Page 113 of Stranger to Love

And yeah. Fuck. She really was.

When the afternoon nurse finally began her rounds to clear the ward, the departure felt like a physical fucking ache. We reluctantly pulled away from the bedside, Dad and I each leaning in to press a kiss to Mum’s forehead. She was awake now, though her eyes were heavy with the weight of the meds.

"Go," she whispered, her voice raspy but firm. "I’m not going anywhere. Get some proper sleep, the both of you."

I held Carrie’s hand tightly as we navigated the maze of corridors back toward the exit. The chill of the evening air was a fucking shock to the system after hours of recycled hospital heat. Dad headed toward his van with a final wave, and Carrie guided me toward her car. She settled me into the passenger seat with that effortless, protective grace before sliding behind the wheel.

She didn't even ask for a destination; she just started driving toward her part of town.

I hesitated, my chest tightening. I wanted to be with her—fuck, I needed to be with her—but the pull of my own house, of being near my dad and the familiar walls of home, was too strong. Carrie seemed to pick up on the shift in my energy before I even opened my mouth.

"I just need to pick up a few things, Alex," she said, her voice low and reassuring. "Then I’m taking you home to your parents'. I'm not separating you from your dad tonight."

A massive sigh of relief escaped me, and I leaned my head back against the headrest, closing my eyes. I should have known, she thought of everything.

True to her word, it was only a few minutes before we pulled into her driveway and the open garage. She left the engine running, the car idling in the spacious, multi-car space. "I won't be a moment, darling."

I watched her disappear into the house, feeling like a stowaway in her high-end life. When she reappeared a few minutes later, I couldn't help but smirk. She was still wearing that stunning, form-fitting dress, but she’d ditched the designer heels for a pair of practical, rugged leather boots. The contrast was fucking ridiculous—high-fashion meets "ready for anything"—and yet, she still looked like the most incredible woman I’d ever seen.

She tossed a leather overnight bag into the back seat and slid back into the driver's side.

"Better?" I asked, gesturing to her feet.

"Infinitely," she smirked, shifting the car back into gear. "I suspect I may be doing a fair amount of support tonight, and one cannot effectively command a kitchen in four-inch stilettos.”

I chuckled, the sound finally feeling light in my chest. "If anyone could command a kitchen in those heels, it would be you."

She hummed, a playful, dangerous smirk dancing on her lips. "Perhaps I’ll prove it to you one day, darling."

Fuck. The mental image sent a localised heat straight to my gut, making my day feel a thousand times better in an instant. The panic that had been my constant companion since midnight had finally settled into a quiet, manageable hum as we pulled up to my house.

When we got inside, I kept my hand firmly locked in hers, pulling her up the narrow, creaking staircase and into my room. The second we crossed the threshold, I was hit with a wave of nauseating embarrassment. My room was a fucking time capsule. The stupid fucking single bed, the fading pink walls covered in ballerinas, the peeling stickers on the furniture that hadn't changed in over a decade. I felt like a fraud. What the hell was a woman like her doing in a place like this?

I was on the verge of apologising—or fucking crying—when Carrie just set her bag down on my bed. She didn't even bat an eye at the decor. She just started pulling out a silk lounge suit, her focus entirely on getting comfortable. She turned back to me, catching my wide-eyed expression with a smirk.

"Darling, I understand you're a tight-knit family, but I would prefer the door to be closed while I change."

I shook my head, my brain struggling to process the reality of her being here as I clicked the door shut. She winked at me, and then she started to undress.

I leaned back against the door, my breath hitching as I watched her. Fuck. Her body was a masterpiece of strength and grace; I watched the muscles in her back flex as she reached for her zipper. When the dress pooled at her feet, she was left in the sexiest fucking black lace underwear I’d ever seen. Damn. She’d chosen that for our date. She’d planned for me to see it.

The most incredible woman I’ve ever met was standing nearly naked in my childhood bedroom, and the contrast was making my head fucking spin. I didn’t even realise I was moving until my hands were gliding across her skin.

Carrie smirked, turning in my arms to press a soft, lingering kiss to my lips. I hooked my hands around her waist, pulling her flush against me, my palms settling on the perfect fucking curve of her arse. She let out a low, melodic chuckle against my mouth.

"So," she whispered, her breath hot against my lips. "I take it you like what you see, darling?"

My throat felt tight with sudden, heavy arousal. "Absolutely."

She gave me one last teasing kiss before stepping out of my grip. I actually fucking pouted as she started pulling on her clean underwear and the lounge suit. I knew, I fucking knew—it was not the right time, and we were both exhausted—but shit, she was incredible. Even in a lounge suit, standing among my ballerina wallpaper, she looked like a fucking queen.

I couldn't help the self-conscious twist in my gut as I reached for my own drawer, pulling out a faded, oversized t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts. It felt like such a far fucking cry from the lace and silk she was currently draped in, but the embarrassment didn't last long.

As I was standing there naked, reaching for a pair of clean underwear, I felt a sudden, firm tug. Carrie snatched the fabric right out of my hand before I could pull it on. Before I could even protest, she’d stepped into my space, moulding her front against my back. Fuck, she felt good.

The heat of her was instantaneous. Her hands—those long, clever fingers—began a slow, possessive glide down the length of my body, tracing the curve of my ribs down to my hips. I leaned my head back against her shoulder, my eyes fluttering shut as she pressed a row of soft, nipping kisses along the sensitive cord of my neck. Fuck, this was perfect.

The vibration of her low hum travelled right through my fucking spine. For a second, the hospital, the pneumonia, and the stress of the day felt a million miles away. There was just the smell of her skin and the weight of her hands.