Before I can answer, the door opens and Lorenzo steps inside. The room changes instantly. It always does when he enters. He takes in the scene in one sweep—me upright in bed, the doctor seated close, the tension still humming in the air—and his gaze settles on the doctor first.
“Well?”
She rises smoothly. “Mother and baby are stable. She’s fit to travel, provided she continues to rest.”
His eyes shift to me, and I refuse to look away.
“Good,” he says.
The doctor closes her bag. “Reach out if you have any questions. And be sure to see someone in Chicago.”
Then she’s gone.
And just like that, it’s only the two of us again.
Lorenzo closes the door softly behind her. He turns back to me and leans one shoulder against the wood, studying me in silence.
“What did you ask her for?” he says at last.
I go still. “What makes you think I asked for anything?”
“Because you have that look on your face.”
I fold my arms over myself. “And what look is that?”
“The one you get,” he says, voice low, “when you are deciding whether to lie to me prettily or tell me something that will make us both miserable.”
My pulse stutters.
He pushes off the door and walks closer.
“We leave for Chicago tomorrow,” he says.
My fingers tighten on my sleeves. “I’m not going with you willingly,Dave.”
He stops beside the bed.
“No,” he says quietly. “You aren’t.”
I lift my chin. “Then maybe you should start getting used to hearing no.”
His gaze drops to my lips and then to my stomach for the briefest moment, then rises again.
“Maybe,” he says, “you should start getting used to the fact that I no longer care what you want.”
The words should make me shrink. Instead, anger flashes hot and clean through my veins, and I hate that it’s mixed with arousal.
“See?” I snap. “That. That is exactly why I need to get away from you.”
Something changes in his face.
“You think I am the danger here.”
“Aren’t you?”
For one suspended second, neither of us moves.
Then he braces a hand on the mattress near my knee and leans down, close enough that I can feel the heat of him, smell the crisp dark scent of his clothes, see the exhaustion carved into the edges of his mouth.
