Page 84

Sure. Let’s call it that instead of painfully aware of how badly I want to get her naked.

The truth—which she’ll never hear—is that I called the hotel three days ago and spent six minutes on hold requesting separate beds.

Because I know myself.

Put Beatrix Walker in a bed beside me, after wearing that red dress and smelling the way she does, and every good intention I’ve had this semester is getting dragged outside and shot.

So I removed the temptation.

Now I’m staring at the empty space between the beds and thinking I’m a complete fucking idiot.

“Disappointed?” I ask, letting my voice drop. “You can still share mine.”

“I’m not disappointed.” The answer comes too slowly, and the pink creeping into her cheeks doesn’t help her case. Or am I just imagining things?

I hold her gaze for another second, then look away.

Teasing her is fun, but I can’t push it.

She reaches up to remove one delicate gold earring, then the other. Her hair loosens as she does it, falling around her bare shoulders.

I watch every fucking second.

The red dress catches the light when she moves. Her heels are already abandoned by the door, leaving her barefoot and somehow even sexier than she was downstairs. Less polished and more touchable.

I drag my attention back to her face before she catches me staring at her legs again.

“Your dad,” she says, studying the room-service menu. “He enjoys disguising insults as compliments, doesn’t he?”

She lowers the menu. “He did it at least four times tonight, and I wanted to⁠—”

I swear her eyes flash with anger.

“Sorry.” She bites her lips. “He’s your father.”

“You can finish that sentence.”

“I wanted to say something very unladylike to a very eminent surgeon.”

I sit down on the edge of my bed.

“He’s not always like that,” I say.

“You don’t need to defend him.”

“I’m not.” I shrug. “He’s worse when he’s nervous.”

“Why would he be nervous? He just won an award in a room full of people who think he’s God.”

“Because I was there,” I say it simply. “He doesn’t know what to do with me. Never has. It makes him nervous, and when he’s nervous he gets—” I roll my sleeves up, one then the other. “Like that. All those people are very accomplished and know how to handle themselves. I’m a little more unpredictable.”

Bea sits on the edge of her bed, one leg crossed over the other, red fabric gathered around her thighs.

Christ.

“For what it’s worth,” she says, “you were better than all of them tonight.”

I glance at her. “Careful, Doc. Compliment me in a hotel room, and I might misunderstand your intentions.”