“I think it sounds lovely,” she remarks, slightly shyly. And to my surprise, I notice a small flush of pink appearing on her cheeks. She must just be warming up after her shower, and there’s nothing more to it than that. Because there’s no way in hell a girl like that could be looking at me with anything other than gratitude.
“Thanks,” I reply, straightening up and grabbing the tray from her to distract myself. “You want anything else? I have more soup, if you?—”
“A drink?” she suggests.
“More water?”
“No, I was thinking…uh, something a little stronger,” she replies hopefully. When she flicks those brown eyes up to meet mine, I know I don’t stand a chance of disagreeing with her. Call me gullible, but there’s something about having a pretty girl in myliving room asking for a drink that makes it hard for me to focus on my good sense, even though I should be.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I reply. I’m not a big drinker, given that my job often calls for me to be ready at the drop of a hat, but I’m sure I can find something for us. I dig through the cabinets and eventually come up with a bottle of scotch that one of my colleagues gave me for my birthday years ago. He seemed to think that Scotland and Ireland were functionally the same place, and that this amounted to a gift from my homeland. Either way, I appreciated the effort, even if I haven’t cracked into it yet.
And now is as good a night as any. I pour myself a generous helping and her a small glass, not wanting it to seem as though I’m trying to get her drunk or something, and return to the living room. I extend my hand, holding the glass out to her, and she takes it, our fingertips brushing for the barest moment.
“Thanks,” she murmurs.
There’s that smile again. That sweet, open smile.
It’s a little crooked on one side, her lip rising a little higher on the right to show more of her teeth, but there’s something endearing about it. I work with so many doctors who’ve had little tweaks and dental improvements made at every turn, but I like seeing someone whose face actually looks…well, real.
“And thank you for…for picking me up the way you did,” she continues. “I know a lot of people would have driven on by if they had seen me there, and I…I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t pulled over to help.”
“Call it my good deed for the day.”
“For the year, more like,” she corrects me as she takes a sip of the drink. There’s something about the sight of her lips skimming over the top of the glass that makes it hard for me to focus on much else, but I swiftly draw my gaze away from her and turn it back to the fireplace, trying to remind myself that I’m meant to be focusing on helping her, not lusting after her.
And yet, as the sound of the crackling fire fills the room, and the scent of woodsmoke sinks into the air, all I can think is that I have a beautiful girl sitting just a few feet away from me.
And there are parts of me that cannot deny the entirely selfish reasons I helped her the way I did.
3
LILA
As I finishmy glass of scotch, I steal another glance at him. My savior, the man who rescued me, the man who has shown me more care in the last few hours than I’ve received in the past several years combined.
And his house—damn, it really is amazing. This gorgeous wood cabin in the middle of the forest is like a little sanctuary away from the rest of the world. He must be well-off, given that he told me he’s a doctor, but I wouldn’t expect someone like him to have poured the money into a place this…this lonesome.
Especially a guy who looks the way he does. I mean, he’s a doctor, he’s clearly rich, and he’s hot as hell. And he can cook. And he’s funny. And he has that beautiful accent to boot. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was sent to help me from somewhere far greater than any place I’ve ever set foot in.
“Would you like another?” he asks, as soon as he notices that I’ve finished my drink.
I nod. “That would be great.”
I’m not used to someone fussing over me like this, but there’s something to be said for it. Even if his fussing extends to the bruises on my arms, the marks Thom left when he tried to keep me from fleeing once and for all.
I don’t want to get into where the bruises came from, not if I can help it. The second this man finds out about what I’ve been through, I’m going to turn into a victim in his eyes, and that’s the last thing I want.
He reaches to take the glass from me, and I’m sure that he allows his fingertip to trace over mine for a moment longer than it necessarily has to. I press my lips together to contain a little grin as he goes, watching as he heads back into the kitchen. He’s wearing a simple knit sweater and a pair of jeans, but even beneath them, I can see how strong he is. Broad shoulders, thick arms.
He emerges from the kitchen a few moments later with another drink for me. I notice he’s pouring them small, as though he’s making sure that I can’t let my tipsiness get the better of me.
Shit, maybe I want it to.
I have been so careful these last few years, these last few months especially, always tiptoeing around for fear that Thom was going to blow up on me and ruin my day or my year or my life even more than he already had.
There’s a part of me that just wants to forget about all of that responsibility. And in this place, so far from everything I’ve known for so long, perhaps I can.
I watch him as he sinks into the chair opposite the fire once more, the flames picking up the shadows on the sharp planes of his face. A strong jaw, with dark stubble that’s streaked with graylike his hair, and high cheekbones. He looks like he could have walked straight off a runway, serving looks for some cozy, sexy men’s fashion brand.
