Richard yawned, turning slightly, and I froze. My thoughts also seemed to condense to immobility, and I stood there, just staring down at him, afraid to move a single muscle. Was he waking up? What would he think when he saw me in his bedroom?
I looked despairingly back at the entrance to the bedroom, now seeming like it was miles away. Coming here was a mistake, stepping over the professional line, I knew. I ought to get out of here before anything else happened-
Richard yawned again – and this time, he turned all the way over, onto his back. He spread his arms out wide and then slipped one back beneath his head, the other drifting down over the hard lines of his six-pack abs to scratch lazily at his taut stomach.
And just below that hand...
How could I resist? Even Mother Teresa herself would have taken a gander to see what this incredible specimen of muscled and fit male health had to offer.
I looked.
Goddamn.
He hadn't been lying during that earlier session, when he told me that he was packing a solid eight inches.
I might have stood there for another hour, longer, just admiring the sight of something that I hadn't considered how much I missed. But Richard yawned again, and I saw his eyes flutter.
The man was waking up.
Chapter Ten
LINDA
*
I was in so much trouble.
I stood in the bedroom of my client, without his permission, looking down at his naked body in bed as he slept. I'd spent the last five minutes, at least, just standing here and gawking at the sight of his manhood, thinking all kinds of incredibly inappropriate thoughts about how much I wanted to help him in decidedly non-professional ways. I was supposed to be reserved and proper, and now I was standing here and looking down at Richard's big, hard-
And even as I stood there, frozen and not knowing what to do, Richard yawned and started moving. He was waking up, his eyelashes, surprisingly delicate on his hard face, twitching.
I needed to do something. Anything. Come on, Linda, get your ass in gear and just make a move!
My mind shouting at me, I darted forward, reaching out to grab one of the twisted sheets that Richard had apparently kicked off in his sleep. It moved loosely in my hands, and I pulled it forward and over him. It settled down on top of him, covering most of that magnificently well-muscled and fit body, just as he blinked his eyes.
"Hmmmrph," he grunted out distinctly, lifting his head up from the pillow and looking sleepily at me. He clearly wasn't fully awake yet, and he looked at me with no comprehension in his face.
"Hi Richard," I said, desperately trying to keep some bit of professionalism in my voice. "You missed our session this morning, so I came out to check on you."
The man blinked again, his eyes finally focusing on me as he came fully awake. He opened his mouth as if to say something – but then his eyes suddenly widened. His hand shot out, scrabbling at the covers and peeling them off him, as he rolled out of bed and sprinted away, through a door on the far side of the room to the bathroom.
"Richard?" I called out, taking a hesitant step towards the door through which he'd disappeared.
A second later, I heard the unmistakable sounds of someone being sick. Oh. I stepped into the doorway and, sure enough, I saw Richard down on his knees, hands wrapped around both sides of the toilet as he lost the contents of his stomach.
Even as he threw up, I couldn't help but admire how his shoulders rippled, how I could see the different muscles in his back moving beneath the surface. "Are you sick?" I asked, wondering if I should reach out and pat him on the shoulder, maybe rub his back.
He spat into the toilet and sat back, reaching up to flush the contents away. "Hungover," he croaked, looking back at me and blinking a couple times. "Last night wasn't..." he shuddered, turning back to the toilet for a second, but managed to keep everything down this time. "It wasn't great."
I glanced back over my shoulder, looking at the mess of the room. "What happened?"
"I lost control. Slipped back, tried to go back to my old ways of keeping the voices quiet." When I turned back, I saw that Richard had climbed back up to his feet. For the first time, he seemed to realize that he stood naked in front of me, and he made a half-hearted attempt to cover himself. "Er, could I get past, maybe grab some pants?"
"Oh! Of course!" I quickly stepped out of the open doorway into the bathroom, letting Richard head back out to the bedroom. I carefully averted my eyes as he pulled on some boxer briefs and a pair of jeans, intently studying the ceiling.
