As her body goes limp in my arms, the blood drains from mind.

Fuck. What am I doing?

I knew she needed to get shelter from the rain, so what was I getting carried away for?

I didn’t want to kiss her at first.

Despite her full, tantalizing lips, I felt like I’d be taking advantage of her. She seemed confused, and she kept calling me by some other guy’s name.

Yet, as soon as I got a taste of those delicate, plump lips, I was hooked. I wanted more, so I took more.

I pulled back and saw how wet and puffy her lips looked—all from my kiss. She looked amazing, panting through her mouth and pleading with me with those big, green eyes.

I had to get even more from her. It was unbelievable. She stole my soul with just her lips. I could even feel my cock growing hard in my jeans. The last time that happened, I was a teenager fooling around with my first girlfriend.

Fucking dumbass.

I lift her up into my arms and carry her to my car, sitting her down on the passenger seat.

The rain still pours as I close her door, walk around the car, and get inside myself. Rivulets run down the windscreen, making it impossible for me to see what’s outside.

After giving her a quick look-over, I breathe a sigh of relief when I realize she’s okay. At least, she will be, after changing into dry clothes and getting some rest.

I pull her bag off her shoulder, unzip it, and look inside. It’s made of leather so the contents are dry. It doesn’t take much rummaging around before I find her wallet.

Credit cards. Some cash. And—voilà—an ID.

Harper Blake. Twenty-four years old. And there’s an address, which is exactly what I’m looking for. Except, she doesn’t live in Ashbourne. She lives in the city.

This is just what I need. Another complication.

Sure, now that I don’t have a day job I don’t have to rush home to make it to work on time tomorrow.

But after attending Pam’s funeral, the last thing I want to do is help nurse some random girl back to health—even if she is a great kisser.

I already had plans tonight. I was going to make a stop at the liquor store and pick up my friends Jack, Johnnie, Jose, and Jim. We were going to order room service together.

But, I can’t just leave this girl to fend for herself. And obviously, it will be an even bigger pain in the ass to drive her back all the way to the city. I have no idea if she has any friends or relatives in town.

As I stick the key in and turn on the ignition, I hope nobody at the hotel will think she’s a girl I roofied at some bar and plan to rape inside my room.

* * *

Luckily for me, the lobby is empty. Except for the hotel staff, of course.

“Is the lady okay?” asks the doorman as I step into the hotel, carrying Harper in my arms. He opens the door with his gloved hands and gives me a smile.

“Yeah. She just stayed in the rain too long,” I say, hoping he’ll buy it and leave me alone.

“I hope she’ll be better after some rest.”

I give the doorman a nod and walk briskly past the front desk and toward the row of elevators. Pressing the button to go up, I hope I don’t have to wait long.

But, wait a second. Why do I have to feel like I have something to hide?

I told the doorman the truth, and I don’t intend to do anything a man isn’t supposed to do to an unconscious girl.

Ding!

An elevator door opens.

I have to walk sideways to carry Harper inside, and it takes some effort to press the button, too.

She looks like she’s sleeping. She’s perfectly fine, so she may as well be. As soon as she wakes up, she’ll probably feel normal.

As I carry her through the carpeted hallway, a well-dressed couple gives me the side eye.

They’re probably in their fifties. He’s wearing a tux, and she’s wearing a long, black dress.

No doubt they’re going to talk about me in hushed whispers over their fancy dinner. Maybe they’ll even tell the staff at the front desk about the suspicious-looking man on the eighth floor.

I know I don’t look like I belong here, with my wet clothes and rough demeanor. As people often say, you can take the kid off the street but you can’t take the street out of the kid.

It has been a while since I lacked any money, but old habits die hard. I have no idea how to act like other people in my tax bracket. I’ve never learned to.

I give the couple a nod. But instead of returning my friendly gesture, they avert their eyes and start walking more quickly.

For fuck’s sake. What does a guy have to do to not look like a criminal around here?

To be fair, I have had some brushes with the criminal world. And I guess I blend in more with those shady guys than I do with the classy crowd here.

