CHAPTER SEVEN
Emily
I woke to gray morning light filtering through unfamiliar windows and the warm weight of Tucker’s arm draped over my waist.
Oh God.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
What had I done?
I lay there, frozen, staring at the rough-hewn beams of the ceiling while my brain tried to catch up with reality. Tucker Barrett’s cabin. Tucker Barrett’s bed. Tucker Barrett’s very naked body pressed against mine.
And I was naked too.
Because we’d had sex.
Amazing, life-altering, probably-ruined-me-for-all-other-men sex.
My cheeks burned just thinking about it. About the things he’d done. The things I’d let him do. The things I’d begged him to do.
I needed to leave. Now. Before he woke up and this got awkward. Before I had to face him in the cold light of day and see regret in those dark eyes. Before he could tell me it was a mistake, that he’d gotten caught up in the moment, that I shouldn’t read too much into it.
I’d rather die than hear those words.
Carefully—so carefully—I started to extract myself from his arm. He made a sound in his sleep, something between a grunt and a growl, and I froze. But he just rolled onto his back and kept breathing deep and steady.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.
Moving like a ninja—or at least like someone who really, really didn’t want to get caught doing the walk of shame—I slipped out of bed.
The floor was cold under my bare feet, and I had to bite back a yelp.
I grabbed my clothes from where they’d been scattered on the floor in last night’s frenzy and clutched them to my chest.
Don’t think about last night, Emily. Don’t think about his hands, his mouth, the way he’d looked at you.
I tiptoed toward the door, wincing as one floorboard squeaked. Almost there. Just a few more steps and I’d be free. I could get dressed in the living room, grab my purse, and—
“Going somewhere?”
I froze, hand on the doorknob, heart leaping into my throat.
Tucker’s voice was rough with sleep and something else. Something that made my stomach drop.
Slowly, I turned around.
He was sitting up in bed, the cover pooled around his waist, forearms on his thighs. His hair was messy from sleep—and from my hands—and his jaw was tight. His eyes were dark and unreadable, but the set of his shoulders screamed tension.
“I was just—” I clutched my clothes tighter, suddenly so very aware that I was standing there completely naked, trying to sneak out like a thief. “I thought I’d let you sleep.”
“Right.” His voice was flat. “That’s why you were sneaking around like you’d robbed the place.”
Heat flooded my face. “I wasn’t sneaking.”
“No?” One dark brow arched. “What do you call tiptoeing around?”
“Being considerate?” I tried for levity, but it came out defensive. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
“Considerate would be saying goodbye.”
The words hung between us, sharp and accusing.
I swallowed hard. “I was going to leave a note.”
“A note.” He laughed, but there was no humor in it. Just bitterness. “Yeah. That’s perfect.”
My temper flared, overriding my embarrassment. “Oh, I’m sorry. What’s the proper etiquette for the morning after? I must have missed that chapter in my dating handbook.”
“How about not running away like what happened meant nothing?”
“I wasn’t—” I stopped, because that was exactly what I’d been doing. “This is ridiculous. Can I at least get dressed?”
“Go ahead.” He didn’t look away and give me the courtesy of privacy.
Fine. If he wanted to be a jerk about it, I could match him.
I turned my back and started pulling on my underwear with as much dignity as I could muster—which was approximately none. My hands were shaking as I struggled with my bra clasp.
“Need help?” His voice was closer now, and I jumped.
“I’ve got it,” I snapped, finally getting the clasp hooked. I yanked on my sweater and jeans, my movements jerky and graceless. When I turned around, he was standing right there, close enough to touch, wearing just those low-slung that made him look devastating as hell.
“Why were you leaving?” His voice was quieter now, but no less intense.
“Because.” I grabbed my shoes, needing something to do with my hands. “Because this was... I shouldn’t have... You’re you, and I’m me, and last night was probably a mistake.”
His jaw clenched. “A mistake.”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” I threw my hands up, frustrated. “I don’t know how to do this, okay? I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“How about the truth?”
“The truth?” I laughed, sharp and brittle.
“The truth is I woke up in your bed and panicked. Because men like you don’t actually want women like me when the sun comes up.
Because last night was probably just... I don’t know, scratching an itch or whatever.
And I’d rather leave with my dignity intact than stick around for you to tell me it didn’t mean anything. ”
Silence.
He stared at me, something unreadable flickering across his face. Anger? Hurt? I couldn’t tell.
“You done?” His voice was harder than I’d ever heard.
