Page 18 of Healed By Doc
My mouth runs dry when those brown eyes meet mine. “You changed,” I say lamely as my mind runs blank. I wasn’t expecting him to come back, and to see him standing outside my door is a shock to my system.
“Yeah, I got a bit of blood on my other clothes, so I had to shower and change while I was at the clubhouse anyway.”
“Blood?” I gasp, eyes widening in horror. I rush forward, panicked as I press my hands over his chest, running my eyes over his clothes as if expecting to see through them. “You’re hurt? Where? How?”
He laughs. “It wasn’t my blood, Cara.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, I had to run out this morning to treat a fool who shot himself.”
Oh.
He didn’t leave just to escape me? Of course he left for work. The man’s a doctor who deals with adrenaline junkies. I feel the boulder on my shoulders diminish and curse myself for a fool.
I can’t afford to slip back into delusion, but as I look at him, I find myself longing to feel those lips on mine again. To have his hands touch me in places only he ever has. And I hope only he ever will.
“If you don’t stop doing that, Cara, we’re going to have a scandalous scene in this hallway.”
My brows draw in confusion. “Doing what?” He smirks, and I follow his eyes to his chest, flushing when I realize my hands are still on him, caressing his pecs. Embarrassed by my own lack of control, I push back.
“Are you going to let me in?”
Right.
“Yeah, sorry,” I murmur, moving aside to let him go before following him in. I close the door, and I’ve barely turned around before I find my back pressed against the wall and his lips on mine. All the warnings and that pep talk I gave myself this morning fade away when I feel the press of his hard muscles against me. My eyes flutter closed, and my hands instinctively move to his shoulders as he kisses me. His breath is just as ragged as mine, and I moan, opening up for him with such hunger, it sends fire lighting in my belly.
I want this, I realize. Not just for a moment or a day.
Forever.
Jesus Christ, I’ve allowed myself to fall in love with a man who could crush me. Who has every reason in the world to want to crush me.
James makes an impatient sound and pulls back. “You’re doing it again,” he says, holding my gaze. “Cara, I don’t have any ulterior motive when I touch you.”
I lick my lips, resisting the urge to lean in for another kiss. “Don’t you?”
“Damnit. No, I don’t,” he says, his voice controlled, but I sense the anger behind it. Surprisingly enough, I don’t flinch in fear as I have in the past when faced with rage. Perhaps it’s because everything the man has done from the moment we metis treat me with kindness and touch me with care. Even when he was being rough, he was careful.
“James—”
“Fine, let’s talk about this and get it out of the way,” he says, pulling back, and I immediately miss his touch when he does so. I watch him stalk toward the kitchenette and follow behind. “I need another cup of coffee first.”
I sit on the stool and watch him prepare his coffee. I shake my head when he offers to share, not sure I can stomach anything in the moment. We sit in silence as he drinks the first cup, and I know I should say something, but I am terrified by the prospect of digging into the past. When he starts pouring the second cup, I figure one of us needs to get this conversation started.
“I’m sorry,” I begin, letting out a breath with a shudder. “I know you keep saying that you don’t blame me, and I don’t understand it. I blame myself—”
“Why?”
“Why?” I laugh without mirth. “James, I ruined your life. Most people would feel guilty about it.”
“You were a child,” he counters. “An abused child who witnessed something they never should have.”
“But I…”
“Look,” he says, pushing the cup aside and taking my hands in his. “Let’s get one thing clear first. You did not ruin my life, Cara.” His eyes drop to our joined hands, and I watch them soften. “Before I came home on leave, I’d spent a year deployed to one of the worst places on Earth. I spent twelve months in a war-torn country. I saw things I will never be able to forget no matter how badly I want to. My leave was to last thirty days, thenI would be re-deployed to the field, back to rolling the dice with my life.”
“That’s…”
