He was on his knees beside her before he remembered deciding to move, gathering her into his arms with a tenderness that felt like muscle memory.
Her head lolled against his shoulder. She was so light. Too light.
“Sir, should we call an ambulance?” Marcus hovered, radio already in hand.
“No. My car. Now.”
Carter stood in one smooth motion, cradling her against his chest like she was made of glass. Her head tucked perfectly under his chin, and some broken part of him wanted to sob at how right she felt there.
“Clear a path,” he snapped. “Move.”
People scattered. Good. He didn’t have patience for obstacles right now. Not when she was unconscious in his arms, not when he could feel how rapidly her heart was racing against his chest like a frightened bird.
The back of his Bentley was temperature‑controlled luxury, but Carter barely noticed as he slid in with Natalie still pressed against him. He couldn’t seem to let her go, couldn’t stop running his fingers through her hair, checking her pulse, touching her face like he needed to confirm she was real.
“Drive,” he ordered his driver. “My apartment. Fast.”
“Sir, the hospital might be—”
“My apartment,” Carter repeated. “My private physician is on call. Go.”
The car surged forward into Manhattan traffic.
Carter cradled Natalie’s face in his palm, thumbs brushing her too‑sharp cheekbones. She looked exhausted, like she’d been through hell and barely survived.
What happened to you? Where have you been?
Two months. It had been two months, three weeks, and four days since he’d woken up in that hospital room after his father’s death and realized he had no idea how to find her. He didn’t know her last name. He didn’t know where she lived or worked. He didn’t even know if the first name she’d given him—Natalie—had been real.
He’d spent thousands of dollars on private investigators with nothing but a first name and the name of a Manhattan charity gala to work with.
Every dead end had felt like another nail driven into his chest.
And now here she was, unconscious in his arms, looking like she hadn’t eaten or slept in weeks.
Why was she here?
How had she found him?
His penthouse occupied the top three floors of Sullivan Tower, accessible only by private elevator.
Carter swept through the doors and laid Natalie on his bed with excruciating care, arranging pillows beneath her head, smoothing her hair back from her face.
“Dr. Reynolds is five minutes out,” Marcus reported from the doorway. “What do you need?”
“Water. Food. Something gentle. Broth, crackers, whatever,” Carter said tightly. “And find out how long she was standing outside my building. I want security footage. I want to know when she arrived and why no one let her in.”
His voice had gone deadly quiet, which his employees knew was far more dangerous than yelling.
“Right away, sir.”
Carter sank into the chair beside the bed, unable to look away from her.
