Page 14 of The Hand Surgeon's Housewife
“Get out of the way,” a voice growls, cutting through the murmur of the crowd. I hear the urgency and authority in the tone, and the people around me part. I feel a rush of air as an imposing figure pushes through. Before I can fully comprehend what’s happening, strong arms scoop me up from the hard concrete.
”What were you thinking going off on your own?”
Hugo. Relief crashes over me like a wave, my body going weak in his embrace. My hands instinctively clutch at his jacket, fingers digging into the familiar fabric. His scent fills my senses—clean, masculine, a hint of the cologne he always wears. It’s intoxicating and grounding all at once, and I cling to him as if he’s my lifeline.
"Are you hurt?" Hugo's voice is rough, his jaw clenched with worry. I can feel the tension radiating from his body, his muscles taut as he holds me. "Do I need to take you to the hospital?"
I shake my head weakly, trying to reassure him. "No," I whisper, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart. "I just want to go home." The words come out in a rush, and a lump forms in my throat. I look up at him, my eyes pleading. "Can I sleep in your bed tonight?"
For a moment, his steps falter. It feels as if Hugo is about to drop me, his muscles going momentarily slack. His face reflects a mix of emotions—surprise, vulnerability, something softer and deeper that I can’t quite name. But then, almost immediately, he tightens his grip, holding me more securely.
His hold on me is firm and possessive, and I can feel the rapid beat of his heart through his chest. His gaze, intense and searching, locks onto mine as if trying to understand the depths of my request.
”I know you’re mad because I’ve been…distant,” I whisper again, feeling tears prick at the corners of my eyes, ”but I don’t mean to be."
Hugo’s expression softens, just a fraction, but enough for me to see the concern and care he hides behind his stern exterior. He nods, a silent agreement.
”I know," he murmurs, his voice softer now, filled with a tenderness that makes my heart ache. ”And I’m not mad.”
Back at the house and in his room, he gently sets me down on the bed, his eyes never leaving mine. I lie back, the soft sheets cool against my skin, and watch as he moves to sit beside me, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from my face.
"Rest," he says quietly, his voice a soothing balm to my frayed nerves. ”I’ll stay with you.”
"You're always there when I need you," I whisper, my voice trembling with emotion. "You never fail.”
How? How’s that possible?
”That’s what husband’s are for.”
Hugo's eyes soften, the harsh lines of his face melting into an expression of tenderness. I reach up, my fingers brushing against his skin, and cup the back of his neck. The warmth of his body seeps into my hand. The hand that he healed when another man broke it.
”Will you let me kiss you?” he rasps. ”I promise to pull away if you want me to.” Something flickers in his eyes as if he doesn’t believe what he’s saying but I’m not going to say no.
”Yes," I whisper, my breath mingling with his. ”Do it.” For a moment, he hesitates, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. But then, his resolve solidifies, and he leans in.
His mouth crashes down on mine with a fervor that takes my breath away. The kiss is—desperation, passion, relief—all mixing together with an intensity that makes the air feel like pure steam. His lips are firm and insistent, moving against mine with a possessive hunger. My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer and I pour everything I can't say into the kiss.
The raw power of his need, the way his hands cradle my face makes me feel like something precious that he still won’t hesitate to break if it means getting to the very core of me. His kiss deepens, his tongue sweeping into my mouth exploring until I can almost feel it in my throat. Electric shivers dance down my spine, my senses are overwhelmed by him— the taste of his mouth, the feel of his strong arms wrapping around me, pulling me impossibly close.
When he finally pulls back, I realize he’s going to have to kiss me like that every single day for the rest of my life.
I snuggle up against Hugo's chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath my cheek. The rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing soothes me, lulling me into a state of tranquility I haven't felt in a long time. His arms wrap around me protectively, his hand gently stroking my hair and that’s how we fall asleep. Like a married couple. Like we belong.
7.
Pamela
On Monday, Hugo's back to work, leaving me alone in the house. I’m lounging on the bed, absently twirling the ring on my finger. A smile crosses my face. I’m happy. Hugo is making me happy. He’s making me trust again, making my ribcage feel like it’s hosting an array of butterflies each time I think of him. My husband has surprised me. He’s turned out to be more than I could ever hope for.
And it's admirable how he always seems to be at the right place at the right time. And a little bit... uncanny.
I frown. Exactly how is he always able to know where I am? He never explained how he knew I was fighting for my life on that roof, or having a nervous breakdown at the park. But somehow, he knew.
Almost as if he’s watching me.
I swallow hard. That can't be it. There was no camera up on that roof or at the park... so how did he know?
Conflicted, I get up, my heart pounding. Feverish now, I decide to try something, just to be sure. Just to see if Hugo really is watching. I walk into the kitchen, searching for the biggest knife we have. When I find it, I pull it out, the weight of it feeling alien in my hand.