Damn these blasted interruptions. I’m beginning to think we’re cursed, Elle and I, considering that every time she begins to open up to me, someone barges in on us.

She’s still against me, but she stiffens at the sound of her brother’s voice. She tries to pull away, but I keep my arms around her waist, holding her captive. This time, I have no intention of letting her leave me. I look over at Owen, but I can’t tell if he’s annoyed or amused behind those bloodshot eyes.

“Forgive me,” I say. “I’ll certainly pay to have the floor cleaned if that is your concern.”

Owen leans against the wall, smirking as he shakes his head.

“My sis and Mr. Fancy Pants,” he says. “Who’d have seen it coming?”

Elle blushes and tries to pull away again, but I have her firmly in my grasp.

“I was just seeing to his injuries,” she says, wriggling. She glares up at me, but I grin down at her.

“Ah, yes,” I say. “I have a horrible injury in my mouth. She needs to take a much closer look.”

She responds by slamming her foot—the one still in a shoe—down on mine. I yelp and release her.

Owen’s looking from one of us to the other. “Why aren’t you at the clinic, man?”

Elle straightens. “The new doctor has arrived. I thought I might stay here tonight.”

“And I thought I might join her,” I say. “Because of my injury and all.”

Owen’s eyes drop back to my chest, which currently looks pretty terrible.

“That looks even worse than before, dude,” he says. “Want something to take the edge off? Hoover has some sweet—”

“He’s fine,” Elle says. “But I’ll need a room.”

“You know we’re all booked up, sis,” he says. “I mean, there’s space on the floor in the women’s bunk, but Matt is in there with Rachel, and you won’t be getting any sleep until they’re done. The rest of us are in the guys’ bunk—”

“She’ll sleep in my room,” I say.

Elle shoots me another look, but she’s asked me—begged me—to stay with her, and I’m not ashamed of the fact that I want her. I won’t hide it.

Owen shrugs, clearly getting bored.

“Whatever, you guys,” he says. “Just try not to get blood all over everything, okay? It’s a bitch to get out of the sheets, and I don’t want anyone thinking someone got murdered in here or anything. Bad for business.”

“If I have to fly in a professional cleaning team from the other side of the world, I’ll do it. I assure you I will take full responsibility for every drop of blood,” I assure him.

That appears to settle the matter, because he nods and heads back toward the room behind him. He pauses at the door.

“Are you sure you don’t want any of this stash, you two?” he says. “It’s some good shit. And there’s not much else to do on a night like this.”

I can think of several things—most of them involving the woman standing in front of me—but it’s Elle who speaks first.

“We’re fine,” she says. “Goodnight, Owen.”

The moment we’re alone again, she spins on me.

“Why did you do that?” she demands.

“Do what?” I ask, all innocence.

“Refuse to let go of me when my brother came in. And then tell him I’d be staying in your room.”

“I see no reason why we should hide anything from your brother. I understand it might have been less than ideal for Doctor Mitchell to find us as we were, but Owen—”

“Doctor Mitchell!” she says, her eyes going wide. “Shit, we need to tell him where you’ve gone. He’s going to show up at the clinic and freak out.”

“The doctor knows where I’ve gone,” I tell her, stepping close to her again. “He was already there when I left.”

“And he let you walk out?” Her eyebrows rise. “Did you tell him who you were?”

“It may have come out,” I admit. “A pity. I would have liked to play with him a little longer.”

Her mouth curls down into a frown. “What happened? What did you do?”

“I was very persuasive,” I say. “I made it clear that nothing would stop me from going after you.” She’s close enough now that I could take her in my arms again, but I don’t. Not yet.

“If that’s true, then he’s never going to believe we weren’t…” Her eyes cloud. “You’ve confirmed his suspicions about us.”

“Even if he has a problem with either of us,” I counter, “he now realizes I hold his job in my hands. You don’t need to worry about him, Elle.”

I can tell by the look in her eyes that this promise isn’t enough. That her fear goes beyond Doctor Mitchell.

“What is it?” I ask, reaching out and brushing a wet strand of hair back from her temple.

She shivers beneath my touch then shakes her head. “It’s nothing.”

That’s a lie. And though I’d like to press further, I don’t. Instead, I let my fingers slide into her hair. They slip easily through the wet waves, and she lets out a breath that sounds like a sigh.

“I’m not ashamed of my desire for you,” I murmur gently. “We have nothing to hide, Elle.”

Her eyes fall closed, and her long, dark lashes stand out against her cheeks. “That’s easy for you to say.”

“Yes, it is easy.” I move my face down toward hers. “And yet it’s hard for you, even though your entire body, your entire being, reacts to me.” My lips are only a breath away from hers, but I stop. “You asked me to stay, Elle. And I intend to stay with you all night.”

Her breath catches. I hear it. Feel it against my lips. Her eyes flutter open.

“I…I need to dress your wound,” she says.

“Then you shall,” I say. “But I suggest we retreat to my room before your brother returns and complains about the blood again.”

She nods, looking a little dazed. “I…I think there’s a first aid kit behind the counter.”

