16. Tara
TARA
I’d been watching the clock on my office wall for the past twenty minutes, trying not to seem obvious about it.
The cleaning staff had already come and gone, leaving behind the antiseptic smell that permeated the medical wing after hours.
Most of the other office lights were off—just a few security lamps casting long shadows down the corridor.
Seven-fifty-eight on a Friday night, and I was pretending to catch up on paperwork.
I shifted in my chair, uncrossing and recrossing my legs. The motion sent a delicious reminder of last night’s activities shooting through my body—little aches in places that made me bite my lip to suppress a smile. Professional decorum be damned, I couldn’t wait to see him again.
Seven-fifty-nine.
The past week had been the most exhilarating of my life.
After years of watching Xander McCrae from a distance, I was finally getting to know the real Xander.
The one who laughed with his whole body.
The one with a scar on his hip from falling off a bicycle when he was nine.
The one who kissed like he was drowning and I was air.
I traced my collarbone, remembering the feel of his lips there.
We’d found a moment between his training and my patient rounds, ducking into a supply closet like teenagers.
His hands had been everywhere at once, and I’d had to bite down on his shoulder to keep from crying out when he slid his fingers inside me.
Eight o’clock.
A soft knock at my door sent my heart rate skyrocketing. I took a deep breath before calling out, “Come in.”
The door opened, and there he was—all six feet three inches of him, freshly showered, his dark hair still damp at the temples.
He wore jeans and a simple gray t-shirt that clung to his shoulders in a way that made my mouth go dry.
The door shut behind him, and his face broke into that devastating smile I was still getting used to seeing directed at me.
“Dr. Swanson,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Working late again? You know what they say about all work and no play.”
I leaned back in my chair, allowing myself to drink him in. “I thought that’s why you were here, Mr. McCrae. To help me with the ‘play’ part of that equation.”
His eyes darkened as he moved toward my desk, his gait unhurried but purposeful. “Happy to be of service.”
He rounded the desk, and I swiveled my chair to face him. He was intoxicating.
“You’re staring,” he said, the corner of his mouth quirking up.
“I am,” I admitted. “Is that a problem?”
“Not at all.” He braced his hands on the arms of my chair, effectively caging me in. “I like it when you stare. Reminds me of how you looked at me last week during my physical. Like you were cataloging every inch.”
I tilted my head back to maintain eye contact. “I was. Professional interest, of course.”
“Of course.” His face was inches from mine now. “And is your interest still... professional?”
I reached up, running my finger along his jawline, feeling the slight stubble there. “Not even remotely.”
His laugh was warm against my lips as he closed the distance between us.
The kiss started slow, almost chaste, but quickly deepened as I parted my lips for him.
His tongue slid against mine, and I couldn’t help the small sound that escaped me.
He groaned in response, his hands leaving the chair to tangle in my hair.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard.
“I’ve been thinking about doing that all afternoon,” he confessed, his forehead resting against mine.
“Just that?” I teased, my hands sliding under his shirt to feel the warm skin beneath.
His eyes, mossy green and alive with desire, held mine. “No. Not just that.”
He straightened, pulling me up with him. I let him guide me backward until I felt the edge of the examination table against the backs of my thighs. The same table where I’d first asserted my dominance over him during his physical. The irony wasn’t lost on me.
“Turnabout is fair play, Doctor,” he murmured, as if reading my thoughts. He lifted me easily, setting me on the edge of the table, my skirt riding up as he stepped between my legs.
“Is that what this is? A game?” I asked, even as my body betrayed my desire, my legs wrapping around his waist to pull him closer.
He paused, his hands stilling on my thighs. “No. This is not a game to me, Tara.”
The sincerity in his voice made my chest tighten. I reached up, tracing the outline of his lips with my finger. “Good. Because it’s not a game to me either. Not anymore.”
The admission was full of implications neither of us was ready to voice aloud.
Instead, we let our bodies speak for us.
His hands resumed their exploration, pushing my skirt higher, his fingers tracing patterns on my inner thighs that made me shiver.
I pulled his shirt over his head, revealing the taut muscles of his chest and abdomen, marked here and there with the scars of his profession.
