Hotshot Doc(57)

He emits a little chuckle and shakes his head. His gaze stays pinned straight ahead.

Apparently, my remark isn’t even worth a response.

“Where was she surprised to see you?” I ask, trying to engage him again.

The elevator dings, halts, and the doors slide open. A few people step in, and we’re not at our floor yet, but our privacy is gone. My question lingers in the air between us, and now I have no hope of an answer. My heart is racing and there’s no doubt everyone in the small space feels the tension simmering between us. I catch sight of a woman watching me, and I wonder if she can tell I’m currently in the throes of a jealous rage.

The elevator can’t arrive on the seventh floor fast enough and when those doors slide open, I nearly tumble out, anxious for freedom. I gulp in a breath of air as if someone’s been holding my head under water. A hand hits my elbow and I’m tugged painfully to the side of the hall, dragged inside what looks to be a supply closet. The door slams closed behind us. A mop gets wedged carefully beneath the door handle so no one can come in…and no one can get out.

Matt turns to me and I take a hesitant step back. With only a little light filtering in from the hallway, his hard jaw and sharp features seem menacing and cruel. I’m standing in front of a ruthless surgeon—the man who makes grown men cry, the man who terrifies everyone who crosses his path.

“You made me sign that contract, Bailey,” he says, stepping closer. “You insisted you wanted nothing from me, so why are you acting like this? Like you’re jealous?”

My eyes widen. “I’m not!”

It’s the most pathetic, transparent lie I’ve ever told. I’m a toddler with scissors and choppy bangs proclaiming she has no idea who cut her hair.

“You asked me what I did this weekend. Why do you want to know?”

I look away. “I already told you—I was making small talk.”

“You’re lying.” I’ve never heard his voice quite so hard and challenging. “I ran into that nurse at the grocery store. She was shopping with her husband and daughter.”

My cheeks burn and I desperately hope it’s too dark in this tiny room for him to notice.

He takes another step forward and I hold up my hands as if to block him.

“I thought maybe you two were flirting,” I admit, though it seems a bit too late for honesty.

“And if we were?” he asks, his tone as unyielding as it was a moment ago.

He has me wedged against a hard metal shelf. It digs into my back. Any moment now someone will need to get into this supply closet and notice that the door is jammed. The handle will shake and my heart will leap into my throat.

“Matt,” I plead, suddenly genial and forgiving. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let myself get so worked up over nothing. It was immature. I realize that. Now let me by and I promise I won’t do it again.”

The corner of his mouth lifts into a menacing smirk.

My insides liquify.

“Bailey,” he says, reaching out to hook his finger underneath my chin. He tips my head up just a bit so my mouth is lifted to his.

I’m a shaking ball of anxiety at what he’s about to do. He can’t kiss me again. I’m still coming apart at the seams after the first one.

“I’d kiss you right now if I could.” My chest is heaving as he continues speaking. No amount of air is enough air. “I’d bend down, just like this—”

His mouth hovers over mine. I feel the barest touch of his lips. Every hair on my body stands on end. My hands reach back and grip the metal shelf because without it, I feel like I’ll float away.

“You want a kiss as badly as I do, and that’s why you’re wetting your bottom lip right now. That’s why you’re brushing your hips against mine.” I immediately stop doing both of those things. “Your every desire is written across your face. This face…”

I stand perfectly still as he leans back and drags a finger around the edge of my forehead, down the curve of my cheek and chin, until he reaches the nape of my neck, and then lower…right to the V neckline of my scrub top. If he flattened his palm, my heart would corroborate his every word.

“You’re flushed,” he says as his smile turns condescending.

“And you’re wrong,” I insist, voice quivering. “You think I want you to kiss me? I’m terrified of you.” His eyes spark as I continue, “You have all the power. If this doesn’t work out, I’ll be the one forced to find another job. When gossip spreads through the office, you’ll look like a playboy and I’ll look like the surgical assistant who couldn’t keep her legs closed. I’m not going down this road until I’m absolutely certain it’s what I want.”

“And what about me? What if it’s what I want?”

His hand curves around my throat and his thumb presses against my pulse. The action could seem threatening, but instead it’s gentle and intentional. I think he wants to shake sense into me, but he doesn’t. His eyes are locked with mine and there are a thousand emotions passing between us: longing, need, desire, want, jealousy, rage, and finally…impatience. I freeze as he tips his head down toward me again.

My heart soars and my breath catches as I brace myself for a soul-stealing kiss, but at the last moment—just before his mouth meets mine—he shifts and lets his forehead fall against the shelf beside me. His eyes pinch closed and he whispers my name like he’s in pain then he slams his hand against the shelf and turns for the door. The mop is thrown aside and the sound of it clattering against the concrete reverberates around the closet as he storms out.