The Doctor's Damsel (Men of the Capital Book 3) (4 page)

“Ah. Becca. Yes. Is there someplace I could drop your scarf off?” he asked uncomfortably.

“No, I need to pick it up in person.”

“You do?”

“I’ll buy you a cup of coffee to say thanks. How about you meet me at Donovan’s on Eleventh in an hour?” Becca offered. “My shift doesn’t start ‘til five, so I have time to meet you today.”

“Ok. I’ll see you then.” He sounded uncomfortable, but at least he’d said yes!

Becca grabbed her list and navigated through afternoon traffic to the novelty shop to stock up for the party. She’d already called the guests and set up a time to meet. Now she needed party favors and stuff for the games. Obviously, a sex shop was the way to go. She strolled cheerfully down aisles of furry handcuffs and zebra print restraints, harnesses, plugs, and clamps of all descriptions as she made her selections. At the checkout, instead of blushing bashfully into her purse, she brandished her smartphone with a coupon code, demanding that the cashier give her 20% off as listed. Stuffing the merchandise into her tote, she told the guy to keep the obvious hot pink shopping bag with the dildo on it. She didn’t want Harrison Abrahemson to think she was a total pervert or something.

With just enough time to get to Donovan’s ahead of her date, Becca headed out. She settled at a little zinc table by the window, sipping her café mocha and contemplating the wisdom of adding a carrot cake muffin to the hours of exercise she already needed to do to maintain her figure for work. When the door to the crowded little coffee shop swung open and the good doctor entered, she caught her breath.

Harrison Abrahemson had looked good in scrubs, for what that was worth to a girl whose formative years were spent watching Grey’s Anatomy, but in roughed up jeans and a gray t-shirt, he was paradise. His black hair had a little bend to it that meant it was curly and overdue for a trim. His eyes, which she had thought were blue in hospital lighting, were so dark they were nearly black. He had a big nose, hawklike and rakish, and a strong jaw to match. He had runner’s thighs, muscular and lean, and the sure stride that spoke of confidence and, yes, virility. His jeans were faded, softened by many washings, and starting to fray at the hem. She wanted to run her hands up the denim to his hips and unfasten them. He hadn’t even spotted her yet.

Becca had on her uniform for work already, black trousers and a black blouse. Her blond hair was twisted up and pinned with little jeweled bobby pins, and she had on shiny pink lip-gloss and silver hoop earrings. A thin silver chain with a tiny dolphin charm lay along her collarbone, just inside the open collar of her dark shirt. She wished she’d worn something more alluring—like, say, Aria’s silky nightie, to attract his attention.

When the doctor saw her, he walked over and swung his chair around backward, sitting on it with legs spread wide. He was wearing motorcycle boots. She nearly bit her necklace. Instead of those hipster canvas shoes all the guys she knew had on, he was wearing badass scuffed-up black boots that made her want to do outrageous things to him. Becca took a sip of her coffee to gain a moment to compose herself, but all she did was burn her mouth. Tears shot to her eyes at the sting and she pressed her lips together to keep from shouting.

“Did you burn your mouth?” he demanded. She nodded sheepishly. He was off the chair and elbowing up through the queue to the counter in no time, and returned with a cup of ice and a plastic spoon. He got a cube on the spoon and fed it to her.

“Hold that in your mouth until it melts. It’ll help.” She sat; feeling awkward, as the ice melted and he said absolutely nothing to put her at ease.

“Thank you,” she said at last. He gave a short nod of acknowledgement and held out her scarf. She took it and thanked him again.

“Let’s see your hand.”

Obediently, Becca held out her palm for him to examine. He took her hand in his and trailed one finger along the tender edge of the cut he’d stitched. She tensed, and he felt her catch her breath. Glancing at her, meeting her eyes, he dropped his eyes back to the cut, clean and masterfully closed. He pressed his lips briefly to her palm and released her hand. She gave a small gasp at the unexpected kiss and withdrew her hand almost shyly.

“It looks to be healing well. How’s the pain?” he asked stiffly.

“My hand doesn’t hurt. My heart’s still broken.”

“The restaurant guy? He’s a cheater, not worth your regret.”

“Dr. Abrahemson, I appreciate your coming to bring my scarf. Really. Let me get you a coffee. What do you like?”

“Rather without warning, I like you.” He said. She subsided into her chair, speechless. “You can call me Abe, I think, since I’ve stitched your cut and heard all your troubles and now kissed your hand as well.” For a man who’d stammered on her voicemail, he was surprisingly smooth now.

