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“DoctorCade,” I said in mock outrage. Or maybe I wasn’t kidding. I was a little aghast.
Lachlan opened the top drawer of the dresser. “Something about human anatomy bother you, Miss Brook?”
“This isn’t anat. and phys.,” I ground out, but I sat up to get a better look anyway. “You couldn’t have brought your clothes with you to the bathroom?”
He chose a few crisply folded articles and shot me a sideway eyebrow raise. “Do you wish I had?”
“No.” His grin widened.
“Christ,” I muttered. My eyes were riveted on the smooth hills and valleys of his body.
“Jesus won’t save you from those thoughts,” he teased. With a lift of his clothes, he turned and headed back to the bathroom.
When the door had closed, I flopped back on the pillows. I either needed to geta lotcloser to Lachlan ora lotfurther. I knew which one was practical, but I was having a hard time convincing myself to commit to it.
I reached for the black tumbler beside me hoping some of the ice from last night had melted and there would be water at the bottom, but of course, Lachlan had already filled it with fresh ice water. The man was perfect. Did he make any mistakes?
Probably not. Those didn’t really go hand-in-hand with his job.
I took a few sips of water, and then I realized I really needed to pee. Like urgently. All the fluids were doing their job, which was good, but my bladder was going to explode. And it wasn’t the strongest thing after Calla’s pregnancy.
I wiggled out of bed, doing a little squeezing-my-legs-together dance, and then decided I had better find the other bathroom in his house. It was a giant palace of a cabin, so I was certain there were other toilets. I walked briskly through the living room, ducked around the kitchen, and peered around the corner near the garage where I’d seen the laundry room. No such luck. There was a set of floating, modern stairs, so I hurried up the curving staircase to a loft-style floor. Sure enough, there was a powder room next to an office.
After I’d peed the Niagara Falls, I washed my hands and stared at myself in the mirror.
Yikes.
My long, brown hair had dried in the exact way I hated. The roots had gotten bent and stuck up like a cowlick, and the top layer had dried straight and frizzy while the bottom had curled tightly.Why are you like this? I demanded of my hair.Why can’t you pick one? Is it curly or straight?Frustrated, I folded forward to flip my hair over and pull it into a knot.
Smack.
I felt a sharp lance of pain above my eyebrow, and then stars danced across my eyes. I cried out through my swollen throat, and then stumbled backward against the toilet.
“Fuck!” I shouted, clamping two hands over my forehead.
My feet kicked the knotty pine cabinets in front of me as I writhed, waiting for the pain to ebb. Of course. Iwouldthwack my head on the bathroom counter. Of course, I would.
I stood gingerly as the pain subsided some, and hesitantly removed my hand from the spot. Blood gushed out of the cut over my eye.
Ffffuuuuuuck.
No way I just did that. NowayI just tore my head open while Dr. Abs-a-lot prepped his perfect self for his perfect day in the bathroom below me. He already thought I was a hot mess. I guess destiny wanted to nail the coffin shut on that one.
“No,” I moaned, grabbing toilet paper to press against the gushing blood. It wassomuch blood. It flowed around the toilet paper, soaking through it immediately. I unrolled an unholy amount of toilet paper and shoved it against my head. The cut stung, but I willed it to stop bleeding.
Maybe he won’t notice.
“Laurel?” his voice called from somewhere downstairs.
Okay. We just have to find a way out of the house before he notices. We can change our name. Enter the witness protection program.
“Laurel?” he asked again, this time closer. He was coming up the stairs.
I groaned and leaned forward. The blood from my head started to soak through the massive wad of toilet paper. Head wounds weresoobnoxious.
Lachlan knocked on the bathroom door. “Hey, sleeping beauty, you in there?”
I held my breath. Maybe he would keep going.
