Mack (King #4)(4)

I squinted, my eyes straining to see his face but only able to make out his silhouette—broad shoulders, short hair, and fit-looking arms from the shadows of biceps I was able to spot. I could also see he wore dark pants—likely jeans—and a white tee shirt.

“That’s exactly why we need to talk,” I said. “It’s come to my attention that you are not here to seek therapy—”

“Leave.”

My mouth flapped for a moment. “I’m sorry, but you—”

“I said leave,” he growled.

Sadly for him, intimidation didn’t work on me. Not that I was stupid and wouldn’t get out of harm’s way. The question was, did he intend to harm me?

“And if I don’t?” I asked, testing the waters. His response would tell me everything I needed to know.

I waited for a reply.

And then I waited some more.

He’s not going to answer me. Fine. This was silly and a completely unproductive use of my time. I would just have to see him with my own two eyes. My gift would do the rest.

“Okay. These lights are going—” I flipped the switch, and the moment my eyes met his, I was hit by a hard wave of…

“Holy f*ck,” I gasped.

I flipped off the lights, turned, and left the room. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What was that?





CHAPTER THREE





That was not real, Ted. That was not real, I repeated to myself, fleeing back to my office through the brightly lit corridors, panting the entire way. I rushed past Shannon, who was trying to get my attention about some meeting, before I slammed my door shut.

Holy shit. I held my hand over my heart. The muscle pumped at a vigorous pace, a direct result of my body’s fight-or-flight response.

I leaned forward, planting my hands on my knees, catching my breath. Super. I’m having a nervous breakdown on my first week of work. That was the only explanation for what I’d just seen.

But what had I seen?

Oh, God. Those eyes. They were a vivid blue, like something straight from a Monet. And his face was so…

Crap. I couldn’t recall what he looked like. I only remembered what he felt like: Rage. Pain. Hate. Thirst. Danger. I felt them all, right down to the marrow of my quaking bones.

I blew out a breath and put myself upright, my head spinning with a potent elixir of sensations and emotions. Yes. Emotions. Goddamned emotions!

There was a light knock at my door, and I quickly smoothed down my bob and brushed my hand over my puckering white blouse to flatten it.

“Yes?” I said calmly, trying to hide the tremor in my voice.

Shannon’s blonde head peeked through the door. “Dr. Valentine, sorry to disturb you, but I have those reports.”

All I could see was her passive-aggressive smile. And this time, I felt irritated by it.

Holy shit. I care?

“Sorry?” I had no clue whatthehell she was talking about. All I could see were those eyes. So blue. So…beautiful.

“The reports,” she clarified. “The ones you wanted before I left for the weekend.”

Oh. Those. “Thank you, Shannon.”

“Are you all right?” she asked, handing me a folder. “Your face is red.”

I touched my cheek. I was, in fact, flushed, and I was pretty damned sure that tickle in the small of my back was nervous beads of sweat.

“I’m fine,” I said. “Just a little overworked this week. That’s all.”

“Well, I think you did great—you catch on quickly. Especially for someone so young.”

I wasn’t certain if she meant it. She may have simply been probing for my age.

“Thank you.” I gave her a polite nod and went to pack my things for the day, feigning calmness. Home would be a more suitable place to digest the event. Whoever that man was, something about him was…wrong. So very, very wrong.

No. That makes no sense. Don’t project this onto him. Logic would say that the event was in my head—triggered by something external, something indirectly related to him. For all I knew, an ordinary apple could’ve evoked the same response. An apple or a breeze or something random that my mind inadvertently connected with.

But deep inside my gut, this didn’t feel random at all. And neither did my instant obsession with Mr. Room Twenty-Five.

~~~

That evening I took Bentley for a long powerwalk on the beach, ignoring the fact it was mid-February and unusually cold outside. Normally, I wouldn’t risk lowering my body temperature and getting sick. And normally, I would’ve gotten irritated with the way Bentley stared, as if to say, “Hey, lady, you suck at being a dog owner,” but tonight my mind was filled with other worries. At least, that was what I guessed the knot in my stomach and heaviness in my heart meant.

What happened to me today? I thought while stretching on my wood-framed balcony overlooking a not-so-pacific view of the Pacific, the roaring waves rippling with moonlight. My brain feels like that ocean. Rolling and thundering with an invisible, unstoppable force all its own. A door had been kicked open inside me. But why would flipping on the lights and locking eyes with that man do this?

Once again, an image of those vivid cobalt blue orbs played in my head, but I still couldn’t remember his face.

Whatever this was, I wouldn’t be solving it tonight. Perhaps in the morning I might resort to calling my father. He was a retired psychologist, now living in Scottsdale, Arizona, with my mother to pursue a life of cactus gardening, golf, and sunshine.