Royal Heartbreaker

Chapter Ten - Leopold

LEOPOLD

She's looking at me very oddly.

I can't decide whether her thoughts bend in my favor or not. Honestly, telling her I had additional questions for her was a ruse—I have little interest in reviewing the financial statements, especially when time is so limited. But I do wish to hear more from Elle, to bring her walls back down. I shouldn't have been so forward with her, perhaps, but when I saw how much she squirmed and blushed under my questions about her sex life, I couldn't help myself.

Now, though, I have to help her relax again. I want to see some of that softness return to her eyes. The more time I spend with her, the more curious I become about her. I want to know more about this woman who pours so much of her heart into a place so far from her home—and why she believes she owes me or this place anything.

This is new, I realize. Most of the time I care about little beyond a woman's name—and even that doesn't always matter. Maybe it's the humid air or the strange events of the past couple of days, but I find myself eager to discover the deeper layers of this woman. If that leads to other pleasures, even better—but I must restrain myself for now.

"Did you have a question?" she asks me. "If not, I need to get back to cleaning."

"Ah, yes," I say. "But first, I'd like to understand why you thought I was going to accuse you of owing anything to Montovia."

She closes her eyes and presses her lips together, and I try not to imagine what it would feel like to suck that plump bottom lip of hers between my teeth.

"It's nothing," she says after a moment. "You know that I only accept what people can pay for the treatments here. I just thought you were planning to make me pay for the difference."

"I have no intention of any such thing." My father or the Medical Council might have different ideas, but I'll handle them later.

"Then what were you planning to ask me?" she prompts.

"I..." I straighten and rub the back of my head. I should have been better prepared, but as usual, she's caught me off guard. From one moment to the next, I can't tell whether she despises me or whether she wants me to peel off all her clothes and take one of those luscious breasts in my mouth. "I'd like to know what a typical week's activity looks like. How many patients do you see?"

"More than we should," she says, her eyes dropping to the table. "But again, you know that I refuse to turn anyone away."

I was expecting a numerical answer, but I see an opening and follow it. "Because you clearly care deeply about the people who come into this clinic, Elle."

"You don't get into this career if you don't care. And you don't take jobs at charity clinics unless you're serious about helping people."

"You help people at the expense of yourself," I comment.

She stiffens. "I wouldn't be here if I weren't willing to do that. If I were interested in money or comfort, there are a thousand cushy medical jobs back in the States."

"But you chose to come here," I say, nodding. "And you would give anything for the people who walk into this clinic."

"Are you accusing me of something?" she asks. "Because I'm not apologizing for that."

"On the contrary. I'm simply wondering why someone who cares so deeply for her work, who's willing to sacrifice so much for her patients, would walk away from this position." I lace my fingers together. It's a dangerous question—I risk frightening her back into her shell—but I can't deny my curiosity.