His possessive tone coasts down the curve of my spine, inducing a shiver. “You don’t sound at all disturbed, Orion.”
“And you don’t sound at all like a psychiatrist right now, Collins, but here we both are.”
“Here we both are.” A smile breaks across my mouth. “Do people talk like this?”
“We talk like this.”
His intense gaze holds mine captive, his eyes so vibrant and blazing, I’m breathless in the wake of their unhurried descent over my body.
And I study him right back. The way he flexes his long fingers. Shifts his stance. Rolls his head along his shoulders to work out his neck. He’s not wearing a tie, the top buttons of his shirt undone. A turbulent ocean rages beneath his stony veneer.
“Dr. Night, you seem…bothered.” I smile as I echo the words he once said to me back at him.
“You made damn sure of that.” His tense frame practically vibrates. “Unfortunately, I have a curious nature that’s not easily pacified.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Is this your way of agreeing to therapy,” I say questioningly.
He cocks his chin. “And if it is.”
“I won’t be gentle.”
“Fuck, I hope not.”
I bite the corner of my lip to hold back a smile. Orion might as well be trying to impress me with his flash pattern. Aggressive. Possessive. A primal alpha male marking my office as he prowls toward the sofa to claim his territory.
He casually folds his tall, leanly cut frame onto the seat, and I have to refrain from touching the place where my heart knocks like percussion against my breastbone. After the sharp pain subsides, I saunter to my chair and sit across from him, cross my legs.
When his direct gaze targets the slit in my skirt, a pulse of heat descends between my thighs. It feels nothing like when Prescott did so just moments ago.
“Tell me the last time you were intimate.”
“Intimate,” he repeats, his gaze flicking up to touch mine.
“Sexual intimacy,” I clarify, just to goad him.
“Fucked.”
I try not to blink as I hold his gaze. “Fucked.”
He swipes a gloved hand over his jaw. “Since before the accident.”
His confession compresses the cool air between us. It’s been over six years since Orion last had sex. This knowledge stirs something darkly tempting in my veins, the power of it seductive.
With a careful approach, I ease into the tenuous silence. “The person you lost,” I say delicately, “the one Banner alluded to before. Was that her?”
Orion’s expression tenses, a shadow drifting across his face. “Dr. Calloway,” he says quietly. “Emma.” He draws in a controlled breath. “No, it wasn’t like that between us. We were close, and…eventually, there might’ve been something more. But we were partners. Our research was what mattered.” His voice dips, a subtle tremor just beneath the rough edge. “I trusted her. She was brilliant. I got most of the credit, of course—unfortunately, that’s how most fields work—but Emma was every bit as dedicated as I was.” A nostalgic smile pulls at his mouth. “Probably more so.”
A current of grief flows through his admission. While Orion may lack the ability to varnish his thoughts, and his confession could be involuntary—it could also be calculated. Yet his regret feels too honest, too raw. The pain I sometimes glimpse through his cracks lingers, like a wave refusing to recede, eroding his stone walls.
After his reaction when I touched on this subject before, I dug deeper into his past. Orion has no social media presence. He keeps himself hidden. The sparse history I was able to uncover during my initial dive didn’t reveal everything. Both parents, lost tragically during his college years. A close childhood friend taken by illness. A former mentor whose life ended abruptly. And Emma—his research partner—gone before their endeavors were realized.
Orion Night’s existence has been an endless litany of loss.
Drawing in a slow breath, I lean back in my seat, deciding not to push him further on this today.
He breaks the connection further when he turns away, surveying my office. The walnut bookcases lining the walls. The neutral linen furniture. The one arched window with a partial view of the ocean. A stack of framed, forged credentials lined against a stone wall.
“I haven’t had time to decorate,” I say in answer to his inquisitive stare.
