The two items hanging on the rack didn't look freshly laundered. They bore the subtle creases of recent wear, suggesting they had been casually discarded there by Yvonne Hood when she changed for a shower, rather than washed and hung to dry.
Oh my God.
Frank Yates felt a sudden, traitorous heat rising in his lower abdomen. The visual impact of the delicate black lace was immediate and potent. He was a young man, after all, and the intimacy of the situation was overwhelming.
Calm down. Be cool. You are a doctor. A professional.
He took a deep breath, forcing his pulse to slow.
Meanwhile, in the bedroom, Yvonne had slowly climbed out of bed. She tested her weight on her injured leg and was surprised to find that the wound now only throbbed with a dull, manageable ache. The agonizing pai
