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  “Leandro, I’m going to ask you a question, and I want an honest answer.”

  His eyes flicker up to mine.

  “Are you drunk right now?” I should have worded that differently. I don’t know why I seem to keep losing my footing with him.

  But I will not treat someone while they’re under the influence of alcohol or illegal substances.

  Annoyance flashes through his eyes, and then they narrow on me. “No.” His jaw is tight.

  “I can smell it on you—the alcohol. I will not treat you while you’re drunk or high.” I scoot forward in my seat, my back straight, and I’m sitting on the edge, my hands curling around it.

  “I’m not drunk or high,” he grinds out the words. His hands are clasped so tightly together that his knuckles are white. “If you smell alcohol on me, it’s because I was drinking last night. Clearly, it was way too much because I woke up in a hotel room and realized I was late for my appointment with you. So, I pulled on last night’s clothes because they were all I had to wear, and I came straight here. I haven’t even showered.”

  Yes, I can tell.

  I bite my tongue so hard that I’m pretty sure I draw blood.

  I exhale a calming breath. “You could have called and rescheduled your appointment. It wouldn’t have been a problem.”

  My statement seems to throw him. His face blanks, like the thought didn’t even occur to him.

  Then, his expression hardens. “I didn’t want to miss my appointment today.”

  “But it’s okay to be late for it?” I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know why I did.

  I clear my throat. I go for a change of tactic. “Why didn’t you want to miss your appointment?”

  His eyes move to the wall behind me. He’s silent for a moment. Then, he looks back to me. “Because I want to get past this. I want to be the man I used to be.”

  “You know that there’s nothing wrong with the man you are now. Barring your coping mechanisms, the vices, you’re still the same man you were.”

  “No, I’m not.” His voice is a low growl. He looks away.

  “Well, Leandro, if you want to change, get back to the man you used to be, then you need to make the effort here. And this”—I gesture a hand to him—“isn’t making the effort.”

  His dark eyes flash back to mine. His jaw is tight, looking like it might shatter. “I came, didn’t I?”

  “Yes.” I nod. “But forty minutes late.”

  His gaze narrows. Then, he moves his eyes to my empty hands. “Don’t you need to make notes or something?” He juts his chin in my direction.

  “No, I don’t need to make notes. The appointment will be short, as you have only twenty minutes left. I’ll remember all we talk about in that time. Don’t worry.”

  His brows pull together, a furrow appearing between them. “You’re not going to see me for the full hour?”

  “No, I can’t. I have other patients who have scheduled appointments, who need my help, too.”

  “For fuck’s sake!” he growls. Leaning forward, he rests his elbows on his thighs and drives his fingers into his black hair.

  I let the silence settle between us, leaving him to talk when he’s ready.

  “I had a…bad day yesterday.” His voice is low, nearing a whisper.

  “Bad in what way?”

  He lifts those black eyes to mine, and I see a world of pain in them.

  “Bad, as in…I tried to drive my car.”

  “And how did that go?”

  He lets out a bitter-sounding laugh. “It didn’t. I choked like a little bitch. Then, I got out of my car and smashed the hell out of her with a baseball bat.”

  “How did that make you feel?”

  “Smashing my car up? Good, while I was doing it. Then, afterward…I felt like shit, so I went inside and smashed up all my racing trophies.”

  “And did smashing up your trophies make you feel better?”

  “No.”

  “Why do you think you did it—smashing up your car and trophies?”

  “Because I didn’t want constant reminders of who I used to be. And who I am now.”

  He has a clear perception of why he behaves as he does. That gives me a lot of hope for his recovery.

  “And who are you now?”

  “A shell of the man I was.” His shoulders drop. “I’m the guy who can’t face the failure that he is, so I did the same as always whenever I feel like that. I went out to a bar and got trashed. Then, I woke up in a hotel room with two women in bed with me and little recollection of the night before.”

  Getting up from my seat, I grab my water bottle from my desk. I’m covering. It’s really bothering me, knowing that he had sex with not only one woman, but two.

  Why is this affecting me in this way?

  It shouldn’t. And it can’t.

  I push my feelings aside and sit back down. “Sorry. My throat is dry today,” I explain in way of my water departure.

  He’s closely watching me with those dark eyes of his.

  “You’re not a failure, Leandro. You suffered a terrible accident. What you’re feeling is normal.”

  “I don’t…” He blows out a breath. “I don’t feel normal. I feel weak.” His words are whispered, his voice broken.

  I feel his pain wrap around me in a way that I’m not familiar with.

  “You’re not weak, Leandro. You’re human.” My voice sounds different, even to my own ears. I always soften my tone with my patients, but there’s something else in my voice that I can’t place.

  His eyes lift to mine, and something unexpected moves through my chest.

  Compassion.

  It’s compassion. I feel it all the time for my patients.

  Before I can question myself, I quickly glance from him to the clock.

  Clearing my throat, I say, “I’m really sorry that I can’t extend our session right now, but I also don’t want to leave this until our next session. I think talking more today could really help. Can you come back at six p.m., and we’ll talk more then? How does that sound to you?”

  I see the first flicker of a genuine smile on his face.

