Chapter 16 #2
A flash of her in the white lingerie hits me. My spine goes rigid. I sharply address, "Blue."
A woman in a sleek coat crosses toward the elevator, her heels clicking too loudly. The elevator dings behind me.
Blue takes a small step closer. She puts her hand over my heart and breathlessly greets, "Hi."
I don't return it. I keep my voice low, clipped. "What are you doing here?"
Her lips curve. "You asked me to come into the lobby."
My words come out harshly. "That's not what I meant."
She jerks her head backward as if I slapped her. Hurt flies into her expression.
I force my hands not to clench. I lower my voice. "You were outside. Watching me."
Her eyes flick to the security desk, then back to mine. "Do you want to talk about this right here?"
I glance at the guard again. He's pretending not to listen, but he can hear.
Blue tilts her head, just slightly, adding, "In front of your neighbors?"
Heat crawls up my neck. "Stop."
She doesn't. She eliminates the distance between us, rises on her tiptoes, and her hot breath on my ear shoots tingles straight to my cock. She whispers, "Your heart's racing as fast as mine, Dr. Mercer."
I remove her hand from my chest. "Blue—"
She puts her fingers over my lips and says in a firm tone, "Not here, Red."
I stare at her, my pulse beating too hard.
Her lashes flutter.
My jaw locks so hard, it aches. "Blue..." I can't find any words, hating how my body reacts to her.
"Okay." She lifts both hands as if surrendering. "Okay. Let's not do it here. I already asked that."
I stare at her, then glance at the guard.
He stares at the computer with his lips twitching.
Every cell in my body screams that the solution is simple. I should send her away, tell her this is unacceptable, and that there will be consequences for crossing the line.
But if I send her away, she'll walk back into the night with that smile still on her face, convinced she got to me, and won something just by existing in my space.
No. We need to talk.
She's right. This isn't a conversation for the public.
I step closer until my voice is for her alone. "We're going upstairs."
A tiny tremble rolls through her. Her eyes flare with victory so quickly, she can't hide it. She barely gets out in an excited voice, "Yes, Dr. Mercer."
I grab her elbow and steer her toward the elevator. I add, "Only to discuss this situation."
Her smile returns anyway, slow and knowing. "Yes, Dr. Mercer."
My balls spasm, making me hate myself further. The elevator counter moves to ten.
Fuck.
I lead her toward the stairwell, away from the elevator.
She follows without hesitation, eager and excited, and tosses me a wide-eyed, suggestive gaze.
I hold in my groan and stomp up the steps.
Her footsteps tap lightly behind me, almost playful, like she's chasing me up to my bedroom instead of being marched toward a boundary lecture.
When we reach my floor, I hold the door open, and to my surprise, she goes directly to my front door.
I freeze, staring at her.
She knows my unit number.
Of course she does.
How?
She's Blue.
"Are we having this conversation out here so your neighbors can hear?" she asks, smirking.
I move her aside, unlock my door, and immediately shut it behind us. The click of the lock sounds final, but I remind myself she's only here to be told to stop stalking me.
Blue looks around like she's taking inventory. Her gaze sweeps over the living room, the couch, the open kitchen, and the coat I tossed earlier. Then her eyes land on me.
I stand between her and the rest of the condo, demanding, "Why are you standing on the street staring up at my home?"
She slowly unbelts her coat, as if it's a preshow of what's to come. She slides out of it, tosses it next to mine, then answers, "You were ignoring me."
"I was working," I bite out.
Her casual tone makes something spike in me again. "You were home. And you didn't reply to my texts from earlier."
"Because you shouldn't be texting me like that."
Her smile is small. "Like what? Checking on you? Asking if you always walk home? Making sure you're safe?"
I step closer. "You sent a photo of yourself outside, near my route."
Her expression doesn't flicker with guilt. If anything, she looks pleased. "I thought you'd like seeing me."
