Willow Taylor lives in a castle with large walls and iron fences. But this is no ordinary castle. It’s called Heartstone Psychiatric hospital and it houses forty other patients. It has nurses with mean faces and techs with permanent frowns.
It has a man, as well. A man who is cold and distant. Whose voice drips with authority. And whose piercing gray eyes hide secrets, and maybe linger on her face a second too long.
Willow isn’t supposed to look deep into those eyes. She isn’t supposed to try to read his tightly leashed emotions. And neither is she supposed to touch herself at night, imagining his powerful voice and that cold but beautiful face.
No, Willow Taylor shouldn’t be attracted to Simon Blackwood, at all.
Because she’s a patient and he’s her doctor. Her psychiatrist.
The medicine man.
WARNING: This book discusses sensitive issues including but not limited to, depression and suicide.
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“I… Can I go now?” I whisper.
He bends toward me. Not like he did yesterday when he was all shaken up and furious. This leaning is slow and filled with a different kind of intensity.
I swallow, looking into his eyes, which have moved down to my lips. Has he ever looked at my mouth before? I can’t remember. He’s always been so professional and distant that just one look of his seems exaggerated, almost too much to handle.
“Because I’m curious about something.”
I lick my lower lip. I swear it’s not meant to be provocative. It’s just that his stare is making them tingle and dry out. I didn’t know that a body part could be shy until this man focused on it like this.
Again, I’m expecting one thing but something entirely different happens. Instead of answering with his words, he touches me. Of his own volition.
His hands wrap around my neck, his fingers spanning the entire length of my throat, tilting my face up. My eyes are wide; I can feel it. I can feel them popping out. I can feel my heart popping out too, bursting with too many beats.
He’s touching me.
Touching. The litmus test of attraction.
“I’m curious about,” he whispers, his breath wafting over my nose, drugging my senses. “Why the fuck do I want to kiss you?”
My hands reach up and hold his wrists. I feel like my world just went unsteady and I can’t stand up straight without his help.
Did he just… Did he say he wants to kiss me?
There’s a slight frown on his forehead, as if he’s genuinely perplexed. As if I’m a riddle and so is his desire to kiss me.
“It doesn’t make sense.” His gray, almost black, gaze flicks back and forth. “You’re my patient. You’re my responsibility. I’m supposed to fix you, not think about your lips. I’m not supposed to think about your mouth or the taste of your tongue. If you really taste like you smell.”
“How… How do I smell?”
His chuckle is short and harsh as he moves his hand and grabs my face. “Like lemons. Like you’ve been sucking on lemon wedges all day long with that pink mouth of yours.”
I feel the heat of his hand on my flesh. He’s burning up, slowly boiling over. “I-I… It’s the lime jello,” I reply, as if that’s the most important thing in the world right now. Explaining the source of my smell and possibly my taste too.
“You’re not my type,” he growls, pushing his forehead against mine.
“You’re young. You’re reckless. Inexperienced. You believe in happy endings, don’t you? Fairy tales and fucking magic.”
His breaths are wild, frustrated. Like believing in good things is a bad habit. Believing in something bigger than you is silly.
I frown, pressing harder against his forehead. “Of course I do. If someone like me doesn’t believe in magic, then there’s no hope for anyone else. There’s no hope for me. And it’s not a bad thing, you know. It’s not a bad thing to believe in something. In fact, it shows that you’re brave and –”
His mouth pulls into a humorless smile. “And you don’t know when to shut the fuck up.”
He flattens my cheeks with his hands, asserting all his stupid authority over me. Too bad it only makes me hornier and I have to clench my thighs against the shivers running through my lower body.
“What?” I somehow manage to squeak.
“Shut the fuck up.”
I gasp; how dare he?
But it gets swallowed up by his mouth.
About the Author
Writer of bad romances. Aspiring Lana Del Rey of the Book World.
Saffron A. Kent is a Top 100 Amazon Bestselling author of Contemporary and New Adult romance. More often than not, her love stories are edgy, forbidden and passionate. Her work has been featured in Huffington Post, New York Daily News and USA Today’s Happy Ever After.
She lives in New York City with her nerdy and supportive husband, and a million and one books.
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