15. Kieran

Chapter 15

Kieran

S he lied about seeing someone. I know that now. If I’d been thinking straight, I wouldn’t have even asked. My gut tells me Stirling is a loyal woman; if she’d met someone in the last two weeks and was invested in a new relationship, she never would have come to my house last Friday. She certainly wouldn’t have stripped to a thong and joined me in the jacuzzi, no matter how dedicated she is to my therapy. And she wouldn’t keep looking at me with such desperate, conflicted need in those golden-brown eyes.

On the other hand, I’m a grown man. I was raised to respect a woman’s words and boundaries, and Stirling has been clear— repeatedly —that she doesn’t want to explore what’s happening between us. Even if her body is screaming the opposite—that she wants me as much as I want her.

I’m still mulling the mess of it all an hour later. Seated next to my brother at a table near the stage, I sip a glass of sparkling water and watch Stirling. She stands fifteen feet away with Gail in a pocket of empty space. My sister-in-law chatters nonstop, oblivious to the undercurrent from nearby tables. The side glances and outright stares—curious, covetous, and in a fair number of cases, scandalized. All directed at the woman who shines brighter in her silky black gown and tiny bird pendant than those wearing sequins and dripping diamonds.

If I didn’t know Stirling, I’d think she was relaxed and comfortable. Enjoying herself, even.

She’s not.

Beneath her beautiful mask of congeniality is a snarling animal pacing in its cage. She’s highly aware of the stares, the whispers that accompanied our entrance and continue to follow her like a mist. She hates the attention.

Right now, she probably hates me. But I’m not her enemy. Half the reason I blackmailed her into coming tonight was to wrap her in the legitimacy of my name. Okay, maybe not half the reason. But a solid fifteen percent.

She’ll hate me for sure if she realizes I’m trying to protect her. But for all her understanding of the human psyche, she’s never been run through the toxic grinder of trash media. She may not even know that her cover of anonymity—which cracked with that first article—was officially blown three days ago.

Someone from her old life sold her out for a quick buck. Her career as a dominatrix is now circulating, including an anonymous interview that doesn’t skimp on details. And the details are… inflammatory.

As far as I know, Stirling hasn’t felt the repercussions yet. But it’s only a matter of time. As gifted a therapist as she is, her famous clients will be second-guessing their association with her. Their publicists and managers will be demanding they cut ties.

I have someone tracking down the anonymous asshole’s identity. While it would feel lovely to break his face with my fist, I’m mature enough to know there are less violent and more efficient ways to make him regret being born.

“I’m curious—” starts Alistair.

“No, you’re not,” I snap.

He grins behind his cocktail glass. “Sure am. Never seen you this rabid over a woman.” His smile vanishes. Clearing his throat, he looks away guiltily.

My stomach clenches. I feel sick, his guilt a splash in the sudden ocean of mine.

Because he’s right.

I loved Liz deeply. From the moment I met her, I knew she was going to be my wife. She was soft and gentle and kind. An antidote to my rough edges; clear skies to my storm. Her death and that of our unborn child destroyed me. I’d never felt that kind of pain. Some days, on anniversaries or when I see something that reminds me of her, I still can’t believe I survived her loss.

But maybe that in itself is a kind of explanation for this fixation I have with Stirling. Like an earthquake that exposes a hidden cave system, perhaps grief opened parts of me that weren’t visible before. Brought oxygen and life to the darkest recesses of my spirit. I’m too feral now for anyone gentle. Too sharp for anyone soft.

Whatever the reason, Alistair’s right. I’ve never felt need like this. Obsession. A primal directive to take and claim a woman. Not subdue her—never subdue. More like unfold. I want to unwrap her and lick her secrets. I want her to trust me and need me and challenge me.

I want more than her body.

I want her fucking soul.

The night wears on. There’s a dinner I don’t taste because I’m too focused on watching Stirling eat. A performance by a Broadway star I don’t hear because Stirling accidentally touches my hand reaching for a glass of water and afterward, I can’t stop thinking about her fingers, long and delicate, and how they’d feel wrapped around my cock.

“Stop staring,” she hisses.

“I can’t.” I sound so annoyed by the fact, she gives me a startled look. I almost grab her by the chin and kiss her. She flushes and turns her attention to the stage.

The auction begins. An incredible amount of money is raised, a good portion of it via paddles from our table.

In addition to my brother and me, three of Lumitech’s executive officers are present with their partners. Oliver, Danielle, and Henry have been with us since Lumitech’s infancy. They’ve met our parents. I’ve been to their homes. Attended birthday parties and weddings. They grieved with me when Liz died, have supported me through professional highs and lows, and kept the company running with Alistair when I was drinking myself to oblivion.

They’re so loyal that none of them have blinked an eye tonight at the permanent frown on my face or my inability to hold a conversation for longer than ten seconds.

