Page 32 of Saving His Heart
“I’m not that broken, sweetheart. I’m fine. Come on, let’s find Dr. Terry so we can go home.”
Home?If you were another man, Preston, home might be wherever she is. Thinking about the lucky son of a bitch that gets to make her his causes a pain in my chest worse than anything cardiomyopathy can throw at me.
Chapter 12
Emory
I’ve ridden in this plane hundreds of times, and I’m still not used to the opulent luxury it exudes. I’ve lost track of time replaying everything that happened today. I’ve repeated every word over and over again. From Dr. Terry all but giving his blessing for a pseudo-patient relationship to Preston’s worst-case scenario.Preston.
The kiss we shared has been burned into my heart for eternity. It’s fucking with my ability to look at his case objectively.This is why doctors don’t treat their loved ones.I jump from my seat like someone just dropped a can of spiders in my lap.Preston is not a loved one. He is a patient, Emory. A patient!
“Miss Camden? Is everything okay?”
Spinning in place, I find Lucy, Preston’s flight attendant, staring at me with concern.
“Huh? Oh, yes. No. I mean, yes, I’m all set, thank you. I just realized Preston has been gone for a while. I’m going to go check on him.”
“Alright, would you like some water?” She still seems convinced I’m having some sort of episode.
“No, but thank you,” I say over my shoulder as I sprint down the aisle toward the bedroom.
Once inside of the small cabin, I instantly know that Preston isn’t here, so I knock softly on the bathroom door. When he doesn’t answer, I’m immediately put on edge and open the door. The sight before me is soul-crushing.
Preston is gripping the edge of the sink, the water is running at full blast, but it’s his reflection in the mirror that is my undoing. His shirt is tear-stained from shoulders to chest. When his eyes meet mine, our tears join in a weepy mess.
“I’ve tried to prepare. I’ve spent years getting things in order, Ems, but I’m not ready yet,” he chokes back a sob, and my hand hovers over my own heart where I suffer his pain. “I’ve still got so many things I have to do. There are so many people who need me. I’m not prepared for this all to end. I don’t know how to say good-bye.” He lowers his head again as if his confession is shameful.
Dr. Camden has left the building, and I’m not sure she will ever return where Preston is concerned. Reaching around his middle, I hold him in an awkward hug. Eventually, he turns in my arms, but I don’t let go.
“This isn’t the life I thought I’d have. Help me forget, Ems. I can’t waste any more time not having what I want.”
I’m not sure what he is asking, but he looks exhausted. Taking his hand, I’m pulling him toward the bed when he tugs me to a stop. When I turn my face to his, he’s wearing the most devilish smirk, and his eyes are glossy for an entirely new reason. I just don’t know it yet.
“Sex isn’t off the table for me yet, right?” His haunted eyes are taking in every feature, every blink, every breath.
I ping pong between him and the bed. For the first time in my life, my lady bits fire on all cylinders, begging for attention. I’ve had sex before, but the thought of sex has never elicited such a visceral reaction.Do I want to have sex with Preston?Yes, God fucking yes, the loud bitches in my head scream.
“Emory?” His voice is raspy as he steps toe to toe with me. “You’re not my doctor.”
“I’m not your doctor,” I repeat.
“Dr. Terry approves of us.”
His mouth is next to my ear as his arms embrace me. He’s nuzzling himself into the crook between my earlobe and neck, causing me to shiver.
“Do you want me?” he asks as he gently bites the sensitive skin of my neck.
I do, I do want him.
“I don’t want to jack off in the shower, only imagining what you look like anymore. So tell me, Emory. Do you want me?”
“You’ve thought about me in the shower?” It comes out in a squeak.
He takes one step, then two, my body moving in tandem with his until my legs hit the back of the bed. The abrupt stop causes me to lose my balance, and I fall onto the cloud-like navy comforter.
Leaning over me, his lips so close to mine they almost touch, he growls, “Do you want to know what I think about in the shower, Emory?”
“Yes.” It comes out stronger and harsher than I intend, but my nerve endings are fried. I’m surprised I can form a coherent thought right now.
