Page 5 of Hush Money

Her voice, like everything else about her, is beautiful. It’s a little croaky and weak at the moment, but it sounds surprisingly husky and resonant. It’s the kind of voice made for whispering sweet nothings in someone’s ear all night long.

Lucien glances over his shoulder at me. “Can we give her something for that?”

Back to nurse mode for me. “Yeah. Do you have Tylenol? Also, I need to get her out of these wet clothes and into something dry so she can start warming up.”

“No problem. I can grab all that.” He takes a step or two toward the door before turning back. “Will she be okay?”

“I think so,” I say, trying to sound brisk, professional and reassuring. Now is the time for me to crank my nurse mode up to a hundred percent and ignore the part of me that’s so shaken by this turn of events. It’s good that she’s back, I keep telling myself. Thank God she’s back. Thank God she’s okay. Thank God Lucien is reunited with his wife. That’s how it should be. “We’ll watch her overnight. Get her warmed up. Maybe give her a little bath later, if she can tolerate it. It’s a good sign that she’s talking and moving her arms and legs. And I’m hopeful that there’s no bleeding on the brain. Otherwise, I suspect the crack on her head would be a lot worse. Don’t worry. I’ve got her.”

And I try to bring it all home with a reassuring smile, the one I give my patients all the time.

Lucien stares down at me, his expression unreadable. “I know you do. She’s in good hands.”

“Does she have any family you should call, or…?”

The question seems to startle him. “Ah, no. She has a sister, but they’re not close. And her parents died in a fire when they were teenagers. Their grandmother raised them the rest of the way. She’s also gone now.”

Wow. How sad that she’s back and there’s no one else to care besides her husband. “I see.” He hesitates as though he wants to say something else, but now is not the time. I need him to complete his mission. “Lucien. Get her things.”

His jaw tightens as his attention swings between the two of us. Then he nods and sets off, disappearing into the darkness and leaving me to take care of Ravenna.

I sit at her hip on the sofa and do a quick assessment. Her shivering seems to have subsided somewhat, so that’s good. I reach for her wrist to take her pulse again. It was a little thready before, and I just want to make sure?—

“I’m wet,” she says, her eyes still closed.

“You are,” I say, pulling the blankets back and reaching for her shirt. She’s wearing a white linen oxford that’s plastered to her flawless ivory skin. I work my way through the buttons, pushing the two halves aside and sliding them over her shoulders and off. She helps me out by rolling from one side to the other, and the next thing I know I’m confronted with her breasts, which are small and perky, no bra needed. She’s got large, dark nipples and a lean torso, the kind of body that belongs to a runway model and that couldn’t be more different from mine. And it’s not that I’m into women or that I’ve forgotten my professionalism. I know how to take care of the patient, and that’s what I plan to do. It’s just that it’s harder to quash the womanly side of myself than I expected it to be. I can’t help my intrusive thoughts, which seem determined to remind me that Lucien enjoyed this body long before he enjoyed mine.

And probably much more than he enjoyed mine.

I shift my attention to her jeans, determined to ignore my plummeting morale. She’s got slim hips. Black lace bikini. A triangle patch of dark hair and trim thighs without an extra ounce of fat anywhere. Not like me. Endless legs, and pretty delicate feet, much smaller than mine. I pull her jeans all the way off and toss them aside, my cheeks flaming as I hastily re-cover her with the blankets and tuck them under her chin.

But honestly, I don’t know whether I’m protecting her or myself. Probably both.

I glance around, impatient for the return of the men. I’d like to get her dressed and give her that Tylenol, but they sure are taking their sweet time about?—

“What’s happening?” she says, startling me.

I hastily turn back to her and discover that—oh, shit—she’s awake. Really awake. Blinking and doing her best to focus her glazed gaze on me as she tries to sit up.

CHAPTER THREE

TAMSYN

My heart lurches. Let’s just say that I’m not ready to face her. And I’m definitely not ready to face her alone. On the other hand, thank God she’s lucid and awake again. Those are great signs.

“Hey,” I say, trying several things at once. To sound calm and encouraging. To be a professional. To act innocent and not at all as though I’ve been fucking her husband for weeks and am more than halfway in love with him. “It’s okay. How are you feeling?”

She frowns and gives up on the effort to sit up straighter, instead collapsing back against the pillow and wincing. Then she reaches for her bandaged forehead and starts to touch it before I stop her. I don’t want any infections, especially with the power out and us stuck here for God knows how long with no way to leave and no antibiotics.

“My head hurts,” she says, her eyes drifting closing again.

“I know. It looks like you injured yourself. Probably a concussion. But we’re going to get you some Tylenol to help with the pain.”

She nods and takes a deep breath, her features evening out again. And I hate to sound like a broken record, but it’s hard not to stare at her. Especially now that I’ve seen those big and luminous eyes open and she’s given me the full force of her beauty. Think of any dark-haired bombshell you’ve seen before. Angelina Jolie. Elizabeth Taylor. Megan Fox. Now combine them and turn up the star wattage and tell me not to stare. She’s that beautiful.

Her eyes flicker open again, but she seems to be fighting a losing battle with her drowsiness. “Who are you?”

If she only knew. “My name is Tamsyn.”

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