Dr. Roswell always writes in a notebook during our sessions. It seems very old-school to me, but then this is England and her office is in a building that was standing when Thomas Jefferson wrote the Declaration of Independence back in Philadelphia. She uses a fountain pen too, which impresses the holy hell out of me.
I watched her very beautiful turquoise and gold fountain pen scratch words into her notebook as she listened to me talk about Ethan. Dr. Roswell is a great listener. In fact, it’s pretty much the gist of what she does. I don’t know what our sessions would consist of if I didn’t tell her stuff she could listen to.
Sitting behind her elegant French desk table, she was the picture of professionalism and genuine interest. I’d guess her to be in her early fifties with beautiful skin and white hair that did not age her one bit. She always wore unique jewelry and bohemian outfits that made her look cultured and approachable. My dad had helped me find her when I’d first moved to London. Dr. Roswell was on my necessities list along with food, clothing and shelter.
“So why do you think you reacted by leaving Ethan in the middle of the night?”
“I was afraid of him seeing me like that.”
“But he did.” She wrote something in her book. “And from what you’ve told me, he wanted to comfort you and for you to stay.”
“I know, and it scared me. For him to want me to tell him why I have the dreams . . .” And this was my biggest problem. Dr. Roswell and I’ve discussed it many, many times. What would any man think of me once they knew? “He asked me if I wanted to talk about it. I told him no. He’s so—so—intense; I know it will be a matter of days probably before he pushes for more.”
“A relationship is like that, Brynne. You share and help the other person know about you, even the frightening parts.”
“Ethan is not like that, though. He’s so demanding all the time. He wants . . . everything from me.”
“And how does that make you feel when he demands things or wants you to give him everything?”
“Terrified of what will become of me—Brynne.” I took a deep breath and said the words. “But when I’m with him, when he touches me or when we’re . . . intimate . . . I feel so safe and cherished, like nothing bad will happen to me with him. For whatever reason, I trust him, Dr. Roswell.”
“Do you think starting a sexual relationship with Ethan is the reason your nightmares have resurfaced?”
“Yes.” My voice came out tremulous, and I hated the sound of it.
“Brynne, that’s a very normal thing for abuse survivors. The intimate act of sex is vulnerable for a woman by its nature. The female accepts the male inside her body. He’s stronger and typically more dominant. A woman has to have trust in her partner or I imagine there would be minuscule few of us having any sex at all. Add that to your history and you have a very stirring mix brewing inside your subconscious.”
“Even when you don’t remember it?”
“Your brain remembers, Brynne. The fears of waking up to that betrayal are in there.” She wrote another quick note. “Would you like to try a medication for sleep? We could see if that suppresses the night terrors.”
“Will it work?” That sure got my attention. The suggestion of something as simple as a pill made me laugh nervously. The idea that I could stay with him all night . . . or he could stay with me . . . gave me some hope too. That is if Ethan still wanted to try sleeping with me. I remembered him walking out of my flat last night after the crazy sex-up-against-the-wall and how I’d not liked his leaving. My emotions were so confused. Part of me wanted him and part of me was terrified of him. I really had no idea what would become of us. He made you tell him you were his.
Dr. Roswell smiled at me. “We won’t know until we try, my dear. Courage is the first step, and the drug is merely a tool to help you take more steps until you’ve made it down your path. Solutions don’t have to be complicated every time.” She reached for her prescription pad.
“Thank you so much—” My phone started vibrating in my purse. I checked it and saw the text from Ethan. “Ethan’s here. He’s in reception. We agreed for him to collect me at my appointment before he takes me to dinner. He said he wanted to talk about . . . us.”
“It’s always good for two people to talk about their relationship. The honesty and trust you give now will make it much easier to sort out your differences later.” She handed me the prescription. “I’d love to meet him, Brynne.”
“Right now?” Nerves began dancing in my belly.
“Why not? I’ll walk you out and meet your Ethan. It helps me immensely to put faces to names when we have our sessions.”
“Oh . . . okay,” I said, getting up from her comfy, floral chintz chair, “but he’s not really my Ethan, Dr. Roswell.”
“We’ll see,” she said with a gentle pat on my shoulder.
My breath caught in my throat when I saw him looking at the art on the wall while waiting for me. The way he stood there reminded me of him seeing my portrait at Benny’s show and wanting it. Wanting it enough to buy it.
Ethan turned when we walked into reception. His blue eyes lit up his face and morphed into a softened smile as he came toward me. A burst of relief shot down through my heart. Ethan looked very happy to see me.
“Ethan, this is my therapist, Dr. Roswell. Dr. Roswell, Ethan Blackstone, my—”
“Brynne’s boyfriend,” he interrupted me yet again. Ethan offered his hand to Dr. Roswell and probably gave her a smile that would melt her panties off. As they exchanged pleasantries I got a glimpse of her reaction to him, and I must admit it was satisfying to see women of all ages being intoxicated by his male beauty. And I would remember to use it during a future session too. So, Dr. Roswell, you think Ethan is off-the-charts sexy, don’t you?
