Peerless Perverted Actor Has a Celebrity Harem?!

"How serious was it?"

"It looked worse than it was but not that bad."

"That is not an answer."

"I’m alive."

"You could have a concussion. Did they perform a scan? Did you lose consciousness? Are you experiencing dizziness, blurred vision, nausea, or confusion?"

’Every single one of those,’ he wanted to reply, ’and none of them because of the head injury, madam but ya.’

Park blinked at the sudden assault of questions.

"Quinn."

"How long were you unconscious?"

"Quinn."

She placed one gloved hand beneath his jaw and turned his head gently toward the light, inspecting the dressing with a worry she made no effort to conceal. The careful pressure of her fingers along the underside of his jaw landed somewhere lower in him than his throat and stayed there.

His pulse, which had been behaving all evening, gave up entirely.

Her concern was genuine. Not the polite concern of an employee fulfilling her duty; Quinn was truly distraught by the thought that he had been hurt.

"Did they stitch it?" she asked.

"No. It wasn’t deep enough."

"And have you received medical clearance?"

"Yes."

"By whom?"

"A doctor, Quinn. I didn’t let the lighting technician diagnose me behind the set."

Her eyes narrowed, but relief softened the severity of it. "This is not amusing."

"I know."

She continued studying the injury. She smoothed his hair further aside to make certain she had concealed nothing beneath it. Once satisfied, her fingertips remained near his temple for a moment longer than the examination strictly required.

Park noticed.

Quinn seemed to realize it too, because her hand began — slowly, self-consciously — to lower.

He caught both of hers before she could withdraw.

"I’m all right."

"You cannot determine that simply because you have decided you feel all right."

"The doctors cleared me."

Her eyes searched his. "Are you certain?"

"Yes."

He lowered her hands from his face but did not release them. Instead, he placed both palms flat against the center of his chest, over the steady deep hammer beneath his shirt.

Quinn went quiet.

"See?" Park murmured, low. "Still here."

The contact altered the air between them the way a lit match altered a room full of gas.

At first her hands remained stiff beneath his. Then, slowly, her fingers opened of their own accord, spreading over the warm fabric of his shirt until she could feel the full rhythm of his heart pushing against her palms.

The movement was slight. Almost nothing.

Park felt every part of it; the exact instant her palm went flat against him. Felt her fingers relax and, with that relaxation, the almost imperceptible acknowledgment of her body that it was, in fact, touching him now.

His heart, which had already been misbehaving, gave up any last pretense of dignity and slammed against her hand hard enough for her to feel every stroke of it.

Quinn’s gaze dropped to her hands then rose to his face.

"Your heart rate is elevated."

Park smiled faintly. "That isn’t from the accident."

The color in her cheeks deepened.

’Look at that. Look what happens to your throat when you blush, Quinn. Look how it spreads. Look how it goes all the way down to the collar.’

Rather than pulling her hands away, Quinn pressed her fingers more firmly against him, feeling another hurried beat answer beneath them.

"You were calmer while discussing a head injury."

"I wasn’t holding you then."

Her lips parted — as though she had an answer prepared, and had, on discovering the shape of his fingers around hers, briefly forgotten what it was.

Park covered her hands with his own.

"If anything, what happened today woke me up. Quinn, it made me realize how much life had already given me and how completely I’d wasted it. I had a family, money, opportunities people would kill for, and..." His eyes traveled slowly, deliberately, across her face, and did not pretend it was anything less than what it was. "You."

"Park..."

"I almost died today, Quinn."

The words stopped her.

He felt her fingers tense against his chest.

"And among the things I regretted was never telling you how I felt."

Quinn drew in a breath, perhaps preparing to remind him of every reason this was inappropriate.

Park shook his head. "I know."

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

"I know what you’re going to say. You work for my family. You’re older than me. You’re responsible for my safety. This is sudden, complicated, and probably a terrible idea..."

"You assume a great deal."

Park paused.

That was not the answer he had expected.

’Oh.’

Quinn’s gaze remained fixed on his — and although her cheeks were still warm, there was something firmer beneath her embarrassment now. Something decidedly feminine and far less defensive. Something that had, over years of standing quietly behind him in corridors and behind him in cars, apparently done a great deal more looking than she had ever admitted to herself.

"What was I going to say, then?" he asked.

"I hadn’t decided."

Her fingers shifted against his chest — brushed the fabric in a slow, absent movement that did absolutely nothing helpful to his heartbeat.

Park stared at her.

Quinn’s mouth curved faintly.

"You are not the only person capable of being curious."

Her hands began to move, and for one brief moment he thought she intended to step back. Instead, Quinn caught the front of his shirt lightly between her gloved fingers and drew him half a step nearer.

Park obeyed before pride could intervene.

"Would you still say all of this tomorrow?" she asked.

"I’ll say it tomorrow, next week, and every day after that until you become tired of hearing it."

"You may regret making promises so easily."

"I’ve spent my entire life regretting things I never said. I’m overdue for a different kind."

Quinn searched his expression.

Park could feel the exact moment she decided he was not joking.

He guided one of her hands more firmly against his heart. "Tell me you don’t feel anything," he said quietly. "Tell me, with your hand over my heart, that there has never been even one moment when you looked at me and wondered."