13. Talia

Chapter 13

Talia

M ia stares at me, eyes showing white, the end-piece of a croissant stalled halfway to her mouth. Leo, conversely, sips his coffee sedately, pale blue eyes thoughtful.

I just told them what happened last night and how it led to the drastically out-of-character behavior of me ringing their doorbell on a Saturday morning wearing my client’s sweatshirt over wrinkled slacks. From their reactions at the door, I look exactly how I feel. Like I got four hours of shitty sleep and am in the midst of an epic personal crisis sans underwear.

“My bad,” Leo says finally. “When we talked last, I should have warned you to never, ever get in a jacuzzi with a client. Or hot springs. Basically, water is a bad idea.”

I make a face at the reminder of their first, disastrous sexual encounter. Mia sputters and chucks her croissant, which smacks him in the chest. He grabs it and shoves it in his mouth, then gives his wife a look that pinks her cheeks.

“Guys,” I whine.

Mia winces. “Sorry. Pregnancy hormones are out of control.”

I push my fingers into my hair, then give up when they hit knots after a few inches. “Don’t apologize. I’m the one who barged in here. I’m sorry—I should have called. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“We’re glad you’re here,” she protests.

“Your timing, though…” Leo grumbles.

Mia punches his arm. “Talia, we love you so much we made you the godmother of our unborn son. You’re family, and you’re always welcome here. Selfishly, I’m thrilled you’ve come to us. I was starting to worry about you.”

I frown. “You were? Why?”

She shrugs, glancing at Leo. Apparently, they have telepathy because he says, “She’s referring to the fact that we have similar temperaments. We don’t open up easily and usually only share our problems in the rare instance a situation spirals out of our control. Basically, she thinks you’re a control freak like me and that it’s kept you from being happy.”

I don’t know whether to laugh or scowl. “Seriously?” I ask Mia.

She nods. “I’ve never seen you like this.”

“A hot mess?”

She smiles slightly. “Some chaos every once in a while is good for the soul. It shakes things up. I think you should fire your client and date him.”

My insides twist. Groaning, I palm my cheeks. The skin is too hot. Fuck , I’m blushing.

She continues, “It’s painfully romantic. I’m going to daydream all day about when he realizes you’re the girl from the graveyard.” She sighs dreamily. “Kismet.”

While I didn’t share Kieran’s name or the reason he’s seeing me, I did recap the overlap in our histories for her.

My gaze swings to Leo. He blinks back at me, expression bland. “She’s been reading a lot of romance novels.”

Mia tears off another piece of her croissant, mumbling, “He’s right, but whatever. Still romantic.”

Leo sets down his coffee. “Do you want my advice as your friend or as your colleague?”

“Colleague.”

“Either fire him or restore the working relationship.”

“I can’t fire him.”

Leo nods. “Thought so. Then let me remind you that you’ve made a career out of unorthodox therapy methods. Your client wants something from you. Why don’t you use that as currency to get what you want—namely, his investment in the process?”

Mia shifts in her seat. “Whoa. As hypocritical as this sounds, that seems risky. Professionally speaking.”

I glance at her, a smile tugging my mouth. “I don’t think he’s suggesting I use sex. ”

“I’m not,” Leo confirms with a wry glance at his wife. “Head out of the gutter, Amelia.”

She flushes and laughs. “Never mind, then. Continue.”

“That’s not to say this isn’t without risk,” he tells me. “The tightrope you’d be walking is a narrow one. You’ll have to be vigilant. The closer you get to him—the more you give him—the greater the intimacy will feel. You might lose perspective.”

“And your heart,” chirps Mia.

Leo asks gravely, “Can you handle that?”

Can I handle that?

I spend the next four days asking myself the question and don’t come up with a definitive answer. Not that having an answer would change the path in front of me.

Whether or not I can handle the aftermath of emotional intimacy with Kieran, I’m going to attempt it. The potential payoff is worth the risk. And I’m not without support. At Leo’s insistence, we now have a standing phone appointment Thursday mornings. He’s my safety net, bound by a promise to tell me if he thinks I’ve lost balance on the tightrope.

