His response is a deep, hungry groan and it lights a fire inside me. Now we kiss with no holds barred. His hand wraps around my thigh and my leg lifts of its own accord. My dress slides up to my waist and his hand shifts higher, dragging across the heated skin of my upper thigh so he can keep my leg wrapped around his hip. My stomach tightens in anticipation. Sizzling desire floods my system.

  We kiss until my lips are sore, until I have to break away and gasp for breath, until I feel lightheaded and dizzy with need. If I had a bottle of water within reach, I’d dump it on my head. Everywhere he touches, it feels like he’s dragging a flame across my skin. It sears. It ignites. It turns me on to the point of clothes-tearing, nails-dragging, teeth-biting insanity.

  My hands are on his suit pants and I’m fumbling with the button, like gimme, gimme, gimme.

  I want him to push me up against this wall and end my three-year dry spell. I want to finally know what it feels like to have Matt drive into me and lose control, rock his hips against mine and…I’m saying all of this to him. Every word spills out and Matt is cursing under his breath and tugging on my panties, trying to drag them down my hips, and Jesus.

  “Just tear the damn things!” I plead, near tears.

  He does and stuffs them in his pocket. Dammit, those were my good panties, but who the hell cares, because Matt’s fingers are between my legs and I’ve watched him operate with those hands, but this is what they were really meant to do. This is…this is…

  DEAR GOD.

  His hand glides back and forth and he likes how ready I am, how very, very, very wet I am. For him.

  He presses his mouth to the shell of my ear and tells me how good I feel as his finger slides into me.

  My mouth drops open and I’m not one hundred percent sure my jaw doesn’t come unhinged because DR. RUSSELL drags his finger out slowly and adds a second, and that gentle pumping turns not so gentle. I’m grinding against the heel of his palm as he shifts us to the left and pushes me against the wall. It’s almost humiliating how easily I’m coming undone, how easily two little (okay, big) fingers can make me mewl like a kitten.

  “I want you,” I demand sharply, sounding nearly possessed with need, but he’s the one thinking clearly, because he shakes his head and uses the pad of his thumb to swirl in the exact spot that makes my toes curl and my eyes pinch closed.

  Those first few waves of pleasure start to crest, but he staves them off, working me up even more before his thumb returns, swirling just slowly enough to put me in a straitjacket.

  “There’s not time,” he insists, his voice velvety and commanding before he quiets my protests with his mouth. His teeth bite my lip and he’s a little rough, but then I knew he would be. That softness he hides from the world is lost in this moment too. The man doing wicked things to me in this bathroom is the same man who inspired that devil picture in the lounge. This is the hotshot surgeon with all the confidence in the world, the man who scares me as much as he excites me.

  He pulls back and watches me with hooded eyes as his fingers continue killing me slowly. His faint smirk tells me he’s pleased by every one of my moans and whimpers.

  Except for one hip pressing me against the wall and his fingers pumping in and out, he doesn’t touch me. He stays just like that, disengaged enough that he can watch what he’s doing to me. It feels like I’m performing for him. Maybe later, I’ll be embarrassed by my flushed skin and swollen lips, but right now, I like his eyes on me. I like letting him do this to me.

  A heavy fist knocks on the bathroom door and I jump out of my skin.

  Matt’s fingers curl into me.

  The door handle jostles as a deep voice asks, “Is someone in here?”

  Matt’s thumb swirls faster and I bite down on my bottom lip to keep from crying out.

  His gaze finds mine and he shakes his head, pressing a finger to his mouth.

  There’s another knock as the person grows more impatient. I have half a mind to shout, WE’RE ALL IMPATIENT, OKAY, BUDDY?!

  I’ve waited so long for this moment, and the idea that it could be taken away in an instant makes me more desperate than ever. My chest rises and falls in quick succession. My hand hits Matt’s wrist and I grip it hard. The gesture says, If you stop, I’ll kill you.

