Page 63
This time, there’s a hardness in them, a glimpse of the damaged Anderson behind the playboy prince the world sees.
“A truthfora truth, then. Final offer,DoctorLin.”
A truce. He’s calling me by my title.
I ignore the red flags in my mind, needing to focus on the white one he’s waving. My pulse scatters and hairs rise on my forearms. “Fine. A truth for a truth then.”
Why does it feel like a trick? Like I’m giving him far more than I’ll receive?
I’m a professional. I can guard my secrets, even if it’s the last thing I do.
He stares at me, his eyes unflinching. Then he sits back in his chair and clears his throat.
“I have insomnia. I can’t sleep for more than three hours a night.” His shoulders slump, like the confession took something out of him.
A chink in his armor.
It makes sense—the dark eye circles, the erratic moods. Chronic insomnia will do that to you.
I collect this scrap and store it away in my treasure chest. As much as the insufferable man drives me up a wall, he’s giving me a piece of himself he’s never shown others.
“And why do you think that is?”
“I don’t want to share that.” He cocks his brow as if daring me to berate him.
But I won’t. I recognize a breakthrough when I see it.
“That’s fair. We don’t have to talk about that right now. How long has it been going on?”
“Decades.”
He doesn’t elaborate. If it’s been going on forever, it can’t only be insomnia causing his recent spiral then. There has to be something else.
“It must be exhausting to function with so little sleep. How do you deal with it?”
Slowly, Rex sits up, then he leans toward me, inch by inch, the shrinking distance sucking all the oxygen out of the room. I force myself to remain still when the flames I thought were snuffed suddenly reignite and lick up my body.
His gaze drops to my mouth, and his lips hitch into a sensual half-smile. “Ifuck.”
My clit pulses. I feel those two words like a caress.
He stares at me, his attention unwavering. “I fuck a lot. Until I’ve wrung out every single orgasm from my partners. Until I’m exhausted.”
Strangled breaths reach my ears, and belatedly, I realize they are from me.
His words are barely above a whisper, but I feel them—the tendrils of lust, desperation, agony singeing my skin. My core throbs as I watch his eyes take on a mad haze, his tongue dipping out to wet his lips.
Like he’s imagining us in the bedroom.
“Scared yet, Doctor? That’s just the tip of the iceberg.” His eyes suddenly flare. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Chew on your lip. Waving the red cape in front of a murderous bull.”
My breath rushes out of me. I release my bottom lip I didn’t know I was mutilating with my teeth.
Straightening my shoulders, I reply, “Bulls are partially colorblind. It’s the motion of the cloth that gets them. They don’t see red. The color is only for the spectators.”
