Her patient—“Talia,” she said out loud to her car. Talia, a twenty-two-year-old, had been a victim of domestic abuse. Feeling the prickle of tears behind her eyes, she blinked hard and pulled into her driveway. Which had been cleared.
Mateo, of course.
Dammit. Damn him. She was already trembling with the effort to hold back her own internal storm, the one that was playing havoc with her emotions, bringing them far too close to the surface.
Nothing good ever came of her emotions breaking free.
She stared at her house. He’d done the walkway too. How in the world was she supposed to deal with someone doing something nice for her right now? Answer: she couldn’t. Especially from Mateo, for reasons she didn’t quite understand.
Drawing a deep breath, she pulled her visor down to look into the mirror, needing to make sure there were no signs of her turmoil. She didn’t need a knight in shining armor to save her day.
She would save her own damn day.
She got out of the car and lost a portion of her self-righteousness when she didn’t have to wade through a foot of fresh snow as she made her way to his front door and knocked.
Nothing.
She tried again, rapping her fist harder onto the wood.
When the door finally opened, Mateo stood there wearing red knit boxers and . . . nothing else. No shirt. Bed head. Eyes heavy lidded. Bare feet.
He blinked blearily. “What’s up?”
“Put it back.”
“Put what back?”
“The snow,” she said. “Put it all back.”
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?”