  His smirk turns him into a devil and he gets the hint because there’s no slow teasing anymore. There’s only his thumb and his eyes on me and “I’m going to come,” I whisper. His hand covers my mouth at the precise moment the peak of pleasure crashes into me. Ricochet after ricochet. Tingles rack me from head to toe. I cry out against his hand and he smothers the sound as best as he can, but it’s still probably not enough. The pope, my first-grade teacher, and my grandmother could be standing outside that bathroom door and I wouldn’t be able to stay quiet.

  Matt’s hand makes it hard to breath, but this orgasm is never ending, and I live in the clouds now. I refuse to float back down to earth. His mouth presses against my forehead in a chaste kiss and his hand eases a little bit.

  “Bailey?” he asks, his tone tinged with amusement. “I’m going to move my hand now.”

  I nod to let him know I’m not going to do anything crazy, like proclaim, DR. RUSSELL IS DOING DIRTY THINGS TO ME IN HERE, EVERYONE.

  Though, just to be clear, a part of me does want to do that.

  He steps back, slowly pulling his hips away from mine, and I take stock of my body: my limbs are somehow still intact, my breathing is slowly returning to normal, my cheeks are still flushed, and they’ll probably stay that way as long as Matt is looking at me with that knowing gleam in his eyes. I adjust my dress, step toward the mirror, and cringe. My mouth says, I’ve been naughty. My hair is a riotous mess. I drag my fingers through it and try to get it to lie as flat as possible, but there’s no way to get it back to normal.

  I groan as reality sinks in.

  We’re at the company Christmas party.

  I’m not wearing any panties.

  There’s still someone waiting outside the door.

  “How the hell are we going to get out of here?” I ask, peering at his reflection over my shoulder.

  Matt’s apparently already thought of that.

  When I’m good to go, I give him a thumbs-up, and he tugs open the door just enough to stick his head out.

  “Dr. Richards.” He winces gently. “I need help. I’ve been throwing up nonstop—food poisoning or something.”

  “What?!” Dr. Richards groans. “Are you okay? You didn’t have the spinach dip, did you? Dammit, I knew I shouldn’t have gone back for seconds.”

  “No, no. Just go get me some water, will you? And something to settle my stomach if you can find it.”

  Dr. Richards mutters something under his breath and Matt watches carefully as he turns down the hallway to complete his errand. The moment he’s out of sight and the coast is clear, Matt straightens, adjusts his coat jacket, and offers me his elbow.

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  I shake myself out of my impressed stupor.

  “Honestly, you went into the wrong profession,” I tease. “That performance was worthy of an Oscar.”

  Chapter 26

  MATT

  Let’s be perfectly clear: everyone knows what just happened in that bathroom. Dr. Richards is the only one who still thinks I’m having stomach problems. As I take Bailey’s hand and lead her back to her sister, he rushes over to me with water and some antacids he found in his wife’s purse. Sweat drips down his forehead as he presses a hand to his stomach. “Now that you mention it, I don’t feel so good either.”

  Bailey has to stifle her laugh with a poorly executed coughing fit, and I tug her along before she can blow our cover.

  “Really?” I chastise, unable to wipe the satisfied smirk off my face.

  She shakes her head and covers her smile. “I can’t stop.”

  She’s giddy from her post-orgasm high. At least that makes one of us. I’m still so hard, a soft brush of her hand across my crotch and I’d be a goner. It’s pathetic. I need to get the hell out of here. My mission is done. I came, I saw, I conquered. Well, I did the second two.

  “People are still staring at us,” Bailey hisses under her breath.

  “Huh.” I sound bored. “Are they?”

  “You know they are,” she says, wrapping her free hand around my forearm, shielding half her body behind mine. A few minutes ago, she wanted away from me as fast as possible. Now, suddenly she can’t get close enough. It’s the best case of whiplash I’ve ever had.

  “Just smile and look confident. They’ll move on. Look, Dr. Goddard and his wife are over there making fools of themselves. No one even cares about us anymore.”

