Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Eloise
“You’re a fan of all things lavender.”
It’s a proclamation with no basis in truth, so I shake my head. “My mom is. She gave me all those bath products last Christmas and then came here two weeks later to unpack them and stack them on those shelves in my bathroom.”
Dr. Morgan chuckles. “Sounds like a mom move.”
I nod. “Did you find the first aid kit?”
He holds up the white plastic box with a handle attached to it. “This is vintage. How long have you had this, lamb?”
The question gets buried beneath the endearment in my mind. I stare at him.
“We’ll talk about that,” he promises as he sits beside me on my couch. “I didn’t notice that in the car.”
If he’s talking about how my heart is thundering in my chest, I don’t know how he missed it. The sound is deafening to me, but it’s my heart, so maybe I’m the only one who can hear it.
“Your elbow is split wide open, too,” he remarks, his gaze darting to the scrape on my knee before it lands back on my arm. “That tumble was brutal.”
“It hurt,” I admit. “I must have slipped on the wet pavement.”
“You flew by the car I was in,” he admits. “I wasn’t sure I’d ever catch up to you.”
I smile at the suggestion that I could beat the man in a foot race.
His legs are so much longer than mine; his body more powerful.
“We need to get all of those wounds cleaned up.” His eyes catch mine. “In my professional opinion, a shower would be the best approach for that.”
The idea of being naked in my apartment with him anywhere within a ten-block radius heats me from the inside out.
“You’re flushed.” He rests the back of his right hand against my forehead. “Are you feeling lightheaded?”
I nod, unsure if what I’m feeling is related to my fall or his presence. “A little, I think.”
His gaze drops to my arm again and then beyond to my knee. “Maybe I should take you in to be checked. I’m worried you hit your head, Eloise.”
The last place I want to go is the hospital because I’m not sure I’ll get another chance to be alone with him again. “No, I’m fine.”
“At least let me help you to the shower,” he says with a tilt of his head. “I realize things between us are…”
“You can help me,” I interrupt, not wanting to hear him describe how he views things between us.
I want to hold tight to the memory of that night at the club for the rest of my life.
I can’t lose that. I won’t.
He grabs hold of my hand, stopping to squeeze it. “Take your time getting up.”
I don’t need the warning but I listen, and allow him to guide me to my feet at a pace he sees fit. He is the professional, after all.
We walk slowly down the hallway toward the main bathroom. His hand hasn’t left mine, and I already know that when it does, I’ll feel bereft.
Once we reach the threshold of the bathroom, he gazes down at me. “Do you need help with the zipper?”
I don’t, but I’m not about to tell him that, so I turn slightly to give him access. “Yes.”
His hand leaves mine to search for the zipper pull at the top of my dress. He pushes my hair to the side, his fingers lingering on the skin of my neck.
I shiver from his touch and again when he tugs the zipper down.
I’m not wearing a bra tonight, but I sense the moment he catches a glimpse of the top of my black lace panties because I hear his breathing stutter for a second.
“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.