Bare and Burning

Three Breaking the Wall

Cyrene spent the next three days trying to forget the heavy quiet Callum left in her office. She was a professional. She built her business on keeping a safe distance from her clients. Yet every time she closed her eyes she saw the way his shoulders moved when he took off his jacket.

Right at three o'clock the heavy wooden door to her office clicked open.

Callum stepped inside. He did not knock. He did not pause to ask if she was ready. He moved with the quiet confidence of a man who owned every room he walked into. Today he wore a dark charcoal suit with a crisp white shirt. The jacket fit perfectly across his broad shoulders. His dark hair was neatly styled but his eyes were just as wild and unreadable as before.

"Good afternoon Callum," Cyrene said. She kept her voice perfectly neutral.

"Cyrene," he replied. His deep voice resonated in the quiet room. It sent a faint hum through the floorboards.

He walked over to the leather chair across from her desk and sat down. He did not cross his legs. He sat with his feet planted firmly on the floor and his hands resting on his thighs. He looked like a coiled spring.

"How have you been since our last session?" she asked.

"Numb," he answered bluntly. "I went on a date last night. A dinner setup arranged by a mutual friend. She was beautiful and intelligent. She spent two hours trying to engage me in conversation. I spent two hours calculating my quarterly tax liabilities in my head just to pass the time. When I dropped her off she kissed me. I felt like I was kissing a glass window."

Cyrene wrote a brief note on her pad. "Did you feel frustrated by the lack of connection?"

"I felt nothing," he repeated. His gaze locked onto hers. "That is why I am paying you an offensive amount of money. Fix it."

Cyrene set her pen down. She folded her hands on top of the desk. "I cannot fix you with a magic wand Callum. You built a fortress around your emotions to protect yourself from the pain Diane caused you. Your brain decided that feeling nothing is safer than feeling betrayal. If we want to break that fortress down we have to stop talking and start doing."

He tilted his head slightly. The harsh lines of his jaw tightened. "What exactly does doing entail?"

"We are going to do a somatic grounding exercise," she explained. She stood up from her chair. "Your mind is too analytical. We need to focus strictly on your physical senses. I want you to take off your jacket."

Callum watched her closely. His dark eyes tracked her movements as she walked around to the front of the desk. He stood up slowly. He unbuttoned the jacket and shrugged it off. He laid it neatly over the arm of the sofa.

"Roll up your sleeves," she instructed softly.

He turned back to face her. A faint look of amusement crossed his face but he complied. He unfastened his cufflinks and placed them on the small coffee table. Then he rolled the white fabric up past his elbows. His forearms were thick with muscle and dusted with dark hair. His hands were large and imposing. The sight of his bare skin made the air in the office feel suddenly heavy.

"Sit back down," Cyrene said. She realized her voice was slightly lower than usual.

Callum sank back into the leather chair.

"Close your eyes," she commanded.

He let his eyes fall shut. Without his intense stare pinning her down Cyrene could finally take a proper breath. She stepped closer to him. She stopped just two feet away from his knees. The heat radiating off his large frame washed over her. He smelled of expensive cedar cologne and something uniquely male.

"Focus entirely on your breathing," she murmured. "Breathe in through your nose for a count of four. Hold it. Exhale through your mouth."

He followed her instructions. His broad chest expanded and contracted with a slow steady rhythm.

"Now bring your attention to your physical body," Cyrene continued. "Tell me exactly what you feel on your skin."

"I feel the leather of the chair against my back," he said smoothly.

"Good. What else?"

"I feel the cold air from the vent on my bare arms."

Cyrene took a slow step forward. She was standing directly between his parted knees now. It was a dangerous position. It broke every single rule of clinical distance she had ever sworn by. But she needed to provoke a reaction. She needed to know if the man inside was truly dead or just sleeping.

"Keep your eyes closed," she whispered. Her voice was barely a breath. "Tell me what changes in the room."

Callum stopped breathing for a fraction of a second. His chest froze before he slowly exhaled.

"The air got warmer," he said. His voice sounded thicker now. It was rough around the edges.

"Why did it get warmer?" she pressed.

"Because you stepped closer."

Cyrene slowly raised her hand. She let her fingers hover just an inch above the bare skin of his left forearm. She did not touch him. She just let her body heat mingle with his.

"Can you feel my hand?" she asked softly.

His jaw clenched tight. A muscle ticked in his cheek. "Yes."

"Describe the sensation."

"It feels heavy," he muttered. "It feels like pressure."

"Does it feel numb?"

"No." The word slipped out of him like a confession.

Cyrene slowly closed the final inch of space. She pressed the pads of her index and middle fingers against the inside of his wrist.

The moment her skin made contact with his Callum sucked in a sharp breath. His entire body went rigid. His skin was burning hot beneath her touch. Cyrene pressed gently against his pulse point. She expected to feel a slow and steady beat. Instead his pulse was hammering against her fingers like a trapped bird. It was wild and frantic.

"Your heart is racing," she whispered. She stared down at her pale hand resting against his tanned skin. The visual contrast was stunning.

Callum suddenly opened his eyes. The darkness in his gaze hit her like a physical blow. He looked down at her fingers on his wrist. Then he slowly lifted his eyes to meet hers. The raw primal hunger radiating from him made her knees go weak.

"You told me you were incapable of feeling anything physical with a woman," she said. She tried to pull her hand away but he moved faster.

Callum turned his wrist and caught her hand. His large warm fingers wrapped around her palm. He did not grip her tightly but the hold was absolute. He was not letting her go.

"I said I was incapable of feeling anything real," he corrected her in a low dangerous rumble. "I did not say I was dead."

Cyrene felt a surge of panic mixed with an intense unfamiliar heat. She was a professional. She was supposed to maintain the boundary. She was supposed to pull away and document the breakthrough. But as his thumb slowly stroked the sensitive skin of her inner wrist she found herself completely frozen.

"This is a localized reaction to physical stimuli," she lied. Her voice trembled slightly. "Your body is just responding to unexpected contact."

"Is that your professional opinion?" he challenged softly. He pulled her hand just an inch closer to his chest.

"Yes," she breathed out.

Callum stood up. He rose from the chair with predatory grace. Because she was standing right between his knees his movement forced him directly into her personal space. His chest brushed against her shoulder. He was so tall that she had to tilt her head back just to look him in the eye.

"Look at me Cyrene," he ordered softly.

She looked up. Her breath hitched in her throat.

"My blood is on fire," he murmured. He leaned down until his mouth was inches from her ear. "My pulse is out of control. I have not felt this alive in two years. Do not insult my intelligence by calling it a localized reaction."

"We have rules in this room Callum," she pleaded weakly. She put her free hand flat against his firm chest to push him away. But beneath the crisp white cotton of his shirt she could feel his heart pounding wildly against her palm.

He looked down at her hand on his chest and then back up to her eyes. The tension between them was a loaded gun waiting to go off.

"I am paying you to fix me," Callum whispered. His gaze dropped to her lips for one agonizing second. "I think we just figured out the cure."

Cyrene pulled her hands away and took a rapid step backward. She bumped into the edge of her heavy desk. Her chest was heaving as she stared at the man standing before her. She had spent ten years helping broken people heal without ever losing herself in the process.

But as Callum Drake stared back at her with eyes full of fire and intent Cyrene realized she had finally met the man who was going to burn her practice to the ground.