Chapter 10 #2
I cut him off by moving again, reaching past him and blocking his hand as I grab a bottle of water from the table beside them, pressing it into her hand before the guy can say another word.
“You haven’t had one of these in a while,” I say softly.
Her fingers curl around it, and momentarily around mine, then her shoulders drop a fraction.
“Thanks.”
She steps closer to me, finally clear of this piece of shit.
“You good?” I ask, my voice pitched just loud enough for her.
She nods, then tips her head slightly toward the doors. “I think I’m ready to go.”
“Me too. I’ll walk you out.” Only then do I look back at the guy with a flat, assessing glance that makes it clear I fucking hate his guts. “Good luck with the rest of the night.”
Asshole.
I guide her with nothing more than my presence at her back, unsure she’d want another man’s hand on the small of her back after that douchebag’s, and we make our way through the crowd, throwing out friendly goodbyes and thank yous as we go.
The doors shut behind us, the city’s hum muting the noise of the gala, the cold air of the parking lot biting while my pulse still ticks too fast. We stand there for a moment, neither of us speaking.
Carina clears her throat and folds her arms, squinting as she looks out over the parking lot.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she says eventually.
“I know,” I reply, shoving my hands in my pockets.
Her breath is visible in the night as she exhales. “I was handling it.”
“I know.”
She side-eyes me as I move to shrug my jacket off. “Didn’t look like you knew.”
I drape my jacket around her shoulders. “Didn’t like the way he assumed he could touch you.”
She pauses, glancing at me again. Her fingers slide around the lapels of my jacket, tugging it closer around her frame.
“Thank you.”
I nod and look at the ground, biting the inside of my cheek for a beat before glancing back at her.
“You good to drive?”
She shakes her head. “No, I got a cab here.”
“I’ll take you home.”
There’s a pause.
“Okay.”
When we reach my truck, I open the passenger side for her, and she slides in, brushing past my front as she does.
I watch her as she leans around to grab the seatbelt, the swoop of her jaw, the curve of her throat where it meets her shoulder, then click the door closed.
My truck is warm, and she shifts in her seat toward me when I climb in my side, one knee angling in my direction as though her body’s already made a decision her mouth hasn’t caught up to yet.
“Okay, so,” she says lightly. “Directions.”
“Yeah. I’ll need those.”
She gives them, and I repeat them back, jumbling up the numbers on purpose, mostly because I don’t want the sound of her voice to stop yet.
The city moves past us as I drive, and the streetlights throw soft bands of gold across her face, catching the edge of her mouth, the sharp line of her cheekbone, the shimmer of amber in her whiskey eyes.
She twists the cap on her water bottle and takes a long drink, and I rip my eyes away from the way her throat bobs as she swallows, focusing on the road.
“Andrew Collins,” she says after a beat, wiping the water residue from her lips. “An orthopedic investor. He’s endowed three fellowships.”
I keep my eyes on the road, but my hands tighten on the wheel. “He’d be endowed with three assholes too, if I had my way.”
She huffs a laugh. “Men like him either think I’m not good enough to be in the room… or that I fit so well, they get to touch me.”
Something ugly and hot simmers through me.
“Not tonight.”
“No,” she agrees quietly.
We stop at a red light, and the silence stretches. She shifts in her seat.
“Thank you, again,” she says after a moment, looking straight ahead. “For stepping in and saving me.”
“I didn’t save you,” I reply. “I simply gave you an out.”
Her mouth curves as she considers that.
“Well, I took it.”
She subtly shifts to look at me, and I look right back at her. Our eyes remain tied, neither of us moving to fill the silence.
The light turns green, and a few minutes later, I pull up outside her apartment building. When I finally cut the engine, silence rushes back in.
I turn in my seat, resting an arm along the back of her headrest, not touching her, but pretty fucking close. Her gaze drops briefly to my mouth, then snaps back to my eyes. A maddeningly cute crease forms between her brows, as though she’s annoyed with herself for the slip.
“You’re staring,” she murmurs.
“I know.”
She licks her lips. “You’re not subtle.”
My eyes stay on her mouth.
“I know.”
Her bottom lip slides beneath her teeth before it pops back out. “Reid…”
“I’m really fucking trying, but…” I huff. “I’m failing.”
Something changes in her expression. Softens and sharpens, both at once.
She inhales, then shifts closer, just a fraction. Not enough to touch, but enough to make the space ache between us.
“I’m not very good at pretending there’s not something here,” she admits quietly.
“Good,” I reply, inching my head closer. “Neither am I.”
The distance between us starts to disappear, not in a rushed or desperate way, more drawn together slowly. My hand lifts, hovering near her jaw, close enough that I can feel the warmth of her skin, the faint hitch in her breath when she realizes how close we are.
Her lips part, and the world narrows to an inch of air between us—
BARP.
A car horn blasts abruptly down the street, shattering the moment, and she jolts back with a startled laugh, one hand flying to her chest.
“Jesus.”
I swear under my breath, dragging a hand down my face. “Unbelievable timing.”
She exhales, then looks at me again, more tentatively now.
“Do you… wanna come up?”
There’s nothing casual about the way she asks, and certainly no careful phrasing. It’s a question that hangs there, weighted with every near-kiss we’ve had this evening.
I tilt my head, my smirk evident. “For what reason?”
She blinks, clearly unprepared to be called on it.
“I—uh… I need to show you something.”
I smile despite myself. “You’re terrible at lying.”
She groans, scrubbing a hand over her face. “Okay, fine. I’m bad at this. I need to show you a, uhh… my new plant, Fernanda the Second? And I’m wearing your jacket and accidentally took it upstairs with me, so you need to come get it back.”
