Page 32 of Burned By the Broken Doctor

She pauses as her legs hang over the edge of the bed, and then she turns around. Her eyes study my face, searching for something. “How important is this to you?”

“It’s really important,” I admit simply, my eyes locked on hers.

She seems to be convinced by what she sees in my eyes. She sighs, running a hand through her hair. “Alright. I might consider it, but only if you agree to my conditions.”

Time to play ball. I swallow hard. “What are your conditions?”

She sits back against the headboard, crossing her arms. “First, you keep an open mind about Damon’s wedding. Second, you’ll be my assistant for planning it and make sure all the plans are achieved.”

I pause. She’s asking for the one thing I’m most resistant to. And from the look in her eyes, I can see that she knows it. She’s testing me, pushing the limits.

“Emma, you know I don’t believe in love or marriage. I’m more inclined to stop my friend from making that mistake. Ask for something else.”

“That’s my only requirement,” she announces firmly, crossing her arms and flashing a smug smile.

She’s in control, and she knows it. I grit my teeth, considering her offer. It’s a tough pill to swallow, but I nod reluctantly. “Alright. I’ll do it.”

“Good.” She nods. Just then, her phone rings, breaking the tension hanging between us. She grabs it, glancing at the screen. “It’s June.” She smiles, swiping at the screen to answer the call. “Hey, June. Yeah, I’m good. No, everything’s okay. Just getting myself ready to start your wedding preparations…and you don’t need to worry about Liam opposing your wedding anymore.”

I watch her as she speaks, the sheets clinging to her chest, her expression softening as she talks to her friend. The attraction I feel for her is undeniable, a magnetic pull that I can’t ignore.

She hangs up and looks at me, raising an eyebrow. “I’m going to prepare papers for you to sign, by the way.”

A little smile crosses my lips. “You don’t trust me?”

Emma cocks her head to the side. “I’d sooner trust a serpent than you, Liam.”

She gives me a sultry smile and stands up from the bed. The sheets slip down her body, and then she starts pulling on her clothes one after the other. I watch her, dumbfounded as she covers up that body that had me stark raving mad with need just moments ago.

“What are we going to do about this…chemistry between us?” The question slips out from my lips before I can swallow it. I smirk, trying to keep my cool. “Just asking, you know?”

“We’ll see.” She nods, gathers her things, and heads for the door.

I jump up. “Let me drive you.”

“No,” she shakes her head. “Townsfolk seeing us together now will complicate things further. The hospital is close, I’ll walk.”

As she walks out, I realize that whatever happens next, this fake relationship just got a lot more complicated. And I’m not entirely sure that’s a bad thing.

The slam of the front door echoes through the house, an emphatic period to the whirlwind of the past hour. I sit rooted in the sheets for a moment. I can still feel the lingering warmth of Emma's body in them as they slide against my skin.

Then I stand up slowly, my feet following the pounding rhythm of my own heart as I walk toward the window. I lean against the window frame, peeking out at the deserted street.

Emma's figure is already walking down the block, her long legs carrying her away from me. A strange thrill of excitement bubbles within me. I made a mistake eighteen months ago.

Naturally, I get bored of my one-night-stand partners by the next morning, and I can’t wait to get away from them, but she was different even then. I didn’t get bored of her, even when I sent her away.

I should’ve understood that we definitely have unfinished business. And now, the universe has given me a chance to get things done properly this time.

I can’t help but follow her with my eyes. She’s got this sexy stride that’s hard to ignore. I watch her as she disappears down the street, the sun casting a golden hue over everything. Our truce is just a temporary arrangement that came with conditions. Am I getting myself into deep trouble with her conditions?

Pushing the thought aside, I force a cynical smile. It's just playing along, a charade extended for the sheer, undeniable pleasure of… Well, let's just say the benefits of our little “carry-away” situation are hard to ignore.

The lingering scent of Emma's perfume, a mix of citrus and something vaguely floral, clings to the air in the room. It's intoxicating, and a part of me rebels at the thought of it fading. Besides, with Dad's hawk-like senses, the slightest hint of her presence won’t go unnoticed. A quick shower seems like the only reasonable course of action.

The hot water cascades down, washing away not just the physical evidence of our encounter, but also trying to wash away the confusion stirring within me. Is this just a twisted form of convenience? A way to avoid the inevitable grilling from Dad about my nonexistent love life? Or is there something more, something I am desperately trying to ignore?

Emerging from the bathroom, a semblance of calm settles over me. Whistling a tuneless rendition of something vaguely popish, I start prepping dinner. Chopping vegetables, sizzling onions, tossing ingredients together—it all becomes a familiar, almost therapeutic routine. Just as I am setting the table, the front door creaks open, and Dad ambles in.

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