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I adjust my grip and draw the fabric down more slowly. This time it comes free.

Elle exhales. “Oh, thank God.”

I place the blouse on the bed.

She looks down at herself, then at me. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

I should stand. Instead, I remain where I am for a moment, close enough to see the faint freckles scattered across her shoulders and the way her pulse moves at the base of her throat.

The camisole is simple, white cotton, with thin straps resting against her skin. There is nothing particularly revealing about it, and yet I am suddenly aware of how long it has been since I have been this close to a woman I wanted to touch.

Elle looks at me. Her expression changes.The humor fades. For a moment, neither of us speaks.

Then she says, very quietly, “You're staring.”

I meet her eyes. “Yes.”

Her breath catches. I stand, because remaining on my knees in front of her is becoming a very bad idea.

She follows the movement with her eyes. I can see the color rising in her cheeks again, and something warm and unmistakable moves through me.

Unwelcome only because of the circumstances.

She is injured. She is staying in my house. I have known her for barely a day. None of that changes the fact that I want her.

I step back. “You should rest before dinner.”

Elle looks at me for another second. Then her mouth curves. “Is that an order?”

“Medical advice.”

“From your extensive experience as a doctor?”

“From my extensive experience dealing with people who refuse to follow instructions.”

She laughs softly.

I find myself smiling in return. “Galina can help you with the rest,” I tell her.

Elle glances toward the bathroom, then back at me. “Right. Probably a good idea.”

I turn toward the door.

“Nikolai?”

I stop.

“Thank you,” she says, and this time there is no joke attached to it.

I look at her. “You don't have to thank me for helping you get changed.”

“I know. I wanted to.” I nod once and leave before I find another reason to stay.

In the corridor, I stand still for a moment. Then I look down at my hands. I have spent years without wanting to touch anyone. Now I can still feel the warmth of her skin beneath my fingers, and I am having to remind myself that she is a guest in my house, injured and recovering, and that I have no business thinking about her the way I am.

I put my hands in my pockets and continue toward my office.