The Bind

24. Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Four

Annaliese

“T ell me what’s going on with Dr. Andrews.”

I nearly choke on the expensive champagne, the bubbles bursting up my nose as I lower the flute from my lips. “Excuse me?” I rasp, swiping the dribble from my lower lip as I turn to face Martin. “What makes you think I know anything about Dr. Andrews?”

Martin raises a perfectly waxed brow at my obnoxious response. “Well, since you are the one that’s been his sidekick for the last few months, you are likely the one that also gets the brunt of his asshole behaviors. I thought maybe you’d know why he’s looking extra ornery tonight.” He gestures with his free hand behind me, and I take that opportunity to peek slowly over my shoulder where I last saw Colt standing.

I’ve done my best to pretend he’s just another doctor at the fundraiser tonight. When Martin and I arrived, I pretended to gawk at the white holiday decor and the gauzy lace fabric billowing from the windows. I pointed out the ice sculpture replica of the hospital logo, murmuring about how ridiculously expensive it must have been before letting myself search the room for Colt.

When I found him standing by the fire, nodding along to whatever my dad was saying as he stared into the flames, I nearly choked on my own spit. The man showed up wearing a navy suit, one that fits him so well it might as well be a second skin. It accentuates his broad shoulders and the muscle that I know is hidden underneath. He’s as fuckable as ever, complete with an expensive watch that glistens in the flicker of the lights and a pinstripe tie. A burgundy pinstripe tie, I might add. One that perfectly matches the hue of my own dress, which he asked about last week. I blew out a rattled, sharp breath as my mind raced with all the ways I wanted to use that tie later.

Colt always looks like he’s pissed off. Or maybe a little constipated. In most work interactions, he’s frowning with those thick brows pulled together and his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His stance usually says, “Hurry up, you’re wasting my time.” The only time he isn’t broody is when he’s in his element—in the OR with his angry boy playlist going and instruments in his hands.

That, or in the bedroom with me.

When I spot him across the room, it takes everything in me to school my expression. To pretend I’m looking at just another co-worker and not the man who consumes my every thought. Who I spend every day with, whether we are at work or not, and whose bed has become my own.

And with that, I can safely say these last few months with him have been the best months of my life. Even before the sex, working alongside him, and getting to learn from a surgeon as talented as him is something I’ve always dreamed of.

But Martin’s right. Colt looks crabbier than usual. He’s standing next to my dad and the Vice President of the board of directors, nodding along to whatever my dad says, but I can tell his mind is elsewhere.

My guess is he’s in the middle of a schmooze fest courtesy of my dad and that he’s freaking miserable. He says his dream is to be Chief once my father retires, but his lack of interest in hospital politics screams anything but that. I’ve heard the occasional whisper behind his back, jokes that he’d be a terrible Chief because he lacks patience or the desire to help. And I wish so badly he’d show others the side that he shows me. The side of him that cares, that teaches, that’s thoughtful enough to want to match what I’m wearing tonight even though no one knows we’re together. That’s the part of him I wish he’d show the world.

He grips the tumbler in his hand so hard his knuckles turn white, and I watch as he brings the amber liquid to his mouth for a painfully slow sip.

“You’re right,” I finally say, turning to address Martin. “He definitely looks more pissed off than usual.”

Martin eyes Colt for another minute over my shoulder before pursing his lips together as his gaze returns to mine. “But he can definitely wear the fuck out of that suit.”

My laugh rips out of me unexpectedly, and I reach out to grasp Martin’s forearm for balance as I nearly tumble over. My obnoxious outburst garners attention from some of the other party goers, and when I look back in Colt’s direction, I catch the faint hint of a smile on his lips along with the cold expression coming from my father. I school an eye roll before turning back to Martin and clearing my throat. “Excuse me, I’m going to use the restroom.”

I set my champagne flute on the table in front of me and reach for my clutch. I take a slight detour as I maneuver through the crowd, making sure to breeze by my dad and behind Colt.

I gently brush his elbow when I pass by, hoping the move was subtle enough that he felt it without catching the attention of anyone around us.

Once I leave the double doors of the stuffy, overcrowded ballroom, I inhale a deep breath and meander down the hall toward the bathrooms. My gaze falls on the floor-to-ceiling windows that parallel the hall, showing off a picturesque skyline view of the city.

Snow falls in thick flakes, clinging to the glass before they slowly slide down. I waltz over to the glass and raise a palm, pressing my skin to the frame and letting the cool winter weather seep in through the pane.

A blue blur catches in my peripheral, and I don’t have to fully turn to see who is following me out of the ballroom. I can smell the hint of his cologne and feel his presence surround me. I’d feel him with my eyes held shut. I let my hand slowly slide down from the glass, rubbing my fingers gently against my palm to wipe away the moisture as I continue my walk.

I pause as I reach the turn in the hall that leads to the bathroom and notice an intimate bar opposite the wall, the doorway nearly hidden by a towering plant. The singer strums his acoustic guitar in the dim lights, and I soak it in, letting myself sway to the music.