  “That would be great. Thank you.”

  His sincerity touches me like fingers brushing over my skin.

  Crap! I was supposed to have dinner with Dan after work before his shift at the hospital. We’ve both been working a lot, and his shifts have meant that we haven’t been able to see each other much over the last two weeks.

  I have to call him and let him know that I’ll be seeing a patient, so I can’t make it.

  “Okay.” I get up from my seat and walk toward the exit door. “So, I’ll see you back here at six.”

  After he walks toward me, I open the door, and Leandro’s arm accidentally brushes mine. Electricity sparks up my arm with an intensity that I’ve never felt before. My lungs feel compressed.

  Lifting my eyes to his face, I see he’s already looking at me.

  His eyes are fathomless. Depthless. Eyes I could fall into.

  I feel caught off guard.

  My face is warm, and I know my cheeks are red. Catching myself, I look away and wrap my hand around my arm, willing the feel of his touch to dissipate.

  “Sadie won’t be here when you arrive. She’ll have left for the day, so just come straight into my office. I’ll be here.” Maintaining professionalism, I force my eyes back to his.

  I can’t get a read on him.

  He’s smiling, but what that smile means, I’m not sure.

  Does he know he affected me just now?

  There’s a dimple etched deep in his cheek. It only works to increase his handsomeness.

  I feel a ripple in my chest.

  You’re his therapist.

  I take a step back.

  “I’ll see you at six, India.” He turns and begins walking down the stairs.

  Closing the door, I realize that’s the first time he’s called me by my first name, and hearing him say it with his sexy Brazi
lian accent…well, let’s just say the feeling it leaves me with is amazing.

  And that’s not good.

  It’s not good at all.

  I FELT SOMETHING when my arm brushed India’s. Something intense.

  A simple brush of our arms, and exhilaration rushed through me.

  The thing is, when touching women, I haven’t felt anything since the accident. No connection. Nothing. I fuck to forget, not because I want those women.

  And I’m pretty sure India felt our connection, too. I saw the way her cheeks flushed and how she curled her hand around her arm where we’d touched.

  I affect her.

  I wasn’t sure if I did, but now, I’m pretty damn sure that I do.

  I like her. But I don’t want to fuck this up because I really think she can help me. After last night, I need her help more than I realized.

  It’s almost six p.m., and I’m on my way back to India’s office.

  India. I love the sound of her name each time I say it.

  And I love how her voice sounds when saying my name.

  I wonder how it will sound as it screams from her lips while I’m fucking her.

  I can’t fuck her.

  Balancing the coffees I just picked up from Starbucks with the takeout sandwiches, I push through the door into her reception area.

  It’s empty, as she said it would be.

  It’ll be just her and me here. I don’t know if that’s a good idea, to be honest. I don’t know if I can trust myself not to make a move.

  Jesus, I’m a grown man. I can control myself around her.

  I give a knock on her door before letting myself in.

  She’s sitting at her desk, talking on the phone. She smiles those red lips at me, and I feel my cock stir to life.

  Down, boy.

  The smile still on her face, she lifts a finger, letting me know that she’ll be a minute.

  I give a nod and then put the coffees and the bag containing the sandwiches down on the table. I take a seat.

  “Sounds good. Okay. See you later. Love you.”

  Love you?

  She’s definitely not married, as there’s no ring.

  Does she have a boyfriend?

  Of course she has a boyfriend. Look at her.

  Hanging up her phone, she gets up from her chair and walks over to where I’m sitting. She takes her seat across from me. “Sorry about that.”

  “No worries. I brought coffee and a couple of sandwiches in case you haven’t eaten.”

  Her eyes flicker with surprise, like I’m the first guy to ever bring her food.

  “I haven’t eaten. That was really thoughtful of you, Leandro. Thank you. But please let me reimburse you for the coffee and sandwich.”

  She makes to get up, but I stop her with my words. “No. My treat.” I wave her off.

  She pauses for a moment and then lowers her butt back into the seat. “Okay. Thank you.”

  Reaching over the coffee table separating us, I hand her one of the coffees, and in the exchange, I make sure that my fingers brush hers.

  Why I do that, I have no clue.

  Okay, I do have a clue. I want to see her react to me again.

  My eyes search her face for a reaction, but I get nothing this time.

  Feeling a bit deflated, I pick up my own coffee and rest back in the chair.

  “I got you a black coffee,” I tell her. “I wasn’t sure if you took milk or sugar.” I reach into my pocket and pull out some tiny milk capsules and sugar sachets.

  “Black is perfect.” She smiles, the cup by her lips. Then, she takes a sip.

  She drinks black coffee and wears red lipstick.

  She’s fucking perfect.

  “So, I was thinking”—she puts the coffee back down—“about how we should approach your treatment going forward.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Well, am I right in thinking that you feel that to get your life back, you need to be able to race?”

  “I don’t feel. I know,” I say with surety.

  “Okay. So, of course, you need to talk about the accident, get those feelings out there for you to deal with them. Clearly, bottling them up isn’t working for you. I thought, while we’re doing that, we can work on getting you back in a car.”

  All my muscles stiffen up, and she notices.

