Page 73 of Donovan's Men

“How many? Will you show them to me?” Smith held out his hand.

I reached for my phone in my back pocket.No point in trying to cover this up.

Allie slapped his hand down, then met my gaze. “Right answer.”

I cocked my head.

“Well, if you’d been hesitant, then we mightn’t have believed you. We don’t need to see your texts. If you say they’re aboveboard, we believe you.” Smith spun his coffee mug. “You’re telling us that now you’ve discharged him as a patient—formally—and that you’re looking to start a relationship with him.”

“Have already,” Allie corrected.

As much as I wanted to argue with her—I really couldn’t. “It’s crazy, right?”

She laid her hand across mine—the first time we’d touched since the hug. “Yes. And no. You’ve always been so stoic. Held yourself apart. In many ways, that makes you a great counselor—you can detach from your clients and their problems.” She smiled. “On the other hand, you haven’t faced any real trials in your life. Sometimes that means you struggle to relate to them.”

I pulled my hand back as if I were burned.She doesn’t know. Of course, she didn’t. If she did, she would question my judgment on every case.

“Hamish?” Concern laced her voice. Her compassionate eyes gazed upon me.

Curious ones as well, since Smith obviously wanted to know what just happened. He rose. “Why don’t I check on—”

“Stay.” I cleared my throat. “You might as well hear this.”

He nodded as he retook his seat. “Fair enough. And then we…” He glanced at Allie. “I need to tell you a thing or two about Donovan.” He cleared his throat. “And Cole Hamilton.”

I frowned.

“We know them…as part of our other lives.”

Oh shit.

The BDSM.

Okay, now I was damn curious. But I needed to unburden myself first.

God knew I wasn’t likely to have a job by the end of this conversation.

Chapter Fifteen

Donovan

I respected Hamish’s need to speak to his bosses—to formally withdraw as my therapist. To accept whatever consequences were coming his way.

In my heart of hearts, though, I hadn’t thought his bosses wouldactuallysuspend him.

Naïve of me. Even stupid.

I tried to put it in terms I understood. If I made an error at work—even if no one was overtly hurt—there should be consequences. Therewouldbe consequences.

As Tyson drove us back to Vancouver, those thoughts swirled around me.

After picking up a subdued Hamish from the house I couldn’t see from the road—but which had an ornate gate and top-notch security system—I’d known our weekend retreat was over.

Wordlessly, Tyson had driven us back to the cabin.

We’d packed our things, locked it up, and headed back to Vancouver.

A couple of times, Hamish had attempted to apologize.