Words That Bind Page 12

  Chapter 17

  Try as she did to distract herself with work, her afternoon gave her no respite. Reminders of him were everywhere—she avoided her office, naturally, but it was so easy to trace even the most unrelated things back to him, as if he were the source of everything in her universe.

  She couldn’t even enjoy her coffee, remembering the sly smile he wore when he’d offered to warm her cup for her the day they’d met.

  A new client evaluation brought his memory front and foremost when a swarthy man was shown into the treatment room. His black glossy hair was cropped close to his head, spreading around to his face in a full beard. A tattoo—a symbol of some sort, all sweeps and dots—graced his left cheekbone. Definite not a typical look in Philadelphia.

  She glanced down at his file. “Good afternoon, Mr. Sahir, I’m—”

  “Tamarinda Kerish. I know.” His sonorous voice flowed around each syllable like cold syrup, thick and over-sweet. He nodded his head, once, in a slow but decisive manner, as if his saying her name simply made it so. His handshake was just the opposite; a stiff hand, hot and all fingertips. “It is a pleasure to meet you at last. I’ve heard many good things.”

  “You have. Thank you. You were—referred?” She lifted her brows politely.

  “Indeed. An acquaintance, one who values his privacy. He spoke highly of your—” He paused significantly. “Confidentiality.”

  “Ah.” She smoothed her voice against a flare of remembered irritation. Burns. No doubt. “Right.”

  “And he said you are very flexible when it comes to the therapeutic needs of others.”

  His tone caused the muscles between her shoulders to pinch up. “Meaning?”

  “Sometimes, you are satisfied to simply listen.”

  She relaxed. For a moment, she worried that Burns had kissed and told. A firm reminder that the djinn seemed to value privacy much too much made the suspicion a fleeting one. Still, the glint in Sahir’s eyes concerned her. It implied he knew something about her that he wasn’t sharing.

  They completed her evaluation in under thirty-five minutes, a personal record. Sahir was cooperative and pleasant, although he made no mention of being a djinn or otherwise. A darkness lurked beneath his smile and, while plenty of dangerous men had sat in that very chair over the last few years, this one seemed more personal than the rest.

  She couldn’t very well ask him if he was supernatural. If he wanted her to know, he’d tell her. End of story. Surely she’d proven her trustworthiness to Burns several times over. If he was the one who referred him—and she was positive he had—then Burns would have made it clear that nothing would leave the room.

  By quarter of the hour, she stared at a very empty and uninteresting evaluation sheet. Her disappointment was considerable although her expression didn’t show it. Burns, by comparison, had been a therapist’s dream.

  She lifted her knee against the sharp edge under her desk again. Dream. Bad choice of words. Very bad choice.

  “Well, I think there are several avenues we can pursue, Mr. Sahir. I know you mentioned being interested in just talking, but there may be more to your need to control situations.”

  He paled and his brows flattened into angry juts. “I assure you, I have no issues.”

  “I’m not accusing. I just think that when you talked about your past you were describing what can be identified as control issues. It’s an opportunity to do a little self-exploring.”

  He relaxed, a visible change sweeping the tension from his expression as if he’d wiped himself clean of it. “Perhaps you are right. I sought some place to talk freely, and you listened. I could not ask you to remain silent. We will talk about my…control issues.”

  She noted how tight his mouth became when he spoke his assent. Thinking about what exactly may lead to those control issues set her on alert. Often, issues like that arose in men who were abusive, sometimes verbally or physically, other times sexually or even psychologically. They used control as a weapon.

  The way he just cleared his expression—that spoke of intense mental discipline. Another worrisome sign. Unlike Burns, this man didn’t have the same sense of all-talk-and-no-action. Burns was a showman.

  This man…was different.

  But Burns had referred him, hadn’t he? She didn’t think he would put her in harm’s way, no matter how mad he got. She just had to trust him. “So we have a plan, then? You will return as my client?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “I haven’t signed your confidentiality agreement, yet.”

