His Wicked Obsession (Archer and Virginia) novel Chapter 27

"...Sit down," she repeated, her voice firmer this time.

His eyes flickered briefly. Shrugging off his ruined suit jacket, he pulled out the chair and sat down opposite her, rolling his blood-soaked sleeve up past his elbow and resting his forearm heavily on the desk.

Virginia pressed her lips into a tight line. Tearing open an alcohol pad, she grabbed his wrist, flipped his arm over, and began cleaning the bloody gash with swift, ruthless efficiency.

The second the freezing alcohol bit into the raw flesh, his brow furrowed, and the muscles in his forearm twitched violently, but he didn't make a sound.

She kept her head bowed, her entire focus locked onto the bleeding wound.

Archer lowered his gaze, but he wasn't looking at his arm.

He was looking at her.

As she leaned over, a few loose strands of hair fell across her forehead, exposing the elegant curve of her neck and a striking glimpse of her collarbone.

His Adam's apple bobbed heavily. A sudden, suffocating wave of heat flared in his chest, forcing him to clear his throat awkwardly.

Virginia's hands were incredibly steady, moving with the cold, rhythmic precision of a seasoned medical professional. But the pressure she applied with the hemostatic cotton was just a fraction rougher than necessary.

He instantly recognized the habit.

While they were married, there was one night he had accidentally sliced his finger on a shattered porcelain plate. She had rushed out of the bedroom in her silk nightgown, barely awake, and dropped to her knees right in front of him to patch him up.

She had done the exact same thing—her hands were perfectly steady, but she pressed down just a little too hard.

Her eyes had been rimmed with red as she looked up at him, asking with heartbreaking tenderness, 'Does it hurt?'

Throughout that entire year of marriage, he had barely ever witnessed her lose her temper.

She had managed the household flawlessly. She memorized his chaotic travel schedule better than Zachary Cole ever could. And whenever the seasons changed and he was prone to coughing fits, she always had the medication prepped and waiting on his nightstand.

What was she like back then? Submissive, meticulous, absolutely flawless.

Wrapping the thick gauze three times around his forearm, Virginia tore off a strip of medical tape to secure the bandage. She gave the back of his hand a firm pat, abruptly snapping Archer out of his trance.

"All done, Mr. Vanderbilt. Keep it dry for the next three days, and get the dressing changed at a nearby clinic tomorrow."

She immediately stood up and took a large step backward, instantly re-establishing the physical boundary between them.

Virginia's eyes instantly lit up, and a gorgeous, genuine smile curved her lips as she nodded eagerly.

Archer's gaze turned dark and predatory.

Snatching the report from the assistant, he turned on his heel and walked out without another word.

The moment he stepped into the hallway, Kian's worried voice drifted through the open door.

"Ginny, you really shouldn't be handling high-risk patients alone anymore. I'm going to assign someone to assist you in these sessions."

"It's fine, Kian. Look, I didn't even get a scratch. Today was honestly just a freak accident..."

Archer's hand, hanging limply by his side, curled into a vicious fist. A sharp, piercing sting shot up his right arm, leaving him momentarily paralyzed in the corridor.

It hurt.

But for a terrifying second, he honestly couldn't tell if the pain was coming from the torn flesh on his arm, or from somewhere much deeper.