  “Baby steps,” she says softly. “What I mean is, I was thinking we could go outside, sit in my car, and do our session in there.”

  I lift a brow. “Your methods are a little strange. Anyone ever tell you that?”

  “Yes. Right before they tell me that my methods really helped them.”

  A smile edges her lips, and it’s sexy as fuck.

  “Confident?” I tease.

  “Confidence is surety, and I’m sure this will help.”

  “Okay.” I pick up my coffee and get to my feet. “Lead the way.”

  I give a sweeping hand gesture as she gets to her feet.

  “Let me just grab my car keys,” she says.

  I watch her walk away from me, over to her desk, where she leans overs to retrieve her keys. The fabric of her fitted pencil skirt stretches over her ass.

  She has an amazing ass.

  God, the things I could do to that ass while she’s bent over that desk.

  My cock starts to stir in my pants. I have to quickly rearrange myself before she turns back around to me.

  “Should I bring the sandwiches as well?” I ask.

  “Of course.” She smiles up at me, as she bends to retrieve her coffee from the table.

  Snatching up the bag containing the sandwiches, I wait for her to round the coffee table, then, I follow her out of the office and to her car.

  THE MOMENT WE’RE SEATED IN MY CAR, I wonder if I’ve made a mistake, putting myself in such close proximity to Leandro.

  I can smell the sandalwood in his aftershave along with his own unique scent, and it’s doing things to me.

  The man is like a walking sexual conductor.

  It’s unnerving.

  Because a man has never affected me in this way before.

  I haven’t ever felt as physically attracted to a man as I do Leandro.

  I’m his therapist.

  The reminder hits me like a blast of cold water in the face, and my libido. I need to put a stop to my feelings and thoughts—right now.

  “Nice car,” he comments from the passenger seat.

  “Thank you.”

  I have to have a cool car with a car-obsessed son. Jett picked it out. He saw it at the showroom, and it was love at first sight for him, so of course, I had to buy it.

  There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for my son, including taking out a twenty-thousand-pound loan to buy a fifteen-year-old Aston Martin that had seventy-five-thousand miles on the clock. I have to admit, it is a stunning car and awesome to drive. I feel like a movie star when I drive it.

  I almost tell Leandro that it was Jett who talked me into buying it, but I stop myself. I don’t share my private life with patients.

  “A 2000 Aston Martin DB7 Vantage, right?”

  “Right.” I smile. “You seem surprised I have this car.”

  He blinks back at me, his shoulder lifting in a half shrug. “I guess I just expected you to have a…I don’t know, an Audi or a Toyota. This doesn’t fit with your…image.”

  “You mean, the image that you have of me.”

  Something passes through his eyes that I can’t discern.

  “I guess.” He looks away. “So, are you into cars?”

  “No. But someone close to me is. I was talked into buying this. It’s pretty, and it gets me from A to B, so I’m happy.” I let out a light laugh.

  He laughs, and it’s rich and deep. “That sounds like something I would expect you, a woman, to say.”

  “Well, I’m glad I tick off at least one of your stereotypical boxes.”

  He turns to look at me. His stare is direct and intense. “You tick more than one box.”
<
br />   I feel a tremor deep inside. I swallow down.

  I tear my eyes from his. “What sandwiches did you bring?”

  There’s a slight pause before he answers, “I played it safe.” He reaches into the bag and pulls them out. “Ham or turkey?”

  “Turkey, please.”

  He hands it over. I make sure not to touch his fingers, like when he handed me the coffee earlier. I felt like I had an electrical surge pulsing up my finger. It took everything in me to maintain my composure.

  I unwrap the sandwich and take a bite. I have to hold back a moan. I haven’t eaten all day, and right now, this sandwich tastes like heaven.

  Putting the sandwich on my lap, I pick up my coffee from the cup holder in my car, and I catch Leandro looking away from me.

  Was he watching me?

  I scratch the thought from my mind and focus on my job, which is helping him.

  Taking a sip of coffee, I keep the cup in my hand. “How does this feel, being here in my car?”

  “Fine.” He shrugs. “It’s stationary, and I’m in the passenger seat.”

  “How is traveling in a car as a passenger? Better or worse?”

  Pressing his cup to his lips, he appears to think my question over. “Well, I avoid being in cars as much as possible, which is easy while living in the city since I can travel pretty much anywhere by the Tube. But when I do have to be a passenger…I’m anxious.”

  “Because?”

  “I’m not in control.” He takes a breath, setting his coffee on his thigh. His fingers curl around the cup. “I have to be in control in all aspects of my life. That’s what frustrates me about all of this.”

  “Not being in control?”

  “Mmhmm.”

  “So, you try to take control back in the only way you can at the moment, and that’s in a destructive manner in your life.”

  I can feel his eyes on me, so I turn in my seat to look at him. It’s important to maintain eye contact with a patient—only, being in the car isn’t easy.

  “You mean, the drinking and the women?”

  Lifting a shoulder, I say, “Do you think those are positive things in your life?”

  “I drank and had women before the accident.”

  “But I’m guessing, before, you did those things for enjoyment, not to cover your pain.”