4. Zoe
CHAPTER 4
Zoe
A week passes with Silver— Owen —spending almost every waking minute within twelve feet of me.
He's at my practice before I am in the mornings, and does all sorts of sneaky security things during the day, only to follow me home until he's sure I'm locked up safe for the night.
I'd been worried about the security detail my father hired being a distraction, but Owen ?
There is no bigger distraction than him.
An incredibly gorgeous, intimidating, knows-how-to-make-me-shiver-in-the-best-ways distraction.
I knew from that night on the roof two months ago that he was tall and had muscles for days, not to mention being well-endowed in other areas, but I’d never seen his face. Never got a chance to look into his glacial blue eyes or see the way his dark brown hair falls just slightly over them.
I never got a chance to know he had tons of ink decorating his skin, including whirls of black that traced the right side of his neck, disappearing beneath the simple black T-shirts he liked to wear. I hate how curious I am to see where exactly that tattoo goes beneath the fabric. Hate that I’m both thrilled and sad that my security detail turned out to be him. I haven’t been able to find a balance since he walked through my door. Haven’t figured out how to behave around him when last week I’d been flirting with him over text and contemplating finally meeting up with him in person.
Last week, I’d sent an email to all my patients, informing them of the situation and the reason behind Owen’s presence. I assured them the practice was still a safe space, but if they were uncomfortable, we could conduct our sessions over Zoom. Luckily, no one has complained or sought council elsewhere.
Two of my regular clients opted for the Zoom sessions, but the rest were perfectly content to come in, and Owen is exceptional about making himself scarce during my appointment times. It’s actually super endearing that he makes an effort to check my schedule every morning to ensure he never accidentally bumps into a patient, likely because he doesn’t want to scare them. Not that I'm sure they would be scared. Sure, he’s practically a muscly tattooed giant, but his eyes are kind in a way that puts me at ease.
Well, most of the time. Other times, like when we accidentally touch when walking past each other, it’s all I can do to not think about that night.
Think about the way my body reacted to his.
How it still very much reacts to him even from an innocent, accidental graze, or just getting a whiff of his delectable scent, all pine smoke and sagebrush. I try to check myself, but I’m having a hell of a time separating Owen into the professional category in my mind. I know I need to, but it feels damn near impossible.
“I finished installing the new security system,” Owen says as he lingers outside of my open office door, drawing my attention from where I've been trying desperately to focus on next week's schedule behind my desk.
“Thank you,” I say, swallowing hard as I look at him.
The man fills up my doorway as he casually leans against it, the slightest smile on those full lips of his. He looks at me like I'm the most important thing in the world, and it sends warm tendrils rushing over my skin.
A ridiculous notion, since I am technically his priority. Of course he's going to look at me like that.
“I appreciate you doing that,” I say, clearing my throat and trying to get some semblance of a grip.
“Absolutely,” he says. “Your other one, I'm sorry to say, was an ancient piece of shit.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder as if to indicate the lone camera that’d been here when I purchased the place. “I'm sure I won't be able to glean anything from the footage you gathered from it, but we need to set a time to have a meeting where we go over all the evidence you've collected.”
The reality of that statement has a whole other kind of tension replacing what’d been there seconds before. Every time I think about Spencer, it’s hard to dig myself out of the hole of anxiety it puts me in.
“I’m available right now,” I say. “My three o’clock had to cancel. Do you have time?”
His small smile turns into a full-fledged one, sending a bolt of lightning straight through me.
“All the time I have is yours, Kitten,” he teases, only calling me Dr. Casson when there’s another person near us.
I've never told him to stop with the nickname, despite both of us assuring each other on day one that we could be professional. I’ve done my fair share of teasing him too, but always when it’s just the two of us. After all, this is the man that I've been texting every day for the last two months, the man I’ve been flirting with and dreaming about. It’s kind of hard to turn that all off just because he’s now working for me.
“Then go ahead and sit, Silver. I promise I won't treat you like a patient just because you’re in the hot seat,” I tease right back, motioning to the chair on the other side of my desk before leaning down and rifling through the bottom drawer. I grab all of the letters and lay them out on the desk in front of him before clicking away on my keyboard and pulling up the lone video footage I have on my screen before turning it to him.
