Page 5 of Finding Love

“Did you tell them how much I loved the French fries?” My mouth is already watering at the thought. Hospital food is supposed to be gross, though that hasn’t been my experience. I wouldn’t call it gourmet or anything, but it’s tasty.

“When you wouldn’t stop raving about them last night?” He laughs as he places the tray on my table, which he wheels closer to the bed. “Whatever it takes to get our patients feeling better. At least, that’s my opinion.”

A deep, sharp voice slices its way between us. “Something you need?”

We both look toward the partly open door leading into the other side of the suite, where Luca now stands with his feet planted at shoulder-width, arms folded, and eyes blazing. It’s enough to make my heart almost jump out of my chest, and I’m not the one he’s glaring at.

He jerks his chin, sneering at the orderly. “Your hearing messed up?” Luca prompts when he doesn’t get an answer.

“He’s dropping off my lunch,” I explain, though it’s unnecessary. He knows damn well why this kid is in here, a kid who looks ready to pee his scrubs as he stands beside my bed. I’m glad he put the tray down before Luca decided to come in and act like a raging jackass.

Luca’s mouth barely opens when he grunts out, “He dropped it off. Time to go.”

I look up at the kid whose name I don’t know, hoping he’ll look my way so I can at least mouth the words I’m sorry. No such luck. He’s busy gaping at the murderous man currently intent on terrifying him.

The terror deepens when Luca arches an eyebrow. “You need an escort? Move your ass.” He growls, and that’s enough to get the kid moving fast. It’s a miracle he doesn’t trip over his feet on his way out the door.

He’s barely out of the room before I have to say something. Forget fear. I’m too busy being pissed. “I have an idea. Why not alienate everybody on the hospital staff?” I ask with a sigh.

Luca tips his head to the side. Can he honestly be surprised by my reaction? “Excuse me?” he asks with a snort.

“He was doing his job.”

His lip curls in a sneer. “His job is to flirt with you?”

So this is how he treats women who supposedly mean the world to him. Like they’re his possession. I shouldn’t be surprised. “He wasn’t flirting,” I insist. “He was friendly and professional.” And making me glad he’s around, which is something I can’t imagine you ever doing. I doubt I’d get far if I said that out loud.

Barking out a laugh, he asks, “That’s what you consider professional?”

This man is insufferable. “All I’m saying is, let’s maybe not make everybody afraid to come in here and take care of me. How am I supposed to get better?”

His thick lashes flutter over a pair of impossibly dark orbs, and some of the fire drains from them before his head bobs once. “Understood. I’m not trying to get in the way of your care. But I’m going to have my eyes on whoever comes in or out. That’s not going to change.”

And I’m supposed to love this person? Plan a future with him?

Attraction is one thing. I can imagine being attracted to him. I am now, surprisingly enough. Even with the back of my head aching with every beat of my heart, I notice the patch of tanned skin revealed by his open shirt, hinting at a broad chest and the suggestion of a tattoo occasionally peeking out when he moves. The thick arms under his sleeves, the way his slacks seem to strain around his thighs when he sits. I’m only human, and he is way too much eye candy to pretend otherwise.

But in a relationship with a brute like him? I’m almost positive this was a double cross. Like I only pretended to resign so he’d trust me and allow me into his inner circle. That means I have no idea what I can and can’t say, what he does and does not know. The idea of us being any more than a detective and the man she was supposed to investigate is impossible. No matter how I try, I can’t wrap my mind around it. He’s a criminal, a murderer, and the complete opposite of who I try to be. I’m one of the good guys.

Aren’t I? Because as much as I want to turn away from the idea, there’s no ignoring it. I’m missing months of my life in which anything could have happened. I don’t know who I am any more than I know the man standing in front of me now. It’s horrifying, and there’s no one to turn to. No one I trust and can get a hold of.

He jerks his chin toward the tray and clears his throat. “You had better eat while it’s hot,” he grunts out. “It smells good.”

Even though it’s the last thing I want, I blurt out, “Do you want some?” I lift the lid from the plate, and sure enough, a handful of French fries comes spilling off the tower somebody in the cafeteria gifted me. Why would I ask that? I don’t want to spend a minute with him, much less share my food.

His lips stir in what might be the beginnings of a smile, but he shakes his head. “No, thanks. I’ll be out here if you need anything.” With that, he exits, returning to the sofa where he left his phone.

As I watch, munching on a fry, he picks it up, then sits down, typing something. I wonder what it is and if I’m supposed to be documenting his actions and behaviors to report back. I doubt somebody could blame me for slacking off a little, all things considered. I won’t believe I resigned until somebody confirms it for me. It would be much too convenient for him to take advantage of my condition and say whatever it is he thinks will help him. I’m not going to buy into his explanations blindly.

How the hell long is it going to take for me to get better? It needs to happen fast because I am lost in the dark, completely on my own.

It doesn’t help that I can’t stop watching him as I eat, admiring his sharp profile and impressive body without meaning to. I need to get better before I do something stupid, like developing a crush.

Or worse.

According to him, I’ve already fallen in love with him once. If that's true, I can’t afford to make the same mistake again.

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