Page 28 of Dr. Do-Right
Adam loosed a breath through puffed cheeks. “Yeah. Codes.”
I didn’t miss the look he gave Mal, or how Mal ignored it. I chalked it up to business drama and the second I was sitting on Mal’s new, kajillion square foot balcony overlooking the city, pancakes syrup’d and Siggy chasing a ball around, I forgot about it altogether.
Sunday
“It has occurred to you that I can’t just wear your old gym clothes for the rest of my life, right?” I pulled at the oversized shirt dripping from my body. We’d just gotten back from Sigmund’s morning walk, and the only clothes I had here—a very wrinkled silk gown—hadn’t seemed appropriate for the task. Seeing as we’d barely left the apartment in the last twenty-four hours, it wasn’t a huge deal, especially because Malachi seemed to take immense pleasure in seeing me in his clothes.
But still, someone had to think about the logistics, here.
“Has it occurred to you that you don’t have to wear anything at all for the rest of your life? Think of how much time it would save.”
I rolled my eyes, grinning when his hands snuck up the shirt, making a beeline for my breasts. I still wasn’t used to the possessive, high-handed way he touched me. As if he was entitled to it. I loved it. “I’m sure my patients would be very cool about that. Not to mention my boss.”
He hummed, licking my throat. “Quit your job. Stay here and be my sex slave. I’ll buy you nice tequila and feed you tapas every night.”
“He makes a compelling argument,” I muttered to Siggy, who was ignoring us in favor of a chew toy he’d just wrestled from under the couch. I tilted my head back so Mal could place nipping bites along my jaw. “But then there will be the inevitable boredom. The lack of personal fulfillment. Resentment thatyou’ve taken me from a career I love. Screaming, yelling, division of assets. Etcetera, etcetera.”
Mal pulled back to look at me, brow raised. I wanted to smooth my fingers over it. “The demise of our relationship is‘etcetera, etcetera?’”
“Only if you don’t let me go grab a few tank tops and my own toothpaste.”
He’d graciously gifted me a brand new toothbrush yesterday morning that he proudly displayed in the cup next to his, but I hated his toothpaste. What psycho liked cinnamon?
He sighed, looking at my neck and the wet marks still there. “Fine. Meet you down there.”
***
“It’s me.” A jingle of a collar accompanied Mal’s voice. “And Sigmund.”
“Siggy!” I called. The pup took the corner into my room hard, skidding on the gray linoleum in his rush to get to me. I scooped him into my arms, my heart filling up at his wiggly enthusiasm. He acted like it had been days since he’d seen me, not just twenty minutes.
“I’m almost done,” I hollered into the hall where Mal was following my dog at a more normal speed.
“Really?” I could hear his incredulity before he even entered the room.
“Yes.” I gestured to my duffel bag, already mostly full on the bed. I’d already packed essential toiletries. Now I was just quibbling over how many pairs of leggings to bring, which was ridiculous, because I would be back down here to get ready for work tomorrow morning. Plus, if I needed anything, I was just a short elevator ride away.
“You’re joking.” He glared at my duffel like he wanted to eviscerate it. I automatically held Siggy closer to my chest. Maybe Mal had really only expected me to bring a single change of clothes? I didn’t want to be too presumptuous, but the way things had been going the last few days, it seemed like he wanted to keep me around for a while…
Maybe I’d misread the situation.
“It’s just essentials,” I assured him. When I looked between his scowl and my bag, my stomach clenched up, but I kept talking, ignoring the uncomfortable sensation. This wasMalachiI was talking to. I had always been myself around him and I wouldn’t stop now, even if there was more on the line than there used to be.
“And, alright, maybe it’s more thanyouneed,” I babbled, “but I’m a high maintenance woman, and if that’s a problem…why are you shaking your head?”
He disappeared into the hallway, coming back a second later with a stack of three massive cardboard moving boxes. I recognized them because we’d been methodically unpacking dozens of them around his apartment over the course of the last two days.
“Kitten.” Something in his voice froze me. My eyes snapped to his as if he’d ordered them to. He leaned against the door frame, sexy as sin, and gave me a challenging look. “Pack like you’re never coming back.”
Monday
“What happened to the sex slave idea?”
Mal had been awake by the time I’d made it back into his bedroom…our bedroom?…with an espresso for him.
“As lovely as that idea seems at—” I checked my smartwatch “—five thirty in the morning on a Monday, I’ll remind you once more about the resentment and lack of personal fulfillment.”
“Right. That.” He accepted the cup from my hands, watching as I twisted my hair into a clip and applied some moisturizer in the dim lights of the bathroom. I hadn’t been worried about waking him, now that I knew he was a heavy sleeper, but I may have cursed the espresso machine in at least two different languages and one made up one. I hadn’t been quiet about it, but neither had the machine when it spit and hissed back at me.
