Something drifts across the side of my face.
I groan, lifting my hand to bat it away. I’m warm and comfortable and I don’t want to move, let alone wake up and deal with whatever crisis awaits me today. There have been a lot of those lately. I’m so tired. I can’t remember the last time I slept for more than a couple of hours at a time.
‘Wake up, Sleeping Beauty.’
‘It’s too early,’ I complain, squeezing my eyes closed as if that’ll make whoever is annoying me go away and stop interrupting my dream. I was on the beach, my toes in the sand, the rays of the hot California sun spilling down over me while waves crashed against the shoreline.
‘Trust me, angel, I’m aware.’
The amusement bleeding through the deep rumble of his voice breaks through the haze in my mind. The last lingering rays of the California sun slip away. The gentle crash of water against wet earth recedes, taking the feel of the sand beneath my feet with it.
I’m on a plush sofa, my hand tucked beneath my cheek, my neck bent at an odd angle.
This isn’t the hospital.
I fly into a sitting position with a gasp.
‘There you are.’
I blink rapidly at the man crouched in front of me, trying to jolt my mind into motion. For a long moment, nothing comes. I just stare into the darkest green eyes I’ve ever seen in my life, my mind wiped clean. I’m not sure if it’s the lack of sleep, if it’s him, or if it’s both causing the reaction. But I think it’s him.
He’s beautiful. His dark hair is damp and messy as if he recently showered and then ran his hands through it. A day’s worth of stubble surrounds his full lips, softening his razor-sharp jawline. Intelligence and humor shine in his eyes as they track slowly across my face.
‘Gold,’ he murmurs, one corner of his lips crooking upward.
‘What?’
‘Your eyes are gold.’
‘They’re hazel.’
I have no idea who he is or where I am, yet I instinctively know that I’m safe with him. I see that truth burning in his eyes—safety, security, sanctuary. Protection blazes in the emerald depths, searing me with softness and intensity in equal measures. So does something else…possession. The flames of it caress my skin like a kiss as his eyes document every feature of my face. From the scar on my forehead to the little freckles scattered across the bridge of my nose to the dimple in my right cheek, he misses nothing. His gaze roves downward, taking in my rumpled hoodie, wrinkled jeans, and ballet flats.
I steal another peek at him, trying to figure out who he is. He’s gorgeous, there’s no denying that. The white coat hanging open over his broad shoulders and the stethoscope peeking from around his neck finally jogs my brain into motion. Realization dawns with a powerful lurch.
‘Dr. Grimes!’ I blurt, relief rushing through me…followed immediately by the sting of embarrassment. This is Dr. Grimes, the pediatric heart surgeon Troian and her husband, Gage, sent me to see. I must have fallen asleep on the couch in his office waiting for our meeting. ‘I’m so sorry. I must have dozed off. Oh my gosh. What time is it?’ I press my hands to my red cheeks, trying to calm my racing heart.
‘Easy, Samara,’ he croons, reaching out to place a hand on my arm. An electric charge shoots from his palm to my skin, startling both of us. His gaze tangles with mine again. There’s something calming about him…and something a little bit wild too. He’s a lion. They’re beautiful, powerful, and confident. They even seem peaceful when they’re lounging on the rocks, bathing in the sun. But provoke one and you might live long enough to regret it.
This man isn’t like any of the doctors I’ve met this week. There’s nothing staid or ordinary about him. Nothing safe. He’s an apex predator and he knows it…but his eyes are soft, his expression full of empathy. All week, I’ve been floundering out of my depth, trying to understand complex medical problems I knew nothing about until a week ago. I’ve felt the sharp edge of judgement and the arrogant, condescending looks cast my way. Yet this man catches me sleeping in his office and still treats me with gentleness.
For a long moment, neither of us speaks. We just stare at one another again, his scent clouding my mind. It’s leather and citrus. The combination is far more erotic than it should be.
Who am I kidding? Everything about this man is erotic as hell. I was expecting a middle-aged, bespectacled man with thinning hair and a perfunctory manner. This man is sex on legs.
‘Um, I’m sorry I fell asleep,’ I whisper, trying to force that thought out of my head. It doesn’t matter what Dr. Grimes looks like, how good he smells, or how hard my heart is pounding right now. It doesn’t even matter that part of me wants to feel his hand on my skin again. All that matters is Scout. Gage and Troian trust this man to save her life.
‘Jules said you drove in from Houston this morning.’ His dark brows furrow. ‘Had I known, we could have scheduled this meeting for later in the day.’
‘My niece has some tests later today,’ I explain, fidgeting though I don’t know why. I don’t owe him an explanation. One tumbles out anyway. ‘This was the only time in my schedule.’
He eyes me for a minute, his expression softening with understanding. ‘You’ve been staying at the hospital with your niece.’
‘I’m her legal guardian.’
‘Her parents?’
A fresh wave of grief wells up before I can shove it back down. All week, I’ve been waiting for someone to ask outright about Siobhan and Danny, but no one has. They judge without facts, chalk my sister up to a bad mom who made bad decisions, and refer to her death in euphemisms as if that makes it more palatable. Hearing this man ask brings it all roaring back to the surface.
