24/7.
I lower my chair legs and shift forward. Shit.
I’m ensnared without a fucking trap even being set.
“So let’s rewind,” he says. “Say that you hypothetically finished your year internship and started your residency, where would you’ve wanted to end up? Surgery or?—”
“Emergency medicine.” I fiddle with the saltshaker again. “But I didn’t have a choice.”
His brows knot. “What do you mean?”
I frown. “You really don’t know?” By his sheer confusion, I realize that he never figured it out. I edge forward, arms on the table. “Maximoff…I was going to become your concierge doctor.”
12
MAXIMOFF HALE
I stiffen,my face padlocked of emotion. Except for my sharpened cheekbones. My first thought:avoiding Farrow was always going to be unavoidable.In every alternate universe, I’m stuck with him.
My second thought makes me cringe.
“What?” Farrow asks, his fingers absentmindedly nudging his silver rings. He notices how I’m eyeing his hands. His know-it-all smile fucking kills me, and I swear he’s one second from saying,do you like that?
And I think,too damn much.
I’m not sharing the intimate details of my second thought. How hisfatherchecked up on me when I was eleven and had a rash on my dick. From chlorine irritation. Imagine if that Dr. Keene had actually beenFarrow—cringe with me.
I gesture to him. “I had a mild stroke at the thought of you being my doctor.” I feign surprise. “If only you were my doctor, you could actually save me right now.” My mouth falls. “What an idea.”
“You wouldn’t be talking if you had a stroke.”
I wear my irritation, and he laughs on cue,lovingto pop whatever humor I cast into the world. It shouldn’t turn me on, but most people just placate me. Farrow does the opposite.
When his laughter fades, he stares at me with a peeking smile.
I bite into an ice cube, my stomach tossing in a weird way. Almostexcited. “What?” I ask now.
“You want me to save you?” His brows rise with his barbells.
“I’d rather die,” I say instinctively.
“Maximoff.” He stretches closer to me. Over the table, and his voice drops to the deep, rough octave that strokes my cock. “As your bodyguard, I can’t let that happen.”
My gaze latches intensely onto his. And his brown eyes plaster onto my green. So strongly that I’m drop-dead positive we’re forcing ourselves not to look lower. Not to our lips, not to our bodies. Not to any forbidden place that’d cause disaster.
I try to master restraint, but my eyes say what my mouth can’t.
Kiss me.
He reads them.
I know he reads them, and our chests collapse and rise in heavy unison.Jesus Christ.
I can’t.
We can’t.
But I think,fucking kiss me.
