Guilty Stars

3

“I’m heading out.” Ella paused in my doorway, her purse slung over her shoulder. “Want me to lock up?” If one of us was going to be in the office alone, we always kept the door locked. “Yeah, I’m going to stay and do a bit of paperwork. You have a nice night!” Running my own business came with a surprising amount of administrative tasks. While Dana paid Ella to handle those on her behalf, I was on my own. Plus, the court required me to keep separate records of my sessions with Michael and other participants—nothing too descriptive, but it was another task on my mounting pile of chores. “It’s Friday night. Don’t stay too late,” she called out on her way to the front door. I shook my head. As if Friday night was different from any other night. Since I’d started working, my social life was so dead it had practically fossilized. Not that I’d ever been particularly wild. I’d learned early on that it was better not to make waves. Having my stepfather find out I’d broken his rules was never worth the temporary thrill of whatever I’d done. I buried all thoughts of Donald Carter and dove into my paperwork. An hour later, my desk was tidy again, and I was free to enjoy my weekend. As a counselor, my sessions had to extend into evenings and weekends when clients were off work. I had my mornings free but often didn’t leave work until after dark. Today was no exception. I locked the front door to our brownstone suite and made my way outside, coming to a stop on the entry steps when I realized I wasn’t alone. Michael stood outside, waiting for me. He was leaned against a sleek black car, phone in hand, eyes glued to me. The intensity of his stare sent a shiver through my body, but not from fear. “I was starting to think you’d slipped out the back.” “I’m sorry you had to wait so long. Did you need something?” I slowly crept down the remaining steps until we were on equal footing, at least physically. Emotionally, I was still reeling from the discovery that he’d stood outside for over an hour waiting on me. What did it mean? I knew better than to read into people’s motivations, but I couldn’t help but wonder what his intentions were. “No need to apologize. You had no idea I was out here. I was going to grab some food, but then I realized you probably needed to eat dinner too. I figured we could go together and catch up.” He pushed off from his car and stepped closer. I had to angle my head back to keep my eyes on his. “I don’t know. Fraternizing with patients isn’t allowed.” My gaze slid to the side. I was torn. I wanted to spend time with him—hear more about his life over the past few years—but that would be breaking a fundamental rule in my profession. Michael stepped forward and used the tips of his fingers to guide a wayward strand of hair back behind my ear. “It’s dinner, Evie. It doesn’t have to be anything more.” His voice was a sensual purr that I felt down to the deepest parts of my belly. His words said one thing, but his hungry gaze and affected tone said another. One of the things I’d learned during the hundreds of clinic hours I’d already logged was that people could rationalize anything. If their desire was strong enough, they could convince themselves that the sky was no longer blue. I wasn’t sure I’d fully experienced such an irrational thought pattern until that moment. A voice inside my head argued ardently that dinner with Michael would be strictly professional, and I would be helping him by continuing our conversation. To my amazement, a sense of surety settled over me. I knew I was rationalizing an emotional decision, but I couldn’t seem to care. I didn’t want to walk away from him and go back to my small apartment alone. “Okay,” I whispered. “What did you have in mind?” He flashed a grin and took my hand in his. “Someplace quiet.” Michael led me to the passenger side of the car he’d been leaning against and helped me inside. In a matter of minutes, we were seated at a small table inside a place that made the best Chinese dumplings in New York—or so claimed the sign out front. We shared several dishes while we reminisced about our years at Xavier Catholic School. Talking with Michael made the world disappear. He was intuitive and truly listened the way few people did. It was difficult for me to reconcile the fact that this genuine, intelligent man was a criminal who led a dangerous life. My heart ached to know that I was better off keeping away from him. “It’s getting late, and I really need to head home.” For some reason, my withdrawal felt cowardly. I couldn’t even force myself to meet his gaze, opting instead to fixate on the fascinating condensation dripping down my water glass. “It’s Friday night. Are you sure you have to go?” My eyes were drawn to his, and the moment our gazes met, I felt a desperate need to retract my statement. But that was exactly why I needed to leave. Getting sucked into Michael’s orbit could only lead to heartbreak. “Yes, I’m sure.” Going to dinner was a slippery slope, but if I spent any more time with him, I’d end up doing something I’d regret. Michael insisted on paying the tab and escorted me outside. “Where do you live? I’ll take you home.” I was a short subway ride from home, and I never told clients where I lived. Hell, I didn’t offer up that information right away to the men I’d dated. “Evie, you know me. I’m not going to hurt you, and I’m not letting you walk home alone this late at night.” His words were assertive but not overbearing, and I could feel my resolve crumbling. More than that, I felt a yearning for his lips to press against mine. Tempting. Dangerous. He was a criminal and my client. Before I knew what I was doing, I nodded, simply to alleviate the insufferable pressure mounting between us. During the entire ride home, I felt panicked about leaving. How was it possible to feel so torn? A part of me was adamant that nothing happen with Michael, but another part felt like the world might end if I didn’t see him again, and not simply as my client. I lost myself in the turbulent emotions, making the car ride ominously quiet. “What’s your number?” Michael asked after he parked the car outside my building. When I didn’t answer immediately, he lifted his penetrating gaze, assaulting me with its intensity. “Evie, we already went over this. You can trust me.” “It’s not that, exactly. This is my career. My livelihood and reputation. If word got out that I was sneaking around with a client—” His fingers rose and slid along my jawline, seizing my words. When his thumb ghosted over my bottom lip, I thought I would weep from frustration. “I know you feel this pull between us, and I don’t think it’s right for us to ignore it. There’s a reason our paths crossed again. I don’t want to compromise your job, but I’d rather ask for a new counselor than lose the chance to see you. The decision is yours; I can’t force you.”