“Abe,” she said dumbly. “I’m Becca.”

“I know.”

“Of course you do. You’re my doctor.”

“Don’t remind me. I never see patients during personal time.”

“I’m not here as your patient. At least, I wasn’t until I scalded myself with my coffee like a complete idiot. I seem doomed to make a fool of myself around you, Abe.”

“I don’t seem to mind.” He shrugged. “Black, two sugars.” She got in line to get his coffee.

Abe sat at the absurdly small table, watching her café mocha cool as she waited behind a slew of other patrons. He turned his gaze back to her: the pale curve of her neck rising from the collar of her dark shirt, the wave of blonde hair that had escaped its pins and trailed down behind her ear, the tip of the tendril catching in the hoop of her earring. He wanted to tug the hair free of the silver loop and tuck it behind her ear, kiss her just beneath her ear and hear the satisfying catch in her breath when he did. He wanted to be completely unprofessional, juvenile even. That wasn’t who he was. He was an accredited physician, dammit, not a seventeen-year-old who couldn’t take his eyes off an all-American blonde.

Becca came back with his coffee and set it carefully before him on the table.

“Be careful. It’s hot,” she teased. He took a sip, grimaced and set it back down, tipping a couple of ice cubes into the cup.

Becca reached into her bag to put the change in her wallet when the tote tipped over, spilling sex toys across the tiny table. She gasped theatrically, like a scandalized dowager, as a massive flesh-toned vibrator rolled across the table and landed in Abe’s lap. A riding crop with feathers on the end had fallen beside his coffee cup, and the shiny black dildo struck the napkin dispenser and started to play cowboy music. Becca reached for it as the same time Abe did and he snatched it from her.

“How do you turn it off?” he asked, mirth glinting in his eyes as he fondled the dildo in search of a volume switch.

“Here, it’s on the base,” she said, taking it from him and turning off the music before it reached the chorus about being back in the saddle. Blushing, she stuffed the dildo back in her purse and held out her hand for the embarrassingly lifelike vibrator.

“Missing your boyfriend already?” He teased. She shook her head, mortified.

“It’s okay, Becca,” he said, and she raised her eyes to meet his. She opened her mouth to apologize, but she burst out laughing. She couldn’t help it. She laughed until she choked and hiccupped, gathering up handcuffs and blindfolds and dumping them unceremoniously into her purse.

“What did you do with the riding crop?” she demanded between fits of laughter.

Mischievously, Abe pulled the toy out from under the table where he’d secreted it. Reaching across the table, he dodged her proffered hand and trailed the feathered end along her jaw, down her neck. He’d thought it would be funny but it was startlingly electric. He saw her shift in her seat, her eyes fixed on his, an,d he wondered for a second if he’d just got in over his head. He put the whip in her purse and took a drink of his coffee, schooling himself to think neutral, professional thoughts, anything really that didn’t involve Becca Bennett, a riding crop and a lot of nudity.

When he looked up from his coffee, her expression wasn’t shocked, wasn’t annoyed—it was teasing. She bit her lip and it nearly undid him. He had to get the hell out of this coffee shop before he violated his professional ethics and a blonde waitress as well. She took a drink of her coffee, her bedroom eyes never leaving his, and he was unaccountably jealous of the paper cup her lips were wrapped around. Everything about her made him jumpy, seemed to sting his skin with want. He wondered if she’d been in any movies and if he could stream them on Netflix after his shift. He wondered if she liked a shower in the morning or at night, if she hummed while she washed her hair. If she’d let him wash her hair or make her scream and beg for more. He was completely speechless.

“I want you to go out with me. When are you free?” Becca asked distinctly, and he stared at her. He’d thought she’d be shrinking with humiliation after the sex toy avalanche, but he had to admire her resilience, her boldness.

“I work a rotating shift. I also cover for other doctors so my schedule is unpredictable at best.”

“When do you work tomorrow? I’m off work the next two days.”

“Tomorrow? I—you’re a nice kid, Becca, but I don’t date patients. When I was an intern, I worked with a hospitalist who was always harassing the nurses and trying to pick up patients. I decided right then and there that I would never take advantage of my position. I can’t go out with you, Becca.”

