Page 67 of The Wrong Husband

She swallows. “What are you doing?”

I ease the ballet flat she’s wearing today off one foot. When I press my thumb into the ball of her big toe, she sighs. When I massage her heel she groans. “That feels so good.”

She works twelve-hour shifts, holds dying men’s hands, saves children in cardiac arrest… She’s so busy saving others, she has no time to save herself.

That’s where I come in.

“Whoa.” She sinks back in her seat. “That feels incredible.”

I slip off one ballet pump then the other. I pull at her toes, massage the balls of her feet.

By the time I finish, she’s sprawled in the seat, head lolling. “Anytime you want a second career as a masseuse, I guarantee, you’ll have a long line of people queuing up for your services.”

“I’m afraid my services are reserved.”

“Oh?” she asks, interested. “For whom?”

“For the woman who deserves the best in everything.”

She flushes. “Laying it on a little thick, aren’t you?”

“It’s the truth.” I pull on her socks, then ease the new shoes onto her feet—black leather with a molded sole, discreet enough to pass with her ER uniform, yet solid enough to carry her through hell and back.

She stands. Walks a few steps. Pauses in front of a mirror.

“Oh, wow.” Her voice barely raises above a whisper.

“They feel good?”

“It’s like—like the ground isn’t punching back anymore.”

I chuckle.

She looks at her reflection with shining eyes. “And for the first time, I don’t have to cringe when I look at my feet.” She bursts out laughing.

I start to laugh with her, but my throat tightens unexpectedly. To see the delight in her eyes. To hear the lightness in her tone, that slight giddiness in her laugh, is the most incredible sensation in the world. More satisfying than all the biotech discoveries I led my team in. More fulfilling than the completion of any mission. I have to look away to rein in my emotions.

This… Feeling so moved, so exhilarated at fulfilling the needs of someone else is unfamiliar.

I swallow hard. “Try on the others.”

Her gaze snaps to mine. “I don’t need more than one pair.”

I lean in, my voice dropping. “You take care of everyone else. Let someone else take care of you, for once.”

She’s quiet for a beat. Then she shakes her head. “You’re intense, you know that?”

“Onlyabout you.”

And it’s the truth. I would tear down every store in London if it meant she’d walk a little easier. Sleep a little deeper. Smile a little more.

She turns away, blinking fast. But not before I see the softness stealing into her expression. That unguarded warmth I crave more than oxygen.

And just like that, I know.

This woman is going to ruin me.

And I’ll thank her for it.