‘They’re dead,’ I whisper past the lump in my throat. ‘It happened a little over a week ago.’
‘Shit,’ he curses, regret flaring in his eyes. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…’
‘It’s fine,’ I lie, waving off his apology. I wave off the grief too, pushing it back down to deal with later. I’ll cry when I’m alone in the shower like I do every night. It’s the only time to myself I have these days. Every other minute of my day is spent with complete strangers in waiting rooms or the cafeteria or at Scout’s bedside.
‘Do you need a minute?’
‘No.’ I quickly shake my head. ‘I need to get back as soon as possible.’
He nods and rises to his feet.
I swallow hard. Lord, he’s big. Not overweight just…big. He’s maybe six-three with broad shoulders and a barrel chest. He looks more like a football player than a heart surgeon. Then again, Gage was an actor before he went to medical school…and I lived in a tiny trailer in the middle of nowhere before landing my dream job writing game apps for Troian’s family’s company. We all have lives and pasts, don’t we? We all came from somewhere and we’re all going somewhere.
Most of us, I amend silently, thinking about Siobhan again.
‘Come on, Sleeping Beauty,’ Dr. Grimes says, holding out a hand to me. ‘Let’s move to my desk and we’ll talk about your niece.’
I hesitate for a second and then place my hand in his. As soon as he touches me, that same electrical spark shoots up my arm. He feels it too and grits his teeth, letting out a soft curse. I stumble when he pulls me up, nearly bumping into him before I catch myself. He steadies me with a hand on my waist.
‘Jesus, you’re tiny,’ he mutters.
‘Am not,’ I whisper, something soft washing through me. No one has ever accused me of being tiny. Short, yes. I’m barely five-three. But I’m thick and curvy and have been my whole life. I like the sound of this man calling me tiny though. Maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe I need him to see me as strong and capable and powerful, but something about him seeing me as delicate doesn’t immediately make me want to smash the patriarchy.
‘Yeah, you are.’ He tips his head down toward mine, his expression soft. ‘How old are you, Samara?’
‘Old enough to provide for Scout.’ I’ve already been through the whole spiel with the social worker assigned the Scout’s case.
‘Good to know,’ he says, leaning closer. There are flecks of jade in his eyes. ‘But that’s not why I’m asking. I’m not questioning your ability to care for your niece. How old are you?’
‘Twenty-two.’
‘You’re young.’
‘I could say the same about you,’ I remind him, trying not to stare at his lips. His cologne is making me dizzy. Or maybe it’s just him. ‘I’ve seen a lot of doctors this week. None of them look like you.’
His lips tip up into that crooked grin again. ‘You know what makes me a hell of a doctor?’
‘What?’ I whisper, completely transfixed by this man. There’s something about him that’s just…spellbinding. I want to lean in closer, enfold myself into his personal space, and let his shadow embrace me. I want to let him hold me until my world makes sense again.
No. No way, Samara. He’s going to be Scout’s surgeon. That’s it.
‘My age,’ he says, his deep voice whisper soft. Somehow, his eyes seem to whisper too, though I don’t even know how that’s possible. ‘I’ve got steady hands and a stubborn streak a mile wide. I decided when I was still a kid that I wanted to save other kids, so that’s what I’ve dedicated my whole life to doing. I’m one of the best pediatric heart surgeons in the country because I wanted to be one of the best. I didn’t learn through trial and error or because wisdom comes with age. I learned because I wanted to learn, understand?’
‘That’s what Gage, um, Dr. Bronx said,’ I say. He swore that if anyone could save Scout’s life, this man could. He was confident of that fact. I’ve known Gage since I started working for Troian two years ago. He doesn’t make promises he can’t keep.
‘He said I was a stubborn bastard, didn’t he?’ Dr. Grimes asks, his grin growing.
‘Maybe.’
The deep rumble of his laugh washes through me. My nipples tighten as a frisson of heat dances in my lower belly. His voice is incredible but that laugh? Wow.
‘Come on,’ he says, leading me toward his desk.
Only then do I realize he’s still holding onto my hand. He doesn’t look like he plans to let it go, so I follow behind him, quickly trying to smooth my hair into order with my free hand. It probably didn’t do much good. I didn’t come dressed to impress today. I came prepared for another long day of meetings and sitting around the hospital.
Maybe that’s for the best. I don’t need to impress Dr. Grimes. I need him to save my niece. Anything beyond that is out of the question. My entire life just changed. The last thing I need is to complicate it by falling for a doctor in Texas, especially one who looks like this. He probably has women beating down his door trying to get a date with him. I haven’t been on a date since Thad Porter took me to Prom my senior year of high school four years ago.
Our date ended with him puking in the bushes after drinking half the flask of bourbon my mom gave him. He spent the next two weeks avoiding me anytime we passed each other in the hallway. And I moved out of my mom’s house as soon as I graduated. If she wanted to drink herself to an early grave, I wasn’t going to stay and watch it happen. I just didn’t expect it to happen so soon. I wasn’t even gone a full year before she wrapped her car around a light pole.
Siobhan came home for the funeral. It was the last time I saw her.