“Wait. I’m a nice kid. You won’t take advantage of me. Is this the 1960s? I’m pretty sure we’re about the same age. You’re not an authority figure in a position to take advantage of me. I’m fairly certain I have the mental capacity and emancipation to decide if I want to see you or talk to you or do things to you without being imposed upon. It isn’t, in short, your decision whether I want to fuck you or not,” she finished emphatically. He shut his eyes, shook his head slightly and smiled. It was a heart-stopping smile, all crooked roguishness and pure sex.

“So do you want to?” he challenged.

“I’m undecided at this point, but the odds are pretty good.”

“That’s unfortunate. As charming as I find you, I can’t see you again. It was a mistake to call you in the first place, honestly. You could have claimed your scarf at the hospital without my interference, and the fact that I saw you today is a serious lapse in professional judgment. I don’t seem to be very good at marshaling myself around you, so it would be best if this were goodbye. I’m not going to endanger my professional ethics just because I have trouble—”

Becca cut him off, leaning across the table and clutching his face with both hands, kissing him. She slid off her chair and moved closer without releasing him, feeling the stubble along his jaw against her palm, the silky curl of his hair in her fingers, the taste of coffee on his tongue. Abe looped an arm around her hips, holding her to him, but seemed content to sit there and be kissed by her for the entire world to see. When she raised her head with a smile, he nodded.

“Tomorrow at six. I get off at five; it’ll give me time to shower.”

“Good. I’ll take you bowling,” Becca said decisively. “The crap in my purse is for my sister’s bachelorette party. Just so you know,” she added. “And I decided I wanted you when I saw you bandaging that doll for a kid at the ER.”

“Is that all I need to know?”

“For now.”

Abe got to his feet and walked her out.

“Are you going to work now?”

“Yeah. It’s just a few blocks from here. I’ll walk.”

“Let me walk you.”

“I’m fine. Really.”

“Isn’t your ex-boyfriend there?” He raised his eyebrows with a grin that made her think he was probably a troublemaker, too.

“Should be by now. Why?”

“Just thought it wouldn’t do any real harm if I showed up with you, let him know you’ve moved on. It might make you a little more comfortable at work tonight. Knowing that he thinks you’re not alone.”

Becca looked up at him, touched he had thought about her discomfort in working with Chris, about how she hated being alone.

“There’s so much injustice in the world. Let me do this.”

She nodded, feeling suddenly teary. She looked down at the sidewalk and blinked back tears. It had been a while since a guy had been kind to her. Chris, come to think of it, had never really been nice to her at all.

“Thanks. I think I’ll take you up on that.”

They walked on toward Caliccio’s, and as they drew near, she looked nervously at Abe.

“Do I look okay? I don’t want Chris to think I’ve been a total wreck.” She looked so insecure that he almost laughed. She was gorgeous in that breezy, casual way that only really beautiful woman can get away with. Anyone else would have looked rumpled and awkward, but on Becca it was more of a careless perfection.

“Let’s see, I think your lipstick is a little—” he murmured, leaning closer to her, pressing her a little up against the glass door of the restaurant. He slanted his mouth over hers and kissed her playfully. Becca pushed against his chest lightly, without much resolution, gripping his shirt in her hand and holding on to him. She opened her lips for him, felt the tightening in her stomach and legs as his tongue pushed into her mouth.

“There,” he said softly. “That looks better.” Surveying her, breathing hard through parted pink lips, her hair a little disheveled in a way that made him want to mess it up worse, Abe thought she looked like a good dream. “Thanks for the coffee.” With that, he sidled away down the sidewalk, checking his phone as casually as if he hadn’t just pushed her up against the glass at her job and made her melt in his arms.

The other waitresses gave her hell for bringing her new man around the restaurant. One of them wanted to bite his biceps; another one teased her about hiring him to make it look like she had a new boyfriend. Still, their ribbing was a lot easier to take than their pity would have been.

As she dumped salad ingredients into a bowl for a customer, Becca thought about what a favor Abe had done for her. Then she promised herself she wouldn’t sleep with him tomorrow night. After all, Hannah was sort of right about how she rushed into things with men. This time, she’d do it right. He was clearly interested, just a little gun-shy, so she wasn’t going to give him the full court press just yet. They’d keep it light, have fun and not put any pressure on for commitment. She wrinkled her nose. The whole idea of taking it slow was very unnatural. He was obviously a real sweetheart—forget bandaging the doll; he’d gotten her ice for a burned tongue, had protected her from annoying gossip at work by walking her to the restaurant and then kissing her where everyone could see. She found that out when Chris pulled her aside as she returned a tray to the drinks station.