Chapter 2 #2
This was clearly a sensitive conversation, and he probably should’ve stepped away, but Amani hadn’t booted him out. Moreover, his feet were rooted to the ground. He couldn’t walk away. Not yet.
Bash surreptitiously scanned the woman in the doorway.
Ok…in honesty with himself—because, true to self et cetera—he visually devoured her.
Like a ravenous lion assessing a particularly tasty-looking wildebeest. Navy scrubs.
Nondescript clogs of some sort. Shiny dark brown hair pulled back into a serviceable ponytail.
Bash’s fingers tingled with the desire to pull out the hair band and run his fingers through what he knew would be silky strands.
She looked to be about six inches shorter than his own six one (which made him a giant in his own family).
Her eyes, flashing in anger, were the color of her scrubs.
No. Of sapphires. Beautiful gems glittering—right now in anger, but he’d wager they’d emanate the same heat as he pleasured her.
Bash closed his eyes, a brief image flashing of him fucking this angel as she wore only sapphire gems at her elegant neck and in those delicate ears pinned so perfectly against her head.
He was thoroughly infatuated. Or in lust. Same thing, really, for him. Both happened quickly and faded just as fast. If not faster. He’d long since given up on his heart’s ability to form longer-lasting bonds with the fairer sex.
“You should head back to the unit, Dr. Lynch,” Brinder’s voice continued.
Moments later, a figure scurried past his Scrub Angel, and him, and practically darted toward the door that led from Amani’s office to the executive suite waiting room.
“Get it together, Lynch,” his angel called after her with a fierce glower.
“Yes, sir. I mean ma’am. I mean—” The young resident fluttered her hands, her cheeks growing bright red as her gaze landed on Bash and her eyes widened in recognition.
“I mean, Dr. Remington. I’m sorry, Dr. Remington.
I won’t let you down again.” The resident was visibly shaking.
With something that almost looked like a small curtsey, and another darting glance at him, the young doctor skittered away, banging her shoulder on Amani’s door frame in her haste to flee.
“See that you don’t, Lynch,” his future bed partner called after her with asperity—a tone that clearly scared the bejeezus out of the young doctor while simultaneously rendering Bash’s cock as hard as marble.
Dr. Remington. Even her name was fucking sexy.
A sharp pain at the back of his ankle snapped him to attention. Bash couldn’t help the high-pitched ‘oof’ that slipped out. He looked down to see Amani’s foot slide back, her eyes darting to his angel in scrubs and back to him, then a quick, discreet shake of her head.
Ah, so he wasn’t, perhaps, as subtle in his perusal as he’d thought.
At his vocalization, which he pretended came out very manly and not at all like a small shriek, Brinder came to the office door, moving past Dr. Remington.
“A moment please, Remy.” His brother-in-law held out a hand, a warm smile on his face. “Bash, good to see you. I just need to wrap this conversation and we can head out. Café ok with you?”
“Y-yes,” he croaked, as if he’d never actually used his vocal cords before.
What the hell was that? Did his voice just fucking crack?
He cleared his throat, filling his lungs with diaphragm breathing in rote habit, and bringing his suddenly high voice down an octave or three.
“Yes,” he repeated, smoothly that time, completing the brotherly shake. “Sounds perfect.”
The stare of an ice angel burned into his cheek. Instead of turning the full force of his trademark smolder on her, he opted for subtlety, allowing his eyes to oh-so-casually meander in that direction, landing on two cool sapphires.
His breath caught in his throat. “Hi,” he squeaked. Seriously—what the fuck? Bash cleared his throat, once again forcing his voice back to a more respectable octave. “Bash Wheatley. Pleasure to meet you.” He held out a hand and offered her his highest-octane version of The Smolder.
“Please forgive my rudeness,” his brother-in-law inserted, drawing his attention away from Scrub Angel. “Remy, this is my brother-in-law. Bash, meet Dr. Remington. She’s our chief of orthopedics.”
From under his lashes, he leveled her with another infallibly potent gaze from his fine-tuned arsenal.
With a small frown, she took his hand, shook it, and summarily released it. Brief. Businesslike. Her grip firm. Her hand cool.
Huh.
Clearly his smolder was rusty, as his designated target seemed impervious and he’d caught Amani shaking her head in his peripherals.
“Nice to meet you.” Dr. Remington’s tone was brisk, but still velvet on ice.
Oh man. That ‘boss voice’? Out-of-this-world mesmerizing. And the idea of a softer timbre—what would that gloriousness sound like?—had him craving that tone addressed to him. Even more though…what would she sound like when she screamed his name? His cock pulsed in approval.
Bash flexed and relaxed his hand, which still tingled from the too-brief touch. Easing it in his pocket—as if he could preserve the sensation of her hand in his—he leaned against the wall. Their first touch. The first of many, he decided on the spot.
Why did he suddenly want to reach for her hand again? Rub it gently between his own. Warm it up. And maybe kiss that small frown line between her brows as he dropped kisses all over her satiny alabaster skin.
Scrub Angel turned back to his brother-in-law, a tiny frown creasing her forehead above the refreshingly unsculpted, un-microbladed wings of her dark brows.
“Brinder, I will not allow this kind of behavior on my team. First Dr. Lynch’s extracurriculars.
Then Troy McMaster’s disrespectful behavior and technical sloppiness in the OR.
I have a meeting scheduled with him and HR tomorrow.
The only reason it’s not today is my packed OR schedule.
He’s a problem, and we may need to make some decisions about him and his future at Evangelist.”
“Remy, I have full confidence in your ability to bring the orthopedics team, and our residency, up to the standards you and I both expect. It’s why I brought you here. This is part of the turnaround process I need you to spearhead.”
His angel nodded briskly, glancing briefly at Bash before lowering her voice to continue the conversation with focused, delightfully alluring competence.
Bash watched with rapt attention. As his famous grandfather would say in his trademark line, Who’d a thunk it? Usually well-endowed actresses and Barbie-esque influencers were his style. Blondes had always been his preference. But perhaps he needed to wade in brunette waters.
As Brinder wrapped his conversation with Dr. Remington—Remy—Bash permitted himself another scan. Yep, he was absolutely developing a scrub kink.
Her face was a beautiful, neutral mask. Ivory skin with nary a blemish.
Full lips with no color painted on, just their own natural beige-pink.
Were her nipples the same color? The answering kick in his pants informed him he didn’t really care the color as long as he got to roll his tongue across what he imagined would be gorgeous, sensitive nubs.
Bash had been planning his exit strategy from the small town outside of Charlottesville, where his sister and brother-in-law had built a stunning home located near about a gazillion of their friends.
He needed to head to LA to do some voiceover work in a couple days and had been planning to leave that night to spend some time with his agent, who lately had been crawling up his ass relentlessly.
Bash loved ass play. But not from his agent.
Bash mentally amended his plans. Perhaps he had a reason to delay his departure a day.
Assuming he could get her in bed tonight.
Devil Bash on his shoulder smirked. No assuming necessary. He’d just turn on his irresistible charm. As a rule, Bash largely ignored angel Bash on the other shoulder.
He scanned down quickly to her left hand. Long, elegant fingers. Short nails. No polish. And no ring.
Hot damn.
Of course, that didn’t mean she wasn’t taken. Some people were happily paired and legally bound, and yet chose not to wear a ring. She was also a surgeon, and perhaps didn’t wear her ring because of that.
But if she wasn’t taken?
This ice queen would be a treat to melt.