I half expect her to jerk away from me immediately. But to my pleasant surprise, she doesn’t. Perhaps I’ve only startled her...but no—there’s something in her expression, something unmistakable. Her eyes are darker, and the blood has returned to her cheeks. I can feel her warm, sweet breath on my face.

And I can feel other parts of her, too. Those full breasts of hers are pressed against my chest, and her heart is beating so quickly I can feel it fluttering.

“Don’t you agree?” I prompt. “This is much better than before.”

One of her hands is on the gurney by my shoulder, but the other has been pressed between us. I feel her fingers curl against the bare skin of my chest, and I brace myself for her to push away.

But she doesn’t. She seems to be paralyzed. Speechless.

And I’m only too happy to take the lead.

I spread my hands against her back, trying to feel her through the fabric of her shirt. It’s unfortunate she’s still clothed, but I won’t rush things.

“You want me to stay in bed,” I murmur, “but you also seem to think it important that I stay awake. Tell me, Elle, whatever shall I do to keep myself occupied all night?”

Thunder cracks overhead, and this time, it’s followed by the unmistakable sound of rain coming down against the roof. Within the space of a breath, it goes from a small spattering of drops to a great downpour, pounding against the tiles above us.

Trapped by a storm, I think. If the storms here are as bad as Elle claims, I can’t imagine she’ll think it safe to try and transport me to a hospital under these circumstances. Now all I must do is convince her that I am perfectly fine.

She still hasn’t moved. Slowly, carefully, I let one hand drift up her back. My fingers trace her spine all the way up to the base of her neck, where they slip into the strands of her hair. Though she clearly took great care in straightening it this morning, the humidity of this place and the events of the day seemed to have returned it to its natural state, which pleases me greatly. I like it like this—wild and untamed. I tangle my hand in the wavy strands, and she sucks in a sharp breath.

I take my time pulling her face down to mine, enjoying the way she’s looking at me. The way her pupils have dilated. The way her gaze keeps flicking down to my lips.

And then she’s too close to look anywhere. Her eyes fall shut. Mine do, too, and I drink in the sweet taste of her breath as I close the final distance between us.

When our lips touch, the world explodes around us.

But no—that’s not us. That’s the thunder erupting again overhead, and it’s so close and so loud it makes the entire clinic shake.

And it seems to startle Elle out of the moment. I hardly have time to register the warmth of her lips against mine before she’s jerking away. She pulls back so quickly, so violently, that she can’t seem to find her feet, and she stumbles back a couple of steps as the lights flicker around us.

“Elle,” I say, starting to sit up.

The lights go out.

I hear the clang of her foot colliding with something metal—the other gurney, perhaps?—then the thump of her hitting the ground, followed by a “Shit.”

“Elle?” I say, getting up. It’s black as pitch in here, but I move toward the sound of her muttered curses. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she says.

She’s right at my feet, and I bend over, reaching through the darkness for her. My hand finds her arm.

“Why are you out of bed?” she says. “Lie down. Now.”

“You’re hurt.” I try to help her to her feet, but she pulls her arm out of my grip.

“I just tripped. You might have a head injury. Now lie down.”

I stay where I am. “I promise you, Elle, I’m perfectly—”

“And while we’re at it, that was completely inappropriate.”

“Which part?”

“You know which part.”

“Well. You should have said something. I gave you plenty of time to do so.”

“You...you startled me. That was all.”

I hear her take a step in front of me, but then she seems to realize I’m still there.

“Lie back down,” she tells me.

“We need those candles you pulled out,” I say. “Let me help you. We wouldn’t want another accident.”

“If you don’t listen to me, then what I do to you won’t be an accident.”

“Oh,” I say, “and what is it you plan to do to me? I think I may enjoy this plan very much.”

She tries to move past me, but by design or by accident, she ends up stumbling right into me, and I catch her in my arms.

“You are very clumsy, Doctor,” I tell her. “Maybe I should help you.”

“And you are insufferable.”

“So you continue to tell me. Really, Doctor, I’m beginning to feel a little offended you don’t care enough to be more creative with your insults.”

I expect her to argue—or to throw a few of those creative barbs right back into my face—but she doesn’t. Instead, I feel the brush of her hair against my chest as she leans her face forward.

“Don’t do this,” she whispers, shaking her head.

“Do what?” I ask, my voice just as soft.

“This.”

Her hands are braced against my chest, and I’m acutely aware of every single one of her fingers. I want to tighten my arms around her. To pull her snugly against my body and whisper soft things into her hair. I want to do other things, too—my cock is definitely responding to her nearness—but I restrain myself on all counts. The rain continues to beat down overhead, and another rumble of thunder makes the window shake.

“Why shouldn’t we do this?” I ask her softly.

I’m close enough to smell her hair, and the scent is heavenly—like summer and fresh air and something distinctly feminine. It seems unlikely that Elle wears perfume, so this scent is entirely her, and it takes every ounce of will in my body not to lean my face down and inhale deeply.

She takes a deep breath as if composing herself. If the lights were on, I’d tilt her face up toward mine so I could see the expression in her eyes—but then again, if the lights were on, she wouldn’t be in my arms now.

“I don’t do this,” she says. “And I certainly don’t do it with men like you.”

“Like me?”

“Princes,” she says. “Or with men I’ve only known for two days. I hardly know you. You hardly know me. I don’t care if you say I’m not a diversion. We’re still basically strangers. And you’re here to oversee my work, which makes you practically my boss—which makes this inappropriate.” She takes another deep breath and rushes on. “You’re also my patient—and you’ve had a head injury, which means you should be lying down.”

“Well, if you’d prefer to go back to the gurney—”

“You need to refrain from all activity. Anything that increases your heart rate is absolutely out of the question.”

I smile, though she can’t see it. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that.”

“And you need to stop cracking jokes about this. I’m serious. If anything happened to you while you were under my care—”

“You’d never forgive yourself,” I finish for her. “Because despite your determination to dislike me, you find that you can’t.”

“Because I’m serious about doing my job, and I’d never forgive myself for letting my personal feelings get in the way of my professional responsibilities.”

She seems to realize what she’s said at the same moment I do because she stiffens in my arms. But I’m not about to let that one slide.

“Your personal feelings?” I press, my tone light and teasing. “Well, I’m glad you finally admitted it to yourself. I was beginning to think—”

“You know that isn’t what I meant.” She lifts her head up, and though my vision is starting to adapt to the lack of light, I still can’t see her face clearly. “And you still need to lie down.”

“Are you quite finished?” I ask her.

“I’m not going to be finished until you’re back on that gurney.”

“And I’m not going back to that gurney unless you come with me,” I tell her. “But that is not what I meant. I was simply asking if you were done listing off all your excuses for why you think we shouldn’t do this.”

“They aren’t excuses,” she insists. “They’re legitimate reasons for why all this is a bad idea. And even if those reasons didn’t exist, I’m still leaving in two days.”

“Mm.” I lean my face down slightly. “And do you often shy away from things you want because you’re afraid they’re going to end?”

Her voice is so soft I can hardly hear it above the pounding rain. “I’m not shying away.”

“No,” I murmur. “Right now, I guess you aren’t.”

And then I kiss her.

* * *