Manny froze and just stared down into his patient’s face. For some reason, the idea of unraveling that thick rope seemed pretty goddamned close to getting her naked, and what do you know, his sex drive was all over it.
Jesus . . . he had a frickin’ hard-on. Right under his surgical scrubs.
See, he thought, this was the unpredictable law of attraction at work, right here, right now: Candace Hanson offered to blow him and he’d been about as interested as he was in wearing a dress. But this . . . female? woman? . . . asked him to unveil her hair and he was all but panting.
Vampire.
In his head, he heard the word spoken in her voice with her accent . . . and the thing that shocked him most was his lack of reaction to the news flash. Yeah, if he considered the implications his motherboard started to spark and fizzle: Fangs are not just for Halloween and horror flicks anymore?
And yet the freaky thing was the unfreaky.
That and this sexual-attraction thing he had going on.
“My hair?” she said.
“Yeah . . .” he whispered. “I’ll take care of it.”
His hands did not tremble ever so slightly. Nope. They did not.
They shook like a motherfucker.
The end of the braid was tied with a length of the softest fabric he’d ever felt. It wasn’t cotton; it wasn’t silk. . . . It was something he’d never seen before, and his keen surgeon’s fingers seemed sloppy and too rough on the stuff as he worked at the winding knot. And then her hair . . . good God, her wavy black hair made that cloth feel like nettles in comparison.
Inch by inch, he separated the tripart weave, the waves both slick and clinging. And because he was a bastard, all he could think about was the shit falling over his bare chest . . . his abs . . . his cock—
“That’s far enough,” she said.
Damn straight it was. Yanking his inner manwhore back to the land of polite conversating, he forced his hands to stop. Even halfway undone, the reveal was astounding. If she was beautiful all tied up, she was utterly resplendent with those waves curling around her waist.
“Braid it in, please,” she said, holding his card out with her lax hand. “That way no one will find it.”
He blinked and thought, Well, duh. There was no way in hell the Goateed Hater would be cool with his sister reaching out and touching her surgeon—
Not touching, he corrected himself.
Well, maybe a little touching. Like he could just do her. Er . . . touch her.
Time to shut it, Manello, even though you’re not talking out loud.
“You are brilliant,” he said. “Altogether smart.”
That got her to smile, and file that under Holy Shit. Those incisors of hers were sharp and white and long . . . and evolutionarily designed for striking at the throat.
An orgasm tingled in the tip of his arousal—
And at that moment a frown passed over her face.
Oh, mannnn. “Ah . . . can you read minds?”
“When I am stronger, yes. But your scent just grew more intense.”
So she was making him sweat and somehow knew it. Except . . . he got the feeling she was clueless as to the why, and wasn’t that as tantalizing as the rest of her: She was utterly guileless as she stared up at him.
Then again, she might well not think of him sexually because he was a human. And hello, she’d just gotten out of the OR, so this was hardly spring break on Myrtle Beach.
Manny cut off his second interior convo and folded his business card in half. The good news about all her hair was that it was the work of a moment to camo his info in the braid. When he was finished, he rewrapped the cloth and tied a bow; then he carefully set the length down beside her on the bed.
“I hope you use it,” he said. “I really do.”