I stare at her, trying to find the right sentence that doesn't shatter this into something unmanageable, remembering that she has issues we need to get to the bottom of, and the wrong statement might cause her more damage. "Blue. You can't follow me."
Her voice stays honey-smooth. "I wasn't following you. I was nearby."
My tone hardens, "Don't play semantics. You were outside my building."
Her eyes widen slightly, an expression she uses like a weapon. "Because I missed you."
The words are a sharp blade, slipping under my defenses. I force myself not to visibly react, but my damn cock is committing treason. "That's not an appropriate reason to be here."
She takes one step toward me. "But it's the truth."
I hold up a hand, palm out. "Stop."
She barely freezes, landing close enough for me to take in the tiny shimmer of gloss on her lips, the flush on her cheeks, and the way her pupils look blown wider than normal.
She's high on this.
On me.
She's beautiful when she's delusional.
My traitorous, ruthless body responds with a slow, heavy pull low in my gut.
I hate it.
I hate myself more.
I force the clinical part of my brain to claw its way back to the surface. "Blue, this is boundary testing. You know that."
She blinks. "I don't know what you mean."
I keep my voice firm. "Yes, you do. You're escalating contact outside of sessions. You're inserting yourself into my personal space. You're watching me. Photographing me."
She breathes out softly. "You're making it sound so ugly."
"It is ugly," I snap, then immediately regret the harshness. I inhale. "It's not healthy. It's not safe. For you or for me."
Her gaze drops to my mouth. "I don't care about healthy. I care about you."
My chest tightens hard enough to hurt. I take a deep breath and state, "That's the problem. You're confusing attachment with intimacy."
Her eyes lift. "Maybe you're the one confused."
The audacity of it almost makes me laugh. Instead, I grit out, "I am not confused about my ethics."
Her lips quirk. "Are you confused about how you kissed me?"
My entire body goes still.
The air turns thick, charged with truth I can't deny.
She steps so close, her warmth brushes mine. She doesn't touch me yet, but she doesn't have to. The closeness is its own touch, pressing into every nerve. She whispers, "I didn't imagine it. You did it."
I swallow hard, keeping my hands at my sides like they're chained. "That was a mistake."
Her gaze flicks down my body, slow, deliberate, then back up. "It didn't look like a mistake. Especially when you said I'm the best damn kisser you ever kissed."
The image of me pulling her onto my lap hits me. I clear my throat. "Blue."
She says my name like it's hers to use, and she owns it now. "Red."
My pulse whips between my ears.
She argues, "You can tell me to stop stalking you, and you can tell me it's unhealthy, and you can put on your therapist voice, but last night… You weren't talking like a therapist."
My jaw flexes. "Don't twist it."
"I'm not twisting anything." She lifts her hand and touches me. Her two fingers brush the front of my shirt, right over my sternum. It's light enough to be dismissible and intimate enough to make my blood pound. She points out, "Your heart's racing. I hear it."
I catch her wrist gently but firmly and pull her hand away. "No. This can't happen between us."
Her eyes flash with something bright and hungry. "Why not?"
Because I want to drag you into me.
Because I want to be the man you think I am.
Because I want to ruin you and be ruined with you.
Because I'm one bad decision away from destroying my career, your stability, and my own carefully constructed life.
I keep my thoughts to myself and voice hard. "Because you're my patient."
Her mouth parts, and for a second, something like anger flickers through her. "I'm more than your patient."
"You can't be both," I say, and the admission tastes like metal.
Her eyes soften immediately, like she loves the sound of me admitting weakness. "Says who?"
"It's not ethical, and you know it." I release her wrist and step back, forcing space between us. "This ends tonight."
Her breath catches as if I hit her. "What ends?"
"This." I gesture at the charged air and the orbit she keeps dragging me into.
She tilts her head, grinning.
I declare, "You can't come here, Blue. You can't send me photos or watch me. You can't do any of it."
"So you can honestly say you don't want to kiss me," she challenges, eliminating the space between us again, then glancing at my lips.
