“I’m a mess,” I whisper.
“You’re safe,” he replies, like that’s the only thing that matters.
He straightens, looking down at me, and I have to swallow. Up close, he is unfairly handsome. Short dark hair plastered back, stubble shadowing his jaw, storm-gray eyes that feel like they see too much. The uniform only makes it worse. Broad shoulders, solid chest, authority stitched into every line of him.
“What do you need?” he asks.
The question feels enormous.
“Water,” I manage. My throat feels raw, tight. “Please.”
“Okay.” He nods once. “I’ll be right back.”
He turns to go, and panic spikes through me. The idea of him leaving, even for a moment, makes my chest ache. I reach out before I can stop myself and catch his hand.
“Please stay,” I say, the words tumbling out thin and desperate.
He looks back at me, eyes darkening, and for a heartbeat I think he might. Instead, he squeezes my fingers gently.
“I just need to grab it from the kitchen,” he says. “I’ll be right back. One second, okay?”
I nod, forcing myself to let go. My hand feels cold without his.
He pauses, then leans in, sliding a pillow behind my head, lifting me just enough to make it comfortable. The care in the gesture makes my chest ache again.
“Be right back,” he repeats.
The door opens and closes. The room feels emptier without him. I lie there, staring at the ceiling, every nerve lit. The heat inside me doesn’t fade. If anything, it sharpens. My body feelsawake in a way I don’t recognize. I try to slow my breathing. It doesn’t work.
I hear his footsteps returning. My heart stutters.
When he steps back into the room, I notice it immediately. The top button of his shirt is undone now, exposing a hint of skin at his throat. Was it like that before? I don’t think so. The sight sends a fresh wave through me, warm and dizzying.
He carries a bottle of water, condensation slicking the plastic. His scent reaches me before he does, thicker now, concentrated. I inhale without meaning to.
“Here,” he says, setting the bottle down on the floor beside the bed.
I realize I was supposed to take it from him, but he’s already moving, helping me sit up.
I’m so fucking distracted. I can’t think straight.
His hand is warm against my back. I can see his throat so clearly from here, the way it moves when he swallows. My mouth goes dry again.
“Caroline,” he murmurs, bringing the bottle back up. “Have some…”
I nod. He lifts it to my lips, one hand cupping my cheek. The touch sends a shiver through me. I sip the water.
“Good,” he says softly. “More.”
His praise does something involuntary to my body. My thighs press together, a fresh wave of desire coursing through me.
He tips the bottle again. I drink, eyes fixed on his face, tracing the lines of it without thinking. His eyes flicker to my lips, then back to my eyes. The moment stretches.
He lowers the bottle.
We’re too close. Everything feels too close.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt, not sure why the word escapes me.
