Page 20

William

CHAPTER TWENTY

I forced myself not to think about her the entire time I was in surgery.

I’m completely dedicated to my work, allowing no outside interference—not even from the woman who’s turning my damn world upside down.

I’ve never brought someone to my home just so they could sleep over. I’ve never wanted a woman there simply for the sake of it. And yet, even without us having done anything beyond some kisses—which, by my standards, were practically chaste—I couldn’t let her leave.

I wanted her with me.

“How’d it go in there?” L.J. asks, crossing paths with me in the hallway.

I’m not surprised to find him here on a Saturday. None of the three of us ever turns away emergencies, and it’s not unusual for us to see each other at the hospital on weekends.

I’m also not surprised that he’s already in the loop about the patient I just operated on.

“We’ll know in a few days. The affected area was extensive—arms and back primarily. The trailer’s kitchen blew up with the husband inside. The wife only had minor burns, but his are third-degree. There’s nothing to be done right now, aside from pain control.”

“And his lungs? He must have inhaled a lot of smoke.”

“Yeah, but he’ll survive. His recovery, though, as always in these cases, will be long and painful.”

Treating fire victims, especially when their injuries go beyond lost soft tissue and skin—down to the bone, affecting muscle compartments and causing nerve damage—is a true test of endurance for both the medical team and the patient. In the case of the older man I just operated on, he was lucky no vital organs were harmed.

“Lousy way to start a Saturday.”

I shrug. The work doesn’t faze me. No matter how bad the situation, I never let emotions interfere. It’s the woman waiting for me at home who’s messing with my meticulously ordered world.

“You went clubbing last night,” L.J. says, changing the subject and glancing at his phone screen, which just chimed with a new message.

“I stopped by Vanity,” I say, not offering any further details. But when he smirks sardonically, I know he knows more than he’s letting on.

He confirms it by showing me his phone. “That's your girl?” he asks, pointing to a photo some damned paparazzo took of me and Taylor on the dance floor.

“Yeah, that’s Taylor.”

“Since when do you take women to public places that aren’t restaurants?”

“My rules don’t apply to her.”

“What?”

“I took her to my place.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“She was drunk, and I wanted to keep an eye on her.”

“So the two of you didn’t . . .” he concludes, because he knows I’d never screw a woman who wasn’t fully conscious of what she wanted.

“No. I just took care of her.”

“I’m not gonna ask anything else,” he says, but I can see in his expression he has a thousand questions.

“Great, because I don’t have answers yet—and I’m not sure I ever will.”

* * *

I step into the apartment, listening carefully for any sounds. It’s been five hours since I left, before dawn broke.

I could’ve texted her to say I was on my way, but I’m still not used to the idea of checking in with a partner. We’re nothing more than two people who want each other.

The moment I turn the doorknob, though—for the first time in my life that I can remember—I feel anxious.

Did she wait for me like I told her? There’s no guarantee. Nothing about Taylor seems certain.

It’s not even ten in the morning, so there’s a decent chance she’s still asleep.

I head straight for my suite. That’s where I brought her, even though I have five other bedrooms in this apartment.

Why? I ask myself, confused.

Why not? If she’s with me, she’s mine, and I want her close.

I step into the bedroom, see the unmade bed, and it only takes me a second to realize she’s in the bathroom.

I head that way, and for a moment, I stand in the doorway, watching her through the glass shower door.

I recall the first time we met, and how—even though I was furious—my first thought was that I’d never seen a more beautiful woman in my life.

“You’re in my bathroom again.”

She turns toward me, but this time she doesn’t look scared the way she did at my grandmother’s house.

Even so, something’s exactly the same: she doesn’t try to hide. Taylor lets me see all of her.

“You told me to stay,” she says, tilting that lovely chin of hers up.

Without breaking eye contact, I start unbuttoning my shirt. “And will you always do as I say?”

“No, only when it’s in my best interest.” Her eyes wander over my body.

“Invite me in there with you, Taylor.”

“You don’t need an invitation. It’s your bathroom.”

“I don’t want an invitation to step under the shower. I want an invitation to be inside you.”

She shudders at my words, but she still doesn’t back down. “I’m not inviting you in here to have sex.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I want to be seduced. I want you to adore every inch of my body. I don’t care if it’s only for today, but I need to be as special to you as you’re going to be to me. I want to be the first woman you make love to, not just fuck.”