Page 71 of Ten Day Affair
I watchthe curve of Sam’s spine as it rises and falls beneath my sheets.
She’s curled on her side, facing away from me, one arm tucked under the pillow, her breathing deep and steady.I’ve been lying here awake for nearly an hour, doing nothing but watching her.
I should be working. The laptop on the dresser is still open. Three board emails are waiting, and at least one document needs final review. Tomorrow’s meeting isn’t going to wait, and I know that.
But I can’t make myself move.
The light is changing outside the windows, soft and gold. It slips through the blinds and spills across Sam’s bare shoulder, catching the tips of her hair where it fans over my pillow.
I’ve never stayed like this. Not after sex. Not after talking until the middle of the night.
I don’t watch women sleep. I don’t memorize the shape of someone’s back or trace constellations in their freckles just to feel closer.
But I’m doing it now.
I hover my fingers above her skin, close enough to feel her warmth without making contact. My body wants to close the gap. My brain is trying to remember how I got here.
This was supposed to be clean. Efficient. The way I handle everything else in my life.
She wasn’t supposed to matter this much.
Sam Taylor is the daughter of the husband and wife who essentially built this hospital. She’s emotionally tied to the exact legacy I’m here to dismantle. She is, in every measurable way, a complication.
But I can’t bring myself to stop her, or to stop this. Even though I know I should.
I drop my hand back to the mattress and let out a slow breath. Her scent still lingers on my skin, and her breath is soft beside me. She’s here, in my bed, in my head, and somehow, making me question everything.
Only a few hours ago, she looked me in the eye and asked if I knew anything that could help her shift the vote. She was hopeful.
And I told her no.
That's not exactly a lie. I don't think there is anything she or anyone can do at this point to shift the vote. I don't even think I could stop it if I tried.
I meant what I said about the train already moving. I just didn’t tell her I was the one shoveling coal into the engine.
Sam shifts, arching slightly in her sleep. Then her phone vibrates on the nightstand, breaking the morning silence. She stirs immediately, her body reacting before her mind catches up. Eyes flutter, then focus and land on me.
"Hey," she says, her voice thick with sleep.
"Morning." I run a hand over my face, willing myself not to stare at the way the silk sheets barely cover her. I can see her hard nipples pressing through the thin fabric.
"Was that yours or mine?"
"Yours," I say.
She grabs it and scans the screen. "Oh, it's only Arden. She's probably just getting to the airport."
She tosses the phone back onto the nightstand. I run my finger along her arm.
"Oh, shoot. I forgot to check the time."
"It's almost seven."
She stretches, long and slow, sheets slipping a little lower. My brain short-circuits.
"I should go. I’ve got a surgery later this morning and can’t exactly walk into the OR smelling like sex."
"I can brew some kickass coffee quickly before you go, if you have a little time. We can watch the waves roll in together before you leave."
