Page 17 of Fixation

“Harper.” I have to keep reminding him that I’m a person. A human being. Even if I’m on my way out of here.

“Everything off, Harper.” He’s less cold, but his sharp command sends ice up my spine regardless. “Oh, and don’t you dare try to escape.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t take off my clothes?” I say to his back as he’s heading to his phone, pulling my sweats up my legs. “What if it’s the hospital? If you have to leave?”

“It isn’t the hospital,” he deadpans while his head is bowed over the phone.

No, I don’t wonder who it might be on the other end. I’m the farthest thing from jealous or indignant.

I don’t belong here, anyway.

This shouldn’t have happened, so I’m undoing the damage that’s been done. I get to escape thanks to this other person who’s holding Anderson’s attention.

He’s texting furiously, and—oh, fuck , tearing the IV out of my vein hurts like a mother. Blood trickles down my forearm and to the bed.

No matter.

One foot lands on the cold concrete floor. The second one.

The bed creaks. Shit . I bite the inside of my cheek to silence the curses.

The glance I steal in his direction calms me down. Anderson is glued to the screen.

He hasn’t heard me moving around.

The damn glance I shoot his way turns into an appraisal. It’s hard to take my eyes off him.

His strong profile. The square line of his jaw.

The intensity vibrating from him as he waits for the person on the other end to respond.

He’s giving her the same attention he does when he’s staring at me.

You won, whoever you are. I don’t want this kidnapping motherfucker, anyway. I really, genuinely don’t. I can fuck my own hand. I can look at pictures of crazy handsome men while I come. He’ll never have his hands on me again.

I’ll miss him.

But I’ll be a free woman. All it takes is this one step. Another.

My footsteps are hushed. My hand grips the railing for balance. Walking is a struggle, with my legs trembling like that. Even a bigger struggle to hold my breath in. I haven’t walked for hours, but it feels like years. Like decades.

My lungs burn.

This fever really did a number on me.

Another three steps. The world starts spinning.

The stairs are just twenty feet away.

I’ll get there before my legs give out on me. They shudder so badly.

I can collapse when I’m outside.

Blood trickles down my arm to my wrist. It’s painting the rails.

My steps are getting smaller the more the room spins.

Soon, I’ll be away from the bed. Soon, I’ll have to crawl.

So be it.

Even with my death grip on the railing, my knees buckle. The basement spins faster. My muscles shiver and shudder under my weight.

I’m about to meet the floor faster than I imagined.

“I’ve got you.”

A lean arm wraps around my waist. Warm and comforting. Pressing me into his wall of a chest. Into a strong, unmoving body.

A safe one.

False safety , my head alerts me.

“Please, let me go,” I cry, frustration thick in my voice.

“You aren’t ready yet.” Anderson spins me to face him. His hand is under my chin, tipping it up. Eyes searching mine in the most surgical way. “Come on, let’s get you back to bed.”

“Your girlfriend might come looking for you,” I whisper while he helps me up. “It’ll look really fucking bad…” My lips are weak, the words hushed.

“Will it?” He soaks my blood with a washcloth, sterilizing the wounded area.

Anderson cleans me as best he can, I can tell. He’s putting much care into it, this sick man, before pulling a bandage out of one of the cart’s drawers.

I’m warm and dizzy.

I want him to hold me.

That brings a fresh wave of tears to my eyes. “When she finds me here, she’ll be upset.”

Anderson stops bandaging my arm. His hands are gentle on my skin. He’s unnerving, the way he’s staring at me. With his chin dipped and eyes piercing.

“Harper, is that your first question?”

Humiliation is hot and furious beneath my skin. Around my lungs. It’s a lump in my throat, and my hand rises to that tight area.

He’s quick and methodical, getting back to wrapping my arm and stopping the bleeding. He’s done in a matter of seconds, and yet he stays there, not going anywhere or giving me space.

Close and glowering. That’s what he is. “Answer me.”

His intensity gets me hot and bothered.

The world settles around me the longer I’m on my back.

“Why would I—why I—” Too fucking honest. “No! You think I give a fuck who my captor?—”

A hand squeezes my shoulder. “Doctor.”

“Doctor,” I sigh. I lean into him.

He’s sedated you. Multiple times , my sensible side warns.

For my own good , the one who’s been starving for love and then locked in a basement retorts.

Oh, hell.

“Date whoever you want.” Scooting back is impossible when he grabs my shoulder. His masculine scent overpowers my need to survive. “None of my business.”

“I’ll count it as a question, anyway.” His fingers are hooked into the hem of my sweatshirt. His other hand is firm on my shoulder.

Again, he’s helping me.

I hate that he does that. I hate that he isn’t this terrible kidnapper like in the movies.

“You’re cheating,” I accuse him.

A shrug. “Life isn’t fair, Harper.”

As much as I wish I could call him a liar, I can’t.

I’m aware of how privileged I am. How lucky. My family is the definition of wonderful. I had lots of friends growing up.

My business’s success is every entrepreneur’s wet dream. What they—the grown-ups—never tell you, though, is that success comes with a price.

First, your social life is wiped out.

Then your passion. Burnout is real.

Burnout is the reason I’m here, in New York.

I’m not ungrateful. My life is good. It’s great. But fuck, I’m so fucking lonely.

Soft fabric slides up my body. Anderson pushes my clothes up and over my head, and I don’t fight him. I lift my arms for him.

His hand never leaves my body as he undresses me. To keep me from falling over, Anderson grabs my shoulder one moment, splaying his hand over my back the next.

Things would’ve been far less complicated had he been an inconsiderate jerk.

“I’m single.” He repeats the same methodical movements as he relieves me of my T-shirt. “No girlfriend, no wife. No fuck buddy or situationship, whatever you want to call it. Haven’t been with another woman in years.”

“Didn’t ask, don’t care.” Though I do care. I clench my teeth with every ounce of hatred I have for how much I care.

“I spend most of my time at the hospital, or here, sleeping and…” Against my better judgment, his pause piques my curiosity.

While he helps me lie down, lifts my hips, and removes my sweatpants and panties, I stare at him.

I study him.

He’s pensive, quietly removing my clothes and folding them into a pile at my feet.

Whatever he’s hiding is important. I already know what my next question will be. Getting the answer to it might be vital for my escape attempts.

“Let’s just say, I’m busy.”

I’m fully naked, entirely exposed to this man. The only sign that he notices it, is his clenched jaw and the outline of his hard cock.

My wetness is just as evident.

Neither of us mentions any of it.

That somehow makes the entire situation even hotter.

I’m here, silent. Waiting for him to elaborate. He won’t hear how much I want this.

“However, my schedule isn’t why I’m not seeing anyone.

” One shrug, and he’s squeezing soap into his large palm.

The fragrance of my soap permeates the room.

It’s strong, right until the moment Anderson leans closer.

“There are storage rooms and closets in the hospital. I could’ve gotten laid easily. Never did.”

“Don’t give a fuck,” I sing-song, pretending my chest isn’t lighter. Butterflies aren’t assaulting my stomach as we speak. This isn’t happening. Not to me. “Don’t give a fuck.”

“No one’s caught my attention before you.

I’ve never had a relationship. Never cared for anyone.

No. One.” Cold soap lands on my arm, rubbed into my skin by Anderson’s hot touch.

His glare is as icy as ever. “You, Harper, had me in a fucking chokehold from the moment I saw you. You’ve been dragging me to you ever since.

Haven’t let go. About goddamn time I do the same. ”