Page 22 of Doctor Charmer

I feel my brows pinch in confusion, and then I realize what we were just discussing and how she would make that connection.

“Nothing so fun. Just cocktails and finger foods upstairs in the executive conference center here in the hospital.”

She stares at me, and I can imagine the ten questions that must be swirling in her head right now. I should take a step back and let her process, but I do the opposite. I lean forward.

She takes a half step back. Then another. Her backside hits the door, and her lips part.

“Shouldn’t I at least pretend to be monitoring my students rather than attending a party with a superhero?”

Her question is rhetorical, but I provide her with the response she might need to justify her actions. “All of your kids are on their way back to campus or home.”

She nods. “That still leaves…”

“Four here at the hospital, I know. Visiting hours end at eight o’clock. You have your entire night free.” I assume. For all I know, she might have six doctors, two orderlies, and a partridge in a pear tree waiting for her in the hospital lobby at the end of shift.

She leans back, her shoulders flat against the door, and I press a hand over her right shoulder, caging her in. My blood is racing, and I’m two seconds from losing our bet and couldn’t care less.

“I have just two questions,” she pants and lets the rest of her weight sag against the door. Her eyes flit down to my lips for two heartbeats before rising and capturing my gaze. “I already know the answer to the first one.”

The answer is yes. Yes, I want to kiss you right now.We stay frozen in our staring contest, and I wait for her second question.

“Isn’t the mixer only for employees of the hospital?”

Technically, she’d be right. I host two different monthly mixers. One just for the staff of the ER and another for anyone in the hospital. But it’s the holiday season. I put this one together for anyone working in the hospital, a chance to take part and enjoy some of the holiday fun they might be missing. That’s why it’s at the hospital.

“It’s a holiday mixer. Open to friends, families, girlfriends, whomever.”

“Which am I?” She doesn’t miss a beat.

I reach for the lapel of my lab coat and flick it. “You’re the one wearing my jacket. You tell me.”

She lowers her chin, tilting her head, her cheek pressed against my hand, pinning it in place across her upper chest. She takes a deep inhale. “You’ve gotten your scent all over me—marking your territory. “

She bats her lashes and nibbles at her lower lip, teasing another comment.

“How many other women will I meet at the mixer that smell like this?” She looks up, her sexy eyes turning serious. She voices a concern that hadn’t crossed my mind.

“I think you already know you are one of a kind.” I try to disarm her concern with charm. It’s what I do. A necessary deflection to keep her from digging into an area of my life I protect.

She ducks underneath my arm, spinning away from the door. Away from me. She stuffs her nervous hands deep into the pockets of my lab. My charm is not dousing her concern.

“I’m not that guy.” I say the words spoken by every man who was that guy once. “You don’t have to worry about anyone having an issue with you being there. No one has a claim to me.”

I expect my words to give her relief. Instead, it causes her brow to furrow. “You say it as if it’s a point of pride.” She tilts her shoulders back and removes my jacket. “I’ve been waiting so long for someone to claim ownership of me. Wishing for it, praying for it. You’re just like every other man, avoiding commitment like it’s a land mine. I…” She twists and places the jacket on the hook, pulling on it so hard I expect the hook to pop out. “I don’t even know why I thought…”

My hand lands on the back of her shoulder. I step forward, not stopping until my chest presses against her. I cage her against the door again. This time, it’s different. Gone is the playfulness. In its place is a hunger dripping in desperation. I trace a finger across the outline of her face, moving the hair from her face around her ear so I can see all of her. “I enjoy your company.” I start in a place I know she won’t disagree. “I think you enjoy mine.”

I hear my good friend Angie’s voice in my head. After my heartbreak, we somehow became good friends. Real friends. She’s had many difficult conversations with me. About who I am, how I am perceived, and what I should do if I want tochange. This was lesson one: speak your heart. No matter how uncomfortable, no agenda, no expectations other than the truth. Let the chips fall where they may.

“I want to spend time with you, Ivy. Plain and simple. If I didn’t have the mixer, I would contrive another reason to spend time with you. I wouldn’t put it past me to unplug Griffin’s plugs, causing an alert to the nurses’ station just to have you race back here to the hospital.” There is no humor in my voice, only desire. I realize in short order she’s gotten under my skin. I have no idea what is going on. I have no idea if this is just the crazy chemistry between a man who charms and a woman who flirts as easily as most people breathe or something more. I have no idea other than to find out where it may lead.

“I want to get to know you better. I want to spend more time with you. If you’ll have me.” I lay it all on the line. The younger, clueless version of me never would have conceded this much power to another. I felt a need to always be in control. “Coach Ivy Springwood, will you join me at the holiday mixer? Will you be my date?” I make it clear my expectations. No misdirection. No confusing, charming mixed messages.

I step back from her, our heated bodies separating. I don’t stop moving until my backside hits the desk. I slip down onto it, and I wait for the verdict.

Worry floods my veins, and I wonder if I’ve overstepped. She’s warned me she is all talk. Accepting this invitation is clearly an action, crossing a line for both of us. I’ve made it clear my intent. It’s time for her to do the same.

It’s put up or shut up time.

---