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Boyd
Idon’t have time to think about my actions with Fiona at the office, because the second she leaves, my throat constricts so painfully that I have to page the assistant and have her drop me off at King’s Trace Medical; I don’t miss the way the blonde’s eyes continually flicker from the road to my form, reminding myself to put a disciplinary note in her file when we get back that somehow punishes her for being easily distracted.
After the day I’ve had, I’m certainly not fucking interested in Craig Ivers’ sloppy seconds. Not when I could have his virginal little princess eating out of the palm of my hand by sundown.
Maybe that’s why, when the patient access rep hands me a clipboard with a packet hooked to it, I write Fiona’s information under the emergency contact section. Chelsea sits in the seat beside me even though I told her she could leave, watching over my shoulder.
“You could put me down, if you wanted,” I snort silently. God, I’d fucking love to. “Here, let me just write my number—” She reaches into my lap for the board, intentionally brushing her fingers against my dick, letting out a giggle when she does. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry! I swear, I’m just so clumsy sometimes. Let me help.”
Batting her hands away and giving her a dirty look, because it still feels like there’s a concrete balloon lodged in my esophagus, I finish the form just as a nurse calls my name, gesturing for me to enter the closed-off emergency wing. She’s a short, heavyset woman with a bandana wrapped around her head, and she glances behind me as I walk through the door, observing Chelsea.
“You can bring your girlfriend back, if you want.”
I just stare at her, flames sliding down my throat.
She stares back.
My eyebrows raise.
Finally, she sighs and lets the door fall shut behind us, barring Chelsea from following. Once we get to the private room and the nurse administers the EpiPen, she leaves me to relax on the exam chair and allow my body to return to its pre-panic state.
It was stupid to eat that chocolate chip cookie, even though the allergy is fairly mild. Even more stupid not to keep my own EpiPen in my desk at work, but since getting promoted a while back and cleaning out the stuff from my downstairs office, I haven’t restocked.
Worse yet, I wanted it to mean something to Fiona—wanted to see her pretty brown eyes flare with lust as she drank in my words and soaked in my depravity, wanted that sunshine demeanor she wears as a mask to falter in my shadows.
From the second she stepped in, I’d seen how her body responded to me; noticed the blush staining her cheeks, the slight indentation in her sweater when her nipples puckered against the material. I don’t think she even noticed them hardening beneath my perusal, but fuck me. I did. It was all I could do not to throw her down on my desk and ravage her right then.
And Christ, the way her thighs clenched tightly together, as if her strength would ever be enough to keep me from between them if I really wanted to be there. The sudden onslaught of uncontrollable lust I have for the redhead is intoxicating and confusing, and the fact that she’s completely forbidden seems to make the temptation so much sweeter.
I’m Adam in the Garden of Eden, powerless against the whims of humanity.
Not that I’m ever going to act on those desires; I’d destroy Fiona, absorb her innocence, and spit out something tainted instead if I ever got my hands on her.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t imagine how she’d feel, crumbling at my feet, begging for my mercy. When the door to the exam room flies open and she’s standing there in her short, plaid skirt, hair askew, it’s all I can do to think of anything else.
I grab the Dixie cup of water the nurse left on the metal stand beside me and take a sip, watching as her eyes dart around the room, a deer trapped in headlights. She pulls her purse strap tight against her shoulder, closing the door with a soft click.
“Um, Boyd?” she says, a slight wobble in her voice sending a bolt of arousal down my spine. I like the fear. It’s the most honest, real thing about her. “Where’s Kieran? Reception called my cell phone and said my brother had been checked in and might need a ride home.”
“You got here quick.”
“Yeah, I was shopping at Green Apple Grocery, the little food store downtown?” She tucks a stray hair behind her ear, shifting on her feet. “I know they’re kind of small, but Mom likes the salmon they carry because it’s all caught locally, and the Walmart in Stonemore just doesn’t—”
“Fiona.”
She sucks in a breath, her sentence deflating. “You keep interrupting me.”
“Because you keep going off on tangents.” I tilt my head, setting the cup back on the table. “Do I make you nervous, princess? Is that why you try to fill the space between us with nonsense?”
Her eyebrows furrow. “It’s not nonsense, I was explaining where I was and why I came so quickly. I didn’t want you to think I was, like, sitting around and pining over our earlier conversation.”
I smirk; the blush that spreads from her cheeks to the slender slope of her neck says otherwise.
“Anyway,” she continues, crossing her arms over the tight little sweater she has on, making me wonder if her nipples are responding to me again. “You’re not my brother, and we aren’t friends. I don’t really understand why you called me here.”
Sitting up, I swing my legs over the side of the table, swiping my suit jacket from the plastic chair against the wall and slipping into it. “To be fair, I didn’t call you. I put your name down, just in case.”
“But... why?”