I raise a brow.
“I’m exhausted,” she counters, exasperation in her voice. “That’s my excuse.”
I smile again, helpless to deny her. “You realize I’m gonna come up no matter what you say.”
She huffs a sigh. “Good, because I was two seconds from reminding you I get clumsy when I’m tired, and I don’t wanna fall up the stairs tonight.”
I open my door and climb out, coming around to open hers, too.
“Better lead the way then, Havoc.”
Upstairs, her apartment is quiet and softly lit, the kind of space that feels as though it belongs to someone who’s rarely here long enough to settle. She kicks off her heels near the door, toeing them aside, then turns back to me.
“Okay,” she says, gesturing to the open-plan space. “Welcome to… this.”
My attention drifts, catching on the plants scattered around the room—or what used to be plants.
“You know most of these are dead, right?”
She winces, hanging back by the kitchen counter and draping my jacket over a chair. “They were alive when I bought them.
“Ah,” I say gravely. “A classic case of false advertising.”
She flips me off, but she’s smiling. My eyes linger on hers, but then I see something green out of the corner of my eye—succulents on the windowsill, still healthy-looking.
“Those must be new,” I note, moving across the room to take a closer look.
She tracks my movements. “Yeah. You said low maintenance was key.”
Something warm settles in my chest.
“You listened to me, huh?”
She shrugs, suddenly shy. “Only fair. You listened to me—begrudgingly—about your pre-op stuff.”
I turn back to face her. She’s still leaning on the kitchen counter, a whole room between us, but I want her closer.
She’s too young for me, too off-limits. I’ve spent weeks trying to do the right thing—letting her lead, keeping my distance.
But I’ve also memorized the sound of her laugh, something she doesn’t let everyone hear, and her favorite coffee order, and the exact moment her professional mask slips to show the softness underneath. And now I think I’m too fucking far gone to pretend that doesn’t mean something.
I take one step toward her, and she notices, the humor draining away and suddenly replaced by something heavier.
“Come here,” I say quietly.
“We shouldn’t,” she says, a laugh in her voice that doesn’t quite hide the truth underneath. But she takes a step toward me anyway.
“Agreed.” I nod, taking another step. “You’re younger than me.”
“A non-issue.” She bites her lip, moving closer. “But you’re my patient.”
Another step.
“Technically,” I say, my eyes tracing over her face, “not anymore.”
“I’m still your surgeon. Or I was. Which makes this… reckless. And unprofessional.”
I nod once with another step. “It does.”
“And yet, you’re still coming closer,” she adds.
“Terrible self-control,” I murmur.
Another step.
“Chronic,” she shoots back, eyes flicking briefly to my mouth.
We reach each other, and for a moment, neither of us moves. The air feels tight as I lift my hand, waiting to see if she’ll pull away, giving her time to stop this.
But she doesn’t.
My thumb grips her jaw, tilting her face up to mine, and her breath stutters at the contact. She looks back at me, eyes searching mine as though she needs me to make the call.
“Tell me you’re sure,” I say roughly, my fingers weaving into the hair at the nape of her neck.
Her hands glide up my shirt, and she fists the collar lightly. “I’m… If there wasn’t a power imbalance here, I’d be sure.”
“Power imbalance? Because of my surgery?”
“Yes.” She frowns, her eyes traveling down my chest. “You were technically in my care, and patient-doctor relationships are…” She blows out a breath. “They’re a big deal, Reid.”
“What about the fact I’m older than you? Surely that’s a power imbalance, too.”
That gets a small snort. “Probably. But that one doesn’t bother me.”
“No?”
“I’ve always been drawn to older men.”
That’s not something I want to unpack right now, though the relief flows through me, heavier than expected.
“The patient thing doesn’t bother me, either. I’m not your patient anymore. Moreno runs my care, and Heidi’s handling rehab. Surgery and post-op were months ago.”
Her eyes close for a moment. “That’s not really how it works, but I take the point.”
“So… we’re even?”
She tilts her head, the corner of her mouth tugging. “You think the power imbalance is neutralized?”
I let out a low laugh, my fingers flexing in her hair.
“I just really wanna kiss you, Havoc.”
Her throat bobs as she swallows, fists tightening in my shirt as she considers my words.
“Then kiss me already, Hutchison.”
And then we collide, the kiss landing hot and fast, all restraint finally burning away.
She makes a soft sound against my mouth, somewhere between a gasp and a moan, and it shoots straight to my cock.
My hands cup each side of her jaw, unwilling to stop kissing her as I shuffle her backwards and press her into the wall.
One hand flies up to brace above her head, the other travels down to curl around her hip, dragging her flush to me.
Fingers roughly dive into my hair, tugging me closer, and I know this kiss is going to fucking end me on the spot. She tastes like champagne, and every second this kiss keeps going, I stop pretending I’m capable of walking away.
Her body arches into mine, hips catching mine just right, and I can feel the tremble in her thighs when I nudge my knee between them.
A breath stutters out of her. “Fuck—”
The word barely clears her lips before I swallow it, chasing the sound for more just like it. I fist the hem of her dress, tugging it higher until my fingers skim her bare, silky thigh, but I don’t go higher. Not yet.
There’s so much between us here—so much fire, but so much risk. And before I devour her, I want to be fucking sure. So I tear my mouth from hers, gasping for air as I lean my forehead down to hers, leaving only an inch of breath between us.
I know I want more. Fuck, I probably want too much. But I want her to want it, too.
So I force the words out on a rasp, before I change my mind.
“Do you want me to go?”