It would be damn fun trying to find out. Anything had to be better than her boring Buddha-like attitude.
She waited for him to answer, seemingly calm and patient. “Officer?”
“Yeah?”
Arilyn gestured to the other men. He’d forgotten their names already. “Eli and Luther have shared the circumstances that brought them to this class. Would you like to elaborate a bit on your own story?”
No. God, he hated sharing, especially in circles with strangers. Why did women always want to talk about their feelings? Didn’t actions speak louder than words anyway?
“I was called into a situation. It got out of hand. I lost my temper.”
She tilted her head. Long, silky strands of rich strawberry gold slid over her shoulders and wrapped around her waist. He wondered what she’d look like naked, with all that glorious hair spread out over white sheets. Did she think her casual clothes hid her body? The Lycra pants clung like second skin and caressed like a lover, emphasizing every subtle curve. The hard tips of her small breasts pushed against her tank top in a lovely game of peekaboo. Her skin was fair, with a nice array of freckles he’d love to explore. A slight frown marred her brow at his obvious perusal.
“What happened when you lost your temper, Officer?”
“Stone.”
“Excuse me.”
His gaze bored into hers. “My name is Stone.”
Dude A—Eli?—laughed and tried to get back her attention by launching into an explanation. “I think Arilyn is trying to get you to open up more. This is a safe place. If you don’t share, she won’t be able to help you.” The guy beamed, as if he deserved a medal for being teacher’s assistant.
“How about you share your way and I share mine, buddy?”
Arilyn cleared her throat. “Umm, thank you for helping, Eli, but everyone here is entitled to commit completely to this process or fight it. What you take from this class is up to you. We’ll be doing daily group therapy, but I’ll also be working with each of you privately.”
Eli looked way too satisfied. Stone wondered how an anger management class was already pissing him off. Dude B spoke up. “I agree with Eli. There’s a layer of trust within group therapy that needs to be carefully built. For instance, I trigger over jealousy. The idea that my wife can be looking at another male short-circuits my brain.”
“I hate traffic,” Eli said. “Wasted hours trapped amidst stupid people who can’t drive.”
Both men nodded at each other, congratulating themselves on their accomplishment. On their sharing abilities. Stone was tired. Cranky. He wanted a smoke, a steak, a good night’s sleep, and to stop being aroused by a woman who had no place in his life. He put his hands on his knees and leaned forward.
“I get pissed off when drunk assholes beat the hell out of their wives and children.”
Eli and Luther jerked back in surprise.
“Guess I win. Is it lunchtime yet?”
He felt better already.
ARILYN REALIZED THE MOMENT he walked in the door she was in trouble.
He was as intimidating as she remembered. The man had to literally duck to get through the doorway when entering the small room they’d rented from the town. Dressed in worn jeans, a washed-out Yankees jersey, and a backward baseball cap, his casual attire did nothing to soften the raw sexual energy that radiated around him. He moved with purpose, each motion economical, his gaze pinned so tight and hot on hers, she fought an answering tremble. What was wrong with her? Sure, she had a weakness for authority figures, but she was attracted to the starving-artist type—long hair, graceful features, charming smile, lean body. She adored men who created, stared softly into space with a dreamy look in their eyes, caught up in their muses and the magic of the world. Gentle souls who needed support and unconditional love.
She wondered if Stone Petty had ever had a dreamy thought in his life.
He was way out of her league. All hard muscle and primitive male, those sulky lips curled up in a bit of a sneer when he reached her. With his midnight hair, thick and a bit unruly, charcoal eyes, and rough goatee, he looked like he’d jumped out of a Sons of Anarchy episode. He cocked a hip, meaty fists clenched by his side, and spoke in a gravelly voice that shimmered with command.
“So we meet again, Arilyn Meadows.”
She hated the way her heart sped up a bit from the use of her name. He was the one mandated to attend these sessions, and already she sensed his mockery. Jerk. Did he believe he was above the other men here and her teaching methods? Wait till she got done with him. He would not only be a convert, but maybe after forcing him to get real with himself using her creative methods, he wouldn’t wear that smirk so often.
Maybe.
“Yes. Welcome. I’d like to do an introduction with all three of you and then give you a summary of what to expect.”
That lower lip kicked up a tiny bit. “I’m a nice Catholic boy. Not too keen on chanting to Buddha to channel my inner saint. Against the rules.”
Ah, his sarcastic sense of humor was another element she remembered well. Arilyn rose to the occasion. “Funny, I thought nice Catholic boys were taught not to judge others and to turn the other cheek. No worries, Officer. You can always attend confession.”
He moved an inch, but she already felt crowded. His massive body blocked out everything else. The light. The shadows. The air. “Maybe. But the first lesson they teach you is being truly sorry for your sins.”
She arched a brow. “And are you?”
He had a crisscross scar on his brow. His jaw was a complete square, and his nose had definitely been broken. A few times. He smelled like everything primal. Sweat. Coffee. Earth. No wimpy over-the-counter scent for him. Just all the delicious musky fragrances combined to spell out M-A-N. “Sometimes.” He dropped his voice. “Other sins no one should be sorry for. Those are the best kind. Don’t you agree?”