Wednesday evening, I wait for Kieran outside my office door. I know he’s coming because since Saturday, Sven has taken it upon himself to send me daily updates. The texts are unsolicited and I don’t respond to them, but I don’t tell him to stop sending them, either. It’s because of them I know Kieran trashed all the booze and drugs in his house when he woke up on Saturday. He spent the weekend cleaning, napping, and eating. He returned to work on Monday.

The back door opens. My pulse jumps as Kieran strides inside, his presence instantly sucking the oxygen from my lungs. He left his suit jacket and tie in the car this time. His hair looks like he’s been running his hands through it all day, but he seems well rested and sober.

Pacific blue eyes find mine, a touch wary. Good.

“Mr. Hayes,” I greet him dryly.

His lips twitch. “Dr. Stirling.”

I look past him. “We’re going to be in a different room tonight, Sven. Do you want to check it out first?”

He nods. “Thanks.”

I lead him to the door opposite my usual office. As I unlock it with a six-digit code on the mounted keypad, I almost smile at the sudden focus from the men behind me.

“The door will lock behind us,” I tell Sven. “Did you see the code?”

He nods again. I hold the door open just enough for him to enter. It takes him approximately five seconds before he returns.

“All clear,” he says in a too-dry tone, then stations himself against a wall and stares pointedly at a painting mounted opposite him.

“After you, Mr. Hayes.”

With visible hesitance—and a parting glare at Sven— Kieran walks into the room. I follow, letting the door close and auto-lock behind us.

Kieran wanders around the space, dimly lit and scented heavily with aromatherapy. He finally turns to me. “I don’t know what I was expecting, but this isn’t it.”

“Don’t lie,” I chide. “You were expecting a BDSM dungeon.”

He throws me a crooked grin. “Maybe. Why the fancy lock?”

I nod toward the room’s other door, also locked but with a standard deadbolt. “Files.” I pause. “Also, this used to be a dungeon.”

He laughs a bit uncertainly because it’s not clear whether I’m teasing. I am, but I like that he can’t tell.

“Don’t tell me we’re doing yoga. My sensei wiped the floor with me this morning and my muscles are pulverized.”

“No yoga.” I grab a few round pillows from a cubby and place them opposite each other on the central area rug. “But no chairs, either. Or shoes.”

His brow cocks. “I’d rather do yoga than guided meditation, Stirling.” He points at a massage table, currently folded up against a wall. “ That , I would volunteer for.”

“No meditation, either. And no massage.” I lower onto one of the pillows, crossing my legs in front of me, then pat the other pillow. “Come on, don’t tell me you can’t sit crisscross apple-sauce.”

He toes off his shiny Italian shoes. “Can’t promise my feet don’t stink. ”

I smile. “That’s why I pumped the air full of oils.”

He comes to the floor easily, as flexible as I knew he’d be from observing the way he moves. I purposefully put the pillows close together, so I’m prepared for the moment our knees touch. It still makes my breath catch.

Kieran stills, looking a question at me— Are you going to move back, or am I?

I don’t answer him. Nor do I move.

“Comfortable?” I ask.

“I am if you are.”

“I am, thank you.”

I’m actually the opposite of comfortable being this close to him. Close enough to smell his faded cologne and the clean musk beneath. Close enough that his broad shoulders take up most of my line of sight. And close enough that the heat of his body seeps through his slacks and my leggings into me.

But I’m committed.

His eyes narrow. “What are we doing?”

“This is our talking circle.”

“Our what now?”

“Think of it as a space where we come to resolve conflicts, make compromises, or simply share unfiltered thoughts. Today, we’re going to use it to broker a deal.”

“A deal,” he repeats, clearly mystified.

I nod. “Will you hear me out?”

His shadowed gaze scans my face. “Yes.”

I take a deep breath, then leap into the unknown .

“As you know, our professional relationship took an unexpected turn Friday night.”

He stiffens and opens his mouth, but I lift a hand.

“You said you’d hear me out.”

Lips compressing, he nods.

“There are many people who’d say my behavior was grossly unprofessional. I shouldn’t have gone in the jacuzzi, shared details of my private life, or stayed the night in your guest room. I’ll admit, initially, I shared that mindset. But I’ve since given it a lot of thought and come to the conclusion that our experience was in line with my general methodology. Maybe it’s not something I’ve done before, but it nevertheless built trust. You shared more with me Friday night than you have before. Do you agree?”