“Boyfriend?” I asked as he walked me out to his car, holding my hand firmly in his.
“Just keeping things positive, baby.” He grinned and pulled our entwined hands up to his mouth to lay a kiss on mine before putting me into his Rover.
“I can see that,” I told him. “Where are you taking me and why do you look so smiley?”
He leaned over to my side and brought his mouth right up to my lips but didn’t touch me. “I am always smiley, as you put it, when I get what I want.” He kissed me chastely and pulled back.
“Since when do you not get what you want? You’re the most demanding person I have ever met in my life.” I tempered the sarcasm with a little smile of my own.
“Careful, baby. You have no idea of the depths of what I want to do with you.” His eyes darkened.
I let that sensual threat float between us and tried to keep my breathing steady. “You scare me a little when you say stuff like that, Ethan.”
“I know I do.” He pulled my chin toward his mouth with a fingertip and kissed me again. This time he nibbled my bottom lip and teased it. “That’s why we’re taking it slow. I don’t ever want to scare you.” His eyes moved quickly back and forth as he tried to read me, his lips so close but not touching. “Do you realize this is our first time together where I didn’t have to coerce you to come out with me? I have some hope, you see?” He gave me one last kiss before he pulled back to put the keys in the ignition. “And that, Miss Bennett, must be why I am smiley.” His blue eyes danced now.
“Fair enough, Mr. Blackstone, I can live with that.” He helped me click my seat belt and drove out of the parking lot. I settled back into the soft leather and breathed in his scent, allowing him to take me off to somewhere, and for the moment trusting that everything would be okay.
• • •
“Dr. Roswell seems very capable,” Ethan said casually as he refilled my wine. “How long have you been her patient?”
I met his eyes and braced myself. Here it comes, now how will you deal with it? I told myself to breathe. “Nearly four years. Since I moved here.”
“Did you go to see her today because of what’s been happening with me?”
“If you mean going home with a complete stranger and letting him fuck me whenever we meet? Yeah, that’s part of it.” I took another gulp of wine.
His jaw ticked, but his expression did not change for the next question. “And leaving me in the middle of the night—is that part of it too?”
My head went down and I nodded. It was the best I could do.
“What hurt you, Brynne?” He asked the question so gently that I actually considered telling him for a second, but I was nowhere near ready.
I set down my fork and knew my shrimp fettuccini was finished. The topic of my past mixed with food is a definite no-go. “Something bad,” I said, looking up again.
“I can tell. I saw your face when you woke up from your nightmare.” He looked at my plate of food now pushed away and back up at me. “I’m sorry about that night. I didn’t listen to you.” He reached out for my hand and rubbed his thumb over the top of it. “I guess I just want you to know that you can trust me. I hope you know that you can. I want to be with you, Brynne.”
“You want a relationship, don’t you?” I stared down at his thumb rubbing over my knuckles. “You told Dr. Roswell you were my boyfriend.”
“I did, yes. And I want you, Brynne. I do want a relationship.” His voice got firmer. “Look at me.”
I looked up immediately, his beauty so stark against the sea of white linens on the tables behind him. “Even with me the way I am, Ethan?”
“The way you are is perfect to me.”
I removed my hand from his grasp. I had to tug a little to get him to let go. So very Ethan of him, wanting his way in all things, but he did allow me to turn his hand palm up and hold it. I traced over his life line and then his heart line and wondered if either of my lines was salvageable.
“I’m not, Ethan. Perfect and me don’t belong in the same sentence.” I spoke down to his hand.
“The proper phrasing should be perfect and I,” he said knowingly. “And I totally disagree with you, my American beauty with the sexy twang.”
I looked up at him again. “You are so controlling, but you do it in a way that makes me feel strangely . . . safe.”
“I know that too. And it makes me fucking wild for you. And that’s why you should trust me and let me take care of you. I know what you need, Brynne, and I can give it to you. I just want to know—I have to know that you want it. That you want to be with me.”
The waiter arrived at the table. “Are you finished, ma’am?” he asked. Ethan looked annoyed when I told the server to take my plate and ordered a coffee.
“You hardly ate anything tonight.” I could tell he wasn’t pleased.
“I had enough. I’m not very hungry.” I took a sip of wine. “So you want me to be your girlfriend, and give up control to you, and trust that you will not hurt me. Is that really what you want, Ethan?”
“Yes, Brynne, that’s exactly what I want.”
“But there’s so much about me that you don’t know. Things I don’t know about you.”
“When you’re ready you’ll share with me and I’ll be right there to listen. I want to know everything about you, and if you want to know about me, you can ask.”
“What if I don’t want to give up control to you on some things, Ethan, or I am unable to?”
“Then you tell me. We are negotiating, and both of us have to respect limits.”
“All right.”
