Undressed By His Legal Services: Marry Me Again

He walked toward her door and knocked. ”Naomi?”

Then he heard a groan. It sounded painful.

”Naomi?” He pushed the door open.

She was on her knees beside the bed. One hand was twisted tightly into the sheets, the other pressed against her lower stomach. Her face was pinched with pain, body curled inward as though she was trying to fold herself around whatever was hurting.

Dorian’s chest tightened. ”Naomi!” He rushed toward her, dropping his bag on the floor.

Every terrible possibility hit him at once. Had she fallen? Was she injured? Had something happened at work?

Had someone hit her again?

”What’s... what’s wrong?”

Naomi barely looked up. ”Cramps...”

”Oh. Oh shit!” He could handle cramps. He had sisters. ”Come on.” He made to lift her up.

”No! No, it hurts everywhere...” Naomi cried.

”Trust me,” he said.

Naomi looked up at him. There was enough concern on his face to quiet whatever protest she had been about to make. She nodded.

Dorian bent carefully and slid one arm behind her back and the other beneath her knees. He moved slowly, giving her enough warning before lifting her into his arms.

Naomi sucked in a breath.

”I’ve got you.” He adjusted his hold until she was more comfortable against his chest.

Naomi rested her head against his shoulder. ”Where are we going?”

”Up.”

”Why?”

”I can take care of you better there.”

Naomi lifted her head slightly. ”You... you want to take care of me?”

Dorian glanced down at her as he started toward the stairs. ”Yeah. I am mad at you,” he added, because that needed to be established. ”And we can have that conversation later, but allow me?”

”Okay.”

Dorian began climbing the stairs. By the time he reached his floor, Naomi had gone quiet. He pushed through the hallway, but instead of heading toward his bedroom, he turned through another door.

Naomi looked around. At first she thought it was simply another bathroom. Then she realized it was practically the size of her old apartment.

Marble, glass, double vanities, an enormous walk-in shower and, farther in, a built-in hot tub tucked near a wide window.

He carried her inside and lowered her carefully until both feet touched the floor. ”Take off your clothes.” He pointed behind her. ”There’s a bin behind you.”

Her eyebrows pulled together. ”What’s happening?”

Curiosity got the better of her, but she did as she was told. That bothered her slightly. It was weird how easily she listened to the man.

Maybe pain had temporarily killed her rebellious spirit. Or maybe she trusted him more than she wanted to admit.

Naomi decided she preferred the first explanation.

Dorian walked toward the hot tub. ”My sisters say this works wonders.” He pulled off the insulated cover, checked the temperature on the control panel and switched on the jets. Warm water was already waiting beneath it. He turned.

Naomi was standing naked a few feet away. He forced his eyes upward and fixed them firmly on her face.

He held out his hand and Naomi took it. Dorian helped her step carefully into the tub, one foot and then the other, keeping his grip steady while she lowered herself into the hot water.

The effect was almost immediate. Naomi sank down and shut her eyes.

”Oh my...”

Dorian watched the tension slowly ease from her shoulders. ”Better?”

”So much better.”

Relief softened her entire face. Dorian felt his own body relax with it. He had no idea how tense he had been until then.

Naomi leaned back against the tub and let out a long breath. The warmth settled deep into her muscles, easing the tight ache through her lower stomach and back. She could breathe properly.

Dorian crouched beside the tub. ”Just sit in there. Twenty minutes.”

Naomi made a small sound of agreement.

”I’ll get you some supplies. You have them in your room, right?”

”You want to rifle through my underwear?” Naomi asked.

Dorian looked down at her. ”Don’t worry. I prefer them on you.”

Even half-dead from cramps, Naomi managed to give him a look. Normally, that would have earned him some kind of comeback.

Today, however, the heat had finally taken the edge off the pain, and she was too relieved to waste energy arguing with him.

She let her head fall back against the tub. ”Closet, bottom drawer. Tampons are in the middle, I think...”

”Got ya.”

Naomi closed her eyes again. He wiped his hands on one of the towels hanging neatly from the rack. He gave her another quick glance before leaving, mostly to make sure she was comfortable and definitely not because the sight of her naked in his hot tub was doing very unhelpful things to his imagination.

This was medical.

He headed back down to the guest floor. Naomi’s bedroom was exactly as he had left it. His work bag remained abandoned near the bed where he had dropped it when he found her on the floor.

Dorian went straight to the closet. ”Bottom drawer,” he muttered. He pulled it open.

Apparently Naomi had not been exaggerating when she said he would have to rifle through it. Dorian reached in and selected a plain pair without allowing himself to inspect the options.

He folded it over one hand and searched for the tampons. He opened the drawer above it. Another drawer. ”Middle, she thinks,” he muttered. ”Very helpful.”

As he pushed one of the other drawers shut, something caught his eye. He stopped. It wasn’t hidden particularly well. It had simply been lying beneath a few folded items, the corner visible as the drawer slid closed.

He pulled it open again. The logo across the top was immediately recognizable.

Whitmore Wealth Management.

Dorian raised a brow. Whitmore. As in Richard Whitmore? He reached in and picked up the file. Probably the firm handling her finances.

That made sense. Except very little about Naomi’s finances had made sense since Adrian’s investigation.

Dorian stared at the file. He knew better. She had made her position perfectly clear after discovering he had investigated her.

She wanted privacy, and Dorian had promised to respect it. Which was inconvenient, because respecting privacy had become increasingly difficult when every new piece of information seemed designed specifically to make him suspicious.

Dorian opened the file. Just the first page. That didn’t count as snooping. The first page contained investment records. He skimmed quickly.

They stretched back roughly twenty years, tied to Naomi’s father. He was already preparing to turn the page when Naomi’s voice from a previous argument came back to him.

Stay out of my business.

Dorian stopped. His fingers remained on the corner of the page. He sighed. ”Fuck.”