Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 72892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
“I’ll wait here for you,” he whispers. “If you need anything, just call my name.”
Fueled by the mad desire I feel, I look up at him. “I will, Garin.”
His full lips part slightly. “Touché, lamb.”
“I won’t be long, sir.”
He closes his eyes as his chin rises. “Shower, Eloise. I need to tend to your wounds.”
When he opens his eyes, he finds me smiling with my dress sliding down one of my shoulders. I hold the fabric against my chest because even though I want him desperately, I can’t tell if he’s here strictly as a doctor, or if the memory of our night together brought him here.
He takes a full step back. “Go. Shower. Wash the wounds gently.”
“Gently,” I repeat softly. “I will.”
As soon as I back into the bathroom, he tugs the door shut leaving a wooden barrier between us.
I step forward to rest my cheek against it, certain I can hear him saying something under his breath on the other side of the door.
I can’t make out the first part of what he says, but the last three words are unmistakable, “Fuck, she’s everything.”
Those words will live in my memory for eternity, along with everything he said to me at the club that night two years ago.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Eloise
I exit the bathroom twenty minutes later wrapped in a pink robe with my hair piled high on top of my head in a very messy bun.
I scrambled to find something to pin it up. I had to settle for two silver hairpins with crystal roses on the end of them. They must have belonged to Astrid’s mom. My Aunt Becky had eclectic taste. Many of her belongings are still here, peppered in with the items I brought with me.
Astrid promises she’ll clean it all out one day, but I’m grateful for the rare finds I stumble across. It makes me feel as though my Aunt’s memory will always live on.
Dr. Morgan is right where he promised he’d be. He’s resting his back against the wall next to my bedroom door, across from the bathroom.
“I was prepared to break down the door if I heard a bang.”
I can’t hold in a smile. “You thought I was going to pass out?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time a woman was running in Manhattan in what — two or three inch heels - and she fell and hit her head.”
“Four inch. Those shoes have a four inch heel,” I correct him, tugging on the sash of the robe.
This robe was my very first purchase after I landed the job at Vinyl Crush. I saw it in a store window in midtown so as soon as my paycheck landed in my bank account, I rushed to the store and snatched up the last robe they had. It’s a size too big, but it’s always been like a security blanket to me. It’s got me through some cold nights, and a few broken hearts.
“I’m still not convinced that you didn’t hit your head.” He steps closer to me. “I need to check your pupils.”
I widen my eyes. “Check away.”
He chuckles. “It’s not that simple. Step backward into the light.”
I do. He’s right in step, nearing me with each step forward. When we reach our destination his hand leaps to my chin to tilt my head up.
I follow his instructions and open and close my eyes a few times, before he exhales sharply. “Any sign of a headache, Eloise.”
“No, Dr. Morgan.”
“Gaines,” he reminds me. “I’ve asked you to call me Gaines.”
“Gaines,” I repeat, even though it doesn’t flow off my tongue the way Garin or sir does when I’m in his presence.
His fingers trail over my chin toward my neck. “Any pain here.”
I shake my head. “Not there.”
Without any warning, his hand drops to his side. “Back to the other room. I want to take a closer look at your wounds.”
Since I’m naked under this robe, I’m hopeful he’ll want to take a closer look at more than my wounds.
He waits for me to lead the way, so I do.
I swear I can feel his gaze burning through the back of my robe. I glance over my shoulder to catch him watching the sway of my ass.
“Where do you want me?” I ask as soon as we’re close to the couch.
His lips curve into a small smile. “You take the couch. I’ll have a seat on the coffee table.”
“All right,” I agree. “Do you want something to drink before we start? I have beer, or water. I’m sure I must have a can of soda in my fridge too.”
“Beer.” He motions to the couch. “You sit. I’ll get one for each of us.”
I don’t bother telling him that I can’t stand the taste of beer because I sense if I refuse, he’ll skip it too, and he looks like he could use one.