Wound Up (10 page)

Stepping onto the bus, he took a spot near the driver. That didn’t stop him from remembering her smooth skin beneath his fingers only moments before. Speaking of...

He twisted his hand around, confused by the long, shallow scratch that ran the length of his finger. The zipper on her skirt must have a bent tooth.

Ignoring the burning cut, he let himself sway with the bus as it moved, all the while considering his next move. It would have to be both cautious and bold. Never an easy combination.

He grinned. That only meant whatever he came up with would be memorable, hopefully in all the right ways. It would have to spell things out very clearly.

He wasn’t about to give up on her.

10

G
RACE
’
S
HANDS
SHOOK
. She couldn’t get them to stop as she put together the client file for their one-thirty meeting. The second time she dropped the two-prong clasp, she shut the folder and dropped her hands to her lap. This...this...
thing
with Justin had to stop. He couldn’t keep rattling her, taking her to lunch at an emotional haven and then kissing her senseless at the bus stop. The
bus stop
, for heaven’s sake.

Her fingers absently stroked her parted lips as she remembered the way he’d taken over, taken responsibility from her and allowed her to simply experience the kiss. He’d tasted like bacon. The faintest facial hair had begun to grow in on his jaw, brushing her soft skin and making her that much more aware of him. His hands had woven through her hair, claiming control of even the way she tilted her head. Her heart had crashed against her ribs, and heavy pulses had landed between her thighs with undisguised physical craving. She’d wanted him.

She still wanted him.

He’d left her unfulfilled. The unapologetic bulge in his pants said he hadn’t been unaffected, either. Had they been somewhere more private, she probably would have pulled a King Kong and scaled him like the Empire State Building. Thank God they
had
been in public. She couldn’t let this get any further out of hand. She couldn’t get more involved and maintain her sanity. She couldn’t let him derail all she’d worked for over the years by feeding the fierce attraction between them.

“Get it under control, Cooper,” she whispered, reaching for the folder.

“Who’re you talking to?”

She jerked so hard she sent the container of two-prong clasps flying. They scattered across the floor, some sliding under the desk while others gently wedged themselves under Justin’s shoes.

“Office-supply rebellion?” One corner of his mouth curled up in a lopsided smile as he closed the door. “That doesn’t strike me as your speed, Grace. If you were going to throw something at me, I would have expected something more in line with, oh, the chair.”

“Duly noted. ‘Boss expects physical abuse and property destruction.’”

He snorted and shook his head, bending over to pick up the file clasps. “I went over the notes for our one-thirty. The patient’s got some serious anger issues. He’s being courted by one of Seattle’s most violent gangs and already has an impressive arrest record. Assault, destruction of public property, possession of a stolen firearm and possession with the intent to distribute. The last is what landed him here.”

Grace grabbed a pad of paper and began taking notes. “Which gang?”

“Deuce-8.”

She stopped abruptly. Eyes wide, she fought the urge to shiver. “Whoa.”

“Yeah.” Justin deposited the clasps near Grace. Taking a deep breath, he rolled his head left and right, popping his neck, before dropping into his chair. “Nothing better than baptism by fire.”

“I’m not Baptist.”

He grinned. “Neither am I.”

“Welcome to the fold.”

His laughter was deep and heartfelt. “You kill me.”

“Second note to self. ‘Boss instructed me to kill him.’”

“Ha.” Sliding down in his chair, he crossed his hands over his abs. “I set up the therapy room. Can you do me a favor?”

She hesitated before answering. “Sure.”

“Nothing nefarious.”

“Okay.”

“I want you to take some very particular notes.” He leaned forward, arms resting on his knees. “While I’m talking to him, I want you to surreptitiously sketch whatever tattoos he’s advertising. I’m going to bet he’s got quite a few and that none of them spell out
Mom
.”

“Right. They’ll have meaning,” she murmured, scribbling. “We might have to consult a member of the police’s gang unit to figure out what they mean. He’s not going to own it. At least, not right away. And somehow I doubt there’s much available to the average person in the way of a field guide for amateur tattoo identifications. Can’t imagine there’s a huge call for that kind of stuff at local bookstores.”

Justin reached out and gently touched her knee.

Heat crept up her legs. A whimper caught at the base of her throat. Her eyes snapped from his fingers to his face.

“You’re pretty calm about this. That’s damned attractive.”

