Apparently, being a psychiatrist of Alexander's stature is a lucrative career, and he does very well for himself. No wonder he didn’t want me sleeping in my little office house. It wasn’t good enough for his standards. My eyes sting.
If I'd felt inadequate before...
Making my way down the hall, I walk towards a glass staircase that's ironically right up my parent's alley and follow it down slowly with my hand on the banister, feeling the pain shooting through my back with every step. Lost in the thought of my parents, I completely blank out for a few seconds before pausing halfway down when I realize I'd forgotten to put on my cardigan. I turn and look back up the staircase, not sure I have it in me to re-climb them and then come back down.
I'm stuck for a minute, self-conscious about my bruising. But what does it matter? He’s seen them anyway.
I smell bacon, so I follow my nose. It makes my mouth water as I remember I hadn’t eaten at all yesterday, and I amstarving.
His place is quite impressive, and I can't help but glance around at all the glass, marble, and contemporary art. It's all icy, just like his damn stare.
Padding over marble tile, I pass underneath a tall archway and into a vast kitchen that's surprisinglynotvery modern looking. Alexander's at a six-burner gas stove, dressed in a pair of slacks and a plain black T-shirt, cooking. He hasn't noticed I've come down, so I take a second to observe him for the first time in more normal clothes.
His tallness gives my eyes plenty of room to roam, observing rippling biceps with not an inch of fat on them. His arms are covered in a light dusting of hair, partially hiding the veins and cords that stick out. Though his stature is lean, his shoulders arebroad,and his back muscles flex against his T-shirt as he cooks. They taper down to a set of hips that's broad and muscular, too. His body is thick and strong. It's obvious that he takes very good care of himself.
Steeling myself to face him and tackle a new day, I walk into the kitchen, making my presence known. “Good morning, Dr. Richardson.” I clear my throat and come even closer, until I'malmost pressed against the huge island that separates the two of us.
Alexander turns around with a spatula in his hand. I almost want to smile at the red and black checkered kitchen towel thrown over his shoulder. When our eyes lock, he pauses as he gets a good look at me. I feel myself stiffen as his striking blue eyes meet mine, before slowly dragging down over my neck, my breasts, and my hair.
I roll my lips, tucking my chin in and flushing. It's quite overwhelming beingseen,but I don't feel picked apart. So there's that.
“Good morning, Sarah." He gives me a handsome smile that makes me feel funny. "I think we can do away with pleasantries now, don’t you?" My body relaxes at the low, smooth tone of his voice, and I'm ashamed to admit it does something to me deep inside. I cannot imagine this man raising his voice. I bring my eyes back up to his, which is a big mistake, because it sucks me in even deeper. "Unless you’d like me to call you Miss Johnson, feel free to call me Alexander. Only Dr. Richardson at the office, please,” he says with a little smile in his voice as he turns back to the stove.
I crane my neck, watching him flip pancakes next to a bunch of bacon, and lick my lips as my mouth waters in hunger.
“Uhm. I guess that’s fine,” I say, pensively. My mind is positively spinning, because aren't I supposed to be busy not liking him?
He turns back to me again, jerking his head pointedly at the breakfast table nearby. "You shouldn't be standing. Go sit until I'm done."
Furrowing my brow, my mind pivots and I suddenly realize I don’t have my car. Where's my purse and keys?
I anxiously stroke my hands down my hair. My lips purse, about to fire these questions off at this intimidating man in frontof me. Nevertheless, before I can, Alexander moves, placing the steaming pancakes to the side before walking around the island.
Fear suddenly hits hard, tightening my spine and making me freeze in place.
He's moving way too fast for my comfort, making me stiffen further as my nerves get the better of me. Before it can consume me completely, Ialsosee his steps hesitate as he observes my eyes widen. I take a couple quick steps back. A look of concern settles into his features, and he ceases walking now entirely, puts a hand flat on the top of the island, and leans back giving me space.
“How’re you feeling this morning? Anything I can do?” he asks quietly, his eyes flickering over my body again as if he's searching for something.
To my horror, my eyes well up, and I furiously blink back tears as both of my arms come up to wrap around my stomach protectively. His eyes catch it, making me ashamed.
I look down at my feet. “I’m okay."
He stares at me with a rather pitying, yet disbelieving look on his face. His next words take me aback. "Can I give you a hug?"
The request makes me tear my gaze from my feet to meet his, shocked. He swims in my vision as tears well so thick in my eyes I'm not sure how they aren't spilling over. I tense, realizing I really, really need a hug. One of those big bear ones that swallow you up.
I swallow hard, nervous. Because though I've been in a relationship for four years, I'm not used to physical touch. Even before Brandon, I wasn't used to physical touch from anyone other than my momma or Jerome.
I miss it.
Biting my lip I nod, feeling my heart beat just a little faster."I-I'd like that." And even though I just gave him permission, I can't help my eyes from widening even more as he takes a few veryslow steps into me. The first thing that I notice is his scent. It's so warm as it greets me first. And as his arms wrap around my body, pressing his chest and his abdomen into me, it forces me to loosen my arms to wrap around him instead of my torso. His body heat meets mine, making me fall into it. But when he puts a hand on the back of my head, cradling me, and the curve of my ass so as to not agitate my back, those tears I've been fighting back break free.
He hears me cry and just holds me to him. Not rocking. Just holding me gently…yet firmly.
"I am so sorry that this has happened to you, Sarah." His voice is tender, but instead of making the tears worse, it actually helps. It hits me then that that's why I like his voice so much; it's healing. There's something safe about this man I can't place.
Do I need to?
