Page 30 of Between the Lines

“I’m so sorry!”

“Not your fault,” I grunt, letting my head fall for a few beats before I lift it.At least all of the blood that was in my dick has somewhere else to rush.

“Here, let me see… I’ve got some experience with head injuries.”

It all rushes south again the moment her hands are on me.

It’s like my body was devoid of a heartbeat, and the minute her hands met my skin shocked literal life back into me.

One hand wraps over mine to peel my fingers away, and the other cups my face so that her thumb can caress the tender skin that whacked against the doorframe. I don’t know what to do. Don’t know where to look.

If I focus on the button of her lips in concentration as she examines my head, I’ll wonder what she’ll look like if I tell her she can’t come without my permission.

If I focus on how silky soft her skin is against mine, I’ll picture it surrounding me, rubbing against my bare thighs as I pound into her while her manicured fingers grip me for purchase.

But worst of all, if I focus on the wells of blue she wears for eyes, I could drown in the untold sea she has there, the one I not only don’t deserve to know, but shouldn’t want to in the first place. I’ll jump off the diving board into the deep end, and she’ll swallow all of my secrets, the ones I don’t let see the light of day even for myself, whole.

“Here, come sit down. I’ll be able to see in better light.”

I nod, and the moment her touch disappears, this room is an icebox.

Claire indicates to a wheeled chair after removing the stack of papers that just sat upon it, and I comply, taking a seat.

“Tilt your chin up?”

She asks instead of tells, and I wonder where that rambling, pink-cheeked girl disappeared to. When she says, “Sorry I called you Nathan back there. That was unprofessional,” I have my answer.

I scared her away.Idid that with my judgmental remarks and assumptions about her. Immediately, I right us, hoping to coax her back out—the woman full of wonderful ideas about how to treat our students.

The woman who revealed to me in too few of words how our own paths seem to be one in the same when it comes to our pasts.

The woman whose brain I’d like to pick after I lay her out in my bed.

“No. Nathan is fine. Not unprofessional at all.”

I tilt my head back slowly, and try my best to appear like I mean those words. For all intents and purposes, Iamthe picture of professionalism in this building. Hell, I shine my shoes before I go to bed each night, and the seams of my slacks are so tight you could bounce a quarter off of them. Or something like that.

She hums a nervous laugh that I’m sure I wasn’t supposed to hear, but it’s in the same moment that her skin razes mine again, and I have to distract myself, especially with her this close to me.

“What’s so funny?”

From up this close, with her standing above me, I can make out the quirk of her smile as her thumb brands me. Her voice is raspy as she swallows and answers.

“Not to be rude or burst any bubbles, but you’re kind of known as the hard-ass around here—between you and Don, anyway.”

It doesn’t come as a shock. I’ve always prided myself on following the rules and achieving excellence. Coming from her lips, like it’sgossiped about behind my back, kind of stings. I wince, and she pulls back.

“Sorry. Actually, we should get some ice on this.”

I fold my hands over my belt when she leaves, staring up at the ceiling, expecting her to head to the office to snag an ice pack from the nurse’s stash. But then, I hear the zipper of a bag, sloshy shaking, and a loudpop!She’s back in about a minute, branding a portable ice bag.

“These always come in handy.”

She smiles in this soft yet confident headiness that I don’t get to fully appreciate before she’s applying the cold pack to my head.

“Keep that on there for fifteen minutes.”

The stern finger she points in my direction sends a shiver through my core that definitely isn’t from the ice pack. I’m usually the one in charge, but suddenly, the thought of her doling out orders?—

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