Page 4 of My Masked Savior
Yet Morgan Cole has just become more than a patient. More than a woman. Something in those frightened eyes speaks to both sides of me—the healer and the hunter, the savior and the executioner. She’s become a dangerous complication in my life.
And I already know I won’t be able to stay away.
3
MORGAN
“Can I have that?”
“I’m sorry, what?”
I blink at Basia, who’s eyeing my strawberry cupcake like a lion eyes a wounded gazelle on the Serengeti. One of our coworkers, Jules, had her birthday over the weekend and brought the sprinkle-covered desserts to share with the rest of our department.
“Let her eat it, Basia,” another coworker, Tom, chimes in from the fridge. “She already fainted once.”
“I didn’t…” I begin, but let my words trail off. No point in explaining an asthma attack to guys like him. It’s bad enough they all saw me have one. At least no one knows it was anxiety-induced. No one except for maybe the ultra-hot EMT who saved my life. Who I can’t stop thinking about. Who has me daydreaming during my lunch break instead of looking forward to finishing my tuna salad so I can move on to dessert.
I’m being haunted by those sea-blue eyes. Where I once feared seeing Marco’s brown ones when I closed mine, there’s now my savior. His tall, muscular frame. The blondehair, longer at the top, short at the sides, begging for me to run my fingers through, just to see the contrast between my dark skin and the sun-bleached strands. The tattoos, the competence he radiated, the gently dominating way he spoke to me.
I squeeze my thighs together under the table, almost moaning at the pulse of lust from my pussy. My poor, very neglected pussy. I’ve been too afraid to get hurt again to even attempt dating in the last five years that I’ve been living in New York. And now I’m acting like five minutes of attention from a hot guy turned my world on its axis. But didn’t it? He saved my life, but also… I swear I saw an erection pressing against those baggy EMT uniform pants.
I squirm at just the thought, feeling my face ignite. If I’m getting this riled up just from seeing the outline of a cock through fabric, what would happen to me if he actually put those tattooed hands on me? I’d probably need another nebulizer treatment.
“Helloooo, More. What’s the matter with you lately?”
I shake myself out of another reverie, determined to stop acting like a lunatic.
“Sorry, babe.” I force a smile that feels a bit too tight. “I’m stressing over my performance metrics. You know how much I need that promotion.”
Basia gives me a sympathetic look. I don’t often talk about my personal life, and I never like to complain about my struggles. But my student debt is suffocating me. It’s impossible to have any savings, and relocating out of the blue five years ago, when I ran away from Marco’s fists and verbal abuse, almost reduced me to homelessness. I was incredibly lucky to meet my former roommates, Mike and Peter, almost as soon as I got here. They were looking for someone to help with rent and had a second bedroomavailable. I was looking for somewhere I could close my eyes for more than a few minutes without gasping back to consciousness in fear of being attacked in my sleep. I finally saved up enough to move out on my own last year.
“You know you’ll get it, More. No one works harder than you.” Basia purses her lips. There’s a green sprinkle stuck to her cheek, drawing my gaze. “But I think maybe you need a break. A change of scenery.”
She licks frosting from the side of her thumb and gives my cupcake one more longing look before continuing.
“A friend of mine just started running a class at the gym not too far from here. A self-defense thing for women.”
I turn my head so sharply my neck cracks, but Basia doesn’t seem to notice. Cold dread trickles down my spine. Does she know? How? I haven’t told anyone, not even my parents, not even when they didn’t understand the need for me to move so far away.
Oblivious to the fear raging inside me, she keeps selling the class to me.
“I mean, I know there’s going to be a lot of women there who want to reclaim their power and all that, but Danielle says there are going to be plenty of normal girls too.”
I raise my eyebrows at the way she said that, and she must realize her insensitivity instantly, because she winces.
“I didn’t mean it like that, gosh.” She looks around like she’s afraid someone might have overheard her being accidentally callous. “I just wanted to say there will be survivors and women without that experience too, just wanting to learn how to prevent it from happening. Aaand you’re not saying anything,” she finishes with an awkward smile.
I narrow my eyes, temptedto make her squirm a bit, but end up blowing air out of my nose instead, leaning back into the uncomfortable break room chair.
“When is this class?” I finally ask, rolling my lips together.
Basia’s eyes light up with victory.
“Tuesdays at seven. We can go to that new tea place you like after, it’s actually right around the corner from the gym.”
She looks so happy that I’m considering joining her, it pushes away the mild anxiety and discomfort I feel at starting something new, going out of my routine.
“Fine,” I huff, closing the container that once housed my salad. “But if I do something embarrassing, you’re not allowed to talk about it. Ever.”