My lungs catch.
She murmurs, "You can't just turn it off, Red."
"Yes, I can," I lie through my teeth.
She studies me for a moment, then a slow, wicked smile forms. "Prove it."
I open my mouth, but she reaches for her hair and pulls a pin from it. Blue waves cascade down her shoulders like a curtain dropping. She shakes it out in a small, sensual motion. It's not overt or pornographic, just intentionally feminine and tempting.
My throat goes dry.
She drags her fingers up my bicep. "Tell me to leave and mean it."
I hold her gaze. My voice comes out low. "Leave."
She doesn't move.
"Blue," I warn.
She pouts. "You're not meaning it."
My hands twitch. I clench them into fists. I force out clinical language like a shield. "Do you know what transference is?"
Her smile turns curious. "Mm...no. Teach me, Dr. Mercer." She licks her lips.
I say sharply, "This isn't just a lesson. It's a warning. You're transferring feelings onto me because I'm stable, consistent, and I made you feel safe. It's common. It's not love."
Her eyes harden. "Don't tell me what it's not."
I insist, "It's not. And what you're doing—showing up here—taking photos of me—it's not romantic. It's not cute. It's a symptom."
The word lands, and she flinches like she hates that it might be true.
I press on before she can recover. "If you keep escalating, you'll force me to take action. Professionally. I'll have to refer you out. I'll have to document this and what we did. My career will be toast, and you'll have to find another person to help you."
Her lashes lower. When she looks back up, the softness is gone. "You wouldn't risk your career or me."
My voice shakes. "I would. I'd have to."
She stares at me for a long beat, then steps back. The distance shouldn't feel like relief, but it does. Yet it also feels like a loss.
"You want to get rid of me," she says quietly.
"No." The word comes too fast. I correct myself. "I want you stable."
Her lips press together. "You kissed me."
"I know," I say, and the guilt is a weight in my throat.
She continues, eyes narrowing. "And you wrote me a note. You signed it, Red."
I close my eyes for half a second. "That was so you wouldn't think I abandoned you. And it was careless of me not to sign it, Dr. Mercer."
Her laugh is soft but sharp. "Careless. That's what you call it?"
I open my eyes. "Blue, I'm telling you this because it's the only ethical thing left for me to do.
You need to go home, sleep, and stop coming here.
You have to stop watching me. If you feel like you want to stalk me, you can call a crisis line, a friend, or go to your parents. You do not come to my building."
She stares at me like she's trying to decide whether to obey or punish me. She finally asks, "Do you want me to stop because it's wrong or because you don't want me?"
My chest tightens, and cock presses against my zipper. I answer the only way I can. "Because it's wrong."
Her eyes flare with pain. She nods once, rigid. "Okay." She reaches for her coat and slips it on. She gets to the door, pauses, and looks over her shoulder. The look in her eyes is pure promise. She softly says, "I'll leave for tonight. But we aren't over, Red. We both know it."
"We are," I say, voice hard.
She smiles like she doesn't believe me at all. "Good night, Dr. Mercer. I look forward to our next session, where you can explain more to me about how to be the woman you want me to be." A smile plays on her lips, and she opens the door and exits before I can reply to her comment.
Silence crashes into the condo so fast, it's dizzying. I stare at the door, my pulse still racing, my body still keyed up like it expected something else. My hands flex at my sides as if they're remembering her warmth. My mind replays every moment I almost failed.
I should be relieved, but I'm not.
I walk to the window again, hating myself and needing to see she's actually gone. I watch her cross the sidewalk toward the streetlight, glance up one last time, then blow me a kiss before she disappears into the night.
Guilt lands hard in my chest.
I did the right thing by sending her away.
I drew the line.
I repeat those sentences to myself like a prayer.
But when I turn away from the window, my condo still smells faintly like her perfume, and my phone is heavy in my pocket. The truth I don't want to admit curls low and hot in my gut.
This isn't over.
Not for her.
And not for me.