I would give them raises, but they don’t need more money. Plus, I froze executive salaries six years ago in order to push funds into our workforce wage packages. Maybe I’ll send them fruit baskets.

After the auction, there’s a lull for dessert and coffee. When Talia and Gail disappear to the bathroom, I finally tune into the discussion at the table.

“…putting everything he has into it,” Henry says, throwing a loaded glance my way.

I frown at Alistair. “Who and what?”

“Lyle Porter at SubFusion,” he says in a low voice. “Rumor is he’s personally sunk eight figures into their nanorobotics project. Same objective we have.” He winces. “Sorry, had .”

Schooling my expression, I shrug. “Good luck to him. Knowing Lyle, though, he might as well have lit the money on fire. He has a third of his father’s braincells and probably doesn’t know the difference between a biologist and a botanist.”

Across the table, Oliver has a coughing fit and his wife, Jenny—drunk as she always is at these events—pats halfheartedly at his back. He waves her off and gulps down the rest of his wine.

“You’re really not bothered, Kier?” asks Henry.

My smile is forced. “Nope.”

It does bother me. Not because I begrudge another company going after the same objective as us. Competition equals faster innovation in our field, after all. I simply don’t like Lyle, who took over SubFusion when his father retired four years ago. In our limited interactions, he’s come off as the type to smile at your face and talk smack behind your back. He’s also a shit boss according to the numerous SubFusion ex-employees Lumitech has absorbed over the years.

If I’m brutally honest with myself, though, I’m mostly jealous Lyle has the freedom to fund and research whatever he wants because his company isn’t a global heavyweight like Lumitech. He flies under the radar in a way I can’t, which means he probably sleeps like a baby because no one is threatening to kill him or his family members. Lucky fuck.

The lights dim for another performance. Talia returns to the table, distracting me with nothing more than her nearness. After the applause dies down, the head of the organization gives a speech. At the end, she thanks their primary donor. Lumitech, of course. Alistair goes onstage to accept the plaque that will hang next to the ones from previous years in our corporate lobby.

Then he gives a short talk about our mother. Even prepared for it, I’m still sucker punched as he tells two hundred people about the woman who birthed us. How she defied her parents’ expectations of joining the family alterations business and went to university for her teaching credential. How she loved dancing, classical music, dark beers, and teaching little hellions to read.

Alistair’s voice cracks. His words blend together as I remember the same crack in my father’s voice from our phone call a few days ago. The anguish he couldn’t hide as he told me that for the first time since her diagnosis, Mam hadn’t recognized him during their morning visit.

Fingers clamp on my hand, which lies fisted on my thigh. My gaze snaps to Stirling. Her eyes are warm pools of bronze, her expression soft but fierce as she pries my fingers apart, threads hers between them, and holds tight.

The itch under my skin fades. My next breath unravels the tightness in my chest. I don’t let go of her hand until it’s time to leave.

We say our goodbyes to the table, and Sven escorts us to the waiting limo. We don’t speak as we buckle in. Dylan gives me a questioning look that I return with a glare. Minutes pass. Wrapped in shadows and the background hum of the road, the silence simmers.

I want to thank her for what she did but don’t know how. Not without making her uncomfortable, possibly defensive. She broke her own rule and touched me tonight. And we both know she didn’t do it as my therapist.

Too soon, we enter her neighborhood. Suddenly desperate to hear her voice, I ask her if she’s seen the new article. I immediately want to kick myself, but she merely nods and sighs.

“A friend sent it to me.”

I want to tell her I’m working on a retraction but know she won’t appreciate my meddling. I also don’t want her to feel like she owes me anything.

I clear my throat, feeling awkward as fuck. “Is there anything—that is, are you all right?”

Smooth, Kier.

She studies me, eyes gleaming, passing streetlights flickering across the side of her face. “That’s kind of you to ask, but I’m fine. In fact, I’m kind of glad it happened.”

The limo stops outside her house. Dylan launches off his seat and shoves me aside to exit through my door. I don’t think his elbow to my gut is accidental, the force of it knocking the air from me in an undignified grunt.

“Sorry,” he lies, then slams the door.

I cough. “Fucker.”

“Are you all right?” asks Stirling, her lips fighting a smile.

“I will be when I fire him.”

She laughs softly. “Sure you will.”

I grin at her like an idiot until she blinks and picks up her little purse. My heart leaps as she reaches for the door handle.

“I’m sorry I made you come tonight.”

She hesitates, then shifts to face me. “I’m not. You were right. It’s a worthy cause. ”

“Thank you, by the way, for the donation check you snuck off to write.”

Her eyes flare as she realizes how closely I watched her tonight—every damn second except when she was in the bathroom. I would have watched her there, too, if I could have.

Her expression smooths. “Is there anything else, Kieran, or can I go?”

The wry tone makes me want to grin again, but I bite it back. “Yeah, one more thing. You said you were glad about the article. Why?”

