Page 40 of Late Harvest

“Want to fill me in on the destination of that thought train?” Arabella’s curious voice interrupted his ruminations, her long fingers tapping the back of his hand before she seemed to realize what she’d done and snatched her hand back.

He dropped his head and laughed. “To a magical place my mother calls Bash’s Land of Wool-gathering. I have ADHD, so sometimes my mind wanders where my brain doesn’t want it to go. It’s a lifelong battle.”

Arabella smiled gently at him. “We all have our brain quirks, don’t we? I suffer from tunnel vision. When I get going, I don’t see anything else around me. It’s like my mental peripheral vision doesn’t exist. I think when the angels were handing out that particular gene, I was off watching F1.”

Bash barked out a laugh, reaching for her elegant hand where it rested on the table between them. A gentle, non-threatening movement, just like with the bunny. Bash allowed himself an internal smile when his queen didn’t pull away. “Well, it seems we complement each other then. You can help keep me focused on the right things and I’ll help you to unfocus a bit to see all the beautiful things you’re missing.”

“That sounds…intriguing.” Arabella rolled her lips in, a tiny blush creeping up her neck. “Seems we may both get more than we bargained for.”

Recognizing his skittish Scrub Angel was probably teetering on the precipice of bolting, he said nothing. Instead, he settled for the decadent pleasure of holding her gaze and her hand as he took her in. Those sapphire blue eyes wrecked him. And he would positively perish if he couldn’t run his hands through her hair—soon. A thin gold necklace graced her elegant neck, a tiny E nestled in the hollow. He’d spotted it in Brinder’s office and again at his sister’s home, and made a mental note to ask her about it when the time was right.

She had to be feeling out of sorts, given the shifting sands of their surprise deal and the run-in with Jerome. Arabella had handled the impromptu posing well—Bash subtly ensuring she was positioned in a flattering angle. At least the tenacious fucker hadn’t called in the pap cavalry. Typically, where there was one, the rest descended like a plague of locusts.

“Speaking of focus, may I redirect us to the purpose for today’s lunch?” Arabella spoke quietly, but firmly, and he recognized her doctor voice in action. It was hot as fuck, and his cock was starting to beg for some attention. That quiet, controlled confidence was the ultimate aphrodisiac, and he’d been a horny bastard since the moment he’d laid eyes on her. Every interaction with her only seemed to escalate that state of being.

“Please. Where shall we begin, my queen?”

Arabella huffed out a mirthless laugh. “How about right there? If I’m your queen and I marry you, that will make you king. And I’m not cut out to play second fiddle.”

Bash grinned at her. Magnificent—he’d used that word mentally over and over again, because it was the best damn description of Arabella Remington.

He held up a finger. “Au contraire, dearest. Not your king. Prince consort. Like Philip with Elizabeth—minus the cheating rumors and guards with the giant, furry hats.”

Now Arabella threw her head back and laughed, pressing one hand over her mouth—likely to contain the volume of that unexpected, beautiful sound. Although he never wanted her to stifle herself, for any reason, Bash took the opportunity to study her hands. He’d noticed them as he was scanning for a wedding ring the first time they met. They were surgeon’s hands. Long, elegant fingers, tapering to a slim wrist. Pale skin with a tiny freckle nestled above one delicate wrist bone.

Fuck. He wanted to kiss that precious freckle, press the tip of his tongue against it.

“What are you thinking now, wool-gatherer?”

His gaze shot from her hand to her smiling eyes, and he grinned sheepishly. “Honestly? I was thinking that I’m low-key obsessed with your hands. It’s mind-blowing that those hands slice and heal bodies. You put them inside people. I mean, I put my fingers inside⁠—”

“Sebastian…” she warned, but her lips twitched. And was that a little flush rising up her neck?

“All kidding aside, Arabella, your hands are precious gifts. I’m in awe of you and what you do.”

Arabella brought one of those gifts to her chest, a tiny frown emerging between her shapely dark brown brows. “I think that may be one of the nicest things anyone has said to me, Sebastian. Thank you.”

“And I meant it most sincerely.”

“If you, uh, if you wanted, you could observe a case some time. That is, if you aren’t squeamish. Some orthopedic surgeries can get pretty gnarly. Drills and saws and whatnot.” He wondered if she realized she was wringing those impressive hands.

He flared his eyes wide. “I think I’m regretting the tomato sauce. Should’ve gotten pesto.” Bash was gratified to hear her giggle. “Um, can you offer me something less gnarly?”

“Arthroscopic cases aren’t too bad. And we can position you in the OR suite so you aren’t seeing much.”

“Sold.”

“Ok, then. It’s a date.” Arabella gave him one of her patented tightlipped smiles, but he could read her pleasure at their banter.

“A date. Alrighty. Whatever floats your boat, my queen. I prefer movies and long walks on the beach, but if that’s what you⁠—”

“Stop! You know what I meant.” She swatted at him, now smiling a bit wider. He could practically see the ice wall around her melting.

Gradually, her smile faded and, transfixed, he watched the bob of her alluring neck as she swallowed her water. For long moments they just stared at each other. It was an astonishingly intimate exchange, gazing into the sapphire eyes of this remarkable woman—far more intimate than some of the most vulnerable sexual acts he’d experienced.

Eventually, Arabella broke the connection, clearing her throat. He watched her slide back into doctor mode. All business.

“Speaking of cheating rumors, I think we should spend the rest of the lunch establishing ground rules, parameters, timing, and logistics.”