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Who am I kidding?Everythingabout this man is erotic as hell. I was expecting a middle-aged, bespectacled man with thinning hair and a perfunctory manner. This man is sex on legs.
"Um, I'm sorry I fell asleep," I whisper, trying to force that thought out of my head. It doesn't matter what Dr. Grimes looks like, how good he smells, or how hard my heart is pounding right now. It doesn't even matter that part of me wants to feel his hand on my skin again. All that matters is Scout. Gage and Troian trust this man to save her life.
"Jules said you drove in from Houston this morning." His dark brows furrow. "Had I known, we could have scheduled this meeting for later in the day."
"My niece has some tests later today," I explain, fidgeting though I don't know why. I don't owe him an explanation. One tumbles out anyway. "This was the only time in my schedule."
He eyes me for a minute, his expression softening with understanding. "You've been staying at the hospital with your niece."
"I'm her legal guardian."
"Her parents?"
A fresh wave of grief wells up before I can shove it back down. All week, I've been waiting for someone to ask outright about Siobhan and Danny, but no one has. They judge without facts, chalk my sister up to a bad mom who made bad decisions, and refer to her death in euphemisms as if that makes it more palatable. Hearing this man ask brings it all roaring back to the surface.
"They're dead," I whisper past the lump in my throat. "It happened a little over a week ago."
"Shit," he curses, regret flaring in his eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize…"
"It's fine," I lie, waving off his apology. I wave off the grief too, pushing it back down to deal with later. I'll cry when I'm alone in the shower like I do every night. It's the only time to myself I have these days. Every other minute of my day is spent with complete strangers in waiting rooms or the cafeteria or at Scout's bedside.
"Do you need a minute?"
"No." I quickly shake my head. "I need to get back as soon as possible."
He nods and rises to his feet.
I swallow hard. Lord, he's big. Not overweight just…big.He's maybe six-three with broad shoulders and a barrel chest. He looks more like a football player than a heart surgeon. Then again, Gage was an actor before he went to medical school…and I lived in a tiny trailer in the middle of nowhere before landing my dream job writing game apps for Troian's family's company. We all have lives and pasts, don't we? We all came from somewhere and we're all going somewhere.
Most of us, I amend silently, thinking about Siobhan again.
"Come on, Sleeping Beauty," Dr. Grimes says, holding out a hand to me. "Let's move to my desk and we'll talk about your niece."
I hesitate for a second and then place my hand in his. As soon as he touches me, that same electrical spark shoots up my arm. He feels it too and grits his teeth, letting out a soft curse. I stumble when he pulls me up, nearly bumping into him before I catch myself. He steadies me with a hand on my waist.
"Jesus, you're tiny," he mutters.
"Am not," I whisper, something soft washing through me. No one has ever accused me of being tiny. Short, yes. I'm barely five-three. But I'm thick and curvy and have been my whole life. I like the sound of this man calling me tiny though. Maybe I shouldn't. Maybe I need him to see me as strong and capable and powerful, but something about him seeing me as delicate doesn't immediately make me want to smash the patriarchy.
"Yeah, you are." He tips his head down toward mine, his expression soft. "How old are you, Samara?"
"Old enough to provide for Scout." I've already been through the whole spiel with the social worker assigned the Scout's case.
"Good to know," he says, leaning closer. There are flecks of jade in his eyes. "But that's not why I'm asking. I'm not questioning your ability to care for your niece. How old are you?"
"Twenty-two."
"You're young."
"I could say the same about you," I remind him, trying not to stare at his lips. His cologne is making me dizzy. Or maybe it's just him. "I've seen a lot of doctors this week. None of them look like you."
His lips tip up into that crooked grin again. "You know what makes me a hell of a doctor?"
"What?" I whisper, completely transfixed by this man. There's something about him that's just…spellbinding. I want to lean in closer, enfold myself into his personal space, and let his shadow embrace me. I want to lethimhold me until my world makes sense again.
No. No way, Samara. He's going to be Scout's surgeon. That's it.
"My age," he says, his deep voice whisper soft. Somehow, his eyes seem to whisper too, though I don't even know how that's possible. "I've got steady hands and a stubborn streak a mile wide. I decided when I was still a kid that I wanted to save other kids, so that's what I've dedicated my whole life to doing. I'm one of the best pediatric heart surgeons in the country because Iwantedto be one of the best. I didn't learn through trial and error or because wisdom comes with age. I learned because I wanted to learn, understand?"
