Weekend Fling with the Surgeon

“Don’t you go making a mess in my bathroom,” she warned.

While all the commotion was going on, McKenzie had kept her gaze pinned on Ryder. Had held tightly onto her coffee mug because her hands shook.

Because she could tell he was avoiding looking at her, as if he didn’t know what to expect when he did.

When their gazes met, her chest fluttered, reminding her she owed him an apology for the night before.

For involving him in this whole mess.

“I’m sorry,” she mouthed, giving a small smile as a peace offering.

From where he continued to stand just inside the doorway, he half-smiled back.

Oh, heavens. Everything was going to be okay. He hadn’t left. He’d smiled back. She’d get a chance to tell him all the things she’d thought of while lying in her bed the night before.

She’d get a chance to tell him that when he smiled he cleared the clouds from her world and made her feel as if she were lifting her face into the sunshine.

She’d get a chance to tell him she didn’t understand all the things going on inside her, but one thing was glaringly clear. There was nothing pretend about the way her heart contracted because of him, nothing pretend about how seeing him set her libido ablaze, nothing pretend about how she’d trusted him with her deepest secrets the night before.

She put her coffee mug down and gestured to the sink. “Let me help you get clean before my ride to the venue gets here.”

His gaze not leaving hers, Ryder stepped up next to McKenzie and held his hands over the recently drained sink.

McKenzie picked up the grease-cutting detergent and squirted some in his palms, turned on the water, and checked to make sure she had the temperature correct. She watched as he rubbed his hands together, scrubbing around his nails, rinsing, then holding his hands out for another round of detergent.

McKenzie obliged, but rather than watch him, this time, she took his hand and a dishcloth and began wiping at the remaining dark spots.

Why was her heart racing at washing his hands? This was ridiculous. But no more so than how the slightest brush of her fingers against his sent shivers over her skin.

Ryder’s gaze lifted to hers in surprise, but he didn’t say anything, just let her clean his hands.

His strong, talented hands that were capable of saving lives.

Hands that felt good in her own.

Hands she wanted holding hers, touching her, caressing her.

Afraid to look up for fear of what she’d see in his eyes, McKenzie dropped the cloth into the sink, pulled his hands beneath the running water to wash away the suds, and lingered there as the warm water flowed over their hands.

Knowing she needed to convey something of what she was feeling, she laced her fingers with his and held on tight.

Water rinsed over their hands much longer than necessary before McKenzie reluctantly turned to grab a dry cloth.

Ryder turned off the faucet and shook the excess water from his hands. McKenzie wrapped his hands in the towel, patting him dry.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Could he see everything bursting within her?

Needing to be sure he knew how much she appreciated him, how sorry she was for how defensive she’d been, she lifted Ryder’s hand to her lips and pressed a kiss there.

If he’d looked surprised at her washing his hands, he looked stunned at the kiss. Regardless, he quickly masked it.

“You must have slept well.”

“Eventually. I had a lot on my mind,” she admitted, going back to massaging his hand with the towel. “You?”

“Same.”