“You know, I was thinking. Taking down that obsession wall of me,” he said. “That couldn’t have been easy.”
“It wasn’t,” I admitted. “It felt like erasing a part of myself. But I don’t need it anymore. I have you now. The real you.”
His smile was soft, almost vulnerable. “You do have me. All of me.”
The moment stretched between us, something profound and fragile taking shape. Then he kissed me again, and thought became impossible. My hands fumbled with his belt as his lips traced a path down my neck, making me gasp when he found the sensitive spot just below my ear.
“You’re wearing too many clothes,” he murmured against my skin.
I couldn’t agree more. We undressed with urgent movements, afraid the spell might break if we took too long. When we were both naked, he stood back for a moment, his eyes roaming over me with a hunger that made me feel powerful and vulnerable all at once.
“God, you’re gorgeous,” he said, his voice rough with desire.
I reached for him, pulling him back to me. “Show me how gorgeous you think I am.”
He did. Right there on the examination table, he worshipped every inch of me.
His hands and mouth were everywhere, drawing sounds from me I didn’t know I could make.
When he finally slid inside me, the sense of completion was overwhelming.
We moved together with a synchronicity that felt both new and familiar, as if our bodies had always known how to dance together.
“Look at me,” he commanded softly as I felt myself nearing the edge. I opened my eyes to find his gaze intense on mine. “I want to see you come undone.”
It was his eyes that did it—the raw vulnerability and desire I saw there. I came with his name on my lips, my body clenching around him. He followed moments later, his face buried in my neck, his breath hot against my skin as he pulsed inside me.
We stayed like that for a long moment, our breathing gradually slowing, his weight a comforting pressure on top of me. I ran my fingers through his hair, marveling at how right this felt—how right he felt.
“We should probably get dressed,” I said eventually, though I made no move to do so. “Security does rounds every hour.”
He groaned but pulled away, reaching for his discarded clothes. “Always the voice of reason, Dr. Swanson.”
I sat up, watching as he pulled on his jeans. “One of us has to be. And since you’re the one who suggested sex in my office...”
He grinned, unrepentant. “I didn’t hear any complaints. In fact, I’m pretty sure I heard the opposite of complaints.”
I felt my cheeks heat as I slid off the table, grabbing my blouse from where it had landed on my desk chair. “I’m not complaining. Just pointing out the facts.”
He stepped behind me as I buttoned my blouse, his arms wrapping around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder. “Fact 1… that was amazing. Fact 2… you’re amazing. Fact 3… I can’t wait for tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. Our Naples trip to confront Rick Morrison. The real reason we’d met tonight—to finalize our plans before setting out early in the morning. The reminder sobered me.
“About tomorrow,” I said, turning in his arms to face him. “Are you sure you’re ready for this? Whatever Morrison tells us... it could change everything.”
Xander’s expression grew serious. “I’m ready. I’ve lived with half-truths and guilt for too long. I need to know what really happened that night. Even if I was the one driving.”
I nodded, understanding completely. “I’ll pick you up at seven, then. We should get there by early afternoon.”
“Actually,” he said, a hint of his earlier smile returning, “I thought I could drive.”
“Fine,” I conceded. “But I’m bringing the coffee and snacks.”
“Deal.” He sealed it with a quick kiss before releasing me to finish dressing.
The highway unfurled in front of us like an endless black belt through Florida’s scenery. Palm trees disappeared, replaced by scruffy pines as we drove north, the morning sunlight splashing across the road.
I checked out Xander from my seat, taking in his profile while he handled the wheel. That strong jaw, the little crease between his eyebrows when he focused, those hands gripping the steering wheel like he owned it.
“You’re doing it again,” he said without taking his eyes off the road.
“Doing what?”
“Staring. Analyzing.”
I smiled, not bothering to deny it. “Force of habit, I guess. A life of observation is hard to break.”
He glanced at me, his expression softening. “I’m not complaining. I enjoy being the focus of your attention. Always have.”
The admission caught me off guard. “Always?”
He returned his gaze to the road, a slight flush coloring his cheeks. “Even back then. When you were sixteen, I noticed you watching me when you thought I wasn’t looking.”
“You knew?” I felt heat rise to my face. “And you never said anything?”