15. Marcella
fifteen
Marcella
Same Night
My heart seizes.
Not from fear—from recognition.
Seamus McGloughlin stands in front of me, wrecked and brazen, saying out loud every impossible thing he’s whispered to me in my dreams.
Time to shut this down. Protect myself.
I open my mouth to tell Seamus to stop. He doesn’t give me the chance.
“I can’t get you out of my head,” he grits out, his voice lower, rougher.
“I can’t sleep. Or concentrate. It fucking kills me you think I’m some misogynistic asshole who’d treat you that way.
” His gaze drops to my lips before flicking back up.
“If circumstances were different, would you even give me the time of day?”
I can’t breathe.
I’ve spent weeks having vivid, explicit, orgasmic fantasies about this man. The way his hands and mouth worshipped me has felt so real, I wake up aching and desperate for something I never thought was possible.
This gorgeous, younger, hotshot surgeon who, apparently, has every woman in the hospital clamoring for him thinks I’d never give him the time of day?
What alternative universe am I living in?
My lips part. Still, no words come out. I’ve got nothing but shock, disbelief, and something dangerously close to hope clawing at my chest.
Until reality douses me with ice.
Or, maybe, insecurity.
Who the fuck does this little shit think he is? He’s suckered me into feeling sorry for him with his stories of virginity and complicated family dynamics. Now he’s pretending to be attracted to me.
I can see why the women of the hospital fell for his charm. He’s good . A player. Earnest. Bold. Self-assured.
Insincere.
Right. Because, if he says he’s attracted to you, there’s no way he could be sincere.
My inner voice spears me like a sword. I’ll never believe him. Age difference or not, Seamus McGloughlin reminds me of men who—time and time again—have made me feel like I’m not enough.
I’ll never be enough.
I need to leave—reestablish the boundary I blurred the moment I asked him to dinner. What the hell was I thinking? I’ve let this veer too far. My judgment slipped when personal curiosity outweighed my professionalism.
This isn’t friendly conversation; it’s now something—dangerous. On all levels.
Focus, Marcella.
I need this guy for one reason—to take down Caldwell. Time to shove this personal shit back into the box and lock it tight before I make a mistake I can’t take back.
I curl my lip and a layer of armor slips into place. “If circumstances were different, I wouldn’t even be in your orbit, Dr. McGloughlin.”
“You’re wrong.” A muscle ticks in his cheek. His gaze stays steady on mine.
“No?” I arch a brow, willing my voice to stay steady.
“You can have any woman you want. You do have any woman you want and don’t give any of them any part of yourself.
” I tilt my head, giving him a once-over.
“Do you really think I’d have such a low opinion of myself I’d fall for your BS?
So what if I’ve never been with a man who takes the time to get me off.
I’m not your experiment. Or problem to fix.
I want more in my life than getting rubbed off by some fuckboy in a stairwell. Have a little respect.”
Oh. Holy. Fuck. What in the hell did I say?
I can feel my face redden.
His face crumbles for a second. He shifts in his seat like he’s incredibly uncomfortable. Seamus McGloughlin—the golden boy of neurosurgery, the too-good-to-be-true man who women practically climb over each other to get to—is at a loss.
I didn’t mean to slice him open, though. I just wanted space. Control.
God, I certainly didn’t want to see this hollowed-out look in his eyes. I should’ve taken the high road—held the line without making it personal.
We sit across from each other, both of us stunned—by what’s been said, what hasn’t, and wherever this places us now.
Then he doubles down.
“ Whoa . You’re not talking about respect, Marcella,” he finally says, low and rough. “You’re talking about a fucking tragedy .”
Good God. The air between us shifts, heavier. Even more charged, if possible.
Nope. No. Nada . This ends now.
“It seems to me, you’ve lived your entire life doing what you want with little regard to the people around you.” I dig back in. “You’ve built a reputation around being a man who always takes, never stays.”
His expression shifts—subtly. Enough to make me wonder if I went too far again.
Almost .
“You think those encounters define who I am as a person? You don’t know me. Not at all.” There’s definitely something wounded in the way his voice cracks.
I swirl the last of the deep-red liquid in my glass, thinking.
He needs to hear this. Someone needs to say it to him.
“Seamus.” I soften my tone. “Have you ever considered…the women? Did you ever think those stairwell rendezvous weren’t casual to them ?
It might’ve started out a certain way for them—for you.
I’m guessing many of them agreed to your conditions to get a turn with the great Orgasm Whisperer .
So, you give them more pleasure than they’ve ever experienced in their life…
only to toss them aside? Do you not understand how confusing emotions about experiencing sexual pleasure are to most women?
He flinches slightly, like my words land somewhere deep in his psyche. Somewhere he’s never accessed before.
“I never…” he croaks. “I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone. I figured if I was honest about what it was—no strings, no expectations—we’d be on the same page. It works for my brothers—”
“Let me lay it out for you,” I interrupt.
“Your friends Tara and Priya were right. Most men don’t care about what their partner feels in bed.
They focus on themselves, on their own release, and leave the rest up to chance.
You seem to know exactly what you’re doing.
You studied to be ‘the best,’ for God’s sake.
I don’t get it. Why put so much effort into making sure your women see stars and rainbows and fairy dust only to throw them away?
For someone who prides himself on his bedside manner with patients, I’m shocked at how cavalier you are when it comes to sex.
” I take a breath. “If I had to guess, most of them didn’t even know what an orgasm felt like before you got involved.
So yeah, they probably caught actual feelings.
While you maintain a clinical distance and walk away, oblivious. ”
His nostrils flare, and for a second, I think he’s going to argue.
He doesn’t. His palms rest on the edge of the table like he’s bracing for impact.
“I didn’t ever consider…I didn’t know,” he says sadly.
