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Excerpt
Once outside the bar, Ivo let go of her wrist. Stacey
stepped away from him, eyes sparkling with wrath. She wrapped her arms around
her body, closing up. The crowd on the inside had spilled out to the sidewalk,
and if he didn't move quickly, she could disappear in the ill-lit surroundings.
What a dump. The need to get her away from the seedy bar quadrupled.
He peeled his jacket off and held it out to her. “Come on,
you're cold.” What the heck was she thinking, wearing a strapless top and a
cock-tease mini-skirt in the heart of the Cape winter?
Stacey shrugged. “I'm good.”
In my opinion, you've never been worse. He stared at
her, but she met his gaze head-on. “Where's your car?”
“Not here.” She looked as if she wouldn't answer him, but
capitulated. “I took an Uber here.”
And was she going to take a taxi home? Or hitch a ride with
her hook-up, spend the night with some dick, only to flounder home at some
point tomorrow morning? Hung over, humped by some stranger, and then attempt
her exam? No wonder she kept on flunking. He tried to keep a straight face, but
in this environment, with her here, barely dressed, every control centre in his
brain was having a breakdown. “I'll take you home.”
At this, she laughed. “Dr Linder, I don't think that's a
good idea.”
“And why's that?”
She was spelling it out for him, all right. But he could be
bloody stubborn and thick-headed too. “My type…you're so not ready for me.” She
blinked at him, flirting with her eyelashes.
Every tendon in his body tightened, every muscle pulled
towards his centre where his dick rose without invitation. Who mentioned ready?
He dropped his gaze, only to see chills sprouting on her
arms and over her exposed chest; her fingers folded over her arms, turning
white because of the cold.
He swallowed, unable to respond verbally without melting
into her and holding her close, mouth against mouth, lips teasing. With one
step, he closed the gap between them and dropped his jacket over her shoulders.
She shuddered at the gentle gesture. “I don't need you, Doctor.
And you don't need me blazing your life into the ground.”
He was in her face now, their bodies sinfully close, his
hands still on his jacket but resting on her shoulders. “I'm exactly what you
need.”
She chuckled. “What about never having sex with me?
Anywhere?”
“Stacey,” he sighed, resisting to urge to drop his forehead
to hers. “I'm taking you home.”
“And then?”
His control slipped. The day was too long. The past three
hours too intense. “Then, over the next few weeks, I'm going to take a bottle
of paint stripper and brush you down. Layer by layer, until we find the real
you and you stop pretending. So, cut it out.” The words came out in a way he
should never talk to a patient. Being human sometimes interferes with the
job.
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