“It might have been a slow puncture, or you drove on something sharp on your way here.”
I groaned, but my eyes didn’t budge. That ass deserved a Nobel Prize. Firm as—
“Why don't I drop you off at home? It is late, and you need to rest.” He stood up, and his jacket covered his buttocks.
This was a sad ending to a lovely evening.
“Charlotte?”
“Uh, yeah.” I jerked upright, cheeks flaming. “I have roadside recovery. I’ll deal with it tomorrow. Sorry for, uh…this.” I gestured vaguely at my car, my life, my mortifying existence.
“Do you need to get anything from your car?”
“No, I’m just glad it happened while the car was parked. There isn't a parking time limit in this car park, so it should be good for the night.”
“These things happen,” he murmured, walking back to get my trolley.
We walked to his car, a slick black Bentley. I watched him put our bags in the boot, but when I reached the trolleys to put them away, he snatched them from me and strode off to put them away. Unfortunately, I didn't see either buttock in the process.
As I buckled into his car, the scent of his cologne wrapped around me—clean, clinical, with a hint of something metallic.
“You smell like a hospital,” I teased.
“I like the smell of hospitals,” he said, checking my belt before reaching for his.
We didn't move after the engine began to purr, and I glanced at him.
“I need your address.”
“Oh, God. Of course,” I said, rattling off the address.
The man must think I was a lunatic, but he was too much of a gentleman to say it.
???
Dr. Vale carried all my bags upstairs like some chivalrous knight, though I was pretty sure knights didn’t have biceps that could crack walnuts or a stare that made my knees weak. I took my time, careful with every step, my pre-eclampsia fears making me move like a tortoise on sedatives.
Then I saw it.
Tom’s mailbox.
Bursting with letters, flyers spilling out like confetti. Strange. Tom never went anywhere without telling me. He was the kind of neighbour who watered my plants and complained about my recycling habits.
Where was he?
A throat cleared behind me—deep, smooth, expectant. I turned, but at five-foot-nothing, my gaze landed squarely on his tie. That damn Windsor knot, so perfect it looked photoshopped. Cobalt blue and black, like a bruise in silk.
I forced my eyes upward, past the crisp collar, the strong jaw, until—
His lips.
Succulent was the only word. The kind of lips that made you wonder if kissing him would feel like sin or salvation. These hormones were killing me.
“Thank you, Dr. Vale,” I stammered.
A slow smile curved that sinful mouth. “We spent the night together, and I’m meeting your parents. I think you can call me Elliot now.”
My brain short-circuited. Spent the night? We’d shared a grocery trip, not a bed. But before I could correct him—