It is torture to move away from her, but I know if we stay here, we’ll only be interrupted again. I release her hair and step back.

She seems just as reluctant to move away. “I have some basic stuff in my bag, but it probably got soaked out there.” She nearly trips over her own feet as she moves behind the counter. She bends over and begins rummaging through the shelves beneath. “I made Owen keep some things here for minor injuries.”

“Mm. That was wise of you.” I bend down and grab her suitcase.

“You shouldn’t be lifting that.”

“I might be bleeding, Elle, but I’m perfectly capable of carrying a suitcase. And doing a number of other physical things as well.”

Her entire face turns a most beguiling shade of scarlet.

“You shouldn’t even be thinking about that,” she says. “Not in your condition.”

“I assure you, Elle, my thoughts are entirely out of my control. And even if they weren’t, I’d have no intention of fighting them. I find them entirely too pleasant.” I hold my hand out for hers. “Shall we, then?”

She hesitates for only the briefest of seconds before placing her hand in mine. My fingers close around hers.

We don’t say a word to each other as we climb the stairs. There’s no need for words anymore. There’s only the creak of the steps beneath our feet and the sounds of the storm overhead.

When we get to my room, she breaks the silence.

“It will be easiest if you lie down,” she says.

I’m not about to object to that. I set her suitcase by the door and go over to the bed, sinking onto the mattress.

I watch her as she unpacks the little first aid kit. Watch the waves of her damp hair fall over her shoulders as she bends over the supplies. Watch her chest rise and fall beneath a shirt that clings deliciously to her skin. Watch her suck her bottom lip into her mouth.

When she looks up at me, I catch her gaze in mine. The blood rushes to her face, but she doesn’t look away as she comes over to me. She sits on the edge of the mattress next to me, her eyes still locked on mine, and energy crackles between us. For a moment I think she’s going to bend down and kiss me—I nearly reach up and pull her face down to mine—but then her gaze shifts to the wound on my chest.

She doesn’t say anything as she begins to dab gently at the gash. The pressure makes my wound sting, but her hands are soft and move with a delicacy that is a wonder to experience. I remember my first day here when I saw her tend to that child, how I marveled at the skill and gentleness of her touch. Feeling her use that touch on me is an exquisite sort of torture.

Part of me wants to watch her work. Another part of me wants to feel her. After a moment, I close my eyes and do just that—close out everything but the feeling of her hands on me.

She was gentle and capable when she treated me upon my initial arrival at the clinic earlier this evening. But something has changed between us in the hours since, and it’s clear with her every touch. There’s something much more profound, much more intimate, about the way she touches me now.

Need surges through my body, but I don’t move. Don’t open my eyes. I let her work, let her cross the physical lines in her own way. At her own pace.

She puts something on the wound that burns. I stiffen, then relax under her touch again. Even pain is pleasurable at her hand.

By the time she begins placing gauze on the cut, my desire is all but unbearable. I grip the sheets on either side of me to keep from reaching up and grabbing her. Her hand stills.

“Am I hurting you?” she asks, her voice so soft I can hardly hear it above the rain.

My eyes open. “Not in the way you think.”

I know my hunger is plain on my face. But I keep my hands on the sheets, waiting for her.

Her gaze drops back to my chest. She doesn’t say anything, just resumes her task.

Long, torturous seconds tick by as she continues her work. She doesn’t seem to move with any particular urgency—and she never turns her eyes back to my face—but I can see the quick little beat of her pulse at her throat. The air between us is hotter and thicker than it was even a moment ago. My cock is throbbing in my pants, aching with need, but I use what remains of my strength to restrain myself.

And then she finishes covering my wound, and my entire body seems to throb in anticipation.

She still doesn’t look at me. She sets the remains of her supplies aside, but her eyes remain fixed on my chest. On the bandage. She even reaches out and runs a couple of fingers along the edge of it, as if ensuring she affixed it properly. We both know it isn’t necessary for her to check, that she’d never make a mistake on something as simple as this, but I stay as I am, waiting.

After an agonizingly long moment, her fingers slip off the bandage and onto the bare skin of my chest. She moves slowly, almost as if she’s afraid, and for that reason, I continue to remain still.

Her fingers drift across my chest. Her touch is so light that under different circumstances, it might have tickled. But here, now, it’s the sweetest sort of agony. Every brush of her skin against mine sends a jolt of sensation through me. A couple more seconds of this, and we’ll have crossed the point of no return. There will be no controlling what I do.

It’s never been like this. Not with any woman. We’ve hardly begun, done little more than kiss. And yet my body is reacting to Elle with a ferocity I’ve never experienced before. Elle is not a woman to have once and then forget—she’s the sort of woman who will burn through me forever. If I have her, even once, I have a feeling there will be no going back.

It’s a terrifying, sobering thought. For a moment, anyway. Then she spreads her fingers, flattening her entire palm against my skin, and I forget everything but the new rush of heat that swells through me.

Before I’ve even realized I’ve moved, my hand is around her wrist.

“This is your last chance to stop this,” I say, and my voice is so ragged I hardly recognize it. “Otherwise, I won’t be held responsible for what I do.”

* * *