Page 35 of Fixation

ANDERSON

A twenty-four-hour shift with three emergency surgeries is enough to drain any person.

I barely had a moment to eat or sleep, let alone spy on Harper.

She’d been there, though, in the back of my head. Always.

During a coronary angioplasty for a man who suffered a heart attack.

While I’d been asking Nurse Elliot for a scalpel. I’d been scrubbing in, performing surgery and thinking of her the whole time.

I couldn’t wait to be with her. In the shower. In the basement. In her bed. Anywhere would do.

Missing her had been a relentless itch I couldn’t scratch. Like fire beneath my skin.

A vampire. Bloodsucker.

And I gladly handed my throat to it, to her.

With her sweet voice still echoing in my head, I can finally let myself fall asleep. I’ll visit her when I wake up.

I’ll take her.

The noise of screeching of bicycle brakes reaches my bedroom on the second floor.

Then a thump. Someone’s dropped to the ground.

I’m in bed, wearing a pair of sweats and nothing else. Halfway to dreamland. Doesn’t matter. I push myself to a sitting position and get up.

“Motherfucker,” I curse under my breath.

This infuriating thing in my chest, my fucking conscience, is the one calling the shots. Pulling the strings, foregoing my need to sleep.

I need my strength. Need to be sharp. For Harper.

But I did kill too many people. I do need to redeem myself.

I shrug on a white T-shirt and shove my feet into my boots.

Sergey texted me during my shift. Said he was back in town. That we’d talk soon.

Maybe it’s him? Maybe he’s trying to break into Harper’s house?

When I reach the bottom of the stairs, I grab my stethoscope on instinct. On the way out, I slip my cell phone into my sweats pocket just in case.

I flip open the first lock on the door. The second.

I’m about to flip the last.

Knock, knock, knock.

So soft. I wouldn’t have heard it had I been in any other part of the house.

The beating of my heart becomes painful. Loud and insistent and no —it can’t be her.

Sunlight bursts into my eyes as I open the door, blinding me for a split second.

“Anderson.” Harper is on her knees.

I’m going to die right here, on my doorstep.

Or she’ll die, if anyone’s watching us.

I have to act fast.

Since I haven’t checked her yet, I grab her by her shoulders and drag her inside as carefully as possible, locking the door behind us.

I drop to my knees, forcing myself to pretend she’s just another patient. Being a worthless, emotional piece of shit won’t help her.

So I try to be her doctor.

Even though she’s been crying. Even though I notice the dried tears on her cheeks.

Pull yourself together.

Fix this.

“Miss Arlington.” With my hands cupping her jaw, holding her steady, I check both sides of her face.

Her cheek’s a little red but not scraped. Her nose hasn’t been broken or cracked. The slope of it has remained in perfect shape.

She flinches when I trail my hands over the curve of her throat. “What happened? Where does it hurt?”

What part of you do I need to fix? Help me. Help me help you.

Silence.

“Harper.” I search for scrapes on her neck. Her collarbone. Clean. Thank fuck, these precious parts of her are unharmed.

She’s whimpering, though. Dammit, I can’t leave her to go hunting that motherfucker responsible. “Who did this to you?”

No one else is allowed to touch her. Mark her. Make her cry.

Me.

Her tears trickle down my palms. My heart slams harder and harder in my chest. “Who? Which direction did he go?”

“I don’t want to be here.” Her gaze flickers behind me, to the door to the basement.

A shiver courses through her. “I don’t want to trust you.

To need you. You’re such an awful person, Anderson,” she whispers with something worse than anger.

Defeat. “But I fell. For you. And outside. On the street. Anderson…it really hurts.”

“I know, kitten.” I hate the sound of my voice. Gentle. Weak. I clear my throat. “I’ll take care of you.”

“My ankle, it’s twisted. I might’ve sprained it. And I…” She sniffles, and my useless heart is sliced right down the middle. “You’re the only one who can actually help me. I had nowhere else to go.”

This woman doesn’t settle for ripping my heart in half. Harper reaches in, crushing my soul in her fist. My depravity is nothing but a pile of ashes at her feet.

