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She winces then turns her concern on me, patting my body. And in my weakness, my body reacts to having the woman of my dreams touching me. Even wrapped in bandages, her softness speaks to me and I harden under her. I close my eyes, but I can tell by her stiffening body when she realizes what’s happened.
When I recognize her frantic movements as a bid to escape, I leap to her aid. It’s a trained response that I don’t necessarily want to stop. I help her up and back to the bed while avoiding eye contact. My flushed face should be enough of a sign that what just happened wasn’t from her imagination.
Once settled, I can no longer ignore the awkwardness. I catch her eye. This time she glances down, but she raises her hands.
“I’m sorry for hurting you and I know that…um…you know. Well, it meant nothing, so can we please never discuss what just happened and do that weird handshake we created as kids and move on?” One eye peers up at me.
I smile. Despite wanting to discuss why what happened was actually a big fucking deal for me, I nod.
She releases a relieved sigh, but now and then I catch her sneaking a glance at my waist. Maybe our little fall will have some benefits if she starts to look at me as more than a friend.
Shit! The fall.
“Let me make sure you haven’t popped a stitch.”
She consents and I try my best to keep my touch clinical. From the corner of my eye, I glimpse the device on her wrist and remember she didn’t have it the night she arrived.
When I finish examining her, I tap her wrist. “I thought you lost yours.”
“I did,” she says without a trace of her earlier embarrassment. “You can guess who is responsible for this new one. I would complain about Valentino sneaking it on my wrist while I slept, but I was too happy to have something that links us together.” Sloane averts her gaze in a rare show of shyness.
The sight warms my heart as much as knowing she values the device that allows our secret communications.
She turns back to me. “By the way, where is Valentino? I haven’t seen him for almost a week.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Sloane
I wake with my hand clasped in Tácito’s lap. Instead of finding a comfortable bed in this massive house, he stretches his body between two chairs. He has always been my support pillar, even as he destroys himself for my comfort. I soak up every interaction, allowing his reassuring warmth to seep into my skin. The day will come when he falls in love and our relationship will never be the same. So I relish these stolen moments, hoard each interaction for that day in the future where all I’ll have to live off is memories. After all, what woman would agree to her man paying as much attention to another woman as Tácito does to me?
None.
I curl my fingers and dig my nails into my palm to stop myself from reaching up and brushing his disheveled hair from his face. The most I can take from him in this moment is the small gesture he fell asleep doing, cradling my hand in his big, soft hold.
Dammit!
I sniff from the uncharacteristic tears peppering my eyes. The small action jostles me enough to alert Tácito. He slits his spectral gray eyes before zeroing in on me. “Sleep well?”
“I was doped up. How would I remember?”
“Well enough, then.” He consults his watch. “I have a light day today. How about I bring lunch from your favorite restaurant?”
“Why are you suddenly bribing me with food? Last night doesn’t seem like it was spur of the moment.”
“If you ate, I wouldn’t have to resort to bribery.”
“Hilde is a worrywart. I should have known she’d tell you. Did she also tell you how many times I shit and peed yesterday?”
A grin slowly takes over Tácito’s face, then he bursts into chuffing laughter. I try to stay mad at him, but he has always disarmed me with the unique sound. I twist away from him so I can pretend that I don’t want to bathe in his humor’s glow.
He stops laughing and I realize what I’ve done.
“Sorry for turning my back. I didn’t mean to—”
“I’m your doctor. Knowing your bowels and kidneys are doing their jobs is important in charting your recovery.” Although Tácito doesn’t address my insult, I can tell by his professional facade that I hurt him in my bid for self-preservation.
This is yet another reason I don’t deserve him in my life. I can’t offer him anything but stress and disrespect when he deserves worship and accolades. I decide to play along and act like turning away from him isn’t tantamount to slamming a door in his face.