  “Oh, it’s not something to sign.” She flipped to the HIPAA statement stapled to the inside cover of his file.

  “But it’s a contract. A signature ratifies it.”

  She thought of Burns a moment, his stories and demonstrations filling her mind. She’d never have witnessed such amazing things if he hadn’t trusted her.

  If signing the confidentiality agreement made Sahir trust her, what did she have to lose? Besides, he definitely had a problem with control. Perhaps she’d be able to use this as a reference during treatment.

  Another contrast from Burns—this man definitely needed therapy.

  “If you would like me to sign it, I’ll do it as a gesture, an outward sign of my promise,” she said. “But the signature isn’t necessary. I will keep my word.”

  “I believe you,” he said. “I’m just... sorry. I need a measure of reassurance.”

  She thought of his reaction to her earlier suggestion of control issues and smiled. “I understand.”

  She picked up a pen but, just before she began to write, he stopped her, a hand upon hers. “One more thing. When you say confidential, does that mean you will not speak my name to anyone outside our, ah, sessions?”

  She considered it a moment, noting the intense gleam in his eye. “Well, I suppose it does. I don’t discuss my cases with anyone, unless you join the group. Then the other group leader—”

  “No, no. No group. Just this. You and I.”

  “Okay,” she said. Burns had been persistent about what she’d say outside of their meetings, but Sahir took it to an entirely new level. “Then I won’t have reason to speak your name outside our session.”

  “And your contract makes it so?” His eyes shone, as if reflecting a strange light.

  No flames. Just a weird glint. “Yes.”

  Seemingly satisfied, he released her hand and sat back.

  Her hand felt cold, now that he’d released it. She signed her name on the bottom before offering him the pen. He produced his own, and signed his name in a flourish of sweeping curves and precise dots.

  She picked up the sheet and admired his writing. “That is a beautiful signature.”

  “Names are powerful. They deserve to be written in beauty.” He tugged the paper from her hand and rolled it into a tube.

  Protest lit her eyes. “I should keep it in—”

  “You said yourself, a signature isn’t necessary for your purposes. Surely there is no harm in my keeping it? After all, it is more to reassure me...”

  “True.” Her voice was faint. “I hope you will realize I am completely trustworthy.”

  He waved the scroll is front of her face before sliding it into his breast pocket. “All the proof I need.”

  She pressed her professional smile into place. Thankfully, Sahir didn’t make her react the way Burns did. She had no trouble remaining her calm and aloof self with this man.

  Genies. High maintenance didn’t come close to describing it.

  After the last client left for the afternoon, Dolly stopped by the office. Tam was always appreciative of her company, because it gave her a chance to spend time with someone who truly knew her. She didn’t have to try so hard around Dolly, She could just be herself, and knew she had the freedom to be completely open with her.

  If she could call it that. Being open took a lot of effort on her part. She didn’t have the luxury of being overly abundant when it came to body language. Open meant she h
ad to tell Dolly everything.

  Today…today was different.

  Dolly swept her hazelnut eyes across Tam’s face, a tiny frown tugging at her mouth. “You don’t look well.”

  “Really?” Sarcasm. That was something Tam had no problems manufacturing. “Thanks.”

  “No, really. You look worn down. Are you sleeping okay?”

  “Yeah, it’s not that. It’s—” Tam looked away, unable to meet her gaze. She scratched at her temple. Where were the words? She’d never had trouble talking to Dolly about her dreams, and they were usually more dramatic than this. Whatever this was. “My client. I’m distracted, that’s all.”

  “No. It can’t be.” Dolly gaped at her. “I don’t believe it. You fell for him, didn’t you? You fell for a client. Not good, Tam. Not good.”

  Tam didn’t know what to say. Should she argue? Should she vehemently protest?

