Page 57 of Yours to Keep

Her skin was warm, her breathing slow and even. I stared at her face unashamedly as consciousness took over, memorizing every soft line like I hadn’t already done it a hundred times in the last twenty-four hours.

Looking at her made my heart feel too full, like there wasn’t enough room in my chest even to take a full breath. Ah, shit. This is dangerous. I actually like her. Fuck.

I didn’t do that. I didn’t get attached. But I brushed my thumb over a strand of her hair, gentle enough not to wake her, utterly lost in the moment of just getting to be here with her.

Some days, I think I have everything. I’ve got all the money, power, and control I could ever want, but I sure as hell don’t have this.

Or at least, I hadn’t. Not before last night, and now that I did have it, I didn’t want to give it back. I wanted more.

Bree stirred, a soft sound escaping her as she shifted closer, but then she froze like she’d only just remembered where she was. Her eyes fluttered open, her gaze unfocused for less than two seconds before she zeroed in on me.

“If this is a dream, it’s very detailed,” she said hoarsely, her fingertips skating across my abs.

I smiled. “Morning.”

She squinted up at me. “You look annoyingly well-rested.”

“I slept better than I have in months.”

For some reason, the smile instantly vanished right off her face. She pulled back slightly, enough to create space between us, and I felt it like a physical loss when she sat up.

“Okay,” she said lightly, reaching for humor like a shield. “That’s my cue to ruin everything by reminding us both that this was a terrible idea.”

“Bree—”

“Don’t,” she said, already scooting to the edge of the bed. “Let me get to the punchline first.”

“Nah.” I propped myself up on an elbow, watching her wrap the sheet around herself like I hadn’t already seen—and devoured—every inch of her. “We should get more room service. I’m thinking coffee. Pastries. Fruit. Let’s just pretend the world doesn’t exist for another hour. What do you say?”

She snorted. “Thank you, but some of us have to get to work.”

“Call in sick.”

She looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “I’m a nurse practitioner, not a hedge fund manager.”

“I’m serious,” I said, desperately reaching for a way to keep her here, with me, physically and emotionally. “Stay for breakfast. Or come to dinner with me tonight. We don’t have to pretend this didn’t happen, Bree.”

She went still, her gaze dropping to the bed and sweeping across the tangled sheets to where my hand rested too close to her knee. When she looked back up at me, whatever humor she’d managed to scrape together before was gone.

“We really can’t make this a regular thing,” she said quietly, serious now.

I groaned, the words hitting harder than I’d have expected. “Because of the hospital?”

“Yes,” she said immediately. “You’re my boss, Sullivan, and not for nothing, but everyone hates you. If the staff find out I’m sleeping with you, my credibility is dead and I’m way less than a year into a five-year contract. I can’t afford to have them turn on me.”

“I don’t care what they think.”

“I do,” she shot back. “I have to work with them and I’ve spent my whole career earning their respect. I won’t torch it for this.”

“For me,” I said bluntly. “That’s what you mean, right? You won’t torch it for me.”

She hesitated, but only for a fraction of a second before her chin came up in that familiar, defiant slant. “I won’t torch it for anything. I’ve worked way too hard to get to where I am, and it’s the only place I’ve ever wanted to be.”

I sat up fully, the sheets pooling around my waist. “I’m not asking you to torch anything. All I’m asking is that you don’t run.”

Her mouth twisted, her eyes lingering on mine for a beat before she shook her head and bent over to grab her dress. “I’m not running. I’m just being realistic.”

I laughed before I could stop the sound from coming out, short and harsh. “I’ve never had anyone be embarrassed about sleeping with me.”