"You can look now," he said after a few minutes of curiosity-straining rustling.
I dropped my eyes back down from the ceiling and saw Richard shrugging his way into a button-up shirt. I almost implored him not to cover up that amazing chest, his rippling abs, but I bit my tongue to keep from saying anything that I might regret.
"Do you want to talk about last night?" I asked instead.
He sighed. "You eaten any breakfast?"
I'd grabbed a cereal bar when I left my apartment, but it still sat, now sadly crushed, in the bottom of my purse. "I could use a bite to eat," I admitted.
Richard reached up and ran a hand through his hair, leaving it slightly disheveled but somehow looking even better than before. "How'd you get in, anyway?" he asked as he led me downstairs, through the massive house towards its kitchen.
"Your younger brother, Sebastian. He let me in." We stepped into a huge kitchen, the marble-topped center island stretching down its length for what felt like miles. Perfectly polished stainless steel appliances gleamed from where they were set into the counter and the walls. I felt like I'd managed to step into the pages of an architecture magazine. "So, I gather that you're pretty wealthy, aren't you?"
He'd stepped around to tug the fridge door open, but leaned back out to look curiously at me. "Didn't I mention that in our sessions?"
"Yes, but I didn't imagine..." I spread my arms around, taking in all of the huge mansion. "I didn't think it would be quite so big."
"I don't like to talk numbers," Richard admitted. He pulled out a jar of peanut butter and some jelly, grabbing a loaf of pre-sliced bread from a breadbox tucked back on the counter. I watched with slight bemusement as he spread peanut butter and jelly on slices of bread that he balanced on his palm, not bothering to find a plate. "But yes, my entire family's quite well off."
"How well off?" The question was totally inappropriate, I knew, but it slipped out of my mouth before I could catch myself.
Richard gave me a crooked little smile. "Together, our total family is worth somewhere north of a billion dollars," he said casually, and then took a bite of his sandwich as I choked in disbelief.
A billionaire! I was standing in the house of an actual billionaire! I had a billionaire as a client! I'd seen a billionaire's big dick while he was sleeping, and the vision kept on popping back into my head and distracting me from my current train of thought!
"Breathe, doc," Richard said, still grinning at me as he chewed. "I'm still a normal person. Still coming to you for therapy. Money doesn't cure everything."
"I know," I said, even as I tried to get my breathing under control. "I'm just thinking about how my rates are set to go up at our next session."
He laughed at my stupid joke – but the laugh turned into a wince as he raised one palm to press against his temple. "Ow," he groaned. "You'd think that, given how many times I've sworn off drinking, one of them would stick."
"You mentioned voices," I said, stepping up to the other side of the counter. "Could you tell me about those?"
He rolled his eyes as he looked across the marble expanse at me. "Do you really need to analyze me now, doc? Are you sure that you're allowed to ask me questions like that, now that you've seen me naked?"
A shock ran down my spine, before I realized that he was talking about my glimpses of him as he threw up. "I'm asking because I care about you," I insisted.
"Not enough to let me ask you out
." These words came with unexpected harshness, and I recoiled a little.
"That's different," I said. "You're one of my clients. I might have seen you naked, but the reason I'm here is to help you – in a professional capacity. I know that there's something that's still really bothering you. What's the harm in just telling me about it?"
For a long minute, he didn't say anything. He just chewed his sandwich, finishing it in a few bites, his eyes still locked on me. I did my best to meet his gaze, not shrinking back from it or letting my eyes move away.
"Fine," Richard finally gave in, his shoulders drooping. "Yeah, there are voices. And they drive me crazy, sometimes. Is that what you want to hear?"
I stepped around the counter, moving over to stand next to him, on the same side. He didn't move as I approached, just watched me with his head hanging down in mingled anger and shame. I reached up and gently set my hand on his shoulder, feeling his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt. His muscles tensed for a second, and then relaxed again.