“It’s my job to remain calm and objective.” If his voice was deep and sexually charged, hers was full-on Marilyn Monroe breathy.

Justin’s eyes blazed, blue irises deepening as his pupils widened. He scooted to the edge of his seat and wheeled over to Grace. Propping his hands on the arms of her very stationary chair, he leaned into her personal space. “Do I make you nervous?”

“You make me crazy.” The admission snuck out without her conscious permission.

“I can settle for crazy.”

“You can’t just kiss me whenever you want, Justin.”

He arched a brow. “What if you kiss me?”

“Not going to happen.”

“And why is that?”

“Lunch was a mistake. I try to learn from those. I won’t be kissing you again.”

Surprise flashed across his face. “That was a mistake?”

“Yeah.” Her answer was so faint she followed it up with a vigorous nod to make sure he got the point.

“I don’t agree.”

“Please don’t do this, Justin.”

“Do what?”

“Don’t make saying no to you any harder on me than it already is.”

The phone beeped and the receptionist’s voice filled the air. “Gavin Stills is here, Dr. Maxwell. He’s waiting in the lobby.”

“Saved by the intercom,” he murmured.

“I’m sorry?” the receptionist asked.

“Nothing. Thank you, Mallory.”

The woman’s voice dropped an octave or three. “Of course.” The phone clicked as she disconnected.

Grace forced a smile. “Seems you’ve got a new admirer.”

“The only admirer I want is you.”

“You charmer, you.” She blew out a deep breath and fought to keep from telling him just how much she wanted to say yes to him, to agree to give this a shot. Instead what she said was, “Get it together, Dr. Maxwell. Your first official patient is waiting.”

It was the best she could do to close a conversation that was rattling her, particularly considering the fact he seemed pretty collected. She was the one who was falling apart.

* * *

J
USTIN
’
S
HEAD
WASN
’
T
quite in the game as he left the office, Grace at his side. Part of him was focused on the fact he was seeing his first patient. An equal, maybe even larger, part couldn’t shift its focus from the woman at his side. He wanted to finish this particular conversation with Grace. Leaving it like they had seemed as though it would undermine the very things he wanted from her, things that were very personal, undeniably real and unapologetically involved. She’d shut him down before he’d been able to voice what he needed her to hear. That wasn’t acceptable. He needed to set this straight or he’d never be able to focus on the kid who needed his full attention.

Slowing, Justin gently took Grace’s arm and pulled her to a stop, stepping in front of her. “Our conversation isn’t over. We both know we have to focus on the job right now, but that doesn’t buy you an out from hearing what I have to say. I’m going to leave you with this.” He moved in closer, forcing her to lift her chin to meet his stare. “This thing between us? It’s not wrong, Grace. That it’s hard to keep shutting me down should tell you something.”

She squared her shoulders. “I never said it was wrong. I said, in summary, it’s not a possibility I’m willing to explore. My life begins when I get out of Seattle, Justin, and your life is here. That puts us at an impasse.”

A sense of despondency scored his heart. She couldn’t simply leave him under the false pretense that this was how it had to be. He couldn’t live with the idea she would dismiss their night together as if it hadn’t happened. It
had
happened, would happen again—and again—if he got his way. But if she wanted to play stubborn, he could play. It just meant a change of tactics.

Resting his hands on her shoulders, he met her stare. “Okay, no more bus-stop moments. If you want me, you initiate the contact. I’m stepping away.”

She opened her mouth to respond but the overhead PA-system chime interrupted her. “Dr. Maxwell to the lobby. Dr. Maxwell to the lobby, please.”

“Our client’s waiting.” He swept an arm out to invite her to proceed down the hall.

She moved past him wordlessly, chancing a single look over her shoulder as she moved along at a sharp clip.

Justin caught up to her so they rounded the corner to the front lobby as a team.

The teen waiting on them sat in the hard plastic chair and emitted an air of arrogant disregard Justin recognized. Wearing a black, flat-billed ball cap and a denim jacket marked with Deuce-8’s colors, the kid looked caught between bored and belligerent. Low-slung, superbaggy hip-hop jeans bunched around his ankles, the pockets covered in embroidered graffiti. His white tank top was pristine, as were his white Air Jordan shoes. In all, Justin rang up a mental $800 in threads. No one from this kid’s neighborhood had that much money for clothes unless they were supplementing their income, heavily, and Justin wasn’t thinking a second job working nights stocking shelves. No, this kind of supplement cost people their lives.

