His hand found her shoulder, guiding her to her feet. She stumbled, her legs still weak, and Julian caught her without hesitation, one arm wrapping around her waist to steady her.

She leaned into him, her body trembling with the effort of staying upright. The fire in her veins was intensifying with every passing second. She could feel it spreading outward from her chest, racing down her arms and legs, pooling low in her belly. Her skin felt like it was on fire.

Julian's arm tightened around her waist as they walked. Then she felt him pause, his body going still.

"Your skin," he said, and his voice was different now. Sharper. Rougher. "It's burning up. I can feel the heat through your dress."

He could. The heat of her was seeping through the thin silk, pressing against his side like a brand. His jaw tightened. His pulse, steady and controlled all his life, had begun to hammer against his ribs in a rhythm he didn't recognize.

She couldn't answer. The words wouldn't come. She was too focused on the feel of his bare arm against her back, the coolness of his damp skin against her own feverish body. Even that small contact sent sparks cascading down her spine.

Julian felt it too. The way her body melted into his. The way her fingers curled against his chest as if he were the only anchor in a storm. His grip on her waist tightened involuntarily. He had spent his entire adult life in absolute control. In the operating room, in his research, in every interaction with every woman who had ever tried to get close to him. None of them had ever made his breath catch. None of them had ever made his hands shake.

This woman, this stranger who had crashed into his room with a torn dress and a body full of poison, was doing both.

They reached the bathroom. She heard the click of a light switch, felt the change in air as they stepped from carpet onto cold marble tile.

"The tub is right in front of you. I'm going to help you step in. Lift your foot. There should be a ledge."

She lifted her foot, but her coordination was shot. Her toes caught on the edge of the tub, and she pitched forward with a startled gasp.

She didn't fall.

Julian's arms caught her from behind, wrapping around her waist and pulling her back against his chest. The sudden movement was too much for the already loosened bathrobe. She felt it slip from his shoulders, the fabric sliding down his arm, and her hand instinctively flew up to catch herself. Her fingers met bare skin. The hard curve of his shoulder. The sculpted plane of his chest, half-exposed now, the robe hanging precariously from one arm.

She could feel the heat of his skin beneath her palm. He was warm, so warm, and the solid wall of his body was the only thing keeping her upright. But it was more than warmth now. She could feel the tension in his muscles, the way his chest rose and fell with breaths that were no longer steady. She could feel his heartbeat. Fast. Erratic. Pounding against her palm as if it were trying to break free of his ribs.

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

Julian stood frozen, his arms still wrapped around her, her body pressed flush against his. The robe had fallen completely now. He was bare to the waist, and every inch of her was pressed against him, her back to his chest, her fingers splayed across his heart. He could feel the frantic beat of her pulse against his forearm. He could smell the faint sweetness of whatever drug was coursing through her veins, mixed with something else. Something floral. Jasmine, maybe. Or gardenia. The scent of her hair.

His throat tightened. His body was reacting in ways that had nothing to do with medical protocol. The heat of her, the soft sounds of her breathing, the way her body fit against his as if it had been designed for exactly this purpose. He had treated thousands of patients. He had never once felt his concentration waver. But this was different. She was different. And he didn't know what to do with that.

He forced himself to move. To focus. He reached past her to turn the faucet, his arm brushing against her shoulder as he did. The contact sent a shiver through him, and he had to grit his teeth against the wave of heat that followed.

"The cold water will help. It will slow the drug's absorption. You need to get in."

She couldn't think. The cold water was a shock against her overheated skin, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough. The fire was still there, raging beneath the surface, and the only thing that seemed to quiet it was the feel of his body pressed against hers.

Julian guided her into the tub, his hands firm on her arms as she lowered herself into the freezing water. She gasped as it closed over her, the cold slicing through the heat like a blade. Her torn dress floated around her, the silk swirling against her legs.

As she sank into the water, the wet silk of her dress clung to every curve of her body. Julian looked away, but not fast enough. The image seared itself into his mind, and he felt his blood run hot in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. His hands, still gripping her arms, tightened briefly before he forced himself to release her.

"Stay here," he said, and she heard him start to pull away.

His voice was hoarse now. He could hear it himself, the roughness that had crept into his tone. He needed distance. He needed a moment to collect himself, to regain the control that had always come so easily to him.

But before he could stand, her hand shot out, catching his wrist.

"Don't," she gasped. "Don't leave. Please. I can't. It hurts. It hurts so much."

Julian paused. She heard him exhale slowly, a breath that was not quite steady. And then he was kneeling beside the tub again. His free hand covered hers where it gripped his wrist, his thumb stroking gently across her knuckles.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said quietly. "I'm right here."

But his voice was strained. She could hear it, even through the fog of the drug. She could hear the effort it took for him to remain still, to keep his voice gentle, when something far more primal was roaring beneath the surface. His thumb traced circles over the back of her hand, and each slow stroke sent a pulse of something hot and electric through her veins.

She didn't know if it was the drug or if it was him. She didn't care anymore.

She reached for him blindly, her hands finding the front of his chest. The robe had fallen further now, and her palms pressed against bare skin. The contact sent a jolt through her, electric and immediate and devastating. The fire quieted, just for a moment. Just enough to make her crave more.

Julian's breath caught audibly. His entire body went rigid. Her hands were on him, her fingers spreading across his chest like fire, and he could feel every point of contact as if it were burned into his skin. She was trembling. He could feel that too, the fine shivers that ran through her body with every wave of the drug.

He had been trained to remain calm in every situation. He had performed emergency surgeries under fire. He had held dying patients in his arms and delivered the news to their families with perfect composure. None of it had ever tested him like this. This woman, this blind, terrified, devastating woman, had undone him in less than twenty minutes.

And the most terrifying part was that he didn't want her to stop.

"What's happening to me?" she whispered.

Julian's hands closed over hers, holding them against his chest. She could feel his heart pounding beneath her palm, fast and erratic. He was affected too. She could hear it in the roughness of his breathing, feel it in the tension of his muscles.

"The drug," he said. His voice was barely controlled, the words scraping past something tight in his throat. "It's accelerating. The cold water isn't working fast enough."

She barely heard him. Her hands were moving before she could stop them, sliding up his chest, her fingers tracing the hard lines of his collarbone, the curve of his shoulder, the corded muscle of his neck. She felt him shudder. She felt the sharp intake of his breath against her fingertips.

Julian closed his eyes. His hands tightened on hers, not to push her away, but to hold her there. His jaw was clenched so hard it ached. Every rational thought in his head was screaming at him to step back, to put distance between them, to remember that she was a patient and he was a doctor and this was a line he had never crossed in his entire career.

But his body wasn't listening. His body had never responded to anyone the way it was responding to her. In thirty-four years, no woman had ever made his hands shake. No woman had ever made his heart pound like it was trying to escape his chest. No woman had ever made him feel like he was drowning and burning at the same time.

Until her.

"I feel like I'm dying," she gasped. "Please. I don't want to die."

Julian's hands tightened on hers. She heard him swallow. And then she felt him lean closer, his breath warm against her temple. His voice, when it came, was low and rough and utterly stripped of the clinical calm he had been clinging to.

"You're not going to die." His lips were so close to her skin that she could feel the heat of them. "I won't let you. But you have to stay still. You have to let the water work."

He was saying it as much to himself as to her. Stay still. Don't move. Don't think about the way her hands feel against your skin. Don't think about the way she shivers when you touch her. Don't think about the fact that in thirty-four years of absolute self-discipline, you have never once lost control, and this woman, this stranger who crashed into your room twenty minutes ago, has brought you closer to the edge than anything ever has.