My surgical notes were clean, detailed. Every decision warranted, every rule followed.
I took a long pull from the bottled water and stared at the screen. What could the family be questioning, six weeks after Earl Greene’s death?
And why didn’t it feel like the hospital was backing me up?
I drew down the lid of my laptop and rubbed my thumbs across closed eyelids. The food had been good—Ms. Patricia’s cooking always was—but my stomach felt heavy, weighed down by more than food.
I tried not to dwell on my meeting in the morning, but my mind kept looping back to Banks’s offhand remark:
She’s fine as all hell.
With a tired exhale, I stretched out, body slouched low in my chair, and relaxed my thighs until they fell open. I slid my hand over my abs and then lower, past the elastic of my sweats, to the insistent warmth beneath.
A long, slow breath left my lungs as I allowed myself a brief moment of disconnect from everything except the tingle of anticipation that had crept in and refused to leave.
I let the images come. Not the sterile flashes of Harper walking around the administration wing or through the halls of RMC, but the Harper Sutton I could only see in my fantasies.
I’d never seen her outside of work context, but I was good at filling in the blanks and details—like what her sexy, sultry voice sounded like when she wasn’t being professional.
I let the fantasy spiral, let my carnal nature indulge in thoughts of what it would feel like to have all of her limbs wrapped tight around me, her body responding to mine. What she would sound like as her climax approached. How she would beg for more, harder, faster, deeper, not in the measured cadence of a work conversation but a ragged cry torn from her throat as she clung to my shoulders, the better to grind and rut her warm center against me.
I’d been working myself in a slow, methodical rhythm, but as the images took hold, my grip tightened and my pace quickened until I was chasing release with desperate urgency.
My wrist flicked and tightened as I sped up. Flames spiraled up from my groin. My breaths were harsh, my hips thrusting, not even pretending to be anything but an animal in that moment.
The vision of her, head thrown back, eyes narrowed in lust, mouth open, hips rolling against me, was so vivid that I was panting her name audibly, the sound ricocheting off the walls and hard surfaces of my office.
Harper…yeah… fuck…that’s it…ride it…ride me hard baby…Harper…sssshitttt…Harper…Harper…I— fuck, I’m comin’…Harperr?—
I arched in the chair, jaw clenched, thighs quivering as I pumped at a frantic, frenzied pace. I let go only when I couldn’t hold back anymore, shuddering as I soaked the inside of my sweats, plastering sticky heat over my fist.
The force of the climax left me momentarily stunned, my pulse a dull roar in my ears. For a moment, I sat with my head angled back against the leather chair, my eyes shut and my palm gripping my dick like I’d been choking it. Aftershocks rippled through my body until every muscle gradually unclenched.
The fantasy still hovered at the edges of my mind, Harper’s name ricocheting like a burned-in afterimage.
Did I really just jack off to a daydream about a woman who might be directing my career implosion?
Yeah. And it was honestly the release I needed.
I stood, snatching a handful of tissues from the box on my desk, and mopped up as best I could, then headed upstairs. A half-hour later, I rolled into bed, set my alarm, then settled in, listening to the silence of the house.
I told myself I liked it this way, that I craved peace and being able to hear myself think.
But…
What if I could roll into bed behind a tall, leggy, thick, sexy woman who had just ridden the fuck out of me and was ready for more?
Chapter Three
HARPER
I arrived at the conference room early just to get set up. There was an art to an effective meeting.
The chairs needed to be positioned just so—close enough to encourage collaboration, but not so close that anyone felt crowded. I moved the head chair slightly away from the table, creating a subtle power dynamic that would work in my favor. The lighting dimmed with a touch of the control panel, the morning sun casting the room in a glow that made people more agreeable.
I pulled out a chair for Dr. Vaughn and set it across from me. I wanted to be able to catch his expression when he answered my questions, but there had to be a little space between us.
Laptop open, file cued up, the key sections flagged so I could find them without looking unprepared. Legal pad on my left, pen next to it, iPad off to the side.
