His Forbidden Love (Manhattan Billionaires #2) - Ava Ryan Page 0,33

of making a peanut butter sandwich. No idea how I got here.

My thoughts go straight back to Ally and me dropping to the floor beside her as I shout for a neck brace and a backboard. Her physical exam. Her scans. Her concussion, which was severe enough to land her in the hospital for the night.

My vigil.

I let myself into her room later that night, when the floor is dark and quiet and I know she’s likely to be asleep. Sure enough, she’s resting comfortably with all that hair fanned out across her pillow. A modern-day sleeping beauty that’s a million times more beautiful than anything Disney could produce.

I stand by her bed. Study her.

She’s got long lashes. Really long. Her breathing is quiet and even. The bandage against her hairline is the one that I put there after I closed her laceration. I should’ve let a resident do it, but I wasn’t about to trust anyone else with the job. Not with Ally.

I should go home. I know I should.

But I pull up the lounge chair, sink into it and stare at Ally while the realization sinks in.

I’m really fucked here.

I’ve been married for one year. My wife and I may be discovering that we don’t know—or maybe like—each other as well as we thought we did, but that’s marriage. Right? You hit rough patches. You get through them. I don’t have the right to be this attracted to someone else. What am I going to do? Have an affair? Torpedo my marriage? My wife doesn’t deserve that. Ally doesn’t deserve to be ensnared in my mess. They both deserve so much better.

I’m not a horny college kid. I know there are consequences to my actions. I can keep it in my pants. Attractions come. Attractions go. The world keeps spinning.

But…

The thing is…

There’s nothing like seeing someone injured—maybe even dead, for all you know—to make you realize that maybe there’s more than an attraction going on there. Which means that things are a hell of a lot more complicated than you feared.

What the fuck am I supposed to do now? I really wish someone would tell me.

She sighs just then, an intimate, domestic sound that tugs on something primal deep inside me. I’m not supposed to hear sounds like that. Not from Ally. Just like I’ll never see her in bed again after this. I’ll certainly never touch her in bed. Which is as it should be.

It drives me crazy that I can’t decide whether I like Ally as much as I think I do or whether my infatuation with her is a convenient way for me to keep one foot out the door of my marriage. But it seems like either option is a pretty bad sign for my relationship with my wife.

I’m good at handling medical emergencies. What I can’t deal with is this emotional purgatory of being profoundly glad that she’s okay and simultaneously wrecked that she’ll never be mine.

I rest my elbows on my knees, press the heels of my hands into my eyes and give in to the despair for a second. A sob without sobbing. A scream without screaming.

Then I pull my shit together like I told her to do earlier and raise my head, slump back in the lounge chair and remind myself that I belong at home. With my wife. And I’ll go. In a little while. As soon as I satisfy myself that Ally’s truly okay.

My movements make the chair squeak just then. Ally sighs again before turning her head in my direction and drowsily opening her eyes.

We lock gazes before her lids drift closed again. She starts to smile and reaches for my hand. Without hesitation. I scoot forward in my chair and take her hand. Without hesitation.

Her hand is soft. Her grip is strong. Her skin is vibrant.

“I’m not crazy,” she murmurs as she rolls to her side, facing me while keeping firm possession of my hand. “I knew you’d be here.”

I feel a surge of something powerful in my heart’s frantic beat.

Joy. Relief. Acknowledgment.

I feel it. She feels it. Neither one of us is imagining things.

Her breathing evens out again, and I give myself thirty seconds to wallow in this interlude. I lace and unlace our fingers. I slide my palm across hers. I trace the pink ovals of her fingernails. I imagine what it would be like to be in bed with Ally at the end of a long shift at the hospital, watching TV or