  What would be the point? If Dolly could read it on her, then there was no denying it. The old Tam could have poker-faced her partner and argued that the sky was polka-dotted until the other admitted she was right. Not this Tam, not who she was today.

  These changes. They were measurable and quantifiable and oh, so apparent. There was no hiding from the truth.

  “It’s okay.” Tam studied the backs of her hands. “I released him from care. You know I wouldn’t—”

  “But nothing happened, right?”

  Tam’s gaze shifted. Let’s see. The palace, Peru, the mirror, the ring, the wish. And, oh, yeah. The dream.

  She swallowed hard and drummed her fingers on the desk. “Nothing happened.”

  Dolly sat back, lacing her fingers over her stomach. She wasn’t buying it.

  “Doll, I just—I don’t think he’s technically a client.”

  “Technically?” Her voice was heavy with disapproval.

  Tam swallowed. Her credibility was in big trouble. She knew better and she knew Dolly knew she knew better. “I think it was all an elaborate ruse to get to know me. Personally.”

  “Do you really believe that?”

  “I do.”

  Dolly pointed a no-nonsense finger. “But technically, he walked through that door.”

  Tam lowered her eyes, slowly deflating. She nodded.

  “Then you know,” Dolly said.

  The lie she’d been telling herself, the insistence that he was not actually a client, collapsed like a house of cards inside her. She busied herself with her manicure. “Yeah, I know.”

  “Say it.” Dolly’s voice was low and firm. “Go on. You have to say it out loud because I can tell by looking at you that you don’t want to believe it.”

  No malice, no reprimand—just a no-nonsense, face-the-truth kind of voice. It was exactly the same tone she’d be using if their roles were reversed.

  And that was it, wasn’t it? She didn’t want to believe it. Not this time, not about him. “If someone walks through the therapy door, they are a client.”

  “He is a client.” Dolly held up her palm to make her point. “Cut him loose.”

  She remembered the stricken look on his face when she’d pressed the intercom button. The memory sliced through her, wounding her again. She’d hurt him. “I did.”

  “Good. Now, walk away.”

  That was the part that was causing all the trouble. She didn’t want to walk away.

  All she had to do is just turn her back and keep walking. It would solve every single problem she was facing at work. And she never had problems before—not at work, not anywhere.

  Burns. He’d turned her entire life upside down the minute he walked in here.

  Walk away. Problem solved.

  It wasn’t that easy. It would be like turning her back on something she spent her entire life chasing down. “I don’t know if I can.”

  “Look at me.” Dolly reached across the desk and seized Tam’s hand. “I have never seen you like this.”

  Tam tried to smile, but it crept out, tiny and unsure. “I’ve never felt like this.”

  “No offense, but I sometimes wonder if you ever feel anything.”

  “None taken. Because you’re right. I don’t feel anything. Ever.” She sighed. “But now…I’m not so sure. When he’s around there’s…something. I can feel it.”

  “Oh.” Dolly sat back, her brows drawn. “This can’t be good, Tami.”

  “Why can’t it be good? I feel like I’m on the edge of—I don’t know. Some great discovery. I think this man can help me understand everything I don’t understand about myself. My whole life, Dolly. I went my whole life, wondering what it’s like and now, when I’m with him, I don’t have to wonder so much.”

  Dolly grasped her hand again and squeezed. “I understand, Tami, I do. But that doesn’t change the fact that he was a client. You are ethically bound to do the right thing.”

  “But, Dolly…I think—”

  “You don’t have to say it. I already know. You’re in love with him.” Dolly slowly shook her head, every line of her countenance drawn in empathy. “And if you care anything about yourself, you’ll walk away.”

  Chapter 18

  Tam finished off the last of the paperwork, grateful for the distraction her work provided. But the moment she walked out of the office, she went right back to thinking about Burns, each step of the way. The walk to the car, the drive home, the three flights up to her apartment…his face burned before her, the heat in his glare nearly palpable. She couldn’t shake his image. It bordered on obsession.