“I’m not surprised. I don’t think you ever thought past the moment.
” I signal the waiter for the check. “From how you’ve described it, for you, it was research.
A little release. For them? It was something else entirely.
Something they probably didn’t even expect to feel until it was already too late. ”
Neither of us speaks for a second, the quiet settling in like a storm about to break.
His throat bobs. “Fuck.” He looks tortured. “I hurt them?”
“Yes. You’re a fool to think otherwise.” I exhale with exasperation.
He stares at some invisible spot on the table.
Seamus McGloughlin is completely, utterly shaken.
Needing a moment to steady myself and give him a break, I focus on paying the bill. This conversation has veered into dangerous, deeply personal territory, and the way he looks now? Like I’ve stripped him down to nothing?
It’s rattling something in my chest I don’t want to examine too closely.
The waiter hands me the receipt and I reach for my purse so I can get the hell home.
“Who made you feel this way?” He peers from under his unruly hair as we put on our coats.
I blink. “What?”
“Which guy hurt you ?” He gestures at me. “Made you feel like you weren’t good enough. Made you believe you didn’t deserve to feel good?”
I nearly choke. I'd hoped he missed that particular revelation. “None of your business. We’re not talking about me.”
“You opened the can of worms so we are now.” His gaze sharpens when we step outside and begin walking toward the office.
Seamus’s hands are shoved into the pockets of his jacket. He doesn’t rush me. He waits.
The weight of everything I’ve kept buried for too long presses against my ribs. Seamus is watching me in anticipation—his blue eyes locked on to mine, intense and unyielding.
Well…he wants to know. He asked.
So I decide to give it to him. All of it.
I let out a sharp breath and break eye contact because there’s no fucking way I can do this if I’m looking at him. “It wasn’t one guy. It was all the guys.”
Seamus makes a low, irritated sound in his throat. To his credit, he doesn’t interrupt.
Apparently, I’ve lost all sense of self-preservation tonight, and I begin to spill my deep-seated insecurities to a guy who has no business knowing any of them.
“I was a late bloomer. The quiet girl. Smart. Not the type who got asked to dances. In high school, the boys called me Marshmella behind my back. Hilarious .” I laugh spitefully.
“In college, I decided to get thin. I lost forty pounds. Nearly passed out every time I stood up. But, hell. I fit into a size six, so—hey—I must have been winning , right?”
Seamus low-level growls beside me.
“The first time I had sex, I was drunk. It wasn’t some tragic after-school special, I wanted it.
Thought I was making some grand feminist statement.
” I dig my fingernails in my palm. “He lasted about ninety seconds, rolled off, and a week later, I overheard him telling his friend he didn’t ‘date girls over 125 pounds.’ Wash. Rinse. Repeat. Over and over.”
“By law school, my self-esteem was in the gutter. Then I met a guy who was like me. We were both bigger, so I figured, hey, common ground. Turned out he also had a limit. Didn’t mind fucking me for thirty seconds every night. Didn’t want to be part of a ‘fat couple.’”
We arrive at my building. “So yeah, after dozens of similar experiences on dating apps over the past decade…I’m over it.”
“Jesus fucking Christ.” Seamus takes my elbow.
I look at my shoes and shake my head. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not.” He squeezes lightly.
Tears threaten to spill, which cannot happen. “It is what it is.”
“I have a confession to make.” He tips my chin up to look at him. “Clearly you’re not interested so I’m not trying to make this situation weirder. I’m going to tell you because somehow you believe you aren’t fucking desirable. You need to know it’s the biggest load of horseshit I’ve ever heard.”
I freeze.
“The truth is, I’ve been jerking off to various fantasies about you for weeks, Marcella.” He doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t tease. Says it like a fucking fact. Like he’s telling me what time of day it is.
The breath catches in my throat.
I stare at him, my pulse hammering in my ears.
Naturally, I default to self-degradation. “Seamus. Stop . I’m supposed to believe I’m the fantasy of a devastatingly handsome neurosurgeon-to-be who’s essentially a decade younger than me—and a virgin to boot?”
“Yes. You should believe. It’s true.” He doesn’t flinch.
I roll my eyes way back into my head. “ Seamus —”
“Are we so different? You bury yourself in your work. So do I. You’re lonely.
So am I. You come from a big, chaotic family.
Same. You’re close with your parents. Same.
” His eyes flick over my face, searching.
“Neither of are fulfilled in our sex lives because we want to be with someone who matters, which I realize makes me sound like a fucking hypocrite. Everything you said about me tonight is true. It’s why, except for one time after Miranda, I put an end to the stairwell encounters two years ago.
I want to be with someone who matters. I want to be someone who matters. ”
My heart trips over itself.
His voice dips lower, like he’s saying something dangerous. Something true. “Every part of me wants to prove to you how fucking beautiful and desirable you are. Right. Fucking. Now.”
I swallow. Hard.
“I won’t though, because I respect you. We need boundaries.
I won’t do anything to make you question your professionalism or mine.
” He threads his fingers through his hair.
“We have a job to do. Miranda deserves justice. Caldwell needs to be held responsible.” His lips quirk up, barely.
“For now, maybe we can take the walls down and be friends.”
I stare at him, trying to piece together what the fuck is happening here.
Then he takes a step back, hands still in his pockets, like he hasn’t ripped apart everything I’ve ever believed about myself. “All bets are off once you get the settlement for Miranda, though.”
My stomach plummets.
I’ve been the dirty secret. The side piece. The one you fuck, not the one you keep.
I’ve never been the woman men fight for.
Seamus doesn’t look at me with shame.
He looks at me like I’m wanted—fully, publicly, dangerously.
My brain tells me to stay sharp.
My heart and soul want to believe him.