Page 48 of Vital Signs
My heart started pounding the second my feet hit the floor. Ridiculous. I’d faced trauma bays with less hesitation. But this felt… bigger. Scarier. Because it wasn’t about skill or competence or keeping someone alive.
It was about wanting.
I padded down the hallway, every step deliberate. His door was cracked just slightly, a sliver of warm light spilling out. I paused there, fingers curled into the hem of my shirt, suddenly very aware of how small I felt.
I knocked once. Soft. “Desmond?” My voice barely carried.
There was a shift inside. Sheets rustling. Then his voice, low and instantly alert. “Anya?”
The door opened the rest of the way. He stood there, bare-chested, in sleep-rumpled quiet, hair uncombed. Concern snapped into place on his face the second he saw me. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice deep and deliciously thick with sleep.
“I’m cold,” I said. Honest. Simple. My pulse thundered anyway. “I tried to be fine about it, but I’m not.” I tried not to tap my foot as silence surrounded us. “I don’t want to sleep in a damn spare bedroom, Vaughn.”
He looked at me for a long moment, as if he were weighing something important. Then he stepped back. “Come here,” he said, fingers curling around my wrist and tugging me gently into the room.
His room was warm. The bed was already turned down on one side, the other untouched. He lifted the covers without ceremony, as if this were theonlysolution in the world.
I climbed in beside him, heart in my throat, every nerve lightingup the second the warmth wrapped around me. He waited until I settled, until I’d exhaled for the first time since waking.
This was different. This wasn’t a sexy conference rendezvous, or a stolen moment in an emergency room office. This was me,askingto be near him. This was private and intimate in a way we had avoided until this point.
Only then did he move closer. Notquitetouching. Just near enough that I could feel the heat of him, solid and real. His arm hovered for a beat, a question without words.
I answered by shifting closer.
He let out a slow breath and draped his arm around me, hand resting light at my shoulder, like he was anchoring me without crossing an unspoken line.
“Better?” he murmured.
“No,” I said, already sinking. “Not yet.” I shifted again, curling up against his side like a cat in a sunbeam. I allowed my fingers to fold around his waist, and my ear to press against his chest.
“Thisis better,” I muttered. The storm howled outside. His heartbeat was steady beneath my ear. I didn’t fall asleep right away, but I stopped being cold.
Chapter 31
Desmond
The wind cried outside, rattling the windows of my house like some beast trying to claw its way in. But inside, under the thick comforter, the world felt warm and still. I blinked awake slowly, the dim glow from the bedside clock telling me it was just past ten a.m. The storm had knocked out power across the city, but my place held steady with the generator humming faintly in the background.
That's why I'd invited Anya over — overheard her griping at the hospital about her apartment always going dark in weather like this. But this felt different from the casual sex we’d agreed to. Inviting her here, offering the spare room like a proper gentleman. She had barely taken it, though. Slipped into my bed sometime after I had fallen asleep, her body curling against mine like she belonged there.
Itfeltlike she belonged there.
Her cheek pressed warm against my bare chest, rising and falling with each soft breath. Strands of her red hair spilled everywhere — across my skin, tangled in the sheets, a fiery mess that caught the faint light. I shifted just a little, careful not to wake her, but my handfound its way to her back anyway, tracing the curve of her spine through the thin tank top she wore.
God, she was so young, so vibrant compared to my steady, worn routine. Thirty to my forty-nine, but in moments like this, the years melted away. Something twisted in my chest, not just the usual pull of desire, but deeper. This wasn't just about the sex anymore. She was seeping into the cracks of my life, making me want mornings after, not just the nights.
And that scared the shit out of me.
Anya stirred, her lashes fluttering as she tilted her head up. Those hazel eyes met mine, sleepy and soft, and a small smile tugged at her lips. “Hey,” she murmured, voice still husky from sleep.
“Hey yourself.” I brushed a lock of hair from her face, my thumb lingering on her cheek. She nuzzled closer, her leg draping over mine, and I felt the heat of her through the fabric. A giggle bubbled up from her, light and unexpected, vibrating against my skin.
“What?” I asked, grinning despite myself.
“It’s just… your chest hair tickles.” She reached up, fingers threading through it playfully, tugging just enough to send a spark down my spine.
I chuckled, low and warm, pulling her on top of me so she straddled my hips. Her weight was perfect, grounding. I cupped her face and drew her down for a kiss — soft at first, lips brushing like a question. She answered with a sigh, parting her mouth, tongue teasing mine in lazy circles.
