Page 48 of Merciless

As a result, I could barely move, let alone look after myself. Yet, I swore my mum had intervened that day, sending a literal angel to watch over me.

My gaze roamed to catch on the woman in question, slumped asleep in an armchair, sidelining the hotel window. Despite not seeing Charlotte in more than four years, there was no one else I would have trusted to take care of me in my most vulnerable state.

She wore jeans and not a scrap of make-up, but that’s not what had warmth blooming through my chest. Charlotte wore my T-shirt. It was oversized and looked utterly ridiculous on her tiny frame, but I couldn’t deny the possessiveness I had, seeing her enveloped in what was mine.

As if she could sense my focus, her tired eyes fluttered open to lock on me. We remained there for a few stagnant seconds, so much passing through that one singular look.

“You brought me back here? To my hotel room?” I asked, my mouth groggy from misuse.

“You kept on begging not to be taken to the hospital. It wasn’t hard to figure out where you were staying once I found your key card. I also might have called your latest contact in your phone…”

“Avery?”

She tilted her chin. “Avery. He wanted to come back, but I told him I had it covered. Was that the right move?” she asked, her brow furrowing in concern.

“Yes. He’s going through a lot, and I don’t want him worrying about me.” I attempted to sit upright, but my arms buckled beneath me.

Charlotte shot forward, clucking her tongue. “Let me help,” she said, assisting me to readjust until I was leaning against the bedhead, my breaths coming in short pants.

I was aggravated at my useless body, unable to complete simple commands without considerable effort. Though those frustrating feelings soon disappeared as I caught Charlotte staring at my bare chest with interest.

I licked my lips, which had her eyes locking on the minute movement.

“Thirsty?” she asked.

You have no idea. I nodded, unable to reply without giving myself away.

Charlotte reached for the glass of water sitting on the bedside table and raised the straw to my lips.

Without taking my attention off her face, my fingers tentatively anchored around her wrist, before I sipped.

Cool water satisfied one thirst, yet another one entirely burned as bright as an inferno, nowhere near satiated.

As if she could read my mind, Charlotte flinched, but as she went to pull away, I grasped onto her hand. “Don’t go,” I whispered.

She shook her head, confusion rife in every line of her expression. Then her focus pivoted to our joined hands—in particular, the big solitaire diamond that was digging into my skin.

My fingertip traced the shiny jewel sitting pretty on her ring finger. How did I miss that before? “You’re engaged?” I asked, unable to recognise my own voice, my tone full of regret and all lost things.

“Yes, I’m engaged,” she said, detangling from me and stepping back from the bed.

I cleared my throat, pushing through the rejection. “How have you been?”

“We’re really going to go there?” Charlotte asked before she began collecting her belongings strewn throughout the room.

“Umm, yeah? I haven’t seen you in a long time. I’d like to catch up.”

“I’ll pass. You’re better now, which means my work here is done.” She didn’t sound bitter or perturbed. If anything, she seemed content, as if my recovery was a job well done.

Which meant that familiar desperation started to creep in. She had thrown me so completely off balance that I wanted to do the same to her. So, I did what I did best and baited for a reaction.

“What will your fiancé think about you being missing for days?”

She gave a half shrug, not even bothering to look my way. “He already knows. I told him I was nursing an old friend back to health. He’s a doctor, so he understands—”

I rolled my eyes so hard, I nearly gave myself an aneurysm. Of course he has to be a fucking doctor.

“And what will he think about his fiancé returning to him wearing another man’s shirt?”