Page 516 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Mira

"Let me through, that’s my wife in there," Eddie’s angry voice reaches us.

Dr. Kincaid and I exchange glances, but before he can say anything, my husband barges into the examination room.

It’s a tiny room with just enough space for the exam table and the doctor—who is not a small man—and with Eddie’s big body in the space, it seems to shrink even further in size.

He walks over to me and rakes his gaze down my features.

I’m the one on the exam table, but he’s the one who looks pale, like he may be about to faint.

There are dark circles under his eyes, hollows under his cheekbones, and he’s lost weight.

Just enough to make him look leaner, meaner, and hungrier than when I last saw him.

And god, I’ve missed him so much. It took everything within me not to reach for the phone and call him over the last two weeks.

I left to give myself space to think, and I knew the only way I could work through my thoughts was if I focused on myself.

I threw all of my efforts into the new preschool—worked on the curriculum, the staffing requirements, health and nutrition plans for the children.

We decided to revamp everything and start from scratch, doing things a bit differently this time.

I was in my element, and the fact I'm building something that is, in part, my own, makes me almost giddy with happiness.

I feel fulfilled, for the first time in my life. But I also miss him.

It doesn't matter that he stalked me, was obsessed with me, and used my circumstances to steer me into marrying him. No matter what he’s been through, no matter the mistakes he’s made, I missed my husband.

And when the motorcyclist hit me this morning and I crumpled to the road, my only thought was that if I died then, it would be without telling him how I feel about him.

That I love him and want to spend every moment with him.

Apparently, it took my life flashing in front of my eyes for me to realize he's in my corner.

He's my ride or die. He's the man for me.

He takes my hand in his, then brings it up and kisses my knuckles. "Wife, you’re, okay?"

"I’m okay, honestly. The motorcycle just brushed me."

"You were hit by a motorcycle?" He sways.

"I’m fine; nothing is hurt."

"You have scratches on your cheek." He surveys my features. And when he brings his fingers to the bandage on my forehead, his fingers tremble. "Your poor face."

"It’s nothing, really."

"It’s not nothing." The skin around his lips tightens. "And your legs--" He looks down at the expanse left uncovered by my skirt.

"I know, I have a few scratches there, and a wound on my knee, for which I had to receive a couple of stitches, but really, I’m fine."

"Fuck!" He drags his fingers through his hair. "Stitches? You had to have stitches?"

"Just two," the doctor says in a dry voice.

"Don’t make it out to be less than what it was." He turns and points a finger at the doctor. "You’re supposed to make it all better. Instead, you’re standing there doing nothing."

"I’m a doctor, not a magician," Dr. Kincaid protests. "Also, she’s a little shaken, but the wounds are minimal. The man who ran into her called for an ambulance right away. In fact, he’s waiting outside, and—"

"He’s waiting outside?" My husband pivots and stalks toward the door, but the doctor steps in his path. "Easy, Tiger. Accidents happen."

"Not with her, they don’t," my husband growls.

"It would have been a lot worse if he’d gone on his way without bringing her in," the doctor says in a soothing voice.

"That’s no excuse."

"That’s true." He hesitates. "All I’m saying is, don’t go out there and beat him up. And not in a hospital, for chrissakes."

"Alright then, I’m going to drag him out and smash his face in, and—"

"Fleabag!"

He stiffens. Is it because I used the safe word? I’ve never used it, but it seemed like the only way to stop him. But I didn’t expect to see the shock on his face when he turns to face me.

"Wife?" He swallows. "Did you just—"

"Say fleabag?" I nod. "Didn’t see any other way of stopping you. It was my fault. Honestly. I was in my own world and crossed when the pedestrian cross sign was red. It was my fault."

He draws in a breath, then slowly walks back to me.

He takes my hand in his again and holds my gaze.

"I’m sorry, I lost my temper. Seeing you hurt and helpless is more than I can bear.

I’ve been berating myself ever since Weston called me and told me you were in hospital.

It’s a good thing I was with Baron when I got the call, or I might not have made it here. "

I stare. "You were with Baron?"

"You were with Baron?" Dr. Kincaid asks at the same time.

"Yes, I was." My husband flushes. He releases his grip on my fingers, then stuffs his hand in the pocket of his sweatshirt.

A sweatshirt, people! Not that I don’t find his three-piece-suited-and-vested look sexy, but Eddie unshaven and in a hoodie, and in grey sweatpants that outline that appendage between his legs, is drool-worthy.

I squeeze my thighs together. My husband darts me a look.

A gleam comes into his eyes as if he senses my reaction to his presence, but he doesn’t comment.

Instead, he gives me that half smile which brings out the divot in his cheek. "I took your advice."

"I’m glad you did," I murmur.

"About time the two of you made up," Dr. Kincaid growls.

"Someone talking about me?" Baron walks in. "Weston." He and the doctor bump fists, then he fixes his gaze on my husband.

"I spoke with the man outside who was responsible for the accident."

My husband begins to speak, but Baron raises his hand. "The man was digging a groove in the floor with his pacing. He was extremely sorry and apologetic. And at the risk of being beaten up, by all counts, it wasn’t his fault."

"It wasn’t. I was the one who ran into his path. I crossed when I shouldn’t have."

"Glad you’re doing okay." Baron smiles at me.

A nurse walks in, then stops when she sees all three men.

And whoa, the three of them together are like a rugby defense team, with their height and broad shoulders.

Lord alone knows how it is when all seven of them are in the same room.

It probably results in an overload of pheromones that attracts all the women within a square mile of them.

"Oh, I’m sorry, Doctor Kincaid. I didn’t realize you were still here. I wanted to check if the patient is being admitted?"

The doctor looks at me, then shakes his head. "I’m discharging you. You need to take it easy though, get some rest, lots of fluids… And stay warm."

"I’ll make sure she does," my husband vows.

"Thank you, doctor" I tell him.

He smiles and nods at me, claps Baron on his shoulder, shakes Edward’s hand, and leaves.

Baron looks between us. "Can I give you both a lift home?"