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I pour myself two fingers of the good shit and down it in one hit, relishing in the burn as it makes its way down my throat.
Fuck. That’s exactly what I needed.
I refill the glass and knock it back before making my way into my office. I may work for a Mafia family doing under-the-table medical procedures, but I still have a surprising amount of admin shit to do.
These assholes constantly have me running out of shit.
I place my glass down on the desk and collapse into my chair. Today has felt like a fucking eternity, and I don’t even want to allow myself to consider why that is.
I manage to lose myself in whiskey and work for another few hours before I hear the front door click open and footsteps patter through the apartment.
I force myself to stay in my seat while she moves around, trying not to jump on her the second she gets through the front door, but I only last a few minutes before I’m standing in the doorway watching her look from surface to surface at all her stuff that now sits beside mine.
“How was your first day?” I ask, startling her out of her daze.
She turns to me and I’m struck by the tears in her eyes. I know I’m not exactly a rocket scientist when it comes to women, but I don’t think I did anything to make her cry. At least not recently.
“It was okay,” she whispers. “Nothing like a quiz on content you’ve never seen in your life to throw you in the deep end.” She lets out a shaky laugh and turns her attention back to the photosI’ve lined beneath the television. She picks up one in particular and holds it up for me to see. “This isn’t weird for you?”
I step closer and shake my head, taking in the image of my late wife and Isla when she was young. “Why would it be?”
She shrugs and carefully places it back in its place, making sure it lines up with the others. “I don’t know. You just don’t really have anything of hers here, I thought it might be uncomfortable.”
I sigh and lean against the arm of the couch, watching her as she moves toward the window. “It’s been a long time, Isla. I’ve made peace with the actions of both myself and Clarissa. Of course I wish things had been different, but I can’t go back and change the past.”
She nods slowly, the same glassiness in her eyes that has the part of my heart I thought was long dead flaring to life.
When she looks at me again, there’s none of the loathing I’ve come to expect when her amber eyes meet mine, but instead it’s like she’s seeing me for the first time.
“Drink?” I ask, holding up my glass.
“Please.” For the first time since we met, I see her real smile. The one she saves for the people she holds closest, and it’s like seeing the fucking sun for the first time.
I make my way toward the kitchen and pour her a glass before returning to where she’s still staring at her personal items like she never thought she would see them again. I don’t know what made me pull them all out of the boxes they were in instead of sending them down to storage, but fuck I would do it a million times over if it meant she would look this happy again.
When she reaches for the glass, her fingers brush mine, and the softness of her skin is almost my undoing. I want to feel how soft the rest of her body is, how my calloused palms feel when they spank her smooth ass.
I turn slightly, hiding the way my cock has jumped to life at the thought of spanking the little spitfire who has taken over my home and mind.
“Thanks.” She takes a sip, and the room falls quiet. I’ve never been much for socializing, not after my tours in Iraq and Afghanistan, but right now, I wish like hell I knew how to make small talk.
I watch out of the corner of my eye as she makes her way toward the couch and curls up in the corner, her legs tucked beneath her and the glass of scotch resting on her knee between sips.
Should I join her? Go back to my office? Find an excuse to leave the apartment again? I’m almost certain she’s more comfortable when I’m not here, and I have a feeling the cameras I have installed throughout the place for security may start getting more use.
I settle on perching on the edge of the couch beside her, leaving enough room between us that I won’t make her uncomfortable. I have no fucking clue why I suddenly give a shit about her comfort, but I couldn’t fight it even if I wanted to.
“Thank you for doing this, Doc.” Her voice breaks the silence and drags me from my internal battle. “It really means a lot to me.”
“You’re welcome,” I grunt, averting my eyes before I can say something to upset her.
She takes another few sips of her whiskey before placing the empty glass on the side table.
I need to move. I need to get the hell out of this room before I do something I’m going to regret. And yet I can’t force my legs to take me away. I’m engrossed in Isla’s every move in a way I’ve never been with anyone else, and that should be my first sign of trouble.
I drain my own drink just in time for her to stand and reach out for my empty glass, which I pass her, and then she makes her way into the kitchen to refill them.
Despite my better judgment, I follow her. It’s ridiculous even to me, perhaps especially to me, that yesterday I couldn’t stand the sight of her, and today I’m following her around like a lost puppy, but I can’t fucking stop myself.
