Immediately, images of the weekend flash through my mind and my traitorous cock twitches at the memory.
"I'm not discussing this with a patient," I manage, though my voice sounds strained even to my own ears.
Cheryl's eyes widen with delight. "Oh my heavens, you're blushing. Actually blushing." She claps her hands together weakly. "This is better than cable television."
"We need to focus on—"
"The sex was good, wasn't it?" she interrupts. "I can tell by the way you're fidgeting. Did she let you do all the deliciously wicked things you've been thinking about?"
I nearly choke on air. "Holy fucking shit, Cheryl—"
"Language, young man." But she's grinning now, more alive than she's looked in days. "Though I suppose I should take that as confirmation. Good for you. You needed someone to ruffle those perfectly pressed feathers of yours."
Heat floods my face as I fumble for my professional composure. "Right. This is my cue to leave. Ms. DuBois, I’ll see you during rounds later."
I step into the hallway, Cheryl’s laughter short on my heels. For a moment, I just stand there, back against the wall, giving myself the luxury of a deep breath before my next performance. Staff meeting in ten minutes. The first time I'll see Mia in a professional setting since I watched her arch beneath me, gasping my name as she came apart under my tongue and fingers. Fuck. This is going to be more complicated than I thought.
My hand instinctively reaches for my tie, straightening what's already straight. I need to compartmentalize. Need to erect those walls that have served me so well over the years.
Smoothing down my lab coat, I head toward the conference room and abruptly pause when I round the corner. I can see her through the glass walls. Mia sits with her back to the door, that wild red hair contained in her usual braid. She's gesturing animatedly as she speaks to one of the nurses, hands movingin those expressive patterns I've come to recognize. Even from here, I can see the enthusiasm in the set of her shoulders, in the tilt of her head.
My body responds instantly, muscle memory kicking in with embarrassing predictability. I know the silky texture of that hair between my fingers. Know the exact pressure point at the base of her neck that makes her gasp. Know the taste of her skin, the sound of her laugh, the way she whispers my name when she's on the edge.
"Get it together," I mutter to myself, adjusting my grip on the tablet to hide any visible evidence of where my thoughts have wandered.
I can do this. I've spent my entire adult life maintaining perfect control, perfect boundaries. One weekend—no matter how mind-altering—doesn't change that. I refuse to be the cliché attending who can't separate his professional and personal lives.
With one final deep breath, I square my shoulders and push open the conference room door.
But even as I step inside, even as heads turn and conversations quiet at my entrance, even as I feel myself slide into the familiar role of department head, a single thought betrays me.
What will I taste on her lips when I kiss her in my office later?
Chapter 24
Mia
The conference room door opens, and my heart stutters in my chest like I'm some first-year resident meeting the chief of surgery. Sebastian strides in with the same deliberate confidence he used to cross my bedroom Saturday night. He’s wearing a crisp white button-down, burgundy tie, and perfectly pressed slacks that don't hint at what lies beneath. His face is a mask of professional indifference as he takes his seat at the head of the table, not even glancing in my direction.
I grip my pen tighter, focusing on the cool plastic against my fingers instead of the heat crawling up my neck. Less than twelve hours ago, those hands currently arranging files with clinical precision were tangled in my hair, and his mouth hot against my throat as he whispered filthy promises against my skin.
Now he might as well be a stranger.
"Good morning, everyone," he says, voice steady and controlled, no trace of the man who groaned my name as he came against my palm. "Let's begin."
My leg bounces under the table, an unconscious release of energy I can't contain. Across from me, Harper raises aneyebrow at my fidgeting, his perfect sandy-blond hair practically radiating judgment. I force my leg to still and focus on my notepad, where I've been doodling spirals instead of taking proper notes.
"First case," Sebastian announces, leading the staff meeting like it's any other Monday—cool, composed, and fucking clinical. He hands out files, fields suggestions, offers sharp corrections with that infuriatingly calm tone he always uses when he's in charge. No indication that he spent the weekend with his mouth on my skin, his hands everywhere they shouldn’t have been.
Sitting across from him, I try to act like my body isn’t still humming. Every glance, every clipped phrase pulls me deeper into a spiral I can’t afford. When he finally calls on me, his gaze doesn’t linger, but I see the slight clench of his jaw. Feel it like a phantom touch. He asks for a differential, and I manage an answer. Then he nods and just… moves on. Like nothing happened.
Like he doesn’t still live under my skin. And all I can do is sit there, biting my lip, pretending I’m not falling apart.
"Moving on to Ms. DuBois," Sebastian continues, sliding another file across the table. "Her condition is deteriorating faster than expected."
I sit up straighter at the mention of Cheryl.
"Her latest labs show liver involvement we hadn't anticipated," Sebastian says, his voice taking on a grim edge. "Dr. Phillips, you were exploring the autoimmune angle. Any progress?"
