Page 4 of Tempting

“Yeah well, I don’t remember you being this bossy, Nix.” A weird little zing of electricity passes between us as I brush by him and almost fall flat on my face. I catch myself as I trip over the metal door frame. Stupid heels. They make my legs and ass look incredible in this dress, but they pinch the shit out of my toes.

Guess I’m paying the price now.

Nixon’s hands reach out and right me, making sure I don’t fall.

Yup. There’s that little zing again.

What the hell is up with that?

He doesn’t drop his hands right away as the front door swings shut behind us, and a throat clears in front of us.

One that sends an unwelcome awareness down my spine.

“Dr. Hayes,” the unwelcome voice cuts into the building tension.

Nixon must sense my unease because instead of letting go, he tugs me closer to him, and I watch Dr. Dick’s eyes track the movement.

“Dr. Richardson,” I answer professionally. Not that I have a choice. He’s the head of Obstetrics and Gynecology at Kroydon Hills Hospital. And since the practice I now work for delivers most of their babies there, I’ll be dealing with this man often.

Dr. Dick, as I overheard a few nurses refer to him quietly last week, stands in front of us in pressed khakis and a polo, easily in his mid-forties and kind of hot in an all-American sort of way, but also kind of creepy in a pushy, uncomfortable, might not take no for an answer, sort of way too. Dr. Dick asked me out during my very first day of rounds at the hospital, and I politely declined. I have no desire to date one of my bosses, let alone someone whose ego proceeds him.

He hasn’t quite accepted my no, thank-you though.

I’ve ignored his overt flirting, refusing to acknowledge it.

That’s not how I want to start my career.

There’s something about him I can’t quite place my finger on.

He towers over me, but next to Nixon, he looks small. And he’s absolutely sizing Nixon up when his eyes get caught on the big hand wrapped around my waist, resting tightly on my hip.

Yeah... I want to tell him it’s distracting the hell out of me too.

“I wasn’t aware you were seeing someone, Mackenzie.”

Okay, so my go-to answer right now should probably be, why the hell would you be aware? We’re not friends, and I don’t talk about my personal life... or lack thereof.

Like. Ever.

Becket Kingston, the closest thing I’ll ever have to a father, is a very high-profile Senator, so I learned early on to keep my private life just that... private. I don’t bother with social media. I don’t talk about my family or my famous friends outside my circle. And this man is not my friend.

Not that any of that actually matters because I’m not seeing Nixon Sinclair.

Hell... I haven’t been seeing someone since high school.

But as Nixon’s grip tightens on my hip, I’m not sure anyone told him that.

NIXON

I’ve got a bad fucking feeling about this douche.

I don’t know who he is, but I don’t like him or the way he’s looking at Mac.

She tensed up the minute she saw him, and that’s all I need to know. A woman doesn’t tense up unless you’ve done something incredibly right or significantly wrong. And it doesn’t seem like this dude has done anything right.

This woman is my sisters’ best friend, which makes her part of my circle.

And I protect what’s mine.

---