Isabel
Oh. My. God.
Shock. Confusion. Hope. Love. Sadness. Fear. Love.
Every feeling slams into me, one after another as I hear his words over and over again.I love you, Isabel Marchant.
Love.
All I can do is stare. No words come out of my mouth. Only seconds have ticked by as my brain quickly processes this information. This whole last week away from Viktor was hell. I considered and analyzed my feelings from every possible angle.
If I was a psychologist, I would have considered transference as a possibility. Never have I developed any remote romantic attraction to my patients, not until Viktor. He’s different. This thing between us is different.
It’s beautiful.
There is no way I can lie to myself and say that what we shared was only sex. Every touch and kiss left an imprint on me. My life was irrefutably changed the moment I met this man. He’s a self-described broken man. I call bullshit on it. Sure, he has more cracks in him than any human being should ever experience.
Behind his walls—that mask of hurt, anger, and sadness—he’s beautiful and strong. He’s smart and funny. He’s honest and loyal.
I want to deny what he’s saying, but mostly I want to deny that I love him too. But I can’t. There is no way I can walk away. Viktor occupied my every thought while I was gone. If this thing between us was superficial, the time apart would have dissolved it. A week apart would have cooled it down. I wouldn’t have come here today,needingto see him.
Making love was not something I even considered when I showed up on his doorstep, but his touch settles something deep inside of me. When I came apart in his arms, he put me back together. Our two souls fused together.
This beautiful, stubborn, and prideful man not only loves me, but took the risk to tell me.
I straddle his naked lap, nestling him between my folds. Cupping his face, I kiss him. Our tongues are hesitant as they explore and taste. I break the connection with a final soft kiss and put my forehead to his. His hands rub from my hips to my sides. The heat from his touch scorches my skin.
When my lids flutter open, his eyes search mine and I cup his cheek. “You’re right. This is absolutely crazy. This is the real world. We haven’t even known each other a month. You’re mourning the loss of your mother and your leg. You should be focused on getting stronger and getting your life back.”
“I wantyouin my life,” he demands before I place my finger over his lips.
This beautiful man.
“I have never, in all my years as a physical therapist, become involved with a patient.”
“I’m not your patient, Belle. You said so yourself.”
My brows snap together at his interruption before he mumbles, “Sorry. Go on.”
Closing my eyes, I breathe in his scent. “Just so you know, you’re an awful patient.”
Viktor chuckles unapologetically, and I study his beautiful tattoo. It’s not his only tattoo and I’m sure it won’t be his last. I’m sure every piece has a story behind it, but this one—this one has me. My fingers carefully glide over it.
“Why me?” I whisper, unable to look at him.
He tips my face so our eyes meet. “I don’t know. What I do know is that you’ve woven a spell around me. You bring me peace and strength. You make me feel like I can climb mountains. You make me want to be a better man.”
Those words wrap around me like a warm, cozy blanket in this cold, bitter winter. This burly, beastly man loves me. Hard as ice on the outside and as soft as freshly fallen snow on the inside. No. There’s no way I can deny him my feelings.
“This last week at my father’s was awful. Not just because he hurt himself pretty badly and I hated seeing him down, but because I missed you, Viktor. I realized how much I looked forward to seeing and talking to you. Honestly? I had hoped that the week apart would have put my attraction to you to rest. Only, the time apart made it worse. I wanted to ask Toby about you, but I couldn’t without raising flags.”
At the mention of my supervisor, I see Viktor’s face harden. It’s no secret that these two men aren’t each other’s fans. Toby considered Viktor a hothead, not entirely untrue. He even suggested that I never come back here.
“Mr. Pretty Boy’s a prick. He also has a thing for you.”
I chuckle. “Mr. Pretty Boy?”
“Never mind. You were telling me why the time apart from me was worse,” Viktor tells me, urging me to return to the topic at hand.
