Chapter Three #2
“I am. But I can’t risk my career to—”
Glancing around and finding no one paying the least amount of attention to us, I slid my hand under the table. Fortunately, Tyson was on my left. I ran my hand up his thigh.
He stiffened. But he didn’t pull away. “This is wrong.” He muttered the words. “I met you yesterday, for Christ’s sake. You’re a witness. I’m jeopardizing everything.”
But you’re not saying no, are you? I glanced over at Hamish whose pupils were blown wide. Oh, he liked what he witnessed.
Tyson muttered something under his breath.
“What?” Because clarity was most needed in this moment.
“I said I’m going to regret this.”
I squeezed his thigh. “No, you really won’t.”
He held my gaze for a moment before turning to Hamish.
“He’s bulldozing me, and I can barely defend myself.
You don’t have to go along with this. You can walk away from this and not get dragged into what could wind up being a very messy situation.
” He flexed his thigh under my hand, then turned his attention back to me.
“Perhaps I can get the case reassigned or something.”
Hamish raised his hand. “Wouldn’t that still compromise the investigation? I admit I don’t know much about police”—he waved his hand around—“but didn’t those gang guys get off because one of the witnesses, a woman, got involved with one of the investigators?”
I wanted to point out that I wasn’t the only witness. I wasn’t the only victim. My testimony would be nothing in comparison to Cole’s. “You want to do what’s best. You want to color within the lines. I get it. I really do. But I think we can all admit there’s something—”
“This is nuts. That I’m even contemplating this—whatever this is—makes me teeter on the verge of insanity.
” Hamish frowned. “You’re feeling attraction to us because we’re in a position to help you.
Either by arresting the person who shot you or by assisting you in dealing with the emotional fallout. ”
I opened my mouth, but he kept right on going.
“This is a classic case of transference.”
I blinked.
“You’re feeling attraction toward me precisely because I am your therapist.”
“Uh, okay.” My nose itched, but I wasn’t letting go of Tyson’s thigh, and my right arm hurt like a son of a bitch.
“Let’s say you’re right. You’re not…but let’s say for argument that what I’m feeling is…
transference. What would the solution be for that?
Clearly, you wouldn’t keep treating me, right? ”
He pursed his lips. “No. I would refer you to another therapist.”
“See? So do that.” Why I was arguing so vehemently, I wasn’t certain. I’d find another guy. I always found another guy. Hell, Tyson might prove to be more than I could handle.
Yeah right. Get him on the St. Andrew’s cross, and you’ll have him begging for release.
My cock stiffened. Cole had two St. Andrew’s crosses—for when we each brought a bottom home.
An image floated in my mind—both men naked and bound. Both with boundless pale skin waiting for me to mark it. Crop? Whip? Flogger?
All three?
Throw in nipple clamps, maybe a cock cage, and, oh, a paddle. Yeah. The things I could do to Tyson’s ass. To bring him to heel. To give him the release he obviously needed. And Hamish? I could break down those walls in no time.
Hamish pursed his lips. “You’re simplifying.”
“Because it’s just that simple.” I stroked Tyson’s thigh—even as he tensed.
“What if I don’t want this?” Even as Hamish said the words, though, the lie was clear. The wide pupils. The shallow breathing.
Does he even realize he’s turned on?
He caught me by surprise by snatching my plate from before me. “I’ll take care of this. You guys head out. You have to visit Cole, and then you’ve still got a nasty drive even though it isn’t rush-hour traffic yet. Or whenever you’re going.”
We’d barely hit noon, but yeah, by the time I saw Cole and we headed to Renfrew, it’d be close to the four-hour-long ordeal that was Vancouver rush hour. “When will I see you again?”
Hamish smiled, fished out a business card, and handed it over. “That one’s good anytime.”
I flipped it over and found a handwritten phone number scrawled on the back. Only then did I notice he had two pockets of business cards in his billfold. “So not everyone gets the personal treatment?”
He pinkened. “Not everyone’s been shot.”
Part of me resented that I needed special treatment. Part of me was glad this guy was on my side. Most of me just wanted to see the slender man naked and at my mercy.
I pocketed the card and nodded. “Goodbye, Doc.”
“Goodbye, Mr. Riggs.” He held his head high as he walked away.
After a moment, I squeezed Tyson’s thigh. Then used it as leverage to rise.
I’m fucking exhausted, and it’s barely lunchtime. I should probably take some painkillers.
Yet I didn’t. Instead, I followed Tyson out of the coffee shop. “You didn’t say goodbye to him.”
Tyson winced. “Sorry. Already worried about traffic. Plus, I’m never going to see the guy again.” He glanced back. “Really nice guy—I think he can help you.”
Oh, I was pretty sure as well that Hamish could—just not in the way Tyson meant. “He’s cute.”
Tyson disarmed his car and opened the door for me. I resented the help but was also grateful—my left arm had gotten quite a workout today. I slipped in, and he shut the door. Before I could blink, he was around to his side, in the door, and reaching over to secure my seat belt.
All my other chauffeurs in the past day had let me struggle. Tyson had let me struggle earlier, at the studio. Obviously, something had changed. He was getting more comfortable with me. I was getting more comfortable with him.
How do you see this playing out?
Articulating the idea in my mind proved challenging, but I was undeterred. I wanted Tyson. I wanted Hamish. I’d do everything in my power to get both.