His eyes narrow on the grainy footage, his nose crinkling as if the quality has personally offended him. He shakes his head, leaning back in the chair with the letters in tow. “Can't believe you were using that camera.”
“To be fair, it came with the building. I also never entertained the idea that I’d need high quality footage regarding my safety.”
“I'm sorry you had to learn it this way,” he says, eyes on the first letter.
I can't help but watch him as those blue eyes move back and forth over the paper, one after the other until he's read them in their entirety. Every so often he gives a small hmm or grunt , and I flush when I see his features harden, his strong jaw going taut.
He puts all the letters back and sets them on my desk. “Fuck,” he says, his voice low and gravelly. “This is more intense than I initially thought.”
“My father wouldn't have hired you if it wasn't.” I blow out a breath. My emotions are all over the place, hopping from excitement and desire being near Owen, only to leap to anxiety and fear as he reacts to the evidence I’ve gathered.
“How long did you treat him?” Owen asks, his eyes on me. “I think your father said a year?”
“Close to it,” I answer. “He started making me uncomfortable the last few months before we parted ways. I honestly interpreted it as an overzealous attempt for my romantic affections, but...” I glance down at the letters, shrugging. “Clearly that interpretation was wrong.”
Owen murmurs under his breath again, a low contemplative sound that I swear I can feel in my bones.
“From the tone of his letters, he's escalating in his infatuation with you. I've had cases like this before, and I don't like where his head is at.”
My chest tightens. “So you don't think this is about to fizzle out?”
Owen presses his lips together, his eyes battling something, almost like he wants to tell me what I want to hear instead of the truth. I've seen the look plenty of times over the years of treating patients.
“You don't need to sugarcoat things with me,” I say before he can answer. “I've been treating people for a long time, and it's given me this unique ability to spot bullshit from a mile away.”
His eyebrows raise, and I give him a soft smile.
“Just thought you should know,” I continue.
Owen falls silent, and I wonder if he's going to bring up the fact that now he knows my profession and I know his, something we've always kept secret from our daily texts. He hasn't brought up anything about those texts, or that night two months ago, the entire week he's been here. If it weren't for him occasionally calling me Kitten , I might think I imagined everything.
“It's definitely not about to fizzle out,” he finally says. “But I have your entire practice covered and I get alerts when someone comes within a five-yard radius. He may be escalating, but so am I. You're safe with me, okay?”
“Except for when I’m not with you,” I say, mostly to myself as my mind spirals down a catastrophizing path—spinning images of worst-case scenarios, with Spencer showing up to my home in the middle of the night, breaking in and doing…God knows what.
“If you’re worried, I can stay outside your place all night too.”
I blink out of the thoughts racing through my mind. “Seriously?”
“Your safety is my job,” he explains. “Whatever that entails.”
Heat flushes through me as I think about how ridiculous it would be to keep him outside in his car all night when for the past two months I’ve been dreaming about having him in my bed.
I want to ask him about the texts, about that night, but I keep my lips sealed. He'd asked me on day one if I could handle this, and bringing up curiosities from that night would definitely show I'm not handling it.
“I'll let you get back to work,” he says, slowly rising from the chair. “I'll see you at closing time.”
I nod at him, hoping he can't see the flush rushing over my cheeks, unable to deny the excitement at the thought of him being there to walk me out and follow me home.
I focus extremely hard on my computer, despite no real work being there for me at the moment.
A few hours later, I log off for the night and leave my office, finding Owen waiting at the front door for me like he has been every night.
And just like every night prior, the minute he sees me walking toward him he smiles in a way that is completely and totally unfair.
I haven't seen him smile like that at anyone else, despite him being kind to the rare patients he’s run into. No, something about this look seems significant and tailored just for me. I can't decide if I'm imagining it and seeing what my heart so desperately wants to see or if it’s genuine.
“I have to feed Gregory,” I say, just like a do every night. I fill his food and water dishes in the break room before heading toward the back door.