  It’s true. Dr. Goddard is stamping his foot and insisting the children “stand in descending order by age, not height” for their photo with Santa while his wife shouts back angrily. Still, half of the room remains laser-focused on us. I should probably let go of Bailey’s hand. It’s not helping matters. Instead, I tighten my grip.

  “Just to be clear,” she says, leaning in and dropping her voice so only I can hear. “Holding hands right now is as good as getting on a loudspeaker and announcing to everyone that we’re a couple. If you want to be discreet about this, I’d let go if I were you.”

  “I’m not letting go,” I reply confidently.

  Her mouth forms a perfect O.

  I lift my chin. “Are you changing your mind?”

  “About what just happened in that bathroom?” she quips, lazy smile back in place.

  “About agreeing to give us a try.”

  She laughs. “Ooooh, I didn’t realize that’s what was happening back there.” I shoot her a teasing glare and she wiggles her fingers against mine. “Fine. Okay! Yes! Let’s give us a try, but if it doesn’t work out, you have to tell everyone I’m really good in the sack and super smart and that I left you.”

  She’s teasing but her words still sting.

  She tries to catch my eye, but I tug her along. “C’mon, it looks like Josie finished her book and there’s a group of boys trying to talk to her.”

  “Oh good! Scare them all off, will you? She’s not allowed to date until she’s 40.”

  I was worried about how people would treat Bailey after our little show. I probably should have given her the choice about where and when she’d like to inform people about our relationship, but…well, things happen. Our plan was to leave soon after getting back to Josie, but there were too many people eager to hear news about June and her recovery. I hadn’t even told Bailey the best of it: June tested positive for motor and sensory function this afternoon. She’ll still need physical therapy, but I have no doubt she’ll regain normal use of both legs. I watch Bailey’s face as I tell this to the group of surgeons crowded around us. Her eyes well up and she forcibly swallows as if that might keep her emotions at bay. I want to wrap my arm around her and tug her close, tell her she has as much to do with June’s recovery as I do, but my colleagues crowd in like a tidal wave, eager with questions.

  I play at politeness for a little while, appreciating how sour Dr. Goddard’s face is every time we make eye contact from across the room. Dr. Richards and Dr. Smoot are quick to amend their original stance on the subject. “We didn’t have the forethought you had, Dr. Russell.”

  With the amount of press coverage from the case, New England Medical Center won’t be hurting for surgical patients any time soon.

  As the night continues, I give Bailey every opportunity to break free and save herself. She could go hang out with the other surgical assistants or find her sister, but instead, she stays by my side. My colleagues notice. They try to be sly about it, but they’re definitely inspecting how close we’re standing. They pay careful attention when I whisper something in her ear and Bailey smiles. A few of them even toss her a question or two about June’s case, and to Bailey’s credit, she doesn’t cower. She lifts her chin and holds her own in a group of egotistical surgeons, every bit as confident as the day I met her.

  No one asks about our relationship outright. I think they’re minding their business because they know better than to pry.

  Bailey thinks that’s hilarious and informs me they’re actually whispering nonstop behind our backs, but no one is brave enough to ask us directly if we’re dating because they’re terrified of me. I smile at the thought. There is one person who’s brave enough to address the elephant in the room, though.

  Patricia walks by at one point with a plate of desserts in hand. She pauses beside us, drops her chin, and stares pointedly over the brim of her glasses at our joined hands. Then she emits a half-interested hum and keeps walking. That’s it.

  “I swear she smiled a little,” Bailey insists, watching her walk away over her shoulder.

  “Patricia? I’m not sure she knows how to smile.”

  The snow’s still coming down hard when we finally manage to escape the party and I insist on driving Bailey and Josie home. Bailey’s conspicuously quiet in the passenger seat. Her hands are wrapped around her purse and I can see the edge of a present sticking out of the top—my present. Josie, meanwhile, sits in the middle of the back seat, doing her best to catch up on all the changes in the last few hours. For every question a colleague of mine suppressed at the party, Josie asks five.

  “So you two are really dating now? Like it’s Facebook official?”