Sitting in this bar would have been so much more fun tonight. Instead of a stale ballroom filled with board members and surgeons, and instead of whispers over the silent auction with pricey getaways and raised brows over the size of the filet mignon, I could be here. Tucked into a corner booth in the dark with Colt, the music loud enough that he has to lean into me so I can hear him speak. I’d fit myself under his large arm and let it rest heavy on my shoulder while we sipped a drink, letting it go stale before we even cared to finish.

The clearing of a throat sounds behind me, and I turn away from the bar entrance, spinning toward the bathroom marked women .

I push on the handle, opening the door slowly and the lights flick on to reveal a single stall restroom. Holding the door open for another beat as Colt enters behind me, he takes the door from my hand, briefly sticking his head out to make sure no one saw us together before closing it behind him and locking it.

I watch his reflection in the mirror as I pretend to busy myself. I wash my hands under the tepid water, pulling a piece of paper towel to dry them. Grabbing the lipstick from my clutch, I make a show of reapplying even though my red pout is still perfect.

Tilting my head from side to side, I check for non-existent frizzy strands and lint on my back, a smile splitting my face when I hear Colt grumble behind me.

His hands reach out to grip my hips, snapping my back against his chest so abruptly I yelp.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs before his mouth comes down hard on the space between my neck and shoulder.

My hand comes up to reach behind me and grip his neck, forcing his lips harder against my skin, and my body vibrates with the sensation. His mouth works its way up my neck and under my jaw before his lips pause against mine.

Lipstick be damned. I spin around and pull him to me so I can run my hands up his neck to comb through his hair at the sides of his temples, knowing I’m messing it up, but every time he’s near I can’t help it.

I always want more. Another kiss. More pressure. He’s never close enough that the hole inside me feels fulfilled. And God, I hope that feeling never happens. I never want to wake up one day and realize I’m okay without him kissing me, or without feeling his arms pulling me into him at night.

Colter Andrews has become my addiction, and I’d give up nearly everything for another hit.

His hands slide down my back, his grip tight on my hips as he hikes me up on the sink. I squeal, adjusting the fabric of my dress and pulling it to the side so the slit that is tasteful when standing becomes scandalous, the tip of my underwear nearly visible.

He steps in between my legs with his eyes fixated on the space between my thighs. When we’re finally chest to chest, he seems to visibly relax.

“What’s wrong? You seem extra crabby tonight.”

I rake my hands through his hair, touseling it how I prefer a few more times before using my fingers to comb it back in place. If either of us came back from the bathroom looking freshly fucked, we’d be in trouble. So I force my hands to leave his hair and wrap them around his tie, running the soft silk through my fingers until it falls through, then returning to the top again, repeating the act.

“Tonight is the worst form of torture for me,” he grits out.

I smirk at that. “You mean discussing quality improvement initiatives over a glass of expensive bourbon isn’t your ideal Saturday night?”

His nostrils flare as he exhales a breath. “Hardly. But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

My eyes flick up to his, and it’s then that I notice how intensely he’s staring. “What is it then?” I use my grip on his tie to pull him a little closer to me and hook my heels around his legs. “What’s wrong, are you okay?”

He drops his forehead to press against mine before he leans down and kisses my shoulder again. “It’s torture to be here with you, without getting to be here with you. I hate that you look like this,” he says, pulling back to gesture to my dress. He runs his hands over the soft velvet of my ribcage, his thumb burning my skin as it dances over the keyhole in my neckline. “You look like this and I have to pretend like I don’t notice. I can’t find you across the room and wrap my arm around you. I have to watch you laugh at Martin’s jokes, and not mine.”

“For the record,” I interrupt, “Martin and I were basically talking about how sexy you look in this suit, so that conversation should make you happy.”

His furrowed brow softens a bit at that, but not enough. “I can’t kiss you and murmur nonsense in your ear about how Dr. Johnson smells like muscle rub and cough drops, and he won’t stop leaning in too close to talk to me.”

I chuckle, pulling him to me with my grip on his tie and planting a soft kiss on his lips. I raise my hand to immediately clean the red lipstick from his skin. “I kinda like old Dr. Johnson.”

He grumbles under his breath. “I’d love his spit droplets on my face more if you were standing next to me. If I could wrap my free hand around your hip and nonchalantly squeeze your ass every time you laugh at me.”

His dark eyes bore into mine, and his hands leave the counter to rest on the tops of my thighs. He must feel the hard plastic of my insulin pump because he traces the border with his finger before moving his hands to my hips, up my back, to my shoulders, finding their home along the sides of my neck. His thumbs push my chin to tilt it toward his face. “I hate that I have the most beautiful girl in the world, the best thing to ever happen to me, and I have to keep her hidden.”

I suck in a breath, feeling my eyes start to glisten at his sweet words. I sniffle a little and clear my throat roughly, wondering how I can tell him what I feel without telling him I am completely and utterly at his mercy. “Careful Dr. Andrews, you keep talking like that and you might just make a girl fall for you.”

I give him the easy out, the opportunity to joke at my expense, but to my surprise he doesn’t bite.

