His to Save

Prologue

PROLOGUE

GRACE

“ H e’s a charmer, that’s for sure. A silver-tongued devil with twinkling eyes,” I mutter to myself as I rummage through my filing cabinet, searching for his folder.

My receptionist has been on me for years to digitize, but I much prefer to write all my notes by hand.

It’s more… personal .

I’ve been seeing Rand— I mean treating Mr. Wallace —for almost a year now, trying to help him navigate life as a single father after the tragic loss of his wife.

It’s been nearly six years since she passed, and he’s still the textbook model of grief.

From denial to anger, bargaining to depression, and finally acceptance, I’ve helped him through it all.

I’ve seen him at his worst, lost in the depths of his despair, and at his best, full of charm and easy smiles as he tries his best to get me to agree to a date.

I always turn him down, though, because as long as he’s my patient, I can’t ethically see him.

But my goodness, as much as I don’t want to admit it, the temptation is there.

In a way, he reminds me of my Jim, of the love I’ve lost. Which is absurd; they couldn’t be more different.

Night and day, those two, truly.

Where Jim was a giver, kind and caring and always quick to smile, Rand is mercurial and compelling, with sharp wit and an even sharper tongue.

We are the sun and the moon, and yet for reasons I don’t fully comprehend, I’m drawn to him.

My chest pinches tight, making it impossible to draw in a full breath as traitorous thoughts of my patient slip out of the padlocked box I keep them in.

I shouldn’t feel like this about him.

About any man . My God, what kind of monster am I?

My Jim’s only been gone four months.

Moisture gathers along my lashes, but I refuse to let the tears fall.

I’m a professional, and my patients deserve nothing but the best, even if sometimes it feels as if Rand sees into the depths of my very soul, making it hard to tell who’s helping who.

“Get it together, Grace,” I admonish myself as I read over my notes from his last session.

“Get. It. Together.”

It doesn’t matter how pretty his words are or how inviting his smile is—he’s off-limits.

Giving into him would mean giving up the life I’ve worked so hard to build.

Becoming romantically involved with a patient is one of the worst offenses someone in my profession can commit.

It’s career suicide, seeing as it would mean the loss of my license.

No psychiatrist worth their salt would ever cross that line.

I’ve told Rand this before too, that it’s inappropriate— forbidden .

The sly dog just smiles and says the best things in life always are.

“You are strong and capable.” I speak the words out loud as I take a seat behind my desk, shielding myself behind the wooden monstrosity.

Usually, we both sit in my armchairs, knees nearly touching as we bow our heads together and share our pain.

But something—mostly my weakening resolve—tells me distance is needed if I’m to keep my head on straight.

The intercom on my phone buzzes, and then my receptionist’s voice filters through.

“Your eleven is here.”

I suck in a deep breath and hold it before slowly exhaling.

“Great, send him back.”

My heart thunders in my chest as the seconds creep by.

I swore to love Jim, and while our vows stated “till death,” I never in a million years thought I’d lose him so soon.

We were high school sweethearts, and it’s only been four months since he died.

A mere blink compared to the eternity we promised one another.

Toward the end, Jim told me he wanted me to move on, to find happiness with another person again.

It’s too soon.

My breaths come quicker now, sweat beading along my hairline.

But then, the door opens and Rand walks in, his lips turned up in a knowing grin—and just like that, my rising panic ebbs.

“It’s been too long, Gracie,” he murmurs, his dark stare boring into me as he crosses the room to claim his usual seat.

“It’s Dr. Morgan,” I correct him softly, my cheeks burning with equal parts desire and shame.

I don’t know what it is about him, that he’s able to stir such conflicting emotions within me.

Every minute in his presence feels like a full-on war; I’m enchanted by his sweet words, enticed by his physique, horrified by my weak resolve, mortified by my ever-slipping professionalism, and ashamed for thinking of any man other than my Jim in such a way.

“Come on now, doll.” He leans back in the chair, a devilish smile twisting his lips as he spreads his legs wide.

