Dr. Tempt Me - A Possessive Doctor Romance

“You’d be surprised, actually.”

He laughed. “Really? She wanted to get into it about doctors versus nurses.”

“That’s her favorite topic. She can go on and on about arrogant doctors all day long.”

“I assume I fit into that category.”

I shrugged a little, smiling up at him innocently, batting my eyelashes. “No, of course not, you’re perfect.”

He sighed and looked away, smiling, shaking his head. “Damn nurses, you’re all the same.”

“Of course we are, since we’re all disposable minions to you doctors.”

“I’m not doing this with you.”

I grinned and leaned up against him, feeling my heart thud fast lumps in my chest. We got off the elevator together, and for the first time in a while, I wasn’t thinking about what people might think. Normally when we walked together, I kept picturing the dirty looks, the sideways glances, the assumptions and the future gossip boiling up around us like dying weeds, but today I didn’t care about any of that, didn’t care if people thought we had a thing, because we did, and damn them all, they had no clue what it meant. Mary could gossip all she liked, but she had no clue what we were doing, not even the slightest idea.

Dean drove us slowly back through the city. I stared out the window, thinking about those mafia guys, their dirty looks, their slicked-back hair, their boring windbreakers. I saw bright red Virginia creeper slithering up the fence of a parking lot, and ragweed breaking up through the cracks in the pavement, and it was startling how nature managed to intrude into the city, where people worked so hard to keep it away.

“I don’t want to go back to my apartment,” I said softly, watching people march down the block in suits and backpacks and dark slacks.

“You can come back to mine.”

“I don’t want to do that, either.”

“We’re running out of options then.”

“Drive me somewhere far, far from here.”

He laughed. “Should we run away?”

“We can live in Bali. What do you think of that?”

“Bali sounds nice to me. I’ll quit being a doctor.”

“They need doctors in Bali, I bet.”

“Good point.”

I looked at him and smiled, shaking my head. “No, we can’t do that.”

“No, we can’t,” he said softly, almost wistful.

“She’d win then.”

“And I don’t want her to win.”

“I don’t either.” I leaned my head back. “Come have a drink with me.”

“Where? I know a bar—”

“My place.”

He was quiet for a moment then nodded. “Okay.”

I smiled a little and looked away. I knew what it meant, asking him in for a drink, but I didn’t care. The thought of going into that apartment alone scared the hell out of me, and I wanted to run away screaming, but I thought it might be easier to get used to the idea of staying there again if he came in with me for my first time back in there since those two bastards intruded into my life.

He parked and I led the way. The house seemed quiet and empty and foreboding, the shadows cast by the beat-up trim somehow deeper and darker, and when I pushed open my door, I half expected a man in a nondescript windbreaker to leap out of the dark with a knife, but of course that didn’t happen. The place was quiet and empty.

Dean shut the door and locked it. “If you want, I can cook you dinner.”

“I don’t have much in the house.”

“That’s okay.” He walked into the kitchen and took a bottle of white wine from the refrigerator. “How’s this?”

“That’s good.” I drifted toward my room. “Mind if I get changed?”

“Not at all.” I heard him uncork the wine as I shut my door behind me. I leaned up against it, staring at the far wall, trying to decide what I was doing. We were having a drink after work, alone in my apartment. The implications were so obvious, but I didn’t want them to be— I wanted safety, and for some reason, Dean made me feel safe.

I changed into yoga pants and a sweatshirt. I figured that would send the right message. I pulled my hair up into an absurd bun on the top of my head and let the stray strands roll down the back of my neck.

When I stepped back out into the kitchen, the smell of frying garlic made my mouth water. He looked up from the stove and paused, a smile on his lips, and I saw that look then, the look Mary mentioned—his eyes drifting down from my lips to my knees, and back up again, and the pleasure in his expression like he was staring at a work of art. I felt a shiver on my spine, and wanted him to keep looking, wanted his gaze to hold me there pinned in his imagination, because I was sure that whatever image of me he had was better than the real thing.