“Excuse me?” I said.
His gaze held mine.
“You heard me.”
Anger rose fast.
Good.
Anger was cleaner than longing.
“You’re my patient,” I said.
“I noticed.”
“And Dr. Bennett is checking your chart.”
“Is he?”
Bennett cleared his throat. “I am, in fact, checking the chart.”
Dylan’s eyes did not leave mine. “Could’ve fooled me.”
Heat rushed up my neck.
Not embarrassment exactly.
Something worse.
Because I could feel the possessiveness in him. Could feel the fury and jealousy like a pulse. Could feel every buried thing he had no right to show me now, not after choosing Georgia’s hand over mine.
I stepped closer to the bed, lowering my voice. “You don’t get to do that.”
Bennett shifted, suddenly very interested in the monitor.
Dylan’s jaw flexed. “Do what?”
“Act like this.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Like what?”
“Like it matters who asks me to dinner.”
The words landed.
Hard.
Dylan flinched.
Not much.
Enough.
For one brief second, the anger slipped from his face and what was underneath nearly ruined me.
Longing.
Raw.
