He reached for her hand, pushed up her jacket sleeve, and looked at the time on her watch. When he saw it was five thirty A.M., he groaned. “I didn’t get out of the ER until an hour ago. I’ve had twelve minutes of sleep out of the past thirty-six hours. Are you crazy?”
“Yes. And you already know that. So you should also know that I’m completely capable of clearing my own snow, even after a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day at work.”
His eyes cleared and softened. “I know. I saw her in the ER. I had no choice but to send her to you in OR, but I hated it, because I knew what it would do to you.”
To her utter horror, she felt her eyes filling, and though she worked hard to keep them to herself, a few tears broke free. Dammit. Needing space, she turned her back to him, hating he’d seen her at her worst—vulnerable.
“I’m going to touch you now,” he warned in that same quiet, calm voice. Then she felt his hand on her arm as he slowly pulled her back around to face him.
She already knew he was perceptive. It was what made him such a great ER doctor, but it also made him dangerous to her heart, because though she hadn’t said a word about her past to anyone except Jane, he’d clearly gotten the gist of it from her own actions.
“Charlotte,” he said softly. “Come in, let me make you something to eat.”
Great, and now he felt sorry for her. Which pissed her off. Tugging free, she started to storm off before remembering the ice. Having to slow down really fried her ass.
“Charlotte.”
Nope, she was no longer speaking to him, but since he wasn’t the most talkative person to begin with, she wasn’t sure he appreciated the fact that she was punishing him. So she stopped and glared at him. “I don’t want you to feel sorry for me.”
“Good, because I don’t.” His voice was low. Serious. “You’ve had a shit night, and let’s just say I know what that feels like.”
“I’m not fit for company.”
“Then we won’t talk. We’ll just eat. Then sleep.” Slowly, giving her plenty of opportunity to back away, he reached for her hand. “But first, I’d like to hug you again. Okay?”
More okay than anything she could think of. Fact was, she hadn’t stopped thinking about how safe she’d felt in his arms. Safe and secure and . . . not lonely. Because of her long hours, being alone was her norm, a by-product of her profession. And okay, yes, also because she’d chosen to be alone rather than let someone in to see what a hot mess she was on the inside. But she was tired of hiding.
“Charlotte?”
She nodded.
“I need the words.”
“Yes, please,” she whispered, and with a smile he stepped farther into the freezing cold morning in his bare feet and wrapped his arms around her.
She gasped as her hands came in contact with warm bare skin stretched taut over sinew. “Oh my God, you’re almost naked!”
“That was an ‘omigod, you’re almost naked’ in a good way, right?”
And that was how she found herself laughing and crying at the same time. Going up on tiptoes, she pressed her face into the crook of his neck, slipping her arms around him, holding on for dear life. “You’re going to catch frostbite,” she whispered against his throat.
He slid one hand up her spine, past the nape of her neck and into her hair, the other arm wrapped low on her hips as he held her close, and she wondered how something so simple as a hug could both give her such comfort and yet also rev her engines.
“Guess you’ll just have to keep me warm,” he murmured, his cheek pressed to her hair.
Closing her eyes, she breathed him in and held on for dear life. And he let her, cuddling her into him, her anchor in a world gone mad.
“You’re shivering,” she whispered.
“That’s you.” He pulled back but held on to her hand. “Come inside, Charlotte. I’ve got food. I even know how to cook it.”
She stared up at him. “Just breakfast, right? Nothing more.”
“I’d never ask you for more than you were willing to give.”
She wasn’t sure why such a simple statement felt so earth changing. No one had ever said such a thing to her.
He bent his head and looked into her eyes. “You in, or is it too much?”
That he would even ask her that meant everything. And he really had to be freezing, not to mention every bit as exhausted as she. But he was giving away none of that, just a calm, steady patience that was a balm to her soul.
That was when her stomach chose to rumble and grumble like a locomotive engine. Horrified, she pressed her hands to her belly while Mateo laughed and tugged her inside.
She’d been in his house a few times. Once for a holiday party, which had been the first time she’d seen him outside of his role as a doctor. It had fascinated her, watching him with friends and family, all of whom clearly adored him. A few months later, they’d had a disagreement at work and she’d stalked off, angry that he’d reported a coworker and gotten him fired, only to find out later that coworker had been harassing a female coworker. She’d gone to his house to apologize. On both visits she’d spent more time concentrating on the man, not the place he’d made his home.
This time, she was afraid to concentrate on the man. She felt too . . . exposed for that today, and when she was exposed, she didn’t always make smart decisions.
So she looked around. The big living room had the same wall-to-wall windows hers did, framing the gorgeous mountains she loved. In her house, her furniture was feminine and a little flowery because, sue her, she loved a little flowery. Mateo’s place was all warm woods and neutral colors, and big, sturdy furniture that was inviting in a whole new way. No flowery anything anywhere.
There were noises coming from the kitchen, making her realize she’d stopped in the living room and Mateo hadn’t. She followed the sounds and found he’d pulled on sweatpants and a T-shirt, and she didn’t know if she was relieved or disappointed.
Still barefoot, he stood in front of his stove, cracking eggs into a pan. His other hand was holding a spatula, which he used to point her to a barstool on the other side of his cooking station.
So she sat, watching him chop up some veggies and toss them in with the eggs. Then he grabbed the handle of the pan and with a flick of his wrist, flipped the omelet.
Two minutes later he’d divided the eggs onto two plates, added toast, and served her with an easy efficiency that was sexy as hell.
“You’ve been doing that a long time,” she said.
He shrugged. “My parents worked around the clock. So did my aunts, and being the oldest, I was the babysitter of a lot of kids. It was cook or go hungry.”
She knew he had a big extended family, and that he took care of most of them. He was good at taking care of others, really good. “Who takes care of you?” she asked.
His gaze met hers, warm, curious, probably because normally, she did her best to keep some mental distance between them—it was the only way she knew how to resist him. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to ask such a personal question.”
He didn’t say anything for a long moment, pouring them both juice, then sitting on the barstool next to her. Their thighs brushed, and when he reached for a napkin, so did their arms.