He tilted his head and spoke softly. “I want to be with you so badly right now. I want to take you home with me, and put you in my bed and have hours and hours with your body wrapped up in mine to do with as I wish. I want to have you there in the morning so when we wake up I can make you come, saying my name. I want to drive you to work and pick you up when it’s time to leave. I want to go to the shops with you and buy food we can cook for dinner. I want to watch some crap television and have you fall asleep against me on the couch so I can watch you and hear you breathing.”
“Oh, Ethan—”
My coffee arrived and I wanted to slap the server for interrupting that beautiful speech. I busied myself with doctoring it with sugar and cream. I took a sip and tried to find my words. To be honest, I was caught up in him already. Hook, line and sinker. I wanted all those things with Ethan, I just wasn’t sure I would survive him.
“Too much? Am I scaring you off?”
I shook my head. “No. It sounds very nice, actually. And you should know it’s something I’ve never had before. I’ve never had a relationship like that, Ethan.”
He grinned. “That works for me, baby. I want to be your first.” He raised an eyebrow in a look that dripped of sexual innuendo and made me want to go home with him tonight to start the arrangement. “But I want you to think about it tonight and then tell me what you decide. And you need to know that I am very possessive of what belongs to me.”
“Really?” The sarcasm rolled out of me. “Never would have guessed that from last night in my flat.”
“I could totally spank your gorgeous arse right now for the lip you’re giving me.” He winked at me. “I can’t help it. That’s just how I feel about you, Brynne. In my head, you’re mine, and that’s how it’s been since I first met you.” He sighed across the table at me. “So I’m going to be restrained this time and take you home to sleep at your flat, and kiss you goodnight at the door, and wait for you to tell me otherwise.” He signaled the server for the bill. “You ready to go?”
I giggled at the image that popped into my head.
“Are you laughing at me, Miss Bennett? Please do share.”
“I am picturing you wanting to spank me, Mr. Blackstone, yet playing the restrained gentleman that merely kisses me goodnight at my door.”
He groaned and shifted his legs in the chair, no doubt rearranging a furious hard-on. “You’ll have witnessed a miracle tonight if my car actually manages to make it to your street.”
• • •
Ethan kept his word. He did say goodnight at my door. Granted, he’d taken a few liberties with his hands and I’d gotten a very good impression of what he sported behind his fly, but he’d left me like he had promised after some very thorough kisses.
I got ready for bed after a hot shower and pulled on my softest sleeping tee. It had Jimi Hendrix on the front—the picture where he is in a garden at a table set for tea, considered the last photograph of him ever taken. I loved stuff like that, and I loved Jimi, so it got a lot of use.
Deciding it was time to do a little recon on my boyfriend, I fired up my laptop right in the middle of my bed and Googled the name I’d read on his driver’s license when he’d showed it to me: Ethan James Blackstone.
Not a ton really came up for him. He had a Wikipedia page and some links for Blackstone Security’s website. Wikipedia was a surprise, though. Ethan was known mostly for his celebrity as a poker player for high-limit games. He’d won a world tournament in Las Vegas about six years back at the impressive age of only twenty-six. A lot of money. Enough money to start a business. And with his military background in the Special Forces he must have found his niche. So that made him about thirty-two now. I did the math. Almost eight years older than me.
Google Images had some pictures of him, mostly of his big win at poker. I would have to ask my dad if he’d ever heard of Ethan. He loved poker tournaments and still played sometimes.
I kept scrolling through pages of images and stopped whenever I found one of him. There was a picture of him with the prime minister and the Queen. Jesus . . . The Italian PM and the president of France? I felt tingles roll up my back. Was Ethan like a James Bond or something? What the hell kind of security did he do? If these were people he protected, then he had a very high-profile clientele. I was stunned. I made a note that the next time I saw Gabrielle’s dad I would ask him if he’d heard of Ethan. He was London police, and if anybody was in the know, it was Rob Hargreave.
I’d also not seen a single personal photo of Ethan in a social situation with a woman. And I wondered if he held the power to squelch stuff like that. There was no way he lived a celibate lifestyle, not how he oozed sex. And if he was telling the truth about not bringing them to his home, then where did he take them for sex? Ugh, I didn’t want to ponder the idea.
Shutting down my computer, I turned out the light and crawled into bed. I pulled his purple tie out from under my pillow and held it to my nose. The comforting scent of him came to me instantly. I felt even smaller in the scheme of things now. And was left wondering why a man like him had noticed me in the first place. From just my portrait at a gallery show? The idea hardly seemed believable.
I tried to conquer my fears and think about what he’d offered to me tonight. And I remembered how good it felt to be with him and how he made my body burn during sex. I didn’t have to worry about anything scary or underhanded with Ethan. He was, if nothing else, brutally honest. He was dominating, sure. But I liked that. It took the pressure off me in a sector of my life where I held little confidence. I wanted him, I just didn’t know if he would want me once he knew my whole story.
