Page 13 of Fixation

ANDERSON

H arper lowers her eyebrows. Perfect prey. “Fine. You’ll give me proof that you’re a real doctor if I eat this one bite?”

Bargaining. That’s cute.

That’s fucking hot.

“I would’ve.” I press the spoon to her sealed lips. “But you didn’t listen the first time I asked. You defied me. You need to learn how to be good. I’m only doing this for you.”

“What? No, you bastard.” She has no clue that making me work for it gets me harder. Turns my thoughts into the most fucked up, depraved ones I’ve ever had.

“You can’t?—”

I shove the spoon into her mouth.

“The price just went up to five spoons, kitten.” Dammit. The nickname slipped again. “Miss Arlington.”

Her eyes widen. Eyebrows shooting up her forehead.

She chews and swallows, regardless.

“Fine.” Her need to collect information on me, her captor, is stronger than her pride.

Smart girl.

Watching her trying to manipulate me gets me off like no other.

It means she’s less scared than she was an hour ago.

She’s getting attached to me. My plan is working.

“Can you at least tell me why me?” Harper asks between bites. Beneath the covers, she tests her restraints, huffing when they won’t give. “What did I ever do to you?”

“The question implies that I intend to hurt you.” My cock jerks when she licks the soup off her lips. My muscles tense, doing the impossible by keeping me where I am. I loathe the distance between us. “I already told you, I’m here to help you.”

I bring the spoon to her mouth again.

“Why me?” Her eyes water. Whether it’s the fever, indignation, or desperation, I can’t tell. “Why”—her voice rises when I say nothing—“me?”

The last me is a scream. That last me dies when I shove of the spoon into her mouth.

“Hate you,” she says around a mouthful of soup.

No part of me hates her at all.

These emotions are fucking exhausting. More exhausting than hours in surgery.

Hiding them is plain torture.

“Okay, Miss Arlington.” The half-empty bowl is placed on top of the cart. “A deal is a deal.”

My hand slides into the pocket of my pants.

“I have a family,” she tries. Harper doesn’t just say that so I’ll feel sorry for her. There’s love there. For them. A profound longing for a life she believes she might never have again. “A friend. A business to run. Someone will notice.”

“They noticed. I, well, you told them that you were taking a few days off. Emersyn is handling the PR and logistics. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

“You…Oh my fucking God.” Her nose twitches, reddening, like she’s about to cry. “Please. Someone—you’ll be hurting a lot of people if you kill me.”

My brows pull together as I think about what she said.

She’s basically alone here in the city.

Despite having a close-knit, loving family—a family she clearly loves back—she moved halfway across the country.

That doesn’t sit right with me.

Her connection to them, her dedication to her business, it’s real. Strong. Steady. Still, she left it all behind.

Today isn’t the first time that question has circled my mind. I’ve been tracking her for a while now, trying to figure it out.

Why the sudden move?

Why here, of all places?

She’ll give me my answers. Whether it’s today, tomorrow, or in a week, I’ll have them.

I cock my head to the side, studying her with my hospital tag in my hand. Out of her sight.

This isn’t the time for that.

I’m curious about her.

Silence ensues. My brain roams.

Maybe…

She may be on the run. Someone back in California could’ve harassed her and made her run off and hide out here.

Blood roars in my ears.

My heart pumps so much of it into my body. So fast.

For a second there, my world goes black.

I swallow the mounting rage.

I’m back.

It could be nothing. It could be that she needs complete independence.

Could be that this is fate, sending her my way.

By the time I shake it off, I notice her eyes have widened even more. Her cheeks have paled.

I’ve lost my composure.

Harper is rattled. Any added stress on my part will derail her healing, and I won’t push her.

My questions will have to wait, but I’ll ask them, no doubt about that.

She’s not leaving this place without giving me an explanation.

Or a name.

“Please.” At my lengthened silence, she starts begging. Shifting on the bed, like she needs something from me, and it isn’t sex. “Don’t—oh. Oh. Oh, no.”

Ah, I see what this is. The shifting. Her visible distress.

She needs to go to the bathroom.

I’d curse myself for neglecting her, but also…what a turn on.

I shove my hospital tag back into my pocket. I’ll show it to her later. “Come on.”

“No. No, no, no. I’m sorry. Stop. I’m sorry.” Her pleas are frantic when I reach for the restraint on one of her wrists. “I’ll be good. I promise. I didn’t mean to upset you, I swear. Please, don’t hurt me.”