  “I don’t use Facebook,” Bailey replies quickly. “But sure, yes. Can’t you go back to reading now?”

  “I finished my book. Harry’s back at Privet Drive for the summer. So, Matt, can I call you that? Or do I have to call you Doctor?”

  I laugh. “Matt’s fine.”

  “Right. Matt, have you had many serious girlfriends in your life?”

  “A wife.” I meet her gaze in the rearview mirror. “Does that count?”

  “A WIFE?!” Josie acts outraged, and I have to stifle a laugh as Bailey drops her head in her hands and groans.

  “Why don’t you just let us out here?” Bailey suggests. “Yes, this is fine. We’re only, what, four miles from our house?”

  I ignore her and give Josie a CliffsNotes version of my relationship with Victoria.

  “So it was ages ago?” Josie asks once I finish.

  “Ages,” I confirm.

  She nods and leans forward so her head hovers between Bailey and me.

  “Well, Bailey here hasn’t had a serious boyfriend ever. Have you told him that, sis? Seems like something a guy would want to know before he commits.”

  Bailey reaches to unlock the car, presumably so she can leap to her death on the highway, but I’m too fast at re-engaging the lock.

  “As a matter of fact, Josie”—I grin—“she hasn’t.”

  Josie nods. “Yeah, I mean if I were her age and had only ever dated—how many guys is it, Bailey? Two?”

  “THREE,” she corrects, crossing her arms and staring out the window. “And I’m no longer participating in this conversation.”

  “Right, I mean three’s not that many. Hell, I kissed three boys in kindergarten alone.”

  I have to fight down a surge of laughter.

  It continues like that the whole way to their house. Josie’s got the innocent act down pat, but I’m confident she knows exactly how to torment her sister. It reminds me a lot of how Cooper and I act when we’re together.

  After a few detours because of heavy snow, I eventually make it to their house and pull into the driveway.

  “Want to come inside for some hot cocoa?” Josie asks excitedly.

  I glance to Bailey, wondering what she wants me to do, and to my relief, she smiles and shrugs.

  “I was going to suggest the same thing, but she beat me to the punch.”

  When we get out and walk up the path, Bailey takes my hand before I can take hers. We’ve done so much hand-holding tonight I should be sick of it, but I’m not. I can’t remember the last time I just wanted to hold on to someone like this. It feels silly, and yet I can’t stop doing it.

  We kick off our shoes in the foyer and Bailey turns to her sister.

  “Josie, why don’t you go make the hot cocoa? I’m going to talk to Matt for a second.”

  “Okay! I’ll pick a movie too!”

  Bailey smiles weakly as her sister skips into the kitchen. “Sorry, you probably didn’t think you’d be hanging out with a teenage girl tonight.”

  “I happen to think she’s funny.”

  Bailey rolls her eyes. “Well, whatever you do, don’t tell her that. Now c’mon, I’ll give you the grand tour.”

  If possible, their house has even more holiday decorations inside of it than it did the last time I was here. The Christmas tree we walk past is covered with so much tinsel it’s in danger of tipping over. There are a few gifts under the tree—not nearly as many as I had growing up. I narrow my eyes, trying to see if any of them are addressed to Bailey, but she tugs me along before I can get a good look.

  “The carpet is old and stained. Ignore it. It’s from the 80s, and we only made it worse when we fostered a dog for like three weeks last year. It didn’t take long for me to realize I couldn’t handle raising Josie and a puppy who wasn’t housetrained. I mean, Josie barely is,” she quips with a smile.

  If she thinks I’m looking at her carpet, she’s insane.

  “Now this,” she says, patting the wall with a teasing glimmer in her eyes. “This here is grade-A wood paneling.”

  “Fancy,” I say with a smile.

  “You can’t just get this type of high-end finish in any ol’ house.”

  I laugh and step toward her so I can wrap my hands around her waist and match her step for step as she continues walking backward to her room. “What about the 70s-style wallpaper in the bathroom up ahead?” I ask, nudging my chin toward it.