Page 14 of Rescuing Dr. Marian (Made Marian Legacy #1)

I was out of the truck and grabbing Chickie and my gear before he could respond. The walk to Cabin 8 was too short. Tommy followed slightly behind, and whatever he’d been about to say in the truck remained unspoken.

The cabin felt even smaller than I remembered. With both of us inside, plus Chickie sniffing around excitedly, the space was suffocating. I reached for the duffle on my bed and immediately regretted the choice when Tommy moved to his own bed directly across from mine.

Three feet away. Maybe four if I was being generous.

“Look,” Tommy said quietly, sitting down on the edge of his own bed. “I know this is awkward. But we’re going to be working together for eight weeks. Maybe we could just?—”

“Keep it professional,” I finished, turning away to find my shower stuff and something to sleep in. “Yep. Agreed.”

The tension in his silence made me glance back. He was sitting with his shoulders slightly slumped, and for a moment, he looked lost. Disappointed. It reminded me of the expression he’d worn in Hawaii when he’d pulled away from our kiss on the beach.

My chest tightened with that unwelcome urge to comfort him again. To tell him I didn’t mean to be an ass, that I was just trying to protect myself from wanting something I couldn’t have.

Instead, I turned away and started rifling through my bag.

“I’ll take first shower,” I said gruffly.

The bathroom was barely big enough for one person, let alone the broad shoulders I’d inherited from my father. I stripped quickly and stepped under the lukewarm spray, hoping the water would wash away the tension coiled in my muscles.

It didn’t help. If anything, it made things worse. Because now I was naked, alone, and thinking about Tommy Marian less than twenty feet away, probably getting undressed himself.

Stop.

I scrubbed my hair aggressively, focusing on anything other than the mental image of Tommy pulling his shirt over his head, revealing that lean torso I’d felt in Hawaii. The way he’d reacted to my touch, urgent and desperate.

He’s not staying. He’s going to California for some fancy job, and you’ll never see him again. His wife is probably waiting for him there.

The reminder should have helped. Instead, it just made the hollow ache in my chest worse.

I dressed quickly in sleep pants and a T-shirt, then opened the bathroom door to find Tommy sitting on his bed, scrolling through his phone. He looked up when I emerged, and his gaze swept over me before he quickly looked away.

“All yours,” I murmured.

He stood, grabbing clothes from his bag, and we did an awkward dance as he moved toward the bathroom. The cabin was so narrow that he had to brush past me, his shoulder bumping mine, his scent washing over me again.

We both froze for a heartbeat, standing too close, facing each other. His lips were slightly parted, his breathing shallow. I could see the pulse beating at the base of his throat.

Kiss him.

Instead, I stepped back, putting precious distance between us and trying to reject the memory of our kisses. “Get some sleep. Long day tomorrow.”

Tommy’s expression shuttered. “Right. Of course.”

The bathroom door closed with a soft click, and I sank onto my bed, dropping my head into my hands.

This push-pull between wanting Tommy Marian and remembering I couldn’t have him was like climbing a steep rock face and then falling back down, over and over, on fucking repeat.

I’d just manage to pull myself up, to remind myself that I was a professional who could be distant and civil with my bunkmate for the next eight weeks, when suddenly, the feeling of wanting him would overwhelm me.

I’d lose my grip on reality, forget all the reasons I couldn’t have him, and find myself tumbling, weightless, with no sense of up or down, the only thought in my head that I needed to be close to him, to find that beautiful, easy connection we’d shared that night in Hawaii.

And then I’d remember that he’d lied—or close enough—that night. I’d remember the woman in the Bride sash. I’d remember his big-city aspirations. I’d remember his presence in my life was temporary. And I’d hit the ground with a thud so hard and painful, it felt like my chest would shatter.

I was already exhausted and hurting, pissed at myself for still caring this much over what should have been nothing , should have meant nothing . And we still had eight goddamn weeks to go.

Chickie padded over and rested her chin on my knee, looking up at me with sympathetic brown eyes.

“Yeah, girl,” I whispered, scratching behind her ears. “I’m fucked.”

When Tommy emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later, his hair was damp, and he wore thin sleep pants and a fitted T-shirt that clung to his chest. He moved quietly to his bed, clearly trying not to disturb me, but I was hyperaware of every sound—the rustle of sheets, the creak of the mattress as he settled.

I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling, listening to him breathe in the darkness. Every instinct I had was screaming at me to cross those three feet, to slide into his bed and let him experiment with a man all he wanted.

“Foster?” His voice was soft in the darkness.

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry. For Hawaii. For not telling you about the wedding. You deserved better than that. ”

My throat tightened. So there had been a wedding after all. “Forget about it.”

“I can’t.” The words emerged as a whisper, low and tortured. “That night… it meant something to me. More than I knew how to handle.”

I closed my eyes, fighting the urge to tell him it had meant something to me, too.

That it had given me hope there was still someone out there for me…

and then just as quickly dashed it, reminding me yet again that love was a false promise.

Trust was an elusive thing, and it damned well didn’t grow on trees.

If someone as seemingly upright and good as Tommy Marian could kiss the fuck out of me one day and get married the next, there was no way to tell a trustworthy man from an untrustworthy one.

“Go to sleep, Tommy. It’s over and done.”

It wasn’t, not really, but there was no way in hell I’d ever let him hear it from me.

The silence stretched between us, heavy with everything we weren’t saying. Eventually, his breathing evened out, but I lay awake for hours, acutely aware of his presence just feet away, knowing that eight weeks of this was going to be the sweetest torture I’d ever endured.