Maybe I should’ve stayed at the hostel on the other side of town instead. But this hotel was easier to book online at the last minute and it seemed pointless to pinch pennies when I have more money than I know what to do with.

Besides, I’d probably look even more sketchy if I were to carry an unconscious girl as hot as Harper into my hostel room. Those places are always full of weirdos who are too friendly, too. I might even get some guys knocking on the door, trying to get a piece of the action.

With some difficulty, I pull my key card out of my jacket pocket and swipe it through the reader. It takes several tries sometimes, so I breathe a sigh of relief when the thing immediately beeps, and the door opens with a click.

As the door closes behind me, I savor the feeling of having my privacy back.

But as soon as I reach the bed, I realize I have a problem. Harper’s clothes are soaked wet.

I’m going to have to take them off.

It won’t be the first time I see a naked body, of course. As a physician, I’ve seen my share of nudity.

The problem is, I have no idea if I can stay professional. In fact, I don’t think I can. Hell, I got a hard-on just from kissing this girl.

I’ll think about that later. I’m a smart guy. I graduated from medical school. I can solve this problem.

I gently put Harper down on the side of the bed where I slept.

I’ve already pulled down the covers before going to sleep and housekeeping hasn’t been here because I hung the “Do Not Disturb” sign before leaving for the funeral this morning.

I take a deep breath. I can do this.

First, take off her jacket.

I should’ve done this when I was in the car.

One by one, I undo Harper’s buttons. I peel off her jacket and huff a relieved sigh when I see a dry, black top underneath.

At least I won’t have to take it off, too.

Those jeans, though . . .

They’re so wet they’ve probably turned a couple shades darker from their original color.

I’ll try my hardest not to look.

My heart races as I unbutton her jeans. When I unzip them, the sound fills the hotel room and floods my system with adrenaline.

I can do this.

With care, I grab the waist of Harper’s jeans and pull them down.

“Fuck,” I curse whoever invented skinny jeans when her panties slide down, too.

It’s only a fraction of a second, but I catch a glimpse of red curls underneath the black lace of her panties, and my throat goes instantly dry.

I swallow before I continue this delicate operation.

With one hand, I hold her panties up while my other hand pulls her jeans down, all the while forcing my eyes to focus on the painting over the headboard.

When the jeans are finally peeled off Harper’s body, I pull the covers up to conceal her long, shapely legs. If I catch another peek of her sexy body, I don’t know what I’d do to her.

I take a seat on the couch at the corner of the room. This is what’s great about these swanky hotels. They always have too much furniture.

I rest my elbows on my thighs and stare at Harper’s sleeping form. Her chest underneath the covers rises up and down with her breaths.

This has been a strange day. I expected it to be strong. But contrary to what I thought this morning, Pam’s funeral wasn’t the strangest thing about it.

This girl. Harper.

Who is she?

Most people would dismiss her as some nutcase. But I can’t do that. And not just because she’s hot as hell.

There’s something about her. As cheesy as it sounds, when those green eyes look into mine, it’s like she’s staring right into my soul.

It feels like she knows me. And, I know her, too. It felt wrong when I didn’t recognize her because something about her called out to something deep inside me.

Jesus, what am I thinking?

I’ve never been one to buy that kind of hokey, new-age shit.

I sit up straight and run my fingers through my hair, massaging my scalp to hopefully get rid of my illogical thoughts.

Just a few hours with this girl, and already I’m questioning my beliefs.

Whoever she is, I don’t have time for her shit. She’s not my problem, and I don’t have to figure out what’s wrong with her.

Maybe down the line, she’ll learn what’s wrong with herself and pay an overpriced shrink to fix her brain. But that has nothing to do with me.

I’ll wait until she’s well enough to go home on her own, and that’s it.

I couldn’t possibly leave her unconscious in a cemetery on her own. If something were to happen to her, if I were to flip open a newspaper at the hotel breakfast tomorrow morning and read an article about her, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.

But I’m a physician. I have no obligation beyond making sure she’s physically okay.

No matter how hot or crazy she is, she doesn’t look like someone who belongs in my world. Where I go, she can’t follow. Even if she intrigues me like nothing ever has.