of the psyche. My first impressions are rarely wrong.”
He stares at me. “Huh.”
“What?” I ask tentatively.
“Just… all of that. Talia .”
My heart rattles. “Dr. Stirling.”
“Stirling,” he says unsmiling. “And your first impression of me?”
Fierce and fractured. A footstep from the void. A puzzle of constantly moving pieces, each of them breathtaking beyond words.
Aloud, I say weakly, “A man who needed my help.” He grunts. This time, I look away first. “I have one more question if you’re willing.”
“One more,” he agrees.
“Is your mom okay?”
“Knew you’d catch that,” he murmurs, then sighs. “She has Alzheimer’s.”
My lungs compress. Of course. That’s why he’s devoted himself to finding a cure. “Diagnosed five years ago?” I ask, remembering when he told me he started working on neural nanorobotics.
“Thereabouts, yes. Rapid onset and progression. I’ll give you one final truth for free: she loved classical music. That’s why my brother and I attend the Phil once a month.”
I say the only thing I can.
“I’m sorry, Kieran.”
Eyes shuttering, he stands up and sweeps his hair back. “I’m dehydrated, hungry, and too fucking sober.” He glances at me. “You should get out, too. You’re all red. I’ll get towels.”
Moving to the elevated boundary between the jacuzzi and the pool, he leaps onto it in a feat of agility that looks supernatural, then dives into the cold water. I push myself to the edge and watch his powerful body glide toward the shallow end. He surfaces near the distant steps and extends to his full height, then throws a smile over his shoulder at me.
Time stops.
I still blink. Still breathe. But the fabric of history pauses to absorb the sight of him into my immutable memory. That crooked grin the magazines never see. The body of a living god glowing blue under the pool lights. All the wild, haphazard beauty of him—inside and outside—stuns me so deeply I start to shake.
“Do it!” he calls. “That’s the price. Swim to me and I’ll get you a towel.”
This is a bad idea.
The thought floats away, chasing my inhibitions off the nearby bluff. My tank top seals to my chest and stomach as I lift from the water. Even wet, it barely skims my hips. I don’t look at Kieran as I hoist myself onto the ledge. When I find my balance and stand, I finally glance his way—and immediately regret it.
In the next seconds, I feel every place his eyes touch: my ankles, calves, knees, thighs. They pause on the front panel of my thong, then flicker over my chest and arms before starting back down.
“I don’t know where to look,” he says cheerily. “It’s like a candy shop.”
My heart pounds at its cage. I can’t help a quick glance at his groin, visible above the water. His swim trunks are plastered to the answer of whether or not he’s proportional everywhere. His cock is hard, long, and thick, bound by wet fabric to his thigh.
My mouth waters and I almost lose my balance on the ledge.
He’s horny. It’s a reflex. I could be anyone.
None of the thoughts help because even though I could be any woman, he’s not any man. Not to me.
“Get out of the pool,” I say shrilly, not caring that the demand reveals I don’t trust myself. Him. Either of us.
“Not a chance. We’re at war, remember?”
“From the look of your swim trunks, I’d say I’m the one with all the weapons at the moment.”
It’s a futile counterattack—he grins and shrugs. “Can’t blame the poor fella. He hasn’t gotten the memo that you’d bite him instead of kiss him.”
I laugh; God help me, I laugh. Then I dive from the ledge into the water and swim toward a disaster in the making. The cold registers but in a distant way, barely cooling the heat inside me. At least I have the sense to angle away from him, surfacing on the opposite side of the shallows. Staying submerged from the neck down, I yank out my wet bun and studiously avoid looking at the man standing less than six feet away.
“I win,” I say with forced levity. “Where’s my towel?”
There’s a beat of silence, then he says mutedly, “You’re lucky I’ve spent the last two days drinking and barely sleeping.”
“Because you wouldn’t have opened up to me otherwise?” The second the words are out, I realize I’ve walked into a trap. My eyes screw shut as I wait for his jaws to close, for my defenses to take another blow.
But there’s only silence.
I open my eyes. He’s staring blankly toward the jacuzzi. Muscles locked. Jaw tense. Brow furrowed. A burst of worry has me straightening and moving toward him.
“Kieran?” My teeth chatter over his name. “Are you okay?”
He startles. “Yeah, sorry. I’ll be back.”
He hauls ass out of the pool and up the steps, taking them two at a time, then disappears into the house without a backward glance.
I wait. And wait some more.
The cold sinks through my skin and penetrates my bones. With it comes the bitter realization that I may have really fucked up. Destroyed all the progress we’ve made .
I shouldn’t have jumped in the pool.
Anxiety propels me toward the steps with a plan to make a run for the jacuzzi. I’ll warm up for a minute, then grab my clothes and flee for my car. I’ll call Leo tomorrow and he’ll help me find a way to fix this.
I’m halfway out of the water when a man—not tall or graceful enough—leaves the house and heads down the steps, something voluminous and pale in his arms. I sag onto the first step as he approaches.
“Hi, Sven.”
My voice is raw with disappointment and resignation, but I can’t bring myself to care.
“Doctor,” he rumbles.
Eyes averted, he stops a few feet away and holds open a luxurious towel robe. I walk up the steps and slip my arms inside the sleeves, turning to wrap it around myself. A small, pitiful sound leaves me. The robe is out-of-the-dryer hot and feels so incredible my eyes fill with tears.
“Thank you,” I croak. “What time is it?”
“Close to two.”
No wonder a hot robe is making me cry. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in days, and all I had for dinner was a packet of almonds on the drive over here. Add to that mix my actions and defeats tonight, I feel like I could sob for an hour and sleep for the next ten.
“Kier wanted me to tell you he didn’t forget you. He was running the dryer.” Sven makes a noise in his throat that could be laughter or annoyance. “He’s in the shower now. ”
I barely hear him. “I’ll get my clothes. Can you show me where I can change, then let me out of the gate?”
“I’ll grab your things. Go up to the house and get warm. Then we can talk about how you’re in no shape to drive.”
He walks toward the jacuzzi.
No fight left in me, I do as he says.