To Have and to Hold

Before long, Rose approaches me. “Ms. Wells, Dr. Pierce is ready for you.”

I follow her toward the hallway lined in white carpet and gray walls. Entering the last room on the left, Rose informs me that since this is a face consult, I can stay in the clothes I’m currently in.

“Thank you again, Rose.” I’ve always done my best to be polite. My mother has never been rude, just not overly kind. People are dispensable and at her command. I hated her behavior, so I over-compensated when we were out in public.

“You’re welcome. Oh, and Ms. Wells, I know this may be inappropriate, but I think you are already stunning and don’t need to change a thing.”

Shocked, I don’t respond—not that I could, because she shuts the door. Isn’t telling a client they don’t need the work bad for business? I’m not sure how her boss would take her comment, but I think Rose kind for saying so.

“Knock-knock, Ms. Wells. I’m Gideon Pierce,” the man at the door announces, and I expect to see someone who is filled with plastic and fillers. I’m stunned and speechless for the second time since setting foot in this room.

I’ve never—and I mean never—seen a man so devastatingly gorgeous. No work. All natural. But he looks like Michelangelo himself sculpted him. His hair is dark, and his hazel eyes almost make my bright blue ones look dull and lifeless by comparison. His body is covered in an expensive pair of tailored slacks, a white, button-up shirt and a black tie, which is topped off by his doctor’s coat. Even covered as he is, I can tell he’s muscular.

Our eyes lock, my tongue ties, and my stomach drops. Sensation between my legs ignites. I’m aroused. How could I not be?

That look. I’m paralyzed in place by his gaze, and I feel claimed. It’s as if his eyes control me. Where they wander, I go, because I refuse to be without his constant eye contact. He’s ecstasy in human form.

“Ms. Wells,” he says again.

His voice pulls me from my wayward thoughts. When I look at him, I detect heat in his eyes.

I’m not unattractive, but I’m far out of this man’s league. And yes, he’s definitely a man, an alpha-looking one at that, who appears to be in his mid-thirties.

“There is no way you are sitting in that chair for a consult.” He breaks the standoff with a chuckle.

I find my voice. “Is something funny about that? Do you laugh at all your patients?”

“No. But you shouldn’t even be a client of mine.” His voice is deep and gravelly, and it just fuels that tingle between my legs.

“What is that supposed to mean?” I actually take offense, regardless that my panties are soaked through.

“That means a woman who looks like you shouldn’t change a goddamn thing, baby.”

“Baby? What is this? Aren’t you supposed to be a professional?” The endearment did things to me—not even my mother has ever called me that—but I refuse to give him the satisfaction, so I stay sitting up straight and fight the urge to rub my thighs together to relieve the ache at their apex.

“I don’t want to be professional. Not with you. Fucking look at you.” He gestures with his huge hand I immediately picture wrapped around my throat.

Where the hell did that thought come from?

I shake my head. “Oh my God, you just see a patient you like and approach her like she’s prey?”

“No. Just you.”

I roll my eyes, but the most shocking part of all this?

I’m not moving. No attempt to leave is being made. Why? And how is this man turning what should be deemed highly disrespectful and demeaning into something that’s making me feel powerful?

“I’m here for a consult. Maybe I should take my business elsewhere.” I finally stand and slide the strap of my purse up my arm and over my shoulder.

“I would recommend someone, but I refuse to do that.” He steps in front of me, our bodies mere inches apart, and I suck in a deep breath.

“Gideon.” What possesses me to use this stranger’s first name versus his professional name is beyond me, but I would be lying if I said it didn’t feel… destined or right.

“That sounds fucking beautiful coming from your mouth, Scarlett.”

Never has my name sounded like a prayer all while being highly sexual in tone, but Gideon Pierce… he managed it. He broke the code.

“I can’t work on perfection, but I will say I want to keep it in my hands, and I would be a goddamn fool if I let you leave here without agreeing to grab dinner with me.”

“Dinner?” Seriously? Am I awake? “Pinch me.”

He laughs, his Adam’s apple moving, another eye-level sign of his masculinity. “Pinch you?”

Shit. Did I say that out loud?

“I’m sorry, but this is insane. I can’t believe you just walked in here, complimented me, then asked me on a date.”