Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Annika
The sitting lounge is far too big and impossibly elegant, like something out of a magazine spread.
I sit at the edge of the velvety gray armchair, my toes curled against the plush cream rug. Across the low glass coffee table, Dr. Cross sits on the sleek taupe leather sofa, shoulders relaxed in a way that makes me itch. Still in the same white shirt and black trousers.
The entire suite feels both vast and too small, the brass floor lamp casting a soft golden light that makes every shadow seem intimate.
A champagne bucket sits beside a tray of glossy chocolates and pastel macaroons that look almost too pretty to eat. Behind him, the floor-to-ceiling windows frame the storm, lightning flickering across the glass. Like me, it seems the sky itself can’t sit still tonight.
After my impassioned declaration, I hoped Dr. Cross would pin me against the wall or order me to my knees. I have little experience with either, but I’m game. If there’s one man I trust completely in any scenario, it’s him. The realization sits like a brick on my chest.
Instead, he took my hand, nudged me into the armchair, fixed me a plate, and said, “Be a good girl and eat up every morsel.”
I do, working my way through the salad and then the risotto, hoping he will reward me. Each bite of the creamy risotto melts on my tongue, adding to the self-indulgent kick I’m on. I shake my head as he points the champagne bottle at me.
My executive dysfunction doesn’t need any sidekicks. Especially tonight, I want to be fully present.
God, even his fingers—long and square-nailed, turn me on. I’m not backing down from this, though my mind’s baffled as to what he finds attractive about me.
I know that I’m conventionally pretty. I have small, sharp features, a slender frame with big breasts, shapely hips, and long legs. Stuff guys really dig, Rahul told me once. That he was cuddling me as if I were his favorite stuffed toy instead of seducing the sexy siren he claimed I was should’ve given me a hint about his interests.
But what does pretty do for a sophisticated man like Dr. Cross?
I keep the doubts to myself, though. No man or woman will find constant self-deprecation attractive. Rebecca, my first and only girlfriend, also my older sister’s best friend, told me that.
“What’s that?” I ask, pointing to a small red cardboard box next to the champagne bucket. A grain of rice sprays outward from my fork, and I pretend like it didn’t happen.
Dr. Cross finishes chewing and licks his lower lip. “The receptionist asked me if I wanted the full Valentine’s Day works when I called. I said yes.”
I squeal as I recognize the package and put my plate down. “I know that game. Not strangers or something like that. I’ve played the friends version.”
His eyes rove my face as he hands me the box. My pulse zigzags as I realize he does that a lot.
Looks at me, into my eyes, and not just at my body. As if he’s hungry for anything I might reveal, accidentally or otherwise.
I pick at the edge of the box, cursing the small piece of circular tape that’s fighting me. The flap tears, and the smooth red cards slip into my hands. Catching his gaze, I shuffle them. “Wanna play?”
He wipes his mouth with his napkin. “Dessert?”
“Later.” Excitement ripples through me. Hopefully, the cards will kick us off into something that I’m unable to.
He bends down to pick up the tray, and a lock of hair falls forward onto his forehead. My fingers itch to push it away. I don’t know why I’m waiting for his permission. It feels like the calm before the storm, and I’m both scared and excited for the unknown.
Shuffling the cards, I wait for him to put away the trays. He’s methodical about it—piling the used forks and spoons on one side, closing the lids, and picking up the stray piece of paper and plastic. Even the grain of rice I dropped.
While he’s neatly arranging them outside the suite, I try to pull the sleek coffee table toward me. The damned thing is so heavy that it barely budges and my arms strain with the effort.
“What are you doing?” Dr. Cross demands, batting my hands away. “You’ll hurt your back.”
“You’re too far,” I say, breathing fast. I fall back into the cozy armchair with a dramatic swoon. “Also, my core is a fluffy cloud made of mushrooms and rice.”
He grins and rakes his gaze over me. From my hair to my knobby knees to my feet.
“Now,” I say, patting my poor palpitating heart, “it’s filled with butterflies and champagne bubbles and rainbows that have orgasms at the end instead of pots of gold.”
Color streaks the angular slash of his cheeks. He looks so good that I realize he might be doing permanent damage to both my retinas and my ovaries.
“Dr. Cross, you’re blushing,” I say in a whisper.
“What can I say? When you flirt with me,” his tone is low and raspy, “it makes me want to do filthy things to you.”
I clutch my lip between my teeth, but the “Yes, please,” sneaks out anyway.
He smooths a jerky hand through his hair, making the waves stand in all directions. “How about I plop on the table here?”
He sits on the now-empty table and spreads his legs enough that they’re straddling my armchair. My eyes glue to the way his trousers stretch against his thighs, to the outline of his erection.
“Annika?”
“Right,” I say without meeting his eyes.
Did he catch me drooling over his cock? Why am I so turned on when we haven’t even kissed while Rahul couldn’t get me excited after two clunky attempts? Is it the forbidden element? Or because Dr. Cross will never find out what a disaster I am? “We both pick a card and answer the questions. Easy-peasy.”
“Is there a penalty if we don’t?”
I turn the box around and look up. The wicked glint in his eyes turns me into that drunken pirate again. “Like truth or dare?”
He pops slim, matte-black frames onto his nose and opens the instruction leaflet I hand him. When he pushes them up the bridge of his nose, I think my ovaries melt, and I make this little whining sound.
“What?”
“The glasses… you look like a very stern professor.”
When he goes to pull them off, I stop him.
He turns his hand and traps my fingers. “Not a bad thing?”
“Not at all. You look like a sexy, strict professor who would punish you for turning in an essay late. Who then secretly enjoys every second of the punishment.”
“What are they teaching at universities these days?”
“Like in a smutty romance,” I clarify, warmth cresting my neck and cheeks. “You know one where you have a forbidden relationship with that professor? Or your boss. Could be the silver fox doctor you should have nothing to do with.”
His pale grey eyes fill with wicked heat. “Right. No wonder Jonah’s addicted to those books. I’ve been missing out, huh?”
“Seriously,” I say.
“Apparently, I have a lot of catching up to do with… life.”
He looks so serious that I feel this tight ache in my chest. It’s on the tip of my tongue to say I’m happy to be his guide. Instead, I bite the words off.
Only one night, Ani, remember?
“How about this? For every question one of us doesn’t answer, the other person can demand something else.”
“I should warn you, Ms. Rao.” He undoes the cuffs of his shirt and rolls them back as if he’s readying himself for a full-on brawl. The sight of his watch face on his hair-roughened forearm sends my belly into a tizzy. “I’m a very competitive man.” His gaze flashes with challenge. “Once I decide to win something, I don’t give up. Ever.”
“I’m messy and sometimes even unreliable. But not fragile.” I don’t know why I say it with such vehemence. Or why it’s so important that he sees me as strong.
The mood goes from humorous to charged.
Leaning forward, he runs his fingers over my knuckles. Over and over, in mindless trails, as if that’s all he can allow himself. “You’re not to be treated as if you’re fragile. Got it.” His smile chases away the sudden clamor of tears in my throat. “But if you were , it’s okay.”
“I’m not,” I say, shaking my head.
He nods, pats the back of my hand in an avuncular fashion that I hate, and takes the deck of cards from me. I’m regretting my outburst when he says, “Ready?”
At least he’s not backing out.
I nod. Several alarms go off in my head, warning me I’m getting too invested in his opinion of me. But I shove it aside.
He’s my one-night Valentine, and I won’t let anything ruin this for me.