Lifting my head, I meet her gaze and arch a brow.
“It’s Laney’s birthday,” she says softly. “We've had reservations at Pastis for weeks." She shifts in my lap, preparing to stand. "Maybe tomorrow?"
I tighten my grip on her waist, keeping her in place. "Are you telling me I have to wait more than twenty-four hours to get my hands on you?"
Mia laughs, the sound warm and genuine, as she extricates herself from my hold with surprising ease. She stands, smoothing down her clothes, erasing any visible evidence of what just happened between us.
"Anticipation makes everything sweeter, doesn't it?” Smiling sweetly, she bats her lashes. “Isn't that what you were teaching me this weekend?"
I open my mouth to argue, then close it again. She's using my own tactics against me, creating desire through denial, and doing it with such casual confidence that I can't even be properly annoyed. Instead, I’m impressed by her ability to match me move for move in this game neither of us planned to play.
"Tomorrow, then," I concede, tucking myself back into my pants and adjusting my own clothing.
"Tomorrow night." With that, she turns and walks to the door.
Slumping back in my chair, I run a hand through my hair and exhale slowly. What have I gotten myself into with this woman?
Chapter 26
Mia
The door to Cheryl's room makes that same soft whisper it always does when I push it open after my shift. The moment she sees me, her face brightens.
"Well, if it isn't my Birdie," she says, marking her place in a paperback with her thumb. "Come to check if I've expired yet?"
I laugh despite myself, setting my bag on the visitor's chair. "Just making sure you're not terrorizing the nursing staff before I head out to dinner. What are you reading?"
She holds up the book, a romance novel with two impossibly beautiful people locked in a passionate embrace on the cover. "Research," she says with a wink. "Keeping my mind sharp."
"Research, huh?" I move to the window, adjusting the blinds to let in more light.
"Don't knock it till you've tried it." She pats the edge of her bed, inviting me to sit. "These stories keep me company when certain doctors are too busy making eyes at each other to visit."
Heat rushes to my cheeks. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Of course not," she drawls, her knowing smile making the wrinkles around her eyes deepen. "And I didn't spend forty years teaching hormone-addled teenagers how to plié without learning to spot sexual tension from a mile away."
I perch on the edge of her bed, grateful for the distraction when she hands me the book. The spine is cracked in multiple places, the pages dog-eared and well-loved.
"Page ninety-four is particularly educational," she says with a mischievous glint. "Though I doubt Dr. Walker needs the instruction."
"Cheryl!" My voice comes out higher than intended, and she laughs, the sound dissolving into a brief coughing fit that makes my chest tighten. I reach for the water glass on her bedside table, holding it steady as she takes a small sip.
"Don't look so worried, Birdie," she says when she catches her breath. "I've had worse."
I set the glass down, noting how her hand trembles as she reaches for it again. Her latest labs showed liver function declining further. The bruises on her arms take longer to fade now. Each symptom another tick on a clock running down faster than I can reset it.
"How are you feeling today, really?" I ask.
"Like a dancer who stayed en pointe too long," she says, making a dismissive gesture with her frail hand. "Nothing worth mentioning."
"Cheryl—"
"No, no. I've had my fill of medical talk for today." She smooths the blanket over her legs with precise movements. "Tell me about your day instead. Did you make any progress with my case? Or were you too busy making progress with that delicious doctor of yours?"
I ignore the second question entirely. "I ran some new tests. I'm exploring a connection to a rare form of vasculitis that primarily affects the hepatic blood vessels."
"Mmm. Sounds riveting." She yawns dramatically. "And completely unrelated to what I asked."
