Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 37197 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 186(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37197 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 186(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
“But—”
“That’s an order.”
Marcy flashes me another grin before she turns and walks out of the station, leaving me standing there with my stomach bubbling, my head spinning, and Hunter’s keys in my hand.
With no choice but to do as Marcy asked, I clutch the keyring and head down the corridor toward his room. Knowing he’s leaving leaves me feeling sadder and rawer than I expected it would. I knew it was going to end, but I guess I’ve gotten used to seeing that smile on his face and the way his dark eyes smoldered whenever he looked at me.
Standing outside the door to his room, I take a deep breath, trying to quell the tempest in my belly, knock briefly, and walk in, doing my best to put a smile on my face. Hunter is sitting up in bed scrolling through his phone, but he puts it down when I step in and offers me that wide, warm smile that makes my heart stutter drunkenly as a quiver runs through the center of me. I shift on my feet, trying to stave off the warm juices slicking the insides of my thighs.
“Well, good morning, sunshine,” he says.
The deep rumble of his voice caresses my skin deliciously, raising goosebumps all over my body. I do my best to suppress the shudder that passes through me but can’t stop the heat or wetness between my thighs that’s soaking my panties. The only reason I’m looking forward to Hunter leaving the hospital is that I won’t have to change my panties so often.
“I’ve got good news for you,” I say.
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“You get to go home.”
His face lights up and his smile grows so wide, it’s almost splitting his face in half. He’s such a man but has a boyish smile that makes him look younger. It’s adorable. I toss him his set of keys, but as he reaches to snatch them out of the air, he grimaces in pain as the keys hit him in the chest and fall into his lap.
“Oh my God. I’m so sorry,” I say with a look of horror on my face. “It’s going to take a bit for those ribs to heal fully. That was stupid.”
He chuckles through his wince. “It was stupid of me to reach for them.”
“That was my fault. I shouldn’t have thrown them.”
He reaches out and takes my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. His eyes are like dark, liquid chocolate, and they burn with an intensity that nearly steals my breath. Hunter’s hand is rough and calloused, and it completely engulfs mine. And yet, his touch is surprisingly gentle. My hand looks like a little girl’s hand in his massive paw, and as he curls his fingers around mine, my heart almost stops dead in my chest.
“It’s nobody’s fault,” he says. “Don’t beat yourself up about it.”
My heart is pounding, and I feel like my hand is sweating so I quickly pull it away and discreetly blot my palms on my scrubs.
“Anyway, if you want to go ahead and get dressed, I’ll grab a wheelchair,” I tell him. “We can stop by the nurse’s station and sign all the discharge paperwork on our way out.”
“Oh, I can walk just fine—”
“Sorry, I can’t let you do that.”
He laughs softly. “I’m a big boy. And besides, after all this time lying down, I’m ready to get up and stretch my legs.”
“I’m sure you are, but it’s hospital policy,” I counter. “If you don’t let me out, you’re going to get me into trouble.”
“Well, we wouldn’t want to get you in trouble, now, would we?”
“We most certainly do not.”
“Okay,” he says with a soft smile. “I’ll get dressed and you go get the chair.”
“Good boy,” I say with a wink.
He laughs again as I slip out of the room to go find a wheelchair. I give him ten minutes to dress. Then, I return to the room, load him up, and wheel him by the nurse’s station so he can sign his discharge paperwork. The entire time we stand there, I do my best to avoid Marcy’s gaze for fear of my cheeks burning so hot, my entire head catches fire. It’s bad enough that I can feel her twinkling eyes on me. That done, I take Hunter to the elevator, down to the lobby, and through the main entrance.
“Where is your car?” I ask.
He raises his key fob and presses a button, and his alarm beeps twice off to our right.
“Well, thank you for getting me out here,” he says.
“Just stay in your seat, mister.”
“I think your obligation ended at the front doors.”
“I’m just trying to ensure you leave a five-star Yelp review of our services here.”
A deep, rolling laugh passes his lips as I wheel him through the parking lot and over to a large black Chevy Silverado that’s absolutely beautiful. The truck is spotless and gleams in the sunlight. A red and yellow decal in the shape of a fireman’s helmet with a pair of axes crossed behind it is affixed to the back window, but other than that, it has no other stickers or decorations of any kind. When I stop the wheelchair, Hunter stands up and stretches out his back, a small grimace of pain flitting across his lips.