“We both know we’re past that.”

The deep drawl of his voice causes my nipples to pebble, making me extra thankful for the bulk of my sweater.

“That’s…” I swallow roughly, counting down from five in my head before trying again.

“That’s not appropriate, Mr. Wallace.”

He stands from his chair and prowls toward me.

My heart thunders in my chest as he rounds my desk, planting himself on the edge, right in front of where I’m seated.

“Um, Rand—Mr. Wallace, uh…” My words trail off as my heart shoots into my esophagus as he drags my chair closer, leaning into my space.

“You… We can’t!”

“We can.” He presses his index and middle fingers to my temple, massaging lightly.

“And we will, Gracie. You’ve spent too long denying this thing between us, and you can keep trying to pretend it isn’t happening, that we aren’t happening, but I assure you, we are.”

The war inside of me rages on, as wanton desire goes head-to-head with wrenching guilt.

I gasp for air, my breaths coming in sharp pants as my vision pinpricks.

I can’t decide if I’m floating or falling—either way, my landing’s going to hurt.

“It’s okay, Gracie,” he murmurs, trailing his fingers down from my temple, following my jawline.

“Everything’s going to be okay.”

“No!” I try to shake my head, but he glides his palm across my cheek and tunnels his fingers into my hair, before curling them to hold me still.

Tears dot my lashes as I stare up at Rand.

Nothing about him reflects the worry barreling through me.

He’s cool, calm, and collected, like he truly believes being together is the right thing—the only thing.

As far as he’s concerned, we’re a foregone conclusion.

I should have seen this coming.

For months now, he’s been laying the groundwork for this, but I foolishly brushed it off as some kind of strange form of transference.

But now, I don’t know…

He seems so sure.

His eyes soften as he looks down at me, his palm still warm against my cheek.

“Rand, I?—”

He leans all the way in and silences me with a kiss.

My entire body jolts at the feel of his lips moving against mine.

Firm, yet soft. Teasing, yet serious.

Forbidden, yet indulgent.

Wrong, but so, so right .

“Open for me, Gracie,” he growls against my lips, causing me to gasp.

This man is an apex predator in a button-down shirt, and I’m nothing more than the lamb he’s about to slaughter.

Rand doesn’t waste a single second, deepening our kiss.

Before I know it, we’re a frenzy of desire, using our lips, teeth, tongue, and hands.

Time slows as we greedily explore one another.

I tug him closer, needing to feel the weight of his strong body against mine.

Luckily, Rand can read me like a book and hooks his hands beneath my thighs, lifting me while somehow maneuvering us so that he’s in my chair and I’m straddling him.

But the feeling of his erection pressing into my core breaks the moment, and I shove out of his lap as guilt and regret rain down on me, drowning me in a tsunami of shame.

“Rand—” My lower lip wobbles and hot tears fill my eyes, falling unchecked.

“Now, Gracie, don’t cry.” He leans in and kisses away my tears, groaning softly, almost as if he’s savoring the taste.

“We…we—” I try again, but I can’t seem to get my brain and mouth on the same page.

“We got a little carried away, that’s all.” He kisses my lips once more before standing and heading toward the door.

“And don’t you dare say it was a mistake,” he murmurs, his hand hovering over the knob, “because what we just did wasn’t a mistake, and I damn sure don’t regret it. You’re like pure sunshine, Gracie, and I…I need your light.”

He sounds so sincere.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe us being together is a good thing.

Maybe we can heal all of the broken parts of each other.

“Tell me you agree, that you don’t regret what just happened.”

I take a few steadying breaths as I formulate my reply.

“I don’t regret it, but I also need time to think, Rand.”

For a split second, something like anger flashes in his dark gaze, but it’s gone so fast, I almost wonder if I imagined it.

“Take all the time you need, Gracie,” he says as he opens the door.

I breathe a sigh of relief, at both his reply and his retreat.

“But I need you to understand something, Gracie. You’re already mine.”