“Don’t suppose you’ll accept the excuse I was high?”

I crack a smile. “No, Kieran.”

His jaw clenches as I say his name. “Then yes. I agree.”

“I think I made a mistake in how I’ve approached our time together. As I mentioned at our first meeting, I normally have weeks to prepare for new clients. Maybe if we’d done the usual interviews, we could have avoided this. Maybe not—it doesn’t matter. What matters is I’ve realized you’re a lot more likely to share with me if you see me as a friend rather than an adversary.”

“A friend?” he scoffs. “You can’t be that blind. How many more times do I have to get a hard-on looking at you for you to admit I want you? Under me, above me, sideways, upside-down… Doesn’t matter. ”

My face flames. So does my body. I don’t bother hiding my reaction; instead, I meet his challenging gaze head-on.

“I’m not blind. I understand you think you want to have sex with me.”

“I think ? There’s no thought involved.” He leans back on his hands. “Look down and you’ll have the proof. It’s not fuckin’ pleasant, I’ll tell you that much. I’d turn it off if I could.”

By force of will, I don’t look at his lap. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” I say softly. “The opposite, really. If you agree to my proposal, I think it will help.”

“Not likely—unless it involves you sitting on my face.”

The erotic visual makes my core clench hard; it also annoys me. “Enough, Kieran.”

“It’ll never be enough, Stirling.” He glances between my crossed legs. “Are you throbbing for me?”

“Goddammit! Stop!”

My yell surprises me more than him. While I struggle with dismay, he struggles not to laugh.

“Do you know why I’m so good at chess?”

I clench my hands together to prevent them from reaching up and pulling my hair out. “What does chess have to do with anything?”

“I’m good at chess—brilliant, really—because I can see the future. The variables, the probabilities. The more I know about who I’m playing, the easier it is for me to win.”

“What are you getting at?”

“I know what your proposal is. You want to have more exchanges like we had on Friday. I tell you something, you shrink my brain, and then you reward me with details about your life because you’ve figured out I want to know everything about you.”

Son of a bitch…

He sits up, shifting forward until our knees bump again. “You know what the flaw in your plan is? You think the more I know about you, the less I’ll want to fuck you.” He chuckles, low and menacing. “I guarantee that won’t be the case.”

My stomach sinks, taking my pride with it. He outmaneuvered me before I even managed to set pieces on the board. As my illusions of control crash and burn around me, all I can think is how foolish I was to imagine I could win a battle of wits with a king.

With no other options, I pull off my masks and lay down my weapons. My resigned sigh makes his focus narrow.

“You’re right, Kieran. I do think that because I’m not the woman you’ve built a fantasy world around. That woman is your idea of me. The sex therapist, the former Domme, the first woman since your mother to call you on your shit… whatever is causing this infatuation, it isn’t me .”

His eyes glitter. “Agree to disagree.”

I wave the words away. “Fine. My proposal stands. You give me the truth—unfiltered and honest—and commit to exploring the underlying causes of your binge-drinking and drug use. If you do that, I’ll give you a truth in return.”

“What if I want something other than a truth from you? ”

I shake my head. “We’re not negotiating. You can ask me one question, and I’ll answer honestly.” I pause, then add, “Unless I deem it inappropriate.”

I don’t trust the look on his face. Confident. Borderline ruthless. He’s ignoring my white flag and readying a final volley.

“There’s always negotiation in business deals, Stirling. Always.”

He leans forward another inch, bringing us eye-to-eye. Too close. Our mouths are only a few inches apart. I can feel his breath. See the individual bristles on his jaw. His eyes are midnight seas reflecting the flickering lights of the fake candles on a shelf behind me.

“I’ll give you this week’s truth, and you’ll come with me to a benefit for Alzheimer’s on Friday night.”

My eyes widen. “Absolutely not.”

“Even if I tell you why I lost my shit two months ago? Full disclosure. The whole, ugly truth.”

I open my mouth. Then close it.

Kieran smiles, slow and victorious, and whispers, “Checkmate.”