Page 27 of Healed By the Grumpy Elf
Lorian responds with a growl that vibrates through his chest and into mine. His controlled demeanor fractures completely as his hands slide down my back, gripping my backside with possessive heat that makes me gasp against his mouth. He pulls me even closer, eliminating any space between us, and I feel the hard length of him pressing against my stomach. The contact sends a jolt of desire so intense through me that I whimper.
"Maeve," he murmurs against my lips, my name transformed into something primal and desperate in his mouth. His fingers dig intothe soft flesh of my ass, kneading with an almost savage intensity that makes my knees weak.
This can't be happening. I'm kissing Dr. Reizenhart. The uptight, arrogant, infuriatingly handsome elf doctor who made children cry with talk of vegetable-related mortality. And it feels absolutely right.
A sharp knock at the door shatters the moment.
We spring apart just as Mrs. Beckham pokes her head in.
"Dr. Reizenhart, I'm heading out for the day."
Her eyes widen slightly as she takes in the scene. My flushed face, Lorian's slightly disheveled appearance, the way we're standing just a bit too far apart now, as if overcorrecting.
"Thank you, Mrs. Beckham," Lorian says, his voice just a tad higher pitched than his usual clipped professionalism. "I'll see you tomorrow."
She nods, her gaze lingering on us for a moment longer before she withdraws, closing the door behind her.
The spell is broken. Lorian straightens his already immaculate tie and steps back, putting more distance between us. His face shutters, the warmth vanishing as quickly as it appeared. His shoulders tense and his jaw tightens, that perfect elven posture returning like armor sliding into place.
I feel the loss of his closeness like a physical thing, a sudden chill where moments ago there was only heat. My skin still tingles where his fingers brushed against me, and I have to resist the urge to touch the spot, to preserve the sensation. The abrupt shift in his demeanor stings more than it should, and I find myself missing the brief glimpse of the man beneath all that professional reserve.
"Thank you for bringing this research to my attention, Nurse Maeve," he says formally. My name on his lips doesn't have the same heat this time around. "Let's reconvene tomorrow to prepare the tonic. We should plan enough for the entire school."
The abrupt shift in his attitude feels like a slap. Nurse Maeve, not just Maeve. Professional distance restored with surgical precision.
"Right," I say, gathering the book, my hands not quite steady. "I should go. I have a lot of ingredients to gather if we're going to brew a large batch."
He nods, already moving back behind his desk. It's like he needs a physical barrier between us.
"Good night, then."
I want to say something about the kiss, about what this means between us, about the hurt blooming in my chest, but the words stick in my throat. Instead, I nod and move toward the door.
"Good night, Dr. Reizenhart," I manage, my voice mercifully steady despite the chaos inside me.
I don't wait for his response before slipping out, closing the door quietly behind me. In the hallway, I pause, pressing my fingers to my lips where I can still feel the warmth of his kiss.
What just happened? And why do I feel like I've just experienced both the beginning and end of something significant in the span of five minutes?
Chapter 8
Lorian
Thisisridiculous.Iam ridiculous.
I stand on Maeve's doorstep, clutching a bouquet of deep-red roses. I purchased the flowers earlier this afternoon from Primrose Pristine Home Decor. It seemed like a good idea back then and an even better idea when Mrs. Beckham cooed and awed when I brought the bouquet back to my office. Well, when she discovered it, to be exact. Discovered despite my best effort to keep it hidden from herprying eyes.
I’m beginning to think there is no hiding anything from my head nurse.
But now that I stand on Maeve's porch and hold the bouquet of roses in my hands, it doesn't feel like a good idea. Not at all. My fingers adjust their grip on the stems for the fifth time as I stand there under the rising moonlight. The cellophane wrapper crinkles loudly in the quiet evening.
I shouldn’t be this nervous. I'm a respected physician, formerly of the High Elven Court. I've performed complex surgeries on patients while their families waited anxiously for news. I've delivered life-altering diagnoses without flinching.
Yet here I stand, palms damp, heart racing like I'm a green intern again, all because of a nurse with wild red hair and a smile that makes my vision blur at the edges.
What would Fenrys say if he could see me now? My older brother always teased me about how I would react if I found my True Mate. He never could picture me looking the fool and falling over my own feet for a woman. Of the two of us, my brother is the warm one. The charming one. The one women and men flock to with eager smiles on their faces. No wonder he now lives happily with his own True Mate and children, a duly elected senator of the Elven Council.
And I live alone in voluntary exile.