The Doctor's Meant-to-be Marriage

He couldn’t touch. Couldn’t want. Couldn’t lead Chelsea on when he wasn’t willing to give her what she wanted.

She tossed her head back and laughed at something said to her.

Jealousy shot through him with lightning force.

Despite her words of love, she wasn’t his and never would be.

Her eyes lifted, met Jared’s.

She held his gaze for seconds that beat between them like a living pulse.

Was she purposely goading him?

No, Chelsea didn’t play games. Her look said that if he wanted her, he must come and get her and not care that all their friends and colleagues were present. She wanted him to acknowledge her. To acknowledge that he wanted her.

He wanted.

Desperately.

Knowing he needed to retreat, Jared headed toward the exit.

“You’re not leaving so soon, are you?” Leslie came up, halted his escape, and gave him a quick hug.

He just wanted to wish Will well and leave.

He wasn’t enjoying this party and felt more like he was the piñata everyone poked at than a guest.

“It’s been a long day.” He paused, thinking Leslie looked tired herself. “How are you doing? Everything OK with the baby?”

“My obstetrician says everything is perfect.” Leslie placed her hand over her flat lower abdomen. “My surgery didn’t affect this little guy at all.”

Leslie chatted on about what the obstetrician had told her and about her first ultrasound other than the one Jared had done. He tried to pay attention to their conversation, but his gaze wandered back to where Chelsea’s arm was linked with that of a respiratory therapist known for being a player.

The local band Chelsea had hired played a slow number and they headed to the dance floor.

“Excuse me.” Without waiting for Leslie to respond, Jared cut in on the couple’s dance. Chelsea’s eyes widened. The therapist looked ready to say something, met Jared’s glare, then bowed out without a word.

“We need to talk.”

Chelsea sent the man an apologetic glance. “You’ll understand that whatever you want will have to wait as I was dancing with someone.”

“Chelsea,” he ground out, wondering what the hell he was doing, wondering why he couldn’t stand the sight of her in another man’s arms.

“Unless it’s an emergency, that is,” she added, her eyes daring him to take up her challenge.

“It’s an emergency.” Without consciously considering what he was doing, he placed his hand on her lower back and pulled her to him. “Why are you dancing with him?” he growled near her ear.

Chelsea’s arms slid around his neck and she leaned close. “Give me a reason why I shouldn’t.”

He groaned, breathing in her fragrance, feeling the heady impact of holding her all the way down to his toes.

“I can’t,” he ground out, determined to keep his head.

Her cheek brushed lightly against his jaw.

What could he say? And, Lord have mercy, the light feel of her cheek brushing against him was doing funny things to his insides.

He knew he needed to say something, but he couldn’t think.