Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Roman
My heart hammered against my ribs.
"Roman." The woman across from me finally spoke, her voice barely a whisper.
"Yeah?" I tried to sound calm, but damn it, I could feel my hand trembling where it held hers.
Her face flushed deeper, color spreading from her cheeks to her ears, even creeping down her neck. I watched her throat work, like she was swallowing something difficult.
Say it, I urged silently. Whatever it is, just fucking say it.
I didn't know what I was expecting.
Or rather, I didn't dare admit what I was expecting. All I knew was that from the moment her soft hand covered mine, my entire world went quiet, leaving only the person in front of me.
"You—" She sucked in a breath, then yanked her hand away. "Take off your shirt."
I froze.
"What?"
"Take off your shirt," she repeated, more firmly this time, avoiding my eyes. "I need to dress your wound."
All the tension evaporated instantly, replaced by shock.
How did she know?
Last night's mess—I'd locked it down tight from start to finish.
I'd gone to close the net, to spring the trap I'd spent half a month setting for the mole Dmitri had planted in my organization. But I was the one who'd walked straight into their setup instead.
A stray bullet from God knows where grazed my right shoulder.
Not a serious wound. I'd handled it myself. Compared to this scratch, I'd rather not have Maria or Mira worrying.
Besides Nick, no one else knew I'd been hurt.
"I'm fine," I said coldly, instinctively stepping back. "I don't need—"
Before I could finish, she reached out and yanked my shirt collar open.
Buttons popped under her rough handling, the shirt edge pulled down, exposing the blood-soaked bandage on my right shoulder. Dark red stains bloomed across the white gauze, stark under the lights.
She bit her lower lip and gasped.
"It looks worse than it is," I said quietly.
"Worse than it is?" Her voice shot up an octave. "You call this fine? Roman, you're bleeding!"
I'd never heard her this angry. Leah, who always tried to smooth things over, who was always so careful—now her eyes burned with fury, like a bristling kitten.
"It's just a graze—"
"Shut up!" She cut me off, rummaging through the medical cabinet. "Sit down, take off your shirt. Now."
"I said now!" She whipped around to glare at me, clutching iodine and fresh bandages. "Don't make me call Nick in here to hold you down!"
What kind of employee talks to their boss like this?
I sighed and gave in, unbuttoning what remained of my shirt and peeling it off my shoulders, exposing my bandaged torso.
She hurried over, her gaze traveling across me—from shoulder to chest to abdomen, finally settling on that bloodstained bandage. Her throat bobbed, her face showing undisguised distress.
"How did you find out?" I asked, breaking the silence.
"What?" She snapped back to attention, moving closer.
"That I was hurt," I studied her, searching for any tell. "I was damn sure I hid it well."
She didn't answer right away. She began carefully unwrapping the old bandage, her movements gentle as if handling something fragile. When the bandage finally came off, the wound exposed to air brought a sharp sting.
"When you hugged me earlier," she finally spoke, focused on cleaning the blood around the wound, "I smelled blood."
I raised an eyebrow. Didn't expect her nose to be that sharp.
"And?"
"When you hugged me," she continued, picking up the iodine, "I saw you wince. And you used your right hand. You usually use your left."
She bit her lower lip. That damned little habit again.
"Have you been," I pressed, leaning closer despite myself, "watching me?"
Her face turned crimson, but she stubbornly met my gaze, refusing to answer.
I looked at her, at the flustered embarrassment in her eyes at being caught. Suddenly, something warm spread through my chest.
"Why?" I softened my voice, releasing her hand.
"Why do you care so much about me?" I heard myself ask, voice rough. "Why... worry about me?"
Leah's head snapped up, her eyes crashing into mine.
She opened her mouth, something churning in her eyes, like a thousand words crowding her throat, about to spill out—
But in the end, Leah just jabbed the cotton swab viciously into my wound.
"I just don't want to miss my paycheck in a year."
Sharp pain shot through me. My entire right arm tensed, a hiss escaping through my teeth.
"I'm sorry!" She panicked immediately, fumbling to be gentler, voice full of remorse. "Did... did I hurt you?"
Seeing her look more pained than me, apologizing profusely, the ache in my chest oddly faded.
"It's fine." I watched her, and for once, let my mouth soften slightly. "You're the best doctor I've ever had."
She froze, seemingly unprepared for those words, face flushing deeper. She quickly looked away, ducking her head to apply medicine and wrap fresh bandages around my wound.
The room fell completely silent, only the whisper of gauze and our careful breathing. Her fingertips brushed my skin again and again, warm and focused. She was so close I could smell the faint scent in her hair, could feel her breath falling against my chest, over and over.
I looked down at her lowered lashes, at her profile, serious to the point of stubbornness.
This woman.
This damned woman who made me lose all control.
I reached out, my thumb gently grazing her burning cheek. She didn't pull away, just stared at me with wide eyes.
My gaze dropped to her lips.
That mouth that always said the most unexpected things, that could so easily tear through my watertight defenses and leave them in shambles.
I wanted to kiss her.
I wanted to press her down on this damned exam table, wanted her to know completely what she'd done to me. The moment my fingers touched her cheek, that thought burned so hot I nearly threw what little rationality I had left, along with that shirt, aside.
But I just withdrew my hand and reached for the shirt draped over the chair.
Not now.
She was pregnant, at her most vulnerable. Dmitri was closing in, the mole still hidden. I had no right to drag her deeper into a game even I couldn't see clearly.
Silently, I pulled the shirt back over my shoulders.
But one thing I couldn't lie to myself about anymore.
I was fucked.
Completely, hopelessly fucked.