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I need to go wake Sleeping Beauty. Jules can give me shit about my language later. Preferably after I process how absolutely fucked I am. Because the woman sleeping in my office? I'm pretty sureinterestdoesn't even begin to cover how I feel about her right now. Judging by the voice currently roaringminelike a demon, interest doesn't cover it by half.
"What's her name?"
"Her name is Samara Lansing," Jules says.
Samara Lansing.It suits her. The first name, anyway.
We'll work on changing the last name to mine after I save her niece.
Chapter Two
Samara
"SleepingBeauty."
Something drifts across the side of my face.
I groan, lifting my hand to bat it away. I'm warm and comfortable and I don't want to move, let alone wake up and deal with whatever crisis awaits me today. There have been a lot of those lately. I'm so tired. I can't remember the last time I slept for more than a couple of hours at a time.
"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty."
"It's too early," I complain, squeezing my eyes closed as if that'll make whoever is annoying me go away and stop interrupting my dream. I was on the beach, my toes in the sand, the rays of the hot California sun spilling down over me while waves crashed against the shoreline.
"Trust me, angel, I'm aware."
The amusement bleeding through the deep rumble of his voice breaks through the haze in my mind. The last lingering rays of the California sun slip away. The gentle crash of water against wet earth recedes, taking the feel of the sand beneath my feet with it.
I'm on a plush sofa, my hand tucked beneath my cheek, my neck bent at an odd angle.
This isn't the hospital.
I fly into a sitting position with a gasp.
"There you are."
I blink rapidly at the man crouched in front of me, trying to jolt my mind into motion. For a long moment, nothing comes. I just stare into the darkest green eyes I've ever seen in my life, my mind wiped clean. I'm not sure if it's the lack of sleep, if it's him, or if it's both causing the reaction. But I think it's him.
He's beautiful. His dark hair is damp and messy as if he recently showered and then ran his hands through it. A day's worth of stubble surrounds his full lips, softening his razor-sharp jawline. Intelligence and humor shine in his eyes as they track slowly across my face.
"Gold," he murmurs, one corner of his lips crooking upward.
"What?"
"Your eyes are gold."
"They're hazel."
I have no idea who he is or where I am, yet I instinctively know that I'm safe with him. I see that truth burning in his eyes—safety, security, sanctuary. Protection blazes in the emerald depths, searing me with softness and intensity in equal measures. So does something else…possession. The flames of it caress my skin like a kiss as his eyes document every feature of my face. From the scar on my forehead to the little freckles scattered across the bridge of my nose to the dimple in my right cheek, he misses nothing. His gaze roves downward, taking in my rumpled hoodie, wrinkled jeans, and ballet flats.
I steal another peek at him, trying to figure out who he is. He's gorgeous, there's no denying that. The white coat hanging open over his broad shoulders and the stethoscope peeking from around his neck finally jogs my brain into motion. Realization dawns with a powerful lurch.
"Dr. Grimes!" I blurt, relief rushing through me…followed immediately by the sting of embarrassment. This is Dr. Grimes, the pediatric heart surgeon Troian and her husband, Gage, sent me to see. I must have fallen asleep on the couch in his office waiting for our meeting. "I'm so sorry. I must have dozed off. Oh my gosh. What time is it?" I press my hands to my red cheeks, trying to calm my racing heart.
"Easy, Samara," he croons, reaching out to place a hand on my arm. An electric charge shoots from his palm to my skin, startling both of us. His gaze tangles with mine again. There's something calming about him…and something a little bit wild too. He's a lion. They're beautiful, powerful, and confident. They even seem peaceful when they're lounging on the rocks, bathing in the sun. But provoke one and you might live long enough to regret it.
This man isn't like any of the doctors I've met this week. There's nothing staid or ordinary about him. Nothingsafe.He's an apex predator and he knows it…but his eyes are soft, his expression full of empathy. All week, I've been floundering out of my depth, trying to understand complex medical problems I knew nothing about until a week ago. I've felt the sharp edge of judgement and the arrogant, condescending looks cast my way. Yet this man catches me sleeping in his office and still treats me with gentleness.
For a long moment, neither of us speaks. We just stare at one another again, his scent clouding my mind. It's leather and citrus. The combination is far more erotic than it should be.
