Emily. Damn, but the name suited her. Shy and reserved. Or at least on the outside. I’d seen that spark of fire flare in her eyes before she’d shut it down.
“Did I hear someone call my name?”
I turned slowly. That same sing-song voice floated through the air and there she was.
Hair in that same thick braid, cheeks pink, scrubs hugging those mouth-watering curves. Her eyes did that same big, surprised blink when she saw me, then narrowed, like she was determined not to let me rattle her. Brave little thing.
“Mr. Barrett,” she said, all polite professionalism. “What can we do for you this morning?”
“I’m here to see Parker.”
She frowned. “You’re not on the—”
Change of tactics. I took her arm and led her back the way she’d come, away from prying eyes. “We need to talk.”
She pushed open the door, and I stepped inside behind her, the room was too bright for the low buzz starting at the base of my skull. I dropped her arm, putting my hand up to cover my eyes. Shit. I didn’t have time for this.
“I’m not sure what there is talk about, Mr. Barrett. You don’t come down for your refills and Dr. Parker worries.”
“Parker gets paid to worry. That doesn’t mean he gets to send you up that goat path alone.”
Her brows drew together. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. You don’t take that road by yourself again.”
She placed her hands on her hips. “Does that mean you’re going to come pick up your refills on time?”
“No, it does not. But that’s not your concern.” I knew I was snapping at her, but I couldn’t stop myself. I had left my cabin too soon after last night’s migraine and now it was starting its encore, shimmering at the edges of my vision.
“I have a job to do.”
“Then do it elsewhere.”
She flinched and I hated myself for it. Hated that I was doing this—pushing, hurting, trying to drive her away because it was easier than admitting the truth.
That I wanted her to come back up the mountain. To me.
I’d spent the whole damn night thinking about her.
But the idea of her climbing that road alone, where anything could happen, made something violent and protective rise up in my chest. She was too soft. Too kind. Too everything I didn’t deserve to get to know. Because looking at her made me remember what it felt like to be human. A man. A man who wanted.
But I couldn’t say anything like that.
I risked a look at her and immediately regretted it. Because she knew. Knew in an instant what was happening.
“Sit,” she ordered.
I did, hauling myself up on the table. I shut my eyes when she hit the overhead switch and turned out the lights. Her cool fingers brushed my temple, and I wanted to lean into her touch. Every damn nerve in my body woke up.
“Is it an aura? Any nausea?”
“Just the damn fireworks,” I muttered.
“Have you had these a long time?” she asked softly.
“Since the explosion.” My voice was flat. I didn’t need to say more. Shrapnel and concussions were souvenirs of a deployment I didn’t talk about.
She got an ice pack from the small refrigerator in the corner and pressed it against my forehead. I opened my legs and pulled her in closer. “That feels good.”
