Page 58 of The Candle Palace (Jamison Valley 6)
“All right.” So much for my quiet afternoon at home. As I walked down the hallway to my bedroom, I glanced over my shoulder to see Milo pacing the short length of the living room. He was running a hand over his hair, the strands longer now than they had been when we’d met.
Right before I disappeared into my bedroom, he muttered, “That motherfucker is not getting away with kissing my girl.”
My girl.
I smiled—a real smile—for the first time all week.
“They aren’t going to do a goddamn thing, are they?” Milo fumed as we walked out of the hospital.
We’d just spent an hour in a Human Resources conference room reporting Dr. Vernon’s actions. At first, the HR director had seemed sympathetic. But then her questions became more defensive.
Are you sure you didn’t invite Dr. Vernon into the locker room?
But you didn’t push him away or tell him no?
He’s never done anything like this before, right?
“I don’t know.”
I’d been assured that they would investigate the matter. That they didn’t take these accusations lightly. I could expect to hear back from them anywhere between three to seven business days.
The evening light was fading and the snow outside sparkled under the parking lot lights as Milo and I walked to my car. We’d driven over because I’d thought we could get some dinner out afterward. I’d thought tonight could be our first official date.
But now, all I wanted to do was go home.
“So, um, where do you want to go for dinner?”
Milo took my hand. “We’ll just scrounge up something at your place.”
Somehow, this man always seemed to know what I needed.
The ride home was fast. After hanging up my coat, I went to the kitchen to survey the options. The small, U-shaped room was at the back of the house. The condo developers had opted for fewer upper cabinets in order to fill the space with more windows. During the day, it was bright, but at night, the room was dark, even with all the lights on.
“We can have breakfast for dinner,” I called over my shoulder, my face in the open fridge. “Or I have a box of macaroni and cheese. Or peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Or I’ll call for piz—”
Milo shut the refrigerator door and pulled me into his arms. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“Me too.” My shoulders fell. “I can’t help but feel like this is my fault. If I had just stayed away from you until you were no longer a patient. If I hadn’t fal . . .”
Fallen in love with you.
“I’m not sorry for how I feel about you.” He took my face in his palms. “And I never will be.”
“Me neither.” If this meant the end of my career, so be it. I felt more loyalty toward Milo than I ever would to the hospital again.
I rose up on my toes, my lips searching for his. He had to bend down to brush his mouth against mine. It was short and sweet. Soft and testing.
With the next one, I showed him I was okay.
My lips moved over his, memorizing the feel of our bodies pressed together. Memorizing the feel of his chest pressed to mine for the first time. Neither of us rushed the kiss. His tongue didn’t immediately seek entrance, but when it did, he moved hesitantly, swiping it over my bottom lip.
“God, Sara. I want you,” he breathed against my mouth. “I want you so damn much.”
“I want you too.”
There were no more obstacles keeping us apart. No more waiting.
With steady fingers, I skimmed the front of his shirt. My hands knew exactly where his severe burns had been and where he’d be tender for months to come. I avoided those areas, keeping my touch to the skin where he’d have the most feeling, even through his shirt. And when I reached his belt, I pulled the end through the loop, stretching the leather to release it from the silver clasp.
