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"You and Scout are mine now, angel. I protect what's mine."
"W-what's yours? We're not property, Tate."
"Never said you were. You don't worship property," he murmurs, brushing his nose against mine. "You don't adore and covet and spoil it. I plan to do all those things for you and Scout. And when she's tucked away in her bed at night, sleeping peacefully, I intend to do it all over again just for you."
Oh, lord.
"I'm going to worship you on my knees with my tongue tucked between your thighs, Samara," he growls. "I'm going to spoil you with these hands, this mouth, and this dick."
"Tate," I groan, my head spinning. Is it normal for doctors to talk this way? Surely it isn't. Gage doesn't say these things, not around me anyway. And yet…and yet they sound perfectly right coming from Tate’s wicked lips. There isn't another doctor like him in the world, I'm sure of it.
"I'm going to give you the world, angel. As soon as you let me in."
Let him in? I'm pretty sure he knows more about me in one day than Troian learned the whole first year we knew each other. Opening up doesn't come naturally to me. My life has never been easy. It's never been pretty. If I don't count on anyone or get close to anyone, it hurts less when they inevitably disappear from my life.
"Kiss me," he orders, rubbing his nose against mine. "I need one little taste to hold me over."
I should tell him no, but I don't. He's in my personal space, working sex magic on my senses. I close the sliver of space between us, eagerly pressing my lips to his. For a protracted second, time seems to stand still. Neither of us move as electricity courses through me in a powerful deluge.
And then he grunts and I'm in his arms, my legs around his waist. His tongue thrusts into my mouth as his hands slip into the back of my panties, grabbing two handfuls of my ass. He grinds me against his erection, snarling like a starving lion.
I make the same desperate, needy sound, yanking on his hair, trying to get closer to him. Reality spirals away, leaving nothing but want and need andtake. It's primal, elemental, and somehow sexy as hell too. There's something so raw about it, so unrefined. This isn't some carefully planned seduction. This is desire in its purest form. It'sus, sparking like kindling and going up in flames.
"Fuck yeah," he groans, biting my lip. "Rub that pretty cunt all over me, angel."
I do. God help me, I do. I can't stop myself.
We stumble out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, locked together like two connected puzzle pieces. Halfway to the bed, I realize the ringing in my ears isn't blood pumping through my system. It's his phone.
"Tate," I gasp.
"Say my name again," he growls. "Louder."
"Tate, wait. Your phone."
For a minute, I think he's going to ignore me, but he growls a curse and reluctantly fishes it out of his pocket.
"What?" he snaps, his eyes blazing with deadly heat as they track across my face. Oh my. He does not like being interrupted.
I can't hear whoever he's talking to, but whatever they say instantly snaps him into focus. The haze clears between one heartbeat and the next as he carefully tucks the wild man away and slips into surgeon mode.
"When?" he asks and then listens for a minute. "Call Dr. Davidson in from pulmonary and prep the OR. I'll be there in fifteen minutes."
For the second time in twenty minutes, my heart stops beating for a second before leaping ahead with a jarring thud. Tate notices. As soon as he disconnects, he tosses the phone onto the bed, wrapping both arms around me.
"It's not Scout," he says. "Breathe, baby."
I suck in a deep breath, letting it out on a shaky exhale. "I thought…"
"I know." He rubs my back. "It's not her. It's not going to be her." He carries me to the bed and sits down with me in his lap. "Look at me."
I tilt my head back, meeting his gaze.
"We're performing her surgery first thing on Thursday morning," he says, his voice soft. "She'll be in the OR before the sun rises."
"Thursday?" I whisper, stunned. That's only three days from now. I don't know why, but I thought it would take longer. I guess I assumed it would take weeks to iron out the details, not days. She was in such bad shape when she got here, I think most of the other doctors never expected her to make it to surgery. They certainly haven't been in a rush to get her into the OR, which is exactly why Gage called Tate. Honestly, I think they're afraid to operate on her. They gave up on her before they even gave her a chance. Not Tate.
"Thursday." Tate cups my cheek in his palm. "It can't wait, angel. She's getting weaker by the day. The longer we wait, the riskier it gets. That's not a risk I'm willing to take with her or you. We've got to get in there now."