  And despite her conversation with Dolly—despite knowing the logical and the expected and the proper thing to do—she couldn’t help herself.

  Where was he now? Had he finally calmed down? He was the definition of emotionally vulnerable. It would take him forever to return to his baseline—

  She sighed. The words didn’t fit him, the definitions and the terms she used every day in her practice. Here she was, still trying to treat him like a client, when all she did was worry about him. As a man.

  Was he still angry with her for asking him to leave? All she wanted was the chance to explain herself. Could she persuade him to listen?

  But the way he got in her face, talking about her dream—which was still a sharply vivid memory—he made her feel like he’d peeped in at her, spied upon her during a private moment. It caused her a twinge of discomfort. Every time she closed her eyes, she remembered his kiss, the searing touch that made her entire body react.

  She’d never felt anything like that before. It made her feel alive, at last, a breaking through to the other side. She’d wanted that kiss to linger, a precious thing to keep, a chance to feel that way again.

  It had been a private moment, one she’d never share with anyone. Dreaming about a client? It was almost as inherently wrong as actually sleeping with him. And when he called her out on it, as if it had actually happened…

  She reacted. Not logically, not methodically, not counter-actively. She reacted with the symptoms of emotion. She flushed. Her heart pounded. Adrenaline dumped into her bloodstream and she just reacted and told him to leave—

  It wasn’t how she’d planned on telling him she wanted to end their professional relationship but he’d cornered her, forced her hand, made her act impulsively. She regretted it, wholly and sincerely. It was the wrong way to go about what would be a painful admission no matter how she’d approached it. But this way had been the worst possible way to go about telling Burns he needed to stop coming to the office.

  He’d leaned into her personal space, menacing and threatening and complaining about stupid wishes. He’d gotten close enough for her to notice the light stubble, could breathe in the fragrance of his skin, feel the heat of his body. So much like the dream…

  But he’d been so dark. It would ruin her dream fantasy all together. Taint it. Make it even more forbidden than it already was. If he knew about that dream, how could she ever feel comfortable dreaming again?

  She scowled, perplexed. She broke their contract because it was th
e right thing to do. If she got involved with him, it would violate every code of ethics there was. And if she kept seeing him, even on a professional basis, she’d get involved with him.

  Still, the way he’d walked out bothered her. What if he never wanted to see her again? Raking her hair back, she blew out a tight breath. She didn’t want him to be the one to make the decision. She always had to be the one in control of the situation.

  She paused before her apartment door, key in hand, hovering over the lock. Something was definitely off. Things just didn’t feel right. Usually the hall had a closed too-much-carpet muffled kind of feeling, from its low ceiling and dim wall lights, its lack of central air. A woolen sock sensation.

  The stifled hallway was the reason she’d never installed carpet. She liked entering her open, sparsely decorated home, because it gave her a sense of release. Freedom. She’d take it in any form.

  Tonight, the hall felt the same but something—she didn’t quite know what—the air around her apartment felt alien. Not right.

  She took a step back and examined the door.

  No sign of a forced entry. The doorknob looked intact. But the bottom—

  A glow emanated from underneath the door, an impossible brightness. Even if she’d left every single light on, she was sure it would never be as bright as the light that leaked through the crack beneath her door.

  She leaned close and sniffed. No smoke, nothing. Hesitantly, she reached out to touch the doorknob, a quick brush of fingers before snatching them back, expecting to be burned.

  But no, the knob was cool. She sighed in relief and ran her hands over the wood. Good thing. At least the place wasn’t on fire.

  Out of ideas for what to do next, she shrugged. Might as well go in and see where the light was coming from.

  She twisted the key and unlocked the door, pushing it wide open and peering inside.

  Her jaw dropped. She gaped at the space where her apartment used to be.

  Drapes, furniture—heck, the walls—all gone. Instead, she stood inside a disembodied doorway, looking out over the beaches she visited as a child.