I’m breaking the rules. She doesn’t owe me a truth. But she gives it to me anyway.

“It made me realize how important that part of my life was. If I hadn’t walked that path, I wouldn’t be where I am today. I’m not ashamed of my history with the kink community. I’m proud of it. The fact it’s triggering so many people only highlights the ignorance and shame around the topic.”

She trails off, eyes flickering like she’s surprised she said so much. “Anyway, you could say I’ve been reevaluating my career goals over the last few days.” Her lips twist. “I found myself with some unexpected free time when two clients fired me.”

I wince. “I’m sorry.”

She shrugs. “Like I said, I’m okay with it.”

“You think everything happens for a reason?”

Her eyes find mine and a zing of awareness flashes down my spine. I never want to stop looking at her. For her to stop looking at me.

“Not exactly. But I do think challenges break off pieces of us we don’t need anymore. If we want to, we can use those pieces to lay the groundwork for a new path forward.”

I have a feeling she intends the words to apply to me more than her, but I can’t think past how they relate to her life. When I put two and two together, my stomach bottoms out.

“You’re going back to it?” I ask hoarsely. “The lifestyle?”

She hesitates. “Not as a Domme, no.”

My relief is embarrassingly obvious, but the potency of the emotion leaves no room for self-consciousness. “Teaching, then?”

After another pause, she nods. “Part-time. But who knows, maybe it will expand from there. My inbox has been equal parts hate mail and invitations for speaking engagements. There are even two offers for book deals.”

My mouth dries up, my relief flattened between awe and anxiety. It doesn’t surprise me that others can recognize what a brilliant light she is. She’s a comet whose fiery tail shines on me now, but eventually, she’ll fade from my sky and illuminate others’.

I don’t have her, but I feel like I’m losing her.

“Well, I’m not firing you,” I say gruffly.

She smiles. “Thanks. See you Wednesday?”

I nod, and she exits the limo with smooth grace. Sven appears and escorts her to her front door. Even though I know he’ll wait until he hears a lock turn, I twitch as I wonder if she has an alarm system. If she has the means to defend herself if someone breaks in.

I torture myself with fears until Sven joins me in the back, occupying Stirling’s seat. Then I torture myself wondering if he can feel the fading heat of her body.

“You’ve gotta figure this out,” he says as the limo pulls away from the one place I want to be.

My teeth clench. “I offered to find another therapist. She said no.”

He hands me his phone. I stare at the screen, not understanding what I’m reading at first. When it registers, my fingers spasm.

Crossroads is proud to welcome back

Dr. Talia Stirling

aka The Professor

Saturdays 6pm - 8pm

Register here

Once I’ve read it a hundred times and cycled through the same number of emotions, I toss Sven the phone. Crossing my arms over my chest, I slouch in my seat and glare out the window .

A solid minute later, he drawls, “How’s the pouting going?”

Fucker always makes me smile when I don’t want to. Shaking my head, I ask, “Why even show me that?”

“You giving up?”

“Giving up on what?” I’m angry again. “Maybe Stirling’s right. Maybe this… thing I feel doesn’t have anything to do with her as a person. Maybe it’s some weird side effect of the therapy or the illicitness of it—of her. I don’t even know her. Not really.”

“But you want to.”

“You’re fired.”

“Thank God. I can finally take that vacation to Maui.”

Now I’m laughing. When it tapers off, I clear my throat. “Did you…?”

“Take an Uber to her house during the benefit in order to break in and assess her security?”

I nod, ignoring a pinch of guilt.

“Sure did. She has a standard alarm system. It’s functional. I confirmed with her that she sets it every night and suggested she set it during the day as well. All doors, windows, and crawl spaces are secure.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. “Thanks.”

He’s quiet for a while, then says, “You match.”

I scowl at him. “What?”

Shrugging his gargantuan shoulders, he gives me a look I’ve never seen on his face. Close to sympathy. Then he blows my mind with the most emotional speech he’s ever made .

“You and Stirling—you fit. Anyone with eyes can see it, hear it when you talk to each other. Maybe this shit has always been easy for you in the past, but you’re not an easy man anymore, Kier—if you ever really were. And if Stirling were easy, she wouldn’t be your match.”

My throat feels funny. “You’ve gone soft, big man.”

He glowers. “I know it’s not an ideal situation, her being your therapist. Maybe if she were horrible at it, but she’s not. You’re at least twenty percent more tolerable since you started unloading your demons in her office.”

“Thanks,” I grouse.

“All I’m saying is I don’t think you should give up. Use that high IQ you supposedly have. Solve the equation or whatever.” He makes a disgusted sound. “The first event is next week. I’m done talking.”

I look away. Stare at nothing. Think about everything.

Finally, I say, “Set it up.”

Sven doesn’t reply; he doesn’t need to. This was his harebrained idea, and I’ll be sure to remind him when it blows up in my face.

Guess I’m going back to Crossroads.