Page 87 of Savannah Royals
The deftness to his fingers and unassuming confidence of his bedside stance tug my heart clear into my throat. I retreat, hiding behind the screen to sort out the immense feeling of love washing over me. It surprises me—not the fact it’s there, rather that this is the time and place it chose to fully and unapologetically rear its head. Not at a fancy, exclusive party or under a firework-lit sky, buthere. In a place surrounded by the masses of humanity.
I close my eyes, heart thudding. Blood pounds in my ears.
That, I tell myself, is an incredible man right there. Right in front of me.
Abstractly, I’ve always known it. This isn’t the first time he’s shown me. He does it time and time again, in a million small ways. But right now, his care, concern, and kindness aren’t directed at me. And it’s watching himgive himself away to a complete stranger that ultimately takes me out at the knees.
“Katarina?”
My eyes open and there he is. Right in front of me. All his care and concern and attention now mine.
I open my mouth, then close it.
“Kat?” He’s confused. “What are you doing here? I’m sorry I’m late for our date. We’re absolutely slammed.” He nods to the line of full beds.
That’s right, I remember distantly. I came because he was over an hour late for our date.
“It’s okay,” I whisper.
“How did you even get in?” His eyes silently laugh at me, at my obvious discomfort.
“Honestly, I’m not quite sure.” I lower my lashes. Afraid if I meet his gaze for even one minute, he’ll see it in my eyes. The love. And then he’ll know. My voice speeds up. “I shouldn’t be here…I don’t know how I ended up here at all.”
“Kat.” He reaches for my arm. “Kat, it’s okay. Don’t worry. It’s fine.”
“I’m so sorry. I’m not trying to rush you.”
“I know you’re not. I’m almost done. I just need to throw some stitches in bed seven and order an x-ray for this fella.” He jerks his head over his shoulder. “Then I can leave.”
“Okay.”
“I don’t want you to wait. I’ll be maybe twenty or thirty minutes here, but in the meantime, take these and go to my apartment.” He fishes in his pocket to pull out a set of keys. “It’s 1052 Jones Street.”
I accept the keyring from him, the room tilting beneath my feet.
“This key,” he says, pressing a silver one into my hand, “will get you into the building. I’m on the top floor, the sixth. 1052 Jones, sixth floor. You’ll need this key again at the top of the elevator. You got that?”
“1052 Jones,” I repeat feebly.
He frowns and pulls a pen from his pocket. He grabs my hand and inks 1052 on the side of my thumb. “There. So you don’t forget. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Make yourself at home.”
With a final, quick nod, he strides away.
A little dumbfounded, I retrace my steps, following the guard to the hospital entrance.
“Nice to know the doc has a life on the outside,” he says, holding open the door to the street for me. “Have a good night, Miss…?”
“Quinn,” I answer. “Katarina Quinn. Thank you for your help, James.”
“Anytime. A friend of the doc’s is a friend of ours. You take care now.”
Bundling my hands into my pockets against the cold night air, I set off for Jones Street.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Hewouldliveinthe bloody penthouse. Naturally.
I wander slowly from room to room in Matt’s apartment. It’s a large place for one person. Bigger than Paul’s city flat. The ceilings are high, loft-style, the walls decorated with graphic geometric prints. Some of the wallpaper is brushed with light metallic accents, wealth glinting in the periphery. It’s tasteful, if not entirely subtle.
