Page 31 of The Heart We Guard
A noble name.
I can’t think of a single other person with that name.
And I can’t think of another time I felt so intertwined with another person without words.
Nothing we did was sexual, but it was deeply emotionally connected. It would be easy to lie to myself and say we were both just caught up in an intimate conversation.
But I hate dishonesty.
So, I won’t.
I’ve crossed every line.
I operated on someone in my home.
I allowed that patient to kiss me in a way that aroused me.
And I helped him strip in a way that wasn’t wholly medicinal or objective because the man has a body worth admiring.
There is no illusion in my mind—Nolan will go back to a life I can’t respect, and I will go back to fixing the shell of my life. But, God, I find myself wanting to cling to this moment we have.
When the door opens, Nolan has a white towel wrapped around his hips. It’s impossible to ignore his erection. It’s long and thick, forming a large tent in the towel. “Do the stitches have to come out tonight?” he asks.
I try to keep my eyes on his, or the doorframe, or the cobweb I should probably clean in the corner of the room. Anything but the damn towel. But it’s hard to miss the tenting caused by the thick erection hanging between his legs. “They can probably wait until tomorrow if you don’t feel up to it.”
“So, if I lose the towel and climb in there”—he tips his chin toward the other side of the bed—“would you let me stay?”
Some choices aren’t a big deal, even when they mean letting chances slip through your fingers. Not going to that concert. Skipping that family reunion. Bailing on the job interview.
But spending one night with Nolan doesn’t feel like one of them.
I don’t know what he wants of me.
I’m not even sure I can deliver it.
But I want what we had at the kitchen table, when we talked. I want to recapture the feeling I had when he expressed what he was feeling, kneeling and holding me.
“I’d like that,” I say. “But…Nolan…I’m…”
He walks over to me, takes my chin in his fingers, and tips my face up to him. “Whatever you are and whatever you want is enough. I can lie over on the other side of the bed and not touch you at all, or you can curl up next to me, let me hold you as best I can, or you can ride me like a Harley all night, even if it pops my stitches.”
I smile at that.
“It’s enough, Greer. Whatever it is, it’s enough. And I’m a man of my word. When I promise to let you steer, I mean it.”
The reassurance is enough. Even though I know he’s aroused, I believe him when he tells me he won’t do anything I don’t want.
“Okay. Get in. I’ll just be a minute.”
I dash into the bathroom and get ready for bed. Unsurprisingly, I feel wide awake.
There’s a constant debate in my head as I prepare. Do I strip and walk out there boldly? Do I pull on my comfortable pajamas? Is there a hybrid option?
I look at the door.
If I do this, I need to do this as me. From the beginning. Even if it’s only for tonight.
Because when I look back on it, I don’t want to regret that I somehow tried to be someone I’m not.