Owen holds the door open for me, and I set down the small silver dishes I purchased just for Gregory after he’d shown up a few nights in a row at my back door. He never has a collar on, so I’m certain he’s a stray, but he’s never let me pick him up either.
“I still can’t believe he won’t let me pet him,” Owen grumbles, his blue eyes on the cat that comes like clockwork toward us from the copse of trees lining the parking lot.
“He’s barely let me touch him,” I say. “And he knows me. You’re still a stranger.”
“I guess,” Owen says, nodding down at Gregory who immediately digs into his food. “But I’ve known him longer than he’s known me.”
My heart does a little flip in my chest at his meaning. I sent Silver plenty of pictures of Gregory.
“Here,” I say, handing him the few treats I’d snagged from the cabinet in my break room. “Give him these. He’ll warm up to you eventually.”
Owen crouches down, and the sight is enough to make my knees weak. The strong, tatted man reaches out, gently offering the stray the treats from his palm, looking completely opposite from his intimidating exterior.
Gregory studies Owen for a few heartbeats before he turns his nose up at the offering as if Owen has no right to do such a thing.
I laugh, kneeling beside Owen, taking his hand in mine, plucking one of the treats and offering it to the cat.
He takes it from my fingers, his sandpaper-like tongue scraping against my skin for a second before he eyes the remaining two treats in Owen’s hand.
“Nope,” I say. “If you want them, you need to take them from him.” I gently grip Owen’s outstretched arm. “You can trust him. He’s my…friend.” I nearly stumble over the title, my heart wanting to add labels to this man that I have absolutely no business doing.
Gregory narrows his gaze at me as if to call me a traitor, but eventually relents, slowly, timidly stalking closer to Owen and snagging the treats from his hand before racing off into the trees.
Owen smiles, standing back up and pulling me along with him, before he scoops me into his arms. “Thanks for vouching for me,” he says before releasing me, clearing his throat and taking a giant step back as if he didn’t mean to do that. “I want that cat to like me.”
I laugh, eyebrows raised. “You that much of a cat person?”
“Not really,” he says, following me back into the building and toward the front exit.
“Then why do you care if he likes you?”
“Because he’s important to you,” he says, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world.
The sincerity in that statement makes me pause near the front entrance, eyes trained up and locking with his, tension stretching between us.
“Did you get all your work done?” he asks, holding the door open for me and following me outside as I lock up.
“I think so,” I say, grateful for the change in subject. “Though, somehow, I feel like every day there are new tasks added to the never-ending to-do list.”
“You do schedule out your days to the minute,” he says, walking with me toward my car.
“Well, that's just the way my brain operates,” I explain. “If I don't schedule everything down to the minute, it doesn't get do?—”
The words die my throat as I freeze two steps away from my car, staring at the envelope on my windshield.
Owen registers it, and I look up at him as he scans the area, his brow furrowed before he walks to the windshield and grabs the letter.
He passes it to me, and I open it.
He doesn't scare me.
Ice spears through my veins, my muscles trembling from the flood of adrenaline at reading the words. I frantically look around the area. I don’t see anyone, but with the woods bordering the lot—one of the reasons I bought the place—my anxiety whispers that he could be out there, and I wouldn't know.
“Is he watching me right now?” I ask, unable to keep the panic from my voice.
“Breathe, Zoe,” he says, wrapping a strong arm around my shoulders. “It’s okay. You’re safe with me. I just need you to breathe.”
I’m shaking, my chest tight, and his words are just this side of fuzzy.
Goddammit, I’m panicking.
“Breathe,” he says, stepping in front of me so nothing but him fills my vision. He cups my cheeks, his hands warm against my chilled skin. “In for four, out for four. We’ll do it together.” He sucks in a deep, slow breath, and I mirror his actions, holding when he does, releasing when he does.
We do this three more times together, his touch, his instructions, grounding me.
“Good,” he says after I’ve stopped trembling. “Can I have your keys?”
I hand them to him without a second thought, and he guides me to the passenger seat of my car, situating me there before climbing behind the wheel.