"What I want to do," I told him softly, "is help you." I meant every word that I said, and my heart melted as Richard turned and looked down at me. His face still looked almost like a mask, trying to hold back any sign of his inner emotions, but I saw a little spark of new emotion in his eyes.
Hope.
"Just talk to me," I said to Richard. "That's all that I want. Come sit down with me and talk, and I'll listen. Do you think that you can handle that?"
He shuddered again, but that glimmer of hope remained in his eyes as he nodded to me. "I can try," he said.
I located the coffee maker in the kitchen, a high-tech gadget that seemed to have more dials, knobs, and adjustable controls on it than the Space Shuttle, but managed to figure out how to brew two cups of coffee. I gave one to Richard, and then let him lead me into a sitting room with a couch and armchairs.
"The voices come when I'm tired," Richard said, after several seconds of sitting silently on the couch and gazing down into his cup of coffee. "They're the voices of my squad mates, of guys from my fourth tour."
"Your final tour," I asked as confirmation. "You haven't told me about that one yet."
"No." He sat in silence, took a sip of coffee, continued. "The other tours were good, overall. I helped people, killed enemies that wanted to hurt us, kept my men safe. I felt proud when I came back home; that's why I kept on signing up, kept going back. I'd fulfilled my requirement, but wanted to do more."
"Requirement?"
Richard gestured around at the huge mansion. "The money's been in my family for a long time," he explained. "The Stone family earned its fortune back in the Civil War, but we've always been in the military. Most of the money's invested in military-facing companies, and one of the stipulations of the trust, ever since my great-grandfather, has been that every Stone man must serve in the military before he's granted access to his trust fund."
"So Sebastian...?" I began, thinking of the rude, smart-tongued younger man.
He nodded. "Seb just served one tour, and he barely made it through that much – but he did it. And Teddy, our middle brother, also served. Teddy was an engineer, while Seb only just made it out of basic training, but every Stone has done his time, served his country."
"So what happened on the fourth tour?"
"Nothing, for most of it." Richard took another sip of his coffee, but I saw his fingers shaking a little, the cup not quite steady. "And that was part of the problem. I got confident, too confident. I let my guard down. And then, just a handful of days before the end, when I would be sent to head back to the States, we got hit."
This time, when he fell silent, I said nothing. I gave him time, letting him work through the traumatic memories and find his own words. Asking a question, I knew, would make things worse, not better.
"IED," he said hoarsely, staring down at the rippling surface of his coffee cup. "Roadside bombs, a decent setup. Whoever built this one was smart; they planned for a convoy, planted multiple bombs that wouldn't go off until the convoy hit the one at the end. That way, they could catch all the vehicles in the patrol, not just the first one."
"And what happened?"
He finally looked up at me, and I couldn't keep myself from drawing back a little at the sight of his expression. "My men died," he said, his voice a rattle. "They died, and I couldn't save them. And now, when I try and go to sleep, I hear their voices in my head."
"Richard," I said softly, my heart tearing at the agony in his voice. "Richard, it's not your fault. These men signed up for this tour of duty, knew that they were putting themselves in harm's way to protect the ones they loved. They knew this, just like you did. What happened to them wasn't your fault."
He nodded, but I saw his jaw tighten, the muscles twitching at the sides of his face. There was something else, I guessed suddenly. This was a big revelation, but there was something else, something even darker, still lurking inside of his head.
But for right now, that other topic could wait for another day. Him opening up to me like this, telling me about these voices, was a huge step forward. I stood up from the chair, moved over to sit next to him on the couch.
"It's okay, Richard," I said again, rubbing my hand on his arm, trying to lend him the comfort of my presence. "I'm proud of you for talking to me about this – and I want to promise you something."
He looked over at me, into my eyes. I held his gaze, speaking straight from my heart.
"I don't think any less of you because of it," I said softly, not letting my eyes leave his.
