Dr. Tempt Me - A Possessive Doctor Romance

Aside from the first one, we talked the whole time, about what was going on with patients and at work, but also about our lives, about our hobbies and favorite shows and movies, and I started to realize that he was actually funny, and caring, and smart, and not at all the arrogant, cocky asshole I’d always thought he was.

Well, he was that, too, but not only that, at least.

I headed downstairs, dressed and ready, and made some coffee. On the kitchen table was a small black recording device that Dean had given me. He told me about his conversation with his lawyer friend, and how I should have one with me at all times. I picked up the recorder and dropped it into my pocket, absently toying with it, smiling a little, then returned back to the kitchen.

As I leaned against the counter and watched the pot fill up slowly, I closed my eyes and thought about what it would be like if I took him up on his offer to stay at his place. There’d be so much tension, and I wasn’t sure how long I’d last before I ended up in his bedroom, my body sweating under his hands, his lips against mine, breaking all my rules and making a horrible mistake—and I felt a thrill of excitement. I thought of that kiss, and the way I needed more, and I realized that I’d been daydreaming about having more with him ever since we’d first met.

That wasn’t like me. I kept guys at a distance because I didn’t want to get attached, and I didn’t want anyone to get attached to me. I wasn’t ready for that kind of relationship and doubted I ever would be. But for some reason with Dean, it was like none of that mattered, and I kept sinking deeper and deeper into him, letting myself feel giddy excitement when his car pulled up outside, or pure joy when he opened the car door for me and made some stupid joke about being my driver.

A loud banging at my door made me jump.

I glanced at the clock on the stove and frowned. If that was Dean, he was twenty minutes early—which would be unusual. He was always prompt, or maybe a couple minutes late, but never early, especially not this early. I drifted to the door, wondering if maybe he wanted to spend some extra time with me, maybe wanted to take me out to breakfast, and opened the door without thinking.

Two men stood in my threshold and I choked back a scream.

It was them, the two men that followed me. One was tall and thin, wiry with dirty hair and dark eyes, while the other was short and compact, with a bald head and a pug-like nose. Both wore simple gray windbreakers and jeans, so boring and nondescript that I would’ve forgotten them the instant they left my sight, which was probably the point. The bald one stepped forward and a hand shot out, banging against the door again, holding it open so I couldn’t slam it shut in his face.

“Hello, Fiona,” he said, sounding almost casual. “My name’s Aldo, and this is my associate, Davide. Mind if we have a chat?”

“I don’t know you,” I blurted out.

He grinned at me. “Aw, come on, Fiona. No need to be like that. Let us inside and we’ll talk. We’re not here to hurt you. Not today, anyway.”

I took sharp, fast breaths, and went through my options. I could scream, but that might provoke them, and I didn’t know how violent they’d get. I could try and run, but they were blocking my only exit, and I doubted I could get out a window fast enough.

Or I could let them in and see what they wanted.

My heart raced so fast I felt dizzy as I stepped away from the door. Aldo beamed at me and walked inside, followed by Davide, who gave me a strange, almost bored look as he closed the door behind them.

“Nice place,” Aldo said, looking around. “You live alone? No roommates gonna come out and surprise us?”

“No,” I said. “I’m alone.”

“Great.” He showed me his teeth. It was probably meant to be a smile. “Let’s talk, okay?”

“Sure. Sure, we can talk.” He drifted toward the table and I had a sudden, wild idea. “Do you want some coffee?”

He frowned at me, then glanced toward the kitchen at the fresh pot. “You know what? I’d love some coffee. You want coffee, Davide?”

“No, thank you.” Davide’s voice was gruff and soft, close to a whisper.

“One coffee.” I walked into the kitchen, breathing fast, and as I passed in front of the counter, I slipped my hand into my scrubs and found the small, rectangular recording device, and hit the record button—or at least what I hoped was the record button. I hadn’t practiced this and I wasn’t very familiar with it, so I might’ve screwed up, but I had to hope.