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“Okay. Sore. But better,” she said, putting her hand on his chest. He placed his over it, feeling instantly better too.
“You’re going to be sore for a while,” the nurse said, nodding. “How’s the vision? Still double?”
“Not anymore. Just one of everything.”
“One’s good, we like one. We still want you to stay the rest of the night for observation, to rule out a concussion. I’ll come back in a couple of hours to check on you. Your friend can stay if he doesn’t mind a backache tomorrow.” She nodded toward the aging blue pleather recliner in the corner.
“Would you be more comfortable if I move to the chair?” he asked Quinn once they were alone again.
“No, stay here.” She closed her fingers around his hand and looked him in the eye. “I am sorry for what I said outside Octavia’s. I don’t know what this is between us, but it’s hardly nothing. You gave me something I needed but didn’t feel entitled to. I felt safe with you; I knew I could trust you. IknowI can trust you.”
“That’s an incredible gift.”
He thought of how she had bared herself to him, chosen him, entrusted him with her pain and her desire. That was an amazing expression of trust—one he now began to think he might be deserving of after all.
“I was a little slow to figure out what you wanted, but soon I could tell. It was erotic as hell, even though I worried I might hurt you. But your expressions—relief, escape, maybe ecstasy, I hope. It was such a turn-on to do that for you. It was one of the most incredible experiences I’ve ever had, to watch you so closely for all these subtle cues—which muscles tensed and relaxed, how your skin changed texture, your wetness, the sounds you made . . .”
She uttered a nearly inaudible moan and squeezed his hand tighter.
And now his cock was uncomfortably straining against his fly, hearing more of her cries and gasps in his memory banks. “All those signs that told me when it was enough, or when to push you further . . .”
His fingertips caressed the back of her hand and the peaks and valleys of her knuckles. He could explore her body for days. “But I’m sorry, I couldn’t hit you. Not in the face.”
“It wasn’t fair of me to ask. We never talked about limits, and I wasn’t thinking about it from your point of view.”
It was a need, an impulse, she had shared with him—if that wasn’t a pure show of her trust, what was? And it meant everything.
He let go of her hand long enough to set the alarm on his phone for an hour. He had always heard you should check on people with a possible concussion every hour, not two, and he didn’t want to take any chances with her. He would make his own hospital protocol.
She fell asleep against him and, when the alarm chimed, he watched her open her eyes. “How do you feel?”
“Same. Okay.” She pulled the sheet around her hands and closed her eyes again.
“Wai . . . wait. Not so fast.” He moved a piece of hair that had fallen onto her face. “Where are you?”
“Midtown Medical.”
“What day is it?”
“Saturday. No, Sunday—it’s after midnight.”
“Good catch. Go back to sleep.” He pressed his lips against the top of her head, but didn’t kiss it.
In an hour, the nurse came in and roused her. When she left the room, he set his alarm for another hour.
“Do I have to open my eyes?” Quinn asked when it went off. He caught a tease of a smile, which he took as a good sign.
“You can keep them closed, but what novel of yours did we work on together?”
She smiled, but her hand flew to her cheek. It must hurt. “Oh, come on, too easy—Market Day.”
When his phone sounded an hour later, she jumped in straightaway although her eyes remained closed. “My turn: What’s the name of the owner of the stall that soldimqaretat the market in Birgu?”
He laughed. “Peter. You watched?”
The episode on Malta had run only once so far, last week, during that abyss in time when she wouldn’t answer his texts or calls.
She nodded against him, sleepily. “I watched. I missed you.”