Hands loose at his sides, Justin walked up and loomed over the teen just a bit. “Hey. You must be Gavin Stills.”

The kid stood, his junior pecs hitting Justin’s ribs. “Back off me, man.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You wanna throw down? Cuz I’ll bleed you out right here, right now.” Posturing, the teen bumped into Justin.

Justin was well aware of how gang infrastructure worked. Only the brutal truth and showing a stronger hand than the kid’s own would garner his respect. Justin had been in the exact same place, faced down a counselor in the same way in this very lobby. “Yeah? And here I’d been told you were smart.”

“You just call me stupid?” the teen snapped, shoving the bill of his hat around so he had an unimpeded view of Justin.

“You heard me, but let me make it simpler. I’m all that stands between you and juvie, and you’re right there on the edge of being old enough to do real time. That would make you the prison’s baby boy, and I don’t think you’d like that too much. So it’s up to you. We can figure out who’s tougher right here, right now, or we can talk. Personally? I’d rather talk, but it’s your choice.”

Gavin gazed up through narrow eyes, adjusting his pants repeatedly. Justin recognized the move as a threatening gesture and wondered, briefly, if he was going to have to pin the kid to the ground while they called the cops. Not the best first impression to make, but he had to earn the kid’s buy-in to the program, and superior strength was the only thing he’d respect.

“First rule?” Justin said so softly the kid was forced to stop rustling his pants to hear him. “No one comes in here and threatens me.”

“You said first. What are the others?”

“Appears you
are
a smart kid. There are two others. Second rule is that you don’t wear gang colors when you come in here. Period.” When Gavin started to argue, Justin crossed his substantial arms across his chest and forced the kid back a step. “No. Gang. Colors.”

“A’ight, a’ight.”

“Third and final rule? No violence on these grounds. You break that rule, I call the cops and your freedom is revoked by a judge. No warnings, no plea bargains, and I won’t be speaking up on your behalf in court. Got it?”

“I can hear just fine.”

“Then I’m going to assume you accept the rules.”

“Whatever.”

“You have a chance here, Gavin. Don’t screw it up.”

“I get it. Are we done?” he asked, but beneath the belligerence, Justin heard uncertainty.

Excellent. It meant he’d thrown the kid off his game. Score one for the counselor.

“C’mon.” Justin moved away. “Let me introduce you to my assistant. Grace?” He watched as she closed the distance between them, her movements both confident and calm. “Gavin, this is Grace Cooper. She’s finishing her degree in psychology, so she’ll be sitting in with us for the next two weeks.”

“You got your own Vanna White?” His eyes moved over Grace. “That’s cool.”

“Actually, I prefer Black Widow. She’s hot, a little mouthy, smart as hell and she totally kicks ass.”

Justin looked at her askance, trying to gauge what she was up to.

“You a comic fan?” Gavin asked.

“Marvel fan, yes. C’mon. They’ve got great heroes.”

Gavin caught himself midlaugh and shrugged. “Black Widow your favorite?”

“I’m definitely more fond of Thor.”

“Such a chick thing to say.”

“Hey, the guy can take a beating and still get up. That’s hot.”

Gavin eyed her with new interest. “So you like that he’s tough?”

“Well, yeah.”

“What else?”

“You’ll have to talk to me to find out. I don’t dish comics with folks who can’t hang with the conversation.”

He grinned. “I can hang.”

“Let’s go, then.”

Justin gaped, watching as they started down the hall, the two of them chatting away about comics. Shaking himself out of it, he took off after them, fighting not to hurry but, instead, to keep his gait slow and sure.

He entered the therapy room several seconds after the duo did. They were settling in, still chatting about inane stuff. Grace had her notepad out but hadn’t made any notes despite the fact the kid had shed his jacket and his ink was prominently displayed.

Pulling up his chair, Justin waited for a brief lull before inserting himself into the conversation. “So, Gavin, what’s going on?”

The kid glanced between him and Grace, clearly unsure who was the more comfortable to talk to. His attention stalled on Grace.

Justin smiled inwardly, proud that Grace had been able to establish a connection with the kid so quickly.

Finally, the teen focused on a spot on the floor somewhere in between them. “My parole officer said I had to come talk to the shrink here.”