“You didn’t upset me.” One restraint after the other, I release her wrists. Rub them to encourage the blood to flow more smoothly through her veins. “We were having a conversation, and that’s fine. My problem is—No. Stay,” I scold her for pushing herself up on her hands.

I flatten a hand on her stomach and shove her back down to the bed.

My blood runs hot and cold at this intimate touch. Fuck. “I’m releasing you so I can take you to the bathroom.”

Harper can’t help her relieved sigh any more than she can hide the flush on her cheeks. She doesn’t understand what’s happening to her.

She hates how grateful she is. Hates that I’m the one who put that feeling in her. Her captor.

Almost as much as I struggle with my heart, how it trips over itself around her.

We have all the time in the world to get used to each other.

In the meantime, I’ll nurse her back to health. I’ll drill into her head that there’s no one else for her but me.

“I hate you.” Her nerve is back, so self-assured that I won’t kill her or punish her right this minute.

If she only knew there were worse things than death.

Like how hard it is for me not to fuck the resistance out of her.

I put every ounce of my focus into undoing the restraints around her ankles.

“You know, I’m not actually obeying you. Staying where I am.”

“You couldn’t run if you wanted to, which I assume you do.” I massage the areas where the foam kissed the skin of her ankles. A sharp pang of need bursts through me. I’m better once I let her foot drop to the bed. “You have a fever, Harper. You have to stay in bed and rest.”

“Fever? That’s my problem? What about the fact that you drugged me?” Her lips twist in a snarl, but she takes the hand I offer her. “I need to rest from that too.”

I help her to the floor with my other hand placed over her waist. The touch is impersonal. It’s there to support Harper.

“One step on your own and your knees will buckle.” My eyes and hers collide. “You might sprain your wrist. Break your nose. You need me.”

“What I need is my freedom. What I need”—a shuddered inhale—“is to live.”

“I won’t kill you.” Not now, not later. Together, with the IV pole, we head to the bathroom that’s located behind her bed.

After two months of stalking her. Of wanting her. After all this time, this feels surreal.

Talking to her, touching her, caring for her.

Mine.

“You think I’m lying. That’s okay.” It’s either I talk to her, or I throw her back on her bed, spread her legs, and suck on her clit until she cries. “I’ll show you. You’ll see.”

We reach the bathroom. I open the door for her, my other hand remaining firm on her waist. I wasn’t exaggerating earlier. She could stumble. She could hurt herself.

No one damages what’s mine.

“Careful.” I guide her inside, slipping in there behind her.

As soon as I lift my hand from her body, Harper catches mine. Her grip is more of an impulse than a conscious move. She curses under her breath. I fight to smother a smirk.

Then I turn around, allowing her privacy while she sits on the toilet.

She does so while clinging to me. To my hand, instead of balancing herself by using the IV pole.

Jesus Christ.

I have to stop fixating on how sweet she is. She hates me and she trusts me, and fuck.

Her ass meets the toilet, and Harper lets go of my hand. “Get out.”

“Not happening.” I cross my arms over my chest.

Her growl is adorable. “Get. Out.”

“Best I can do is keep my back to you.”

“I’m too weak to run. You said so yourself.” The scowl in her voice, I want to eat it up. “So get the fuck out.”

I shake my head.

No one’s here to stop me from being meaner. From taking what I need.

My ethics are the reason I look away. Why my eyes are locked on the bed where she’ll spend the next few days. The part of my home that, years from now, we’ll remember was where I took her out on our first date.

“You’re sick. Get out.”

A few beats pass. Eventually, she relents. The sound of her pee breaks through the deafening silence.

She flushes, and I turn around to be there for her. Without a word from either of us, I help her stand up.

“There you go.” I lead her to the sink, slow and careful. The IV pole drags on the floor alongside us.

She scoffs. I don’t tell her that I think that this, like everything about her, is adorable.

No. I keep her standing upright. My hands grab onto her hips while she washes her hands.

Our reflections stare back at us from the mirror. We’re perfect together.

Meant to fucking be.

The air in the room is thick.

Holding on to this moment, I watch her brush her teeth.

She’s small in my grip, swallowed up by my clothes that she’s wearing.

Gorgeous red waves frame her delicate face.

Emerald-green eyes glare at me through the mirror. There’s a fire in them. Passion.

A flash of fear.

My most expressive patient. I engrave the look on her face into memory.

What she sees is a cold and calculated bastard.

It’s a facade. I have feelings for her. Every sweet and sickening emotion possible. Feelings I don’t let on.

It would be unprofessional of me.

Without a word, I guide her back to her bed.