Page 4 of Scrubbing In
What is wrong with me?
I internally cringe at my unmistakable and pathetic reaction to this man. With his looks and that smile, women must fall all over themselves trying to attract his attention.
“Good.” He visibly relaxes and sits back in his chair. And I bite my lip, hoping to hide my own satisfaction.
Julian’s watch pings with a notification. As he looks down, I take a steadying breath. This man unnerves, but excites me. I’m flooded with relief that he does seem as interested in me as I am in him.
Looking up from his watch with a grimace, he runs a large hand through his hair, touseling his neatly styled brown locks that appear to be naturally sun streaked with a few silver strands at his temple. “I’ve completely lost track of time. I have a meeting I need to get to. Though I would enjoy nothing more than to stay and finish my coffee with you, I really have to go.” With a forlorn expression, he really does appear to look disappointed.
A thrill shoots through me at his obvious reluctance to part ways. “Oh, of course. I should get going, too.”
I bend forward to grab my sock and shoe, but Julian beats me to it. I shiver as his large calloused hands gingerly slide my sock on my foot, then untie the laces and stretch open the shoe to gently slip it on. He lifts his head to stare at me—his irises appear more gray than blue at the moment, forming a dark ring around his dilated pupils. The ache in my core intensifies as his hand rests for a moment on my calf before he lightly squeezes the muscle.
Releasing me, he hops to his feet and helps me swing my injured leg to the ground. “Let me help you out.”
I start to shake my head. “I think I’m okay?—”
“I insist.”
My lips curl up as he slips his arm around my back. I wrap my left arm around his waist and place my other hand on his firmstomach to balance myself. With his proximity, I’m engulfed in the scent of bergamot and vanilla. I would question if it was the smell of a London Fog as we are in a coffee shop, but I only registered it when his large palm gripped my waist and pulled me against his tall and muscular body. His long fingers slip under the hem of my shirt, the exposed skin burns where they slowly caress my side. Looking up into his eyes—he towers over me by at least a foot—I’m lost in a desire to be even closer to him. I unconsciously lean in.
But the spell is broken when the barista returns with Julian’s card. He reaches for it, his eyes still never leaving mine, and slips the card into his pants pocket as the employee walks away. Picking up my drink, he hands it to me, then grabs his—all while keeping one arm securely around me.
Clearing his throat, he asks if I’m ready. I nod.
Silently and slowly, we make our way out of the coffee shop. I smile and carefully wave my hand holding my drink at the weary-looking mother and her adorable scooter-riding menace quietly sitting in the corner. I might be limping and my ankle is throbbing, but because of him, I’m wrapped up in Julian’s arms.
It feels nice and . . . right.
When we are on the sidewalk, I indicate my car parked down the block. “I’m the Grand Cherokee.”
Looking up the street as we start walking, the familiar creeping vines and weathered sign for Nonna’s grab my attention. Growing up, my dad was the owner and chef of the local Italian restaurant, which was our home away from home. I can’t help but smile remembering all the fun my brother, sister, and I had. Downtown Bayberry Park was an endless playground for my siblings and me.
As we approach the driver’s door, I say, “It’ll unlock. The key is in my pocket.”
Julian carefully pulls the handle and opens my door with the hand holding his coffee while keeping a firm hold on my waist. He seems reluctant to let me go until he absolutely has to. I look up at him and smile, then begrudgingly pull away and reach across the driver’s seat to put my drink in the middle console cup holder before turning back to Julian.
He’s glancing across the street, face tight. His beard cannot disguise the flexing of his jaw. I’m about to thank him for the coffee and helping me to my car when an unmistakable buzzing stops me. Reaching into his breast pocket, he removes his phone.
Squeezing his eyes shut and breathing deeply through his nose, after a pause, he releases an exhale and looks back at me. “I’m so sorry, I need to take this call.” With a press of his thumb, he brings the phone to his ear while stepping back onto the sidewalk. “Hello?”
Turning his back on me, my eyes flit up and down the street. My fingers begin tugging at the hem of my shorts.
“Yes, that’s no problem. I’m sure I can find it,” he says.
Thrown by the abrupt change in his demeanor and withdrawal, a taunting voice in my head starts questioning if this phone call is one of those fake emergencies—a way to end our interaction.
All at once, a heaviness sweeps through my body. I carefully swing my legs in and sharply jerk the door closed. Sagging into my seat, I try to ignore the feeling of disappointment swirling in my gut at what I thought was a significant encounter leading nowhere before I finally start the car and drive away.
CHAPTER FOUR
Julian
My jaw acheswith how hard I’m grinding my teeth. I don’t understand my reaction to her. While it’s been a while since I’ve slept with anyone, my body hasn’t reacted so strongly—and involuntarily—to a woman since I was a teenager.
Swallowing hard, I swing my gaze across the street. Trying to clear my head of Leena’s body stretched across the driver’s seat, giving me the perfect view of her firm ass. The phantom feeling of what it was like pressed against me as we stood by the counter, my arms holding her to me, is still lingering. Visions of my fingerprints marking her hips with my tight grip as I thrust inside her overwhelming me . . . and my dick.
My vibrating phone catches me off guard, and I retrieve it from my breast pocket. The name of the physician recruiter I’ve been working with flashes across my screen.
