“Yep. Actually, it’s my study.”
“I guess it is now.” He walked in and stood beside my chair so as to get a better view of the bookshelves.
Once again, I was aware of how he towered over me, his heavy black brows moments from drawing over his eyes in stormy anger. A flush warmed my face, but I didn’t reach for him. What if he drew away again?
“Don’t you have a ton of books at Peter’s house?” I asked.
He ran a finger along my jaw and then picked up my left wrist, almost as though studying it. It was still bruised, but the pain had subsided.
“I’d rather be doing than reading.” His voice was so quiet I almost didn’t hear him.
“Is that why you were going into orthopedics?”
He chuckled. “Maybe.” He leaned down so that his face was only inches from mine. “You know they call us the cavemen
