“Downstairs bathroom,” she mumbles, still curled up tight.
“Alright. Come on, Trouble.” I help her get up and go to the bathroom. “Need help undressing?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood.
Her cheeks flush a delicious shade of pink. “No, of course not.”
I step out, closing the door to give her privacy. As I head downstairs, my mind races. I shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be doing this. But the thought of leaving her alone, in pain, makes my chest ache.
In the kitchen, I pause, gripping the counter until my knuckles turn white. The house is quiet, save for the distant sound of running water upstairs.
I'm crossing lines I swore I never would. Getting involved, caring too much. It's dangerous. For both of us.
But as I open the cabinet to search for pain pills, I can't bring myself to regret it. Not when I picture her upstairs, hurting and alone. Not when all I want is to hold her.
I find the pills, fill a glass with water, and, after a moment's hesitation, I gather a bag of potato chips and a bowl. Comfort food.
When I return upstairs, I set everything beside the bed and wait.
Cora emerges from the bathroom a while later wearing an oversized t-shirt that barely skims her thighs, her wet hair cascading over her shoulders. She looks so young, so innocent. So fucking beautiful it hurts.
My mind races, taking me places I shouldn’t go. She’s a client, I remind myself.Off-limits.
“What are you doing?” she asks, eyebrow raised.
“Waiting for you,” I reply, keeping my voice neutral. “I brought you the meds.”
She buries her face in her hands. “God, how mortifying.”
I move closer, pulling her hands away. Our eyes lock, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe.
“Not at all,” I say on an exhale of air. “There’s nothing wrong with how your body works. You have nothing to be ashamed of. I admire women for dealing with this. If it were me, I’d be curled up in a ball, crying for my mommy.”
A small smile tugs at her lips, and it’s like the sun breaking through storm clouds.
I hand her the pills and water. She tosses them back, taking a small sip. “Good girl,” I murmur, then want to kick myself.
“Now, get in.”
She complies, and I tuck her in, smoothing the blanket around her waist. Her face is close to mine, her lips just inches away. They part slightly, and I’m transfixed. There’s nothing I want more right now than to close that distance, to taste her, to lose myself in her.
I freeze, the moment stretching between us as I gaze into her eyes. They’re like pools I could drown in.
“So,” I say, my voice sounding strained, “there are chips here, and the remote is there. The pills should kick in soon, and you’ll feel better.”
“I already feel a little better,” she says, smiling up at me. “Thank you, Ryder.”
The sound of my name on her lips does things to me I can’t even process. “I’ll be downstairs. Yell if you need anything.”
She nods, and I force myself to leave the room before I do something stupid like climb into bed with her.
I head downstairs, scrubbing my face with my hands. What the hell am I doing? I haven’t wanted a woman like this in a long time. Not the way I want her. She’s perfect—beautiful, smart, sensitive. But she’s also a client, and she’s taken. By some asshole who doesn’t deserve her but taken.
I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. I need to get it together.
My phone blares, making me jump. I yank it from my pocket, my heart stopping when I see it’s Cora’s panic button.
I race up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and burst into the room.
“What happened?” I demand, my eyes scanning for threats.