“You don't have to drive me home,” I say through a shaking breath.
I curl my hands into fists, balling them up and holding them for a few moments before releasing them, trying to sync the motion to my breathing. “I'll be fine in a second,” I assure him, knowing my body and its reactions and my mind pretty damn well.
“I know you will be,” Owen says without a shred of doubt. “But I'm still going to drive you home. Don't worry, I'll grab a Lyft back here later.”
I don't argue, unable to deny the relief that floods my system as he navigates the roads toward my home. I know I'm more than fully capable of getting a grip and doing it myself, but there's something to be said about being taken care of in this moment.
I lean back against the headrest, finally managing to get control of my breathing by the time Owen pulls into my garage, killing the ignition but waiting until the garage door is fully closed before he hurries around the car to open my door and help me out.
“Do you want to stay for a bit?” I ask as I open the door to my home. “I could really use a cup of tea. My nerves are absolutely shot.”
“I could too,” he says as he follows me inside.
I drop my bag and keys that he hands me in the drop station by my door, heading straight for my kitchen and flicking on lights as I go. I turn on the kettle, and bring down my tea box, showing it to him. He points to a bag randomly, and I lose myself in the practiced motions of making tea. I nod to the bar stools that line my kitchen island for him to sit on, and set his tea before him.
I take two full sips of the hot, calming liquid before I find my voice again. “I'm sorry about that,” I say, shaking my head.
Owen furrows his brow. “You have nothing to apologize for,” he says. “Honestly, the way you hold yourself together is...graceful. Elegant even. I've seen grown men who don't have a handle on their anxiety like you do, not that I blame them. I don't even think I can keep my shit together that well and I'm trained for high-stakes situations.”
I laugh softly, the praise settling like warm honey inside my chest. “Thanks,” I say shrugging. “I’d kind of be a shitty therapist if I didn't practice what I preached, right?”
“I don't think you could ever be shitty at anything,” he says, taking a sip of his tea.
He says the line with such familiarity that I feel the connection between us knocking on the door we've locked it behind. Despite seeing him every day, I miss the texting version of him, something about those good morning and flirty texts brightening every day for the last two months.
“Do you have a strategy about putting an end to this?” I ask instead of bringing up what I really want to talk about. “My friend at the Sweet Water police department has tried everything to track down Spencer on his own dime because the force says all the letters aren't technically threats or harassment, so they can't do anything yet, but he hasn’t found him.”
“That's why I'm here,” Owen says after taking another drink. “If Spencer is watching, the more he sees you with me, the more he'll realize he’s not getting close to you. His little note may have said he’s not scared of me, but in my experience, that means the opposite. And, if he ever shows his face…I can be very convincing. I’ll put an end to it right there. But me and one of my trusted friends are actively looking for his location, so it's good to have two teams on it.”
“Yeah, well, I guess you are pretty intimidating,” I say, hoping his plans will come to light sooner rather than later.
He flicks his eyes over me, and a slow smile spreads over his lips. “You didn't think that a couple months ago, Kitten,” he says.
A bolt of heat zaps straight down the center of me and I gape at him. “Oh no, I for sure thought you were intimidating.”
“You weren't scared of me at all.”
I shrug. “So we're talking about the un-talkable subject now?”
Owen laughs, and the sound does all sorts of things to my body. “Why not?”
“Honestly, I'm surprised you haven't brought it up in the past week. Not to mention you stopped texting me. I thought maybe you’d written me off.” I glance down at my tea to avoid seeing his reaction to my admission.
He scoots closer to me, gently tipping my chin to meet his eyes. “I’d never write you off.”
“Then why did you stop texting me?”
He sighs. “Once I saw you as the person I was hired to protect, things got complicated. I figured if you wanted to keep the chat open, you’d be the first to make that move. I don’t want to cross any lines.”
“I didn't know if it would be professional of me to do that. I mean, you work for me now. Isn't it wrong?”
“Technically, I work for your father,” he says.
