His hands are possessive on my body. Pulling me tight against him almost aggressively, while cradling my skull so delicately, and kissing me so carefully. He lights me up. He burns me down. And I bask in his heat.
The buzz of the hospital around us fades away when his lips come back and press down more firmly this time. The people, the sirens, Rob’s presence. It all blows away like dust on a dirt road as I kiss Rhett back.
I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t be kissing this man. This client. I definitely should not be kissing him back. But sometimes being responsible is exhausting, especially in the face of someone as irresistible as Rhett Eaton.
It’s me who pushes my tongue into his mouth. It’s me who steps even closer, feeling his hand slide down to my ass as he crushes me against the steely bulge in his pants. It’s me who moans when he presses it against me even harder.
The knowledge that I do that to him makes me wild. It seems unlikely. We seem unlikely.
And yet I’d have to be an idiot to deny there’s a connection here. The bickering. The jokes. The goddamn teenaged crush.
His thumb trails down the column of my throat as his silky tongue tangles with mine. He wields it so well. He makes me weak in the knees. Suddenly, I want him closer—I want more.
And as I squeeze my thighs together and feel my core clench, I realize my body wants that too. Which is a problem. Because I still need to spend several weeks with this man. Alone with this man. Which means this needs to stop.
I pull back, panting. My hands are clenched, fisting the front of his shirt, and our hips still line up in a way that is entirely inappropriate for the main entrance of the hospital.
Rhett is breathless too, back to staring at me.
His eyes flit past me, and I follow them, not wanting him to look away yet. We glance over just in time to see Rob’s coiffed head of golden hair slip into his fast car. The sound of his door slamming makes me jump. And then I’m staring back up at Rhett, whose jaw is clenched hard enough that it looks like the bone is trying to escape through his skin.
“Well . . . I think that worked.” My voice sounds breathy and soft as I step away from Rhett’s rock-hard body, the breeze whooshing in between us as though it’s carrying away all the feelings that came fluttering up when we kissed.
I wish it could carry away my confusion.
We walk again, and I’m just trying to stay upright after the most mind-blowing kiss of my life. Fake kiss.
I wonder if we’re going to talk about it, but Rhett just adjusts himself in his jeans and tries to steer the conversation back into safer territory. Mocking me.
“Did you plan our wedding while you were cooped up in the hospital? What about our wedding night? I’d love to hear about that.”
I glance down at his crotch with a smirk. Secretly getting off on seeing the bulge there. “Bet you would.”
His pinky finger wraps around mine tenderly before he moves his hand to the small of my back, guiding me safely across the road and making my chest flutter.
He’s joking. But I did imagine a wedding night with him. A long time ago.
I haven’t in years.
But I might be tonight.
“Tell me about him,” Rhett says from the passenger seat while I focus too hard on an empty road.
“What?” I eye him suspiciously now, pretending I don’t know what he’s talking about.
“Doctor Douche.”
I strangle a laugh in my throat as my tongue darts out over my lips and my knuckles turn white on the steering wheel. “He’s not a douche.”
“Get real. I saw his personalized license plate. His secret is officially out.”
I smile now. “Okay, that is bad.”
“Bad? It’s worse than bad. I bet he loves milk-based drinks, too.”
I huff out a laugh and shake my head.
“When did you break up?”
“I don’t know if you could call it a breakup. We weren’t together in the way you might be thinking.” My top teeth graze my bottom lip as I turn things over in my mind. I’ve only ever told Willa about this, and it’s scary to open up about it with Rhett.
“We . . . fuck. I don’t know. I’ve told no one except my best friend about this.”
“You mean Kip never met him?” The curiosity on his face is blatant.
“Well. No. He’s met him.”
“Summer, this isn’t a Christopher Nolan film. I don’t deserve to be this confused after giving you the best kiss of your—”
“He was my doctor,” I blurt out.
Rhett goes still, all the jokes sliding away. Probably crushed by the wheels beneath us. “Like your family doctor?”