Chapter Eleven
LINDA
*
"I don't think any less of you," I repeated, looking at Richard sitting on the couch next to me in his huge family home.
He didn't speak for a minute, but then his eyes softened, his lips quirking up ever so slightly. "I believe you, Linda," he said, and leaned against me.
His weight against me felt warm and comforting. We sat there for several minutes, not speaking. We kept leaning against each other as we sipped at our hot cups of coffee, and I tried to convince myself that I was doing this to provide comfort to my client, not because it felt sinfully, almost embarrassingly good to have the warmth of a man soaking into my body through the contact.
Once our cups were empty, Richard stood up, and then held his free hand down to me. I accepted it, letting him pull me up from the couch, up to my feet. I landed on my feet very close to him, and I could swear that I felt more heat radiating off of his body, right through the thin shirt that clung to his big shoulders. He'd left the top two buttons after the collar unbuttoned, and I tried in vain to keep my eyes from moving to the curly little hairs visible on his exposed chest.
"If I ask you for a drink again," Richard murmured to me as we stood, inappropriately close to each other, "are you going to turn me down again?"
"It's not appropriate," I insisted, even as my eyes greedily drank in the slight swell of his pecs, the way his shoulders rose and fell with each breath he took. "As your psychiatrist, sleeping with you would be a huge breach of professionalism."
I finally tore my eyes away from his body and looked up at his face – only to see him grinning, one eyebrow raised. "Sleeping together?" he repeated my words back to me. "I think you're jumping ahead a few steps, doc. I was just talking about grabbing a drink together."
Shit. I'd made a mistake.
"Yes, but I know where you want that to lead!" I babbled, frantically trying to cover up the Freudian slip I'd just revealed to him. "You want to take me out to have a drink together, but that leads to romantic interactions – all of which are totally inappropriate! I shouldn't even be talking about this!" I finished, desperately trying to stop the spill of words pouring uncontrollably out of my mouth.
"And you don't want any of that to happen," he pressed.
God, with him standing so close, it was exactly what I wanted to happen. Why the hell had I thought that I could go without any sort of relationship, like a sexual camel, for so long?
I was parched, and his lips, his hands on me, were the only balm to soothe that aching need. "Of course not," I lied.
"So if I did this..." His hand slid around my waist, fingers pressing in against my hips. The fabric of my slacks did nothing to lessen the rush of heat that came from his touch. He tightened his big arm, drawing me in closer against him, up until I felt my chest bump ever so lightly against his.
"It would be very inappropriate," I breathed out, trying to ignore the rush of sensation coming from my chest, my hips, every part of me that touched him.
I just needed to keep my eyes away from his face. As soon as I looked up at his eyes, saw the heat smoldering there, I'd be lost. As soon as I looked at his mouth, those big, strong lips just begging for me to press my own against them and taste their richness, I knew that I'd be lost. I needed to keep my eyes away from his face, and disentangle myself quickly from this situation.
"You know," I heard him say from just above where I kept my eyes focused, "sometimes the inappropriate things are the most fun."
"Not when it could involve me losing my professional license," I responded, as my body insisted that Richard had a very good point that ought to be explored in much more graphic detail.
"I won't tell if you don't," he murmured, and I felt him moving in closer. His hand, still around my waist, tightened and drew me in even closer, pulling me against his hips. Despite the fabric of his jeans, I could definitely feel that organ that I'd seen earlier, hard and eager to come out and meet me.
I couldn't hold out any longer. My eyes finally climbed up above his chin, up to look back at him.
Sure enough, I immediately felt the heat in his gaze transfix me, pinning me in place like he'd just handcuffed me to a wall. One of his hands remained around my waist, but the other one rose up to land lightly beneath my chin, guiding me up so that my lips were aimed towards his.
"Just between the two of us," he whispered.
For Love of Valor: A Bad Boy Military Romance Page 7