“Somehow, I think that's worse,” I say, laughing. “And besides, it was one thing to text without knowing exactly who you were, but now that I do? I'm particularly mortified.”
“Why?” he asks incredulously.
“I don't do…what we did that night. It’s part of the reason I was too scared to meet you in person. That you’d want the wild version of me and not the real thing,” I explain. “I’m a repeat girl,” I say, and then cringe at the way that sounds.
Owen laughs, his blue eyes shining with amusement. “First off, I’ve gotten to know you enough that I like all versions of you. Secondly, as for the repeat thing…I would if you would.”
My eyes widen at the sincerity playing over his features.
And the way he's looking at me... Jesus , he takes my breath away.
A fresh bolt of anticipation rushes through me, and I bite back a smile. “I have been wondering what it would be like to kiss you,” I admit. “Since the mask prevented it.”
“I've thought about that no less than a thousand times since that night,” he says. “Want to find out?”
“Just a kiss?” I ask, needing to set up some kind of boundaries for myself, because when it comes to this man I have very little.
“If that's what you want, that's what you'll get.”
“I think that's all I'm prepared for right now,” I say.
“Then that’s what I’ll give you,” he says, shifting closer, one hand sliding across my cheek, the other tugging my chair closer to his in one smooth move that has me gasping.
He grins, eyes flickering from mine to my lips and back again.
My heart races in my chest, the anticipation a culmination of two months and too many fantasies?—
He slants his mouth over mine, and the warm brush of his lips strikes a match inside me. My hands fly to his chest, my fingers splaying over the muscles there as I melt into his embrace.
He’s soft at first, explorative as he gauges my reaction, then takes more control as I part my lips for him. A low groan rumbles from his chest, the sound settling directly between my thighs as he slides his tongue against mine. I whimper at the way he dips my head, kissing me at a deeper angle that has me trembling with need.
I fist his shirt, my body desperate to get closer to his, my ‘just a kiss rule’ be damned. One graze of our mouths together and I’m on fire.
“ Owen ,” I sigh between his lips, loving the feel of his hand cradling the back of my head, the other now sliding down my arm.
He kisses me harder at the sound of his name on my tongue, making my head spin with desire. I shift off the barstool without breaking our kiss, and he immediately mimics the move, so in sync with me we barely separate. His hands fall to my hips as he brings our bodies flush, still kissing me with that dominating, protective edge that I can’t get enough of.
I arch against him, clinging to him, matching his intensity.
“Kitten,” he growls, drawing back enough to look down at me. His blue eyes are molten. “We have to stop.”
He looks like he has no desire to stop at all.
And I don’t either.
Which brings reality crashing right over me.
“Right,” I say, breathless, even as I make no move to shift away from him. “We agreed to just a kiss.”
But we’ve slept together before…would it be so bad to do that again?
My body is saying hell yes please .
My heart is worried about how attached I’ve grown to him over the past two months, and that’s before I even knew his name.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he says, smoothing his thumb over my bottom lip. “I want more. I want you with no masks between us. But I’m also going to respect the boundaries you’ve set. I’m not crossing that line until you’ve told me you want this without a rash decision pushing you.”
My heart warms at his words, and it’s hard not to smile up at him. “So, you’re saying if I asked you now?—”
“ Don’t ,” he cuts over me, a pleading look on his face. “Kitten, I’m finding it very hard to say no to you. But you wanted a kiss, not a repeat. And I can’t let you make a quick decision.”
I blow out a breath. “Like we did that night?”
He nods, slowly backing away from me, bumping into a barstool and nearly tripping on it because his eyes are still on me. “Fuck, this is hard,” he groans as he backs toward the door.
I laugh, smiling at him.
“Yeah…I need to leave. Immediately.” He shakes his head. “You’re in for the night, right?”
I nod, the switch back to professional ground giving me whiplash.
“Good. I’ll be out here a minute waiting on a Lyft,” he says, opening the door. “Lock this behind me. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Will do,” I say, still trembling from his kiss.
I lock the door behind him, leaning against it.
Kissing him had been the worst idea ever…
Because now I knew I didn’t want to go another day without doing it again.