Page 33 of Malice

“Yeah,” I say, trying to keep my voice casual despite the sudden acceleration of my heartbeat. “Yeah, that would be… I’d like that.”

She smiles, that soft, private smile that’s just for me. “Good. I’ll meet you there after my shift.”

I watch as she changes, turning away when she catches me staring. But not before I glimpse the flash of skin, the curve of her hip, the fading bruise on her thigh that makes me want to find whoever put it there.

“You don’t have to look away,” she says quietly, and I turn back to find her watching me, the scrubs half on her body. “I like when you look at me.”

Her honesty makes my throat tight. I cross the room in three strides, my hands finding her waist as I press my forehead to hers.

“You’re the only thing I see when you’re in the room,” I murmur, breathing her in—soap and sleep and something that is only Trixie. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to you.”

Her hands come up to grip my forearms, her fingers warm against my skin. “Even like this? Messy hair, no makeup, wearing your shirt?”

“Especially like this.” I press a kiss to her forehead, her temple, the corner of her mouth. “This is when you’re most real. Most you.”

She tilts her face up, capturing my lips in a kiss that starts gentle but quickly deepens. I back her against the dresser, my hands sliding from her waist to her hips, pulling her against me. She makes a sound against my mouth, something between a catch of breath and a murmur, and my control frays.

“I really do need to get to work.” She gasps when we break apart, both of us breathing hard.

“Five more minutes,” I say again, and she laughs, pushing against my chest.

“You said that twenty minutes ago.”

“Worth a shot.”

She finishes dressing while I pull on my own clothes, and in the comfortable silence, I catch her eye in the mirror and we share a smile. When she’s ready, I walk her to the door, my hand at the small of her back.

“Text me when you get there,” I say, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Let me know you’re safe.”

She nods, rising on her tiptoes to press a kiss to my jaw. “I will. And Carter?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For last night. For this morning. For…” She gestures between us, a small, helpless motion. “For being you.”

I catch her hand, bringing it to my lips. “Always, Trix. I’m not going anywhere.”

She holds my gaze, and a single, sharp thought cuts through everything else: I have started counting the exits in every room she enters. The feeling settles deep in my bones, a terrifying, exhilarating weight.

I’m utterly fucked.

Chapter 10

Trixie

I navigate the familiar paths to the trauma unit. My body still tingles with the memory of Carter’s touch, his weight anchoring me into the mattress, his whispered promises brushing my skin. I keep zoning out, fingers subconsciously tracing the spot on my lip where his teeth left a mark.

“Hey, where are you going?” Karen calls, catching my arm as I almost breeze past the nurses’ station. “You walked right past me.”

“Just tired,” I bluff, but the blush creeping up my neck gives it away.

Karen’s knowing smirk says she’s not buying it. “Sure, honey. And I’m the queen of England.” She hands me a patient chart. “Mr. Henderson in 304 needs his dressing changed. Focus on something other than what’s clouding your head.”

I take the chart, grateful for the diversion. “I’m focused.”

“Mmhmm.” Her eyebrow lifts, skepticism clear as she turns away. “Just try not to file any charts in the biohazard bin today.”

Heat rushes to my cheeks. Carter’s hands on my hips kept replaying in my mind, stealing my focus from work.