“I—what?”
“Are you done assuming you know what I’m thinking? What I want?”
My throat went tight. “Tucker—”
“Get out.”
The words hit like a slap.
“What?”
“You want to leave so bad, leave.” He turned away from me, shoulders rigid. “The door’s that way.”
For a second, I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. This was what I’d expected, wasn’t it? This was why I’d tried to sneak out. To avoid exactly this.
So why did it hurt so much?
“Fine.” I walked into the living room and grabbed my purse. I stood at the front door, blinking back the tears that were threatening to spill over. “Have a nice life, Tucker.”
He didn’t respond. Didn’t turn around. Just stood there like a statue and I walked out.
The drive down the mountain was a blur. I barely remembered getting to my car, barely registering turning the key. I just drove, tears streaming down my face, my chest so tight I could barely breathe.
Stupid. I was so stupid.
What had I expected? That he’d wake up and tell me it was the start of something? That last night had meant something beyond just a physical release?
I’d given him my virginity—God, I hadn’t even told him it was my first time—and he’d kicked me out.
No. No, that wasn’t fair. I’d tried to sneak out first.
But he’d been so cold. So harsh.
By the time I pulled into my driveway, I’d cried myself out. My eyes were puffy, my face blotchy, and I probably looked like death warmed over. Perfect for a full day at the clinic.
Mom’s car was already gone—she had the early shift at the hospital. Jesse was probably still asleep. Which meant I could slip inside, take a shower, and pull myself together before anyone saw me like this.
I made it through the shower. Made it through getting dressed in fresh scrubs. Made it through the drive to work on autopilot.
But when I walked into the clinic and saw Mandy’s sharp eyes zero in on me, I knew I was in trouble.
“Well, well,” she said, setting down her coffee. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
“Morning, Mandy.” I tried to slip past her toward the back.
“Uh-uh. Not so fast.” She stood, blocking my path. “You look like hell, honey.”
“Thanks. That’s exactly what every woman wants to hear.”
“Emily.” Her voice softened. “What happened?”
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
“You are many things, but fine is not one of them.” She studied my face. “This about Tucker Barrett?”
My throat went tight. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay.” She held up her hands. “But if you change your mind—”
“I won’t. I just want to get through today.” I forced a smile. “Can we do that?”
She looked like she wanted to argue but finally nodded. “Sure, honey.”
The day dragged on forever. Every patient was a challenge. Every task took twice as long. And every time I had a quiet moment, my brain helpfully replayed this morning’s disaster on a never-ending loop.
His face when he’d caught me trying to leave. The bitterness in his voice. The way he’d told me to get out.
Then, the memories of the night before would pour in. How gentle he was. How not-so-gentle he’d been. How he’d actually made me scream his name.
By lunch, I was seriously considering faking a migraine and going home early. Maybe I could stop by the store, get that tub of ice cream I’d been fantasizing about, and spend the rest of the day in my pajamas crying into my Rocky Road.
But I was a professional. I could make it through one shift.
I was updating a patient chart when Mandy stuck her head into the nurses’ station.
“Emily? You’ve got a visitor.”
I looked up. “Who?”
But she was already gone, that knowing smile back on her face.
Frowning, I stood and headed for the waiting room. Probably Mrs. Kowalski with more apples, or one of my other patients wanting to—
Tucker Barrett stood by the door.
My heart stopped.
He looked... rough. Hair disheveled. Jaw clenched. Eyes shadowed with pain. He was holding himself stiffly, one hand pressed to his temple, and I knew immediately.
Migraine.
He’d driven down the mountain with a migraine starting. To see me.
Our eyes met across the room, and I saw it all there—anger, pain, frustration.
“Emily,” he said, and my name came with an almost desperate edge to it.
I moved without thinking, crossing the waiting room in quick strides. “Exam room. Now.”
“I need to—”
“Move.” I took his arm, guiding him down the hallway while Mandy watched with barely concealed delight. I pulled him into the first empty exam room and closed the door behind us.
The overhead lights were too bright. I could see him wince, so I immediately turned them off and flicked on just the small lamp in the corner.
“Sit,” I ordered, and he did.
Just like the last time he was here, I grabbed the ice pack from the small freezer, wrapped it in a towel, and pressed it gently against his forehead. His hand came up to cover mine, holding it there.
“You shouldn’t have driven,” I said quietly. “Not with a migraine starting.”
“I had to.”
“Why? To tell me what an idiot I am? To make sure I know—”