“And would that be so bad?” he asks, shuffling a step in until we are lip to lip. “Would it be so bad for a girl like you to fall for a guy like me?”

His lips brush against mine with his whispered words. He leans in for a soft kiss. So light and delicate it tickles. He pulls back just a hair to search my face. “Would it?” When I don’t answer, he leans in again, this time with more force. So much pressure I suck in a breath and release the death grip I had on his tie to wrap my arms around his neck.

“I can’t think of anything I’d want more,” I finally admit.

My words spur him on, and he leans me as far back as I can go. We make out in the small bathroom like we’re teenagers, horny and desperate to hide from our parents. Which is ironic, because that’s exactly what we’re doing. It seems foolish that two happy, consenting adults have to hide a relationship because of my father, but in this moment he has the power to take away everything we both have worked toward. To crush the one dream either of us, or both of us, have.

With each day that passes, the looming deadline of my departure back to Africa hangs over my head. Colt and I haven’t talked about what will happen when that day comes.

At first, I thought I could have gone into this knowing our time was limited. I thought I’d spend a few months banging the hottest man I have ever met, then wave goodbye as I board the plane.

I didn’t realize that I’d meet someone who made me feel so wanted and so likeable for who I am. Someone who cares about me, who worries that I might not be well, who wants to help lessen the burden I was born with. Someone who made this situation more than just bearable, he made it unbelievably hard to imagine my life anywhere else.

The inevitable conversation will have to happen, though. Colt has his apartment, his gaudy appliances, and blueprints for an expansion. His life is here. And as much as it pains me, I care about him too much to ask him to leave it.

But the thought of being ten thousand miles away from him, knowing he might be somewhere in the city, sitting on a worn bar stool to play the part of handsome bachelor, looking for a woman to warm his bed for the night, makes me sick.

He breaks our kiss, brows furrowed as he pulls back. He brings his thumb to his mouth, licking once before swiping it along my skin in what I’m guessing is a move to clean up my smeared lipstick. “What are you thinking?”

“Hmm?” I sit up a little straighter, leaning forward to fix the knot in his tie and clean his face just the same.

“You’re stiff now.” He brushes his hands up and down my arms as I use mine to make him look a little more presentable.

“I don’t want to go back to the party.” It’s not exactly a lie. I’m not in the mood to listen to the board of directors thank the investors for the oodles of money they’ve sunk into the hospital. It’s a fake game of kissing ass so our program can be the best of the best. Is it necessary? Probably. But do I want any part of it? Not at all.

But that’s not why I wish we could get out of here right now. We could slip out, go back to Colt’s place, and get lost in each other. Time will pause, and neither of us have to pretend that the deadline for me leaving isn’t quickly approaching.

Colt helps me off the sink, and I take my time smoothing down the hem of my dress, twisting to look at my backside in the mirror to make sure I don’t have paper stuck to my ass.

Colt’s eyes catch mine in the mirror, and he winks at me, the act causing a smile to split my face.

“There she is,” he whispers at the sight as he wraps his arms around me from behind. He leans over to rest his chin on my shoulder, eyes still watching mine in the mirror. “That’s my girl.”

My stomach flutters at the nickname, and I reach for his arms to wrap them tighter around me. We’re quiet for a moment, and I can hear the music start up again from across the hall. The melody is soft, the guitarists’ voice crooning as he strums. The music floats down the hall, slipping under the lip of the door, and my body reacts. I start to sway back and forth, following the beat of the song. Colt leans his chin on my shoulder, watching me in the mirror as we slowly dance to the music.

“We should take a trip,” he says abruptly. I stop the gentle sway I had been doing, and crinkle my brows at his reflection.

“A trip? Where?”

He shrugs. “Anywhere. I don’t care. We could just go somewhere overnight. Or a long weekend. Maybe you can sleep with your supervisor and he’ll let you off for an entire week.”

He winks again, and I reach an arm around to playfully pinch his side. He grasps my wrist, spinning me to face him.

His forehead lowers to mine, a hand coming to rest on my hip while the other reaches for my hand. He tangles our fingers together and brings them to his mouth for a kiss before holding them out. We sway again, the music from the bar across the hall barely audible over the swish of my dress and the taps of our shoes against the tile, but we work together so well, we honestly wouldn’t even need the music.

“I just need to be somewhere, anywhere, with you. Somewhere where I can walk down the street and hold your hand, where we can share a dinner together that isn’t at my apartment. I want to be able to claim you as mine in front of whoever is watching without worrying. I want to be able to dance with you, Annie, and not have it be in the fucking bathroom.”

He tilts his head to the door behind him. “Maybe we could find a rundown town outside the city, with a country dive bar and spend hours just listening to music. You can wear some cowboy boots and booty shorts. I’ll wear a cowboy hat.”

I chuckle at the thought of my serious, scowling city boy Colt in a cowboy hat. “I think you’re forgetting it’s almost December. Daisy Duke shorts in winter aren’t the best idea.”

“Maybe they have country bars in Aruba.”

I lay my head against his chest, listening to the soft thud of his heartbeat as we sway. “I’ll go wherever you want, baby.”