Page 48 of Stirred Up

“A date,” I say with conviction.

His eyes search mine with trepidation, gauging my sincerity, obviously finding what they seek as a brilliant, wickedly beautiful grin lights up his face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm, what did you have in mind?” Finally he touches me, an innocent caress over my knuckles, speaking volumes.

“I want to cook you one of my specialties.”

His other hand brushes over my cheek. “Is that so?”

“Mhhm. Then I thought we could cuddle on my couch and watch a movie.”

“I’d like that,” he says head dipping to mine.

“Me too.” As hard as it is, I duck down and slink off the exam table.

He turns to me, watching as I grab my wig, twisting up my ponytail and pulling it back on then snatch my sunglasses.

“My place, tonight. Eightish?” I say, desperately wanting to kiss him but feeling the overwhelming need to wait, to give him a real date first. I slide on my sunglasses.

“Eightish,” he confirms, then walks over and startles me. I think he’s going to take my face in his hands, but instead he places them on the wig, adjusting it slightly. He leans down and presses a kiss to my cheek. “See you then, Ms. Beaverhousen.”

****

At eight o’clock sharp, there’s a rasp on my door and I hastily straighten my hair and outfit, suppressing a giggle as I go to answer it.

“Well, hello,” I coo. “How lucky am I to have a doctorthat makes house calls!”

A frown begins to darken his expression but I quickly remedy it.

“Kidding, kidding. Come in.”

Relaxing, he runs his gaze over me then back up to my face with a smile. “These are for you.” He hands me a stunning bouquet of lilies and daisies.

“Thank you.” I inhale their vibrant scent then close the door after he steps in. “Make yourself comfortable. Dinner is about ready, twenty minutes tops. Something to drink?”

“Whatever you’ve having is fine. What can I help with?” He follows me to the kitchen, resting back against the counter.

“I got it covered, thanks.”

Filling a vase with water, I turn back, finally stopping to take him in. His sultry brown hair is styled as though he ran his hands through every piece. The light grey dress shirt does little to hide the stunning male physique of broad, but not too bulky, shoulders and a wide chest. With his hands braced on the counter, his muscular biceps beg to rip through the fabric.

Taking my time, my searing appreciation travels downward to lean hips encased in dark washed jeans, which I already observed grip his firm ass flawlessly.

Yeah—he definitely turns up the heat in the kitchen.

“Do I pass inspection?” he asks in a seductive husk.

My cheeks blush as I drop the bouquet in the vase and turn away, the food suddenly needing my attention. “Yes,” I answer softly.

“As do you, every damn time,” he speaks in my ear now, pressed against my back, moving the hair off my neck where he nuzzles in. “Smells delicious,” he murmurs, running his nose up my neck.

“It’s three cheese lasagna,” I reply in a lust-fueled whisper.

“I was talking about your skin.”

“Oh.” The spatula falls from my shaky hands, making a rather loud clang on the counter.

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