Never Again Yours (Isadora and Magnus) novel Chapter 234

Her forehead was slick with a fine sheen of sweat.

Isadora couldn’t shake the sensation—the warmth and solid strength of a broad chest, the reassuring weight of a large hand. It all felt far too real.

So real, in fact, that for a moment she thought she was truly wrapped in a man’s embrace.

She slowly opened her eyes, still caught somewhere between dreaming and waking, and saw the sharp line of a man’s jaw.

Victor was wearing a bathrobe—loosely tied, the sash hanging carelessly at his waist. His toned abs were on full display, and a hint of dampness clung to his skin, as if he’d just stepped out of the shower. He radiated an easygoing, lazy energy.

On reflex, Isadora shoved him away and rolled to the very edge of the bed.

She frowned, her voice edged with wariness. “Why are you back all of a sudden?”

Victor couldn’t help but smirk at her reaction. “What’s wrong, were you hiding someone in here? That’s quite a response.”

Isadora felt drained, her body weak and listless from her period.

She tossed off the covers and made to get up. “I’ll sleep in the guest room.”

Victor reached out, his hand closing firmly around her slender arm. With a gentle but insistent tug, he pulled her right back.

The next thing she knew, she was sprawled across his chest, her eyes level with the smooth, sun-kissed muscles there.

Above her, Victor’s voice came down, lazy and low, with that signature seductive edge. “Why?”

Isadora propped herself up, her tone clipped. “I’m not exactly in the mood, okay?”

The implication was obvious: Whatever Mr. Fitzgerald had in mind tonight, it wasn’t going to happen.

Victor shot her a sidelong glance, his eyes half-lidded with mischief. “Did I say I wanted anything? Just relax.”

He kept her tucked right there against his chest.

Isadora’s face was pressed against his bare skin, his chin resting in her hair.

Victor’s hand was still on her abdomen, gently massaging in slow, soothing circles.

She had to admit, his touch did ease the cramps—at least, a little.

Then, with a sigh, she lay back down and pulled the covers over her head.

Across town, Finley Pembroke had just finished a long surgery when his phone rang.

“What? Victor, did I hear you right? Or did you get the wrong number?”

He, a distinguished chief surgeon and director, was being called about…a woman’s period?

“Her period? There’s nothing for me to do! Send someone else!”

“If she’s in pain, give her some painkillers and make her some hot soup. If she’s upset, comfort her a little. That’ll work better than anything I can do. Hello? Victor?”

The call had already been cut off.

Behind Finley, a few attending doctors and nurses couldn’t help but snicker at his expense.

Finley’s eye twitched. So much for a lifetime of professional dignity.