Because it isn’t true, what she’s saying. She could’ve called an Uber, like she did the first time she ran into my arms. She trusted the hospital staff to take care of her before.

They would’ve helped her.

She trusts me the most.

The monster with the sick games.

The captor who humiliated her.

The doctor who healed her.

“Come here.” Something clatters on the floor when I gather her in my arms. Sounds like her keys.

I don’t give a fuck about her keys.

Only Harper.

Picking up a wounded patient is something I’ve done hundreds of times. Lifting them in my arms. Rearranging them to avoid aggravating their injuries.

Except Harper isn’t just any other person.

Harper is my everything. Mine. Forever.

Her tears soak through my T-shirt, her hands clawing at the fabric.

While I’m walking, I glance at her ankles. One of them is at the early stages of swelling.

I don’t like it one fucking bit. That, and her bare feet. “Where are your shoes?”

We’re at the door leading to the basement. Harper’s eyes fly open.

“No. No, Anderson. Don’t take me down there.”

What a relief, seeing that she’s well enough to fight me. Well enough to fear me. Still wild enough to want taming.

I’m still furious that some reckless fucker hurt her. But she’s in my home, pressed to my body. That’s all that matters.

“Anderson, there’s plenty of space to treat me here.”

“Dr. Maguire. Say it.”

“No,” she gasps. Swallows. Her hand comes up to her mouth. “Not again.”

I open and close the door behind us before she lets out a scream.

“Calm down.” My boots pound the stairs, my eyes pinned to her wide ones. “Remember? There’s no use in yelling. No one will hear you.”

“Don’t lock me up again.” Punching on my chest gets her nothing other than my cock thickening. She must see it on my face, how turned on I am, because she stops. “Don’t drug me again. It’s just my ankle.”

Sweet little liar. She wants it more than she admits.

“If it were just your ankle, you would’ve gone to the hospital.

You fell. You need my medical attention.

” The uncomfortable truth makes her shift in my hold.

My sweet Harper isn’t sure whether she wants to hide her face in my chest or scramble as far away from me as possible. “I won’t, though. Drug you.”

We reach the basement. The air still smells of her. Of the days she spent here.

Harper notices it.

Then her eyes see it. The rumpled sheets on the bed. The IV pole that’s stayed in the exact same place. The half-empty bag of saline.

“You’ll do worse.” All the red drains from her face. She claws at me, wide-eyed. “You’ll kill me.”

I ache for her hands. For the way she fights me like it’s a game she’s already lost.

I also want to keep my job.

If I show up with scratch marks all over me, chances are, I’ll get fired.

On the bed, she goes.

“I thought we were over this.” I fake impatience.

She punches my shoulder while I restrain her left wrist. Throws another punch.

“Enough.” I grip her right wrist, binding her to the rails. “In case you haven’t noticed, I could’ve killed you dozens of times. When you were admitted here. In your home. While you slept. Yet you still came to me for help. Said you had nowhere else to go.”

I stifle a groan when I cup one of her breasts over her shirt. My thumb brushes over a hardened nipple. I pleasure her. I also feel for her pulse, groaning at her indignant gasp.

“And look at you. Still alive.”

One minute, she’s moaning, squeezing her eyes shut. The next, she shakes her head.

Resilience flashes across her face. Jaw clenched, eyes defiant. My blood roars. Fuck, that’s hot.

“Werner isn’t,” she spits out.

My grip on her breast becomes bruising. Punishing. “You care?”

“Oh my God. Oh my God. You actually did it.”

“Do. You. Care?”

I twist the soft flesh in my hand. Pull. Tug. Make it hurt. The fact that she isn’t wearing a bra works in my favor.

“Why? Oh— ow !” The new wave of pain has her arching her back. I bet she’s soaked. I’m dying to have a taste of her. “He asked me out. You can’t go killing people who ask me out. We’re not even dating.” Her teeth bare in a snarl. “Dr. Maguire.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Miss Arlington.” I lean in, biting her nipple through her shirt.

“Stop!” she says, she moans. She wants me.

