Page 147 of Trouble from Abroad
“Come here,” he says softly, guiding me in. He opens the folder and slides out a single page. Embossed seal. Index number. Her name. His.Judgment of Divorce.
He doesn’t look at the paper; he watchesmeread it. My vision wavers once, confused as to what this means. I blink until the letters hold.
“It’s final,” he says, and I hear the relief. It’s bone-deep. “Signed and entered this morning.”
I touch the edge of the paper, then meet his eyes. “You look lighter.”
“I am.” He exhales as if breaking surface after months underwater. “I wanted to tell youfirst.”
My forehead finds his sternum. His palm settles at the small of my back, warm, sure. We stand there until my breath matches his.
“So… paperwork says you’re officially dateable,” I murmur into his shirt.
His laugh is lighter than air. Unapologetic.
“Paperwork says I’mmarriageable.”
“Always in such a rush.”
“To be with you? Yes.”
Heat climbs my throat. I tip my chin up, and he meets my lips—one slow kiss, sealing a promise that needs no translation. The world narrows to the warmth between us.
“God,” he rasps, voice shot to velvet, pulling me closer, “I’d take you on this desk if I didn’t have surgery in twenty.”
“I can wait,” I whisper, breathless and smug.
“It’ll be at least three hours.”
“Then you’d better make it worth my time,” I say, catching his tie. “And keep the white coat on.”
His jaw tightens, the filth in his smile doing something to gravity. “Fuck, baby—almost thirty years in medicine and you’re the one to give me a doctor kink.” His lips drop to my neck. “I’m going to earn every minute of your patience.”
“Go scrub in,” I say, stepping back and unzipping my pants just enough to make his chin drop.
“What are you doing?”
“Making myself comfortable.”
“Mia, stop.” It’s a half beg, half order; none of it convincing. “I can’t walk out there with a hard-on.”
“Then you'd better hurry, Doctor. Because I intend to lie back on that exam table and keep myself busy while I wait.”
He yanks my top down before I can strip it all off and curses under his breath.
“Lock the door,” he says in a hurry. “Fuck’s sake. Double-check the bolt.”
He kisses me. Untamed, hard, and maybe a bit punishing too. “You’re this perfect and expect menotto propose now that I can? Good luck with that, Miss Thorne. It’s coming.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
preston
Surgery is a success.I tell everyone I’m done for the day and heading home, then bolt straight back to my office. I test the handle first, and relief hits when I find it locked.
I knock. “Mia, it’s me.”
Her heels tap a quick staccato as she crosses to the door. She cracks it open, just enough to expose a sliver of her face before she lets me in and shuts the door. Mia stands there in nothing but her heels and a hospital gown. It’s a standard-issue one, meant to open in the back. But she’s flipped it. The drawstrings hang loose, the front gaping into a ‘V’, the fabric falling open enough to show the swell of her breasts. Plain cotton, the ugliest print known to mankind, and somehow she’s turned it into something that belongs in a sex shop, not my drawer. I’m hard on the spot.