‘Have a seat,’ Dr. Grimes says.
I drop down into the seat across from his desk, folding my hands together in my lap.
He circles around to the other side and pulls out his chair.
‘Tell me about your niece,’ he orders me, reaching for a folder on top of the desk.
‘Her name is Scout Lansing,’ I say. ‘She’s seven and a half weeks old,’ I explain her diagnosis to him the way it was explained to me…the fact that she only has one vessel leading out of her heart instead of two and the hole between the bottom chambers of her heart. ‘She, um, she’s not doing well.’
‘Why wasn’t the initial surgery performed earlier?’ he asks, glancing up from her file.
‘They didn’t know about the defect until recently,’ I say, glancing down at my hands to avoid his reaction. I’ve seen a thousand variations of it over the last week. ‘She wasn’t born in a hospital.’
‘It didn’t show up on prenatal screenings?’
‘There weren’t any prenatal visits after the first trimester.’
Dr. Grimes is quiet for a moment. His silence speaks volumes, the same volumes I’ve been reading all week from every other man in a white coat I’ve sat across from. Siobhan wouldn’t have cared what any of them thought about her. She never did. It’s the only thing that’s kept me from shouting out the truth this week. But this time, I find myself unable to remain silent while stones fly at Siobhan’s memory. I care what this man thinks, though I’m not sure why. Because he’s Gage’s friend? Because I actually like him? I don’t know.
‘My sister was a good mom,’ I whisper, my throat raw with emotion. ‘She loved Scout. But Scout’s father was in a motorcycle club. My sister found out the club was trafficking women. She…um, she was helping them escape and the club caught her. They kept her under guard after that. She managed to get Scout out a little over a week ago to get her help but…’ I trail off and swallow hard, unable to finish the sentence. ‘Before you judge her or her situation, you should know that much about her.’
‘Look at me, Samara,’ he says, his voice soft.
I reluctantly lift my gaze to his.
‘Your sister was a fucking warrior,’ he growls, his eyes glittering with sincerity.
‘Thank you,’ I whisper, biting my lip to keep from crying.
He watches me for a moment, his expression soft. ‘You said Scout’s father was in an MC?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Do you think all motorcycle clubs are like his, Samara? That they’re all outlaws who hurt women like your sister?’
‘At the end of the day, it doesn’t really matter, does it?’ I ask, not sure why he cares what I think. Until recently, I never put much thought into MCs or the kind of men drawn to them. Now though? Well, it’s hard to look compassionately on the kind of men who killed my sister and orphaned my niece. Had Siobhan not risked her life to save her daughter, it would have been Scout’s funeral we attended last week instead of my sister’s. They would have let an innocent baby die just to keep my sister from spilling their dirty secrets. If those are the type of men who cling to MCs, they aren’t men at all.
‘Answer the question,’ Dr. Grimes says.
‘It doesn’t matter if they call themselves outlaws or not,’ I say, holding his gaze. ‘Whether they run drugs or guns or women or pretend to play by the law, they’re willing to kill—and die—for a patch on their vest and a brotherhood that ends as soon as one steps out of line. They’re cut from the same cloth, regardless of how they try to neaten it up.’
His brows furrow, a shadow passing through his expression. But he quickly blinks it away and flips Scout’s file closed. ‘I’ll perform the surgery,’ he says, meeting my gaze. ‘But I want something from you in exchange.’
‘I can pay you,’ I say, frowning. ‘I’m not here to ask you to do the surgery for free.’ Troian has been working with the insurance company all week to pull off a miracle and ensure they’ll cover as much of the surgery as possible. My savings should cover the rest. I’m not the poor girl who grew up in a rundown trailer anymore. Thanks to my job, I’m more than capable of taking care of Scout and myself.
‘I’m not concerned about the money, angel,’ he says, something…possessive in his gaze again. I like the sight of it far too much. ‘I don’t want you sleeping in the waiting room anymore.’
‘I’m not leaving Scout.’
‘You won’t be leaving her,’ he assures me. ‘I have an apartment right across Main Street. You’ll have full use of it while she’s in the hospital. You’ll stay there at night so you’re getting actual sleep.’
‘I can’t do that.’
‘You can.’
‘I can’t.’
‘You can,’ he says, narrowing his eyes on me. ‘You aren’t going to be any good to your niece if you’re falling over in exhaustion. This isn’t a sprint. Until she’s strong enough to move here, you need more than a chair in a waiting room.’
‘H-here?’ I gape at him, certain I’m hearing things. ‘We’re going back to California once she’s strong enough.’
‘No,’ he says quietly, his gaze firm. ‘You’re not. She’s going to need continued monitoring and follow-up. It’ll be a year, maybe longer before you’re able to return to California, and then she’ll need additional surgeries as she grows. You’re here for the long haul.’
‘I…’ I blink at him, trying to absorb this news.
‘Welcome home, Sleeping Beauty,’ he murmurs, throwing my world completely out of orbit. He’s not just talking about Texas. I’m not even sure he’s talking about Silver Spoon Falls. Part of me gets the distinct impression that by home he means right here with him.
I’m going to strangle Gage.