“You’re my patient.” I release her. All the blood in my body rushes south at the sounds of her panting. “My neighbor.” Ignoring it, I walk over to the foot of the bed. Restraining the ankle that hasn’t swelled. Our gazes clash. “Mine.”

I have to hand it to Harper. Despite coming to me for help, despite the evident bruising, she fights. Maybe that’s another layer of her. Another thing she wants from me.

A beast to tame the woman who rules the world. A master to give her comfort. A place to lower her guard, to be herself.

“You’re begging me to take you. To be mine.” Christ, even running my fingertip over the arch of her foot is erotic. “Fuck, that’s exactly why you’re here. Such a fucking tease. A temptation.”

“I came to you so you could tell me I was wrong. That you didn’t kill him.” Her eyebrows are so high they reach her hairline. “Did you?”

“We’re done talking about him.” I lift her foot by her heel to examine her. There’s mild scraping crisscrossing her ankle.

With my other hand, I gently press my fingers to her wound. The area is warm to the touch, not hot.

She growls, but doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t shout in pain.

“Does this hurt?” On the off chance that she faking it, or being brave, I ask again. I trace my hand over the ligament to test for a tear. It takes everything in me to focus on her injury when I’m this close to tearing into her sweet pussy. “Here?”

Her red hair sways when she shakes her head. “Why did you kill him?”

“When did I say that?” I touch her far too intimately as I search for fractured bones. I’m stroking rather than checking.

“You”—she grits her teeth, frustrated and beautiful—“did it.”

“Nothing broken or sprained. Just tenderness. That’s reassuring.”

Placing her foot down and releasing her from my hold is torture. I’ve never had a foot fetish. Never considered any part of the body particularly sexual. Fuck. Gotta distract myself. Take care of her.

“Are you listening to me, Anderson?”

“Yes and no.” I reach for the table, opening one of the drawers. “A few days of rest is what you need. Ice it and keep it elevated. You should be okay. I’ll keep an eye on you, anyway.”

“I—thank you?” my little patient whispers. Being grateful hurts her.

A pain I get off on. “You’re welcome.”

“Anderson.” My name is on her lips instead of another plea to let her go.

I don’t lift my head, grabbing the syringe. The swabs.

“Dr. Maguire, you haven’t answered my question.”

The full syringe is sterilized and goes on top of the cart with the swabs. “And?”

“Well, that obviously has to mean that…” she trails off, noticing the scissors I pull out of the drawer. “Oh. Please, no. Please.”

“Such a pretty liar.” Her leggings tear under the sharp scissors, soaked panties ripping without a fight. “You’re dripping.”

“No.” Her lips pinch. Thighs trembling, muscles locking.

She fights with everything she has to close her legs and fails.

Because my grip doesn’t loosen. Because I hold her down and watch her come apart.

That’s my hand on her calve. I can’t let go of her. I won’t ever be able to.

Still she tries to free herself. “Anderson, no.”

“Your body’s reaction is perfectly natural.” I raise my eyes to hers, rubbing up and down her calve. Tempting her with this innocuous touch. Satisfying barely an ounce of my deepest, darkest needs. “Nothing to be ashamed of. But don’t lie to me.”

“You murdered him.”

Fuck it. “Yes, I did.” Two fingers in her pussy, and she’s crying out my name. Clenching around me. My head spins with how much I’ve missed that. Jacking off in the shower today didn’t even begin to scratch the surface of how much I craved her. “He couldn’t have you. No one can.”

“You—oh, fuck,” she breathes out when I add my thumb into her pussy, gathering wetness. Rubbing it on her clit. “Do you hear yourself? That’s deranged.”

“Not deranged.” I stroke her slowly. Gently driving both of us mad. “I’m protecting what’s mine.”

“What’s wrong with me?” Glistening eyes stare at me.

“Nothing, Miss Arlington.”

My boots are off. Shirt up and over my head. I climb onto the bed, push Harper’s unrestrained leg to the side, and settle right there. Where I can see her cunt.

Where I can smell how much she wants me.

“Anderson, what are you doing?”

“Treating you.”

Her nipples are hard peaks beneath her thin shirt.

“Taking care of you.”

I tear the offensive piece of clothing down the middle.

“Fucking you.”