"Do you...need me to turn around?" I asked.
Now that they had left us alone, the room felt strangely smaller. Just Marcus and I. Julie and Dr. Madakwe had gone to carry out their part of the doctor's reckless plan, leaving me no choice but to follow through with my part.
I still didn't know if this was some crazy scheme they've conjured up to protect a criminal, or if Dr. Madakwe was actually telling the truth. But something inside me insisted that it was the latter.
It couldn't be a coincidence that Pippa had found a Roman sword in the park the same morning Marcus appeared in the hospital with wounds that matched his story. Could it?
"We are not shy about our bodies," Marcus said, jolting me back to the present.
His voice was calm, though his Adam's apple shifted slightly as he stood from the bed with my help. He towered over me once he was upright, the hospital gown hanging loosely from his broad shoulders.
"Samuel did warn me," he continued thoughtfully, "that it might offend you."
"Samuel?" I asked.
"The doctor."
I almost laughed.
Marcus glanced down at the clothes in the duffel bag, brow furrowing in mild confusion. "I will require your guidance," he said. "I have no idea how one is meant to wear these...garments."
I chewed lightly on my bottom lip before nodding.
"I've dressed plenty of male patients before," I murmured, stepping closer to the bed and pulling the clothes from the bag. I laid them out beside him, trying to sound casual. "This shouldn't be any different."
Except, it felt different. Very different.
Heat crept up my cheeks as I focused on the clothes instead: the jeans, the shirt, the hoodie. Oh god, the underwear. This was ridiculous. I am a nurse. I had seen countless patients in worse states than this. And yet...
"You are shy," Marcus observed quietly.
I froze.
"Have you never seen a man's body before?"
I finally looked up.
His expression wasn't mocking. If anything, it was curious. He was studying me in a way he studied everything in this strange world he had woken up in.
"Of course I have," I said, more defensive than I intended.
Marcus held my gaze for a moment longer. Then, very slowly, the corner of his mouth curved into the faintest hint of a smile.
"Then perhaps," he said, his voice lowering just a little, "it is not the body that makes you nervous."
My breath caught.
And suddenly, the room felt even smaller than before.
I cleared my throat and hand him the underwear. "This is underwear," I explained. "You're supposed to wear it under your pants. Just...step into it."
Marcus took the fabric from my hands, turning it over slowly, as though studying a strange new piece of equipment.
"And this is necessary?" he asked.
"In this century? Yes."
He nodded once. "I will change, then."
"Right," I said quickly, already turning around. "I'll...give you some privacy."
I faced the counter, fixing my attention on the scattered surgical trays as I heard the soft rustle of fabric behind me. The hospital gown slid to the floor, followed by the quiet shuffle of movement as he stepped into the underwear.
This is ridiculous. I've helped countless patients dress before.
But for some reason, my heart refused to slow.
"Done," Marcus said after a moment.
I turned back, then immediately wished I hadn't turned so quickly.
He stood a few steps away, the hospital gown discarded at his feet, wearing only the dark underwear from the bag. The overhead lights cast soft shadows across his broad shoulders and the bandaged lines of his ribs.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Marcus didn't even seem remotely self-conscious. If anything, he looked faintly amused by my sudden stillness.
"You look as though you have forgotten how to breathe," he said quietly.
Heat crept up my neck.
"I haven't," I muttered, quickly reaching for the rest of the clothes from the duffel bag. "Here. Pants."
I held the jeans out to him, careful to keep my eyes fixed on his face this time. Because I might have been mistaken, but I was fairly certain the thin fabric of his underwear wasn't hiding everything as well as it should.
He stepped closer to take them, his fingers brushing mine for a second.
My breath caught.
The contact was brief, but something about it lingered.
Marcus didn't pull away immediately. His gaze stayed on me a moment longer than necessary, his expression thoughtful, like he noticed it too.
Then he took the jeans and stepped back, pulling them on, quietly breaking the spell.
"They're tight," he observed.
"They're supposed to be."
He frowned down at the button.
I hesitated, then stepped closer. "Here—let me."
My fingers brushed his for the briefest moment as I guided the button through the hole and pulled the zipper up. The warmth of his skin lingered longer than it should have.
For a second, neither of us moved.
I became suddenly aware of how close we were. Close enough to hear the slow rhythm of his breathing, close enough to feel the heat radiating from him.
Marcus looked down at me, his dark eyes steady.
"Is it done?" he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
I cleared my throat, stepping back just enough to meet his gaze, then offered him the shirt with trembling hands.
"Almost,' I murmured.
His eyes lingered on the fabric for a moment, then lifted to mine, dark and stormy as if a silent battle raged behind them. Without warning, he closed the space between us, his lips capturing mine with a fierce, urgent kiss.
I nearly dropped the shirt, but his hands gently took it from me, replacing it by wrapping me in his embrace. My own hands moved as if guided by an invisible force, resting against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath my palms.
His tongue traced mine, coaxing and exploring, pulling me closer until my breath caught. My body pressed flush against his warmth. The undeniable promise of desire growing between us.
All I wanted was to surrender—
But then, with a shuddering breath, I pushed him away.
He staggered back, trying to catch his breath.
For a second, neither of us moved. My chest rose and fell too quickly, my pulse still racing from the sudden heat of him.
I can't believe I just did that. What the fuck? What the hell is wrong with me?
Marcus watched me in silence, like he was studying a puzzle he hadn't quite solved yet.
I forced myself to breathe, then bent down, grabbing the discarded shirt from the floor and held it out to him. Very deliberately not meeting his eyes this time.
"Here," I said, brushing imaginary dust off the fabric. "You should wear this."
My voice sounded steadier than I felt.
Marcus didn't take it immediately, though I could feel his gaze on me. Heavy, thoughtful.
"Was that not permitted?" he asked quietly.
Heat rushed back into my cheeks.
"This is a hospital," I muttered, finally glancing up just long enough to push the shirt into his hands. "And you're technically still a patient."
His lips curved faintly, though he didn't press the matter further. Thank god. Instead, he pulled the shirt over his head, the fabric settling over his shoulders as if he had worn modern clothes all his life.
I turned away while he finished adjusting it, pretending to check the hallway through the small window in the door. Pretending like my heart wasn't still beating far too fast.
When I finally looked back, Marcus was watching me again.
I cleared my throat.
"We should go," I said quietly, then reached for the door handle. "Before someone realizes you're missing."
And with that, I pushed the door open and stepped out into the corridor.