Page 24 of Maxwell

Keisha dropped her voice lower. “Today I heard Dr. Santana talking to Miss Crosby. Her daughter’s a new patient. A bundle of energy but a real sweet girl. Anyway, Miss Crosby was saying something about the difficulties of being a single mother with a ten-year-old and holding down a full-time job with no help from her daughter’s father. Dr. Santana told her she’s doing a great job and that her daughter was thriving because of her consistency.” Keisha shook her head slowly. “The way he said it, though, his voice was... I don’t know how to explain. It was so—” she fanned herself and sighed. “Something about the way he praises the moms—and us—for doing a good job makes me all hot and bothered. It’s like he’s talking dirty to me in the bedroom.”

Jasmine knew exactly what Keisha meant. Maxwell’s voice did things to her. It was like warm silk being dragged against her skin, but it wasn’t just his voice. It was the way he said the words. The combination was lethal. Low, unhurried but intense, as if he had all the time in the world and had decided to spend it all on you. Throughout the night they had sex, the stuff he had said was diabolical, intensifying the sensual power of his strokes. She remembered every word. They had sounded so intimate, whispered in husky undertones, heating her skin and making her wetter.

Just like that. Almost there.

Keep working those hips. You’re doing so good.

You’re fucking perfect.

Such a good girl.

Her thighs clenched at the memories. “Are you ovulating?” she asked Keisha, to get her mind off her sexual thoughts.

“Stop. I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

Keisha let out an exaggerated sigh. “All I’m saying is, having him here has been a tad bit problematic. Every now and again I consider calling my husband for a lunchtime quickie.”

“T.M.I.”

Keisha giggled but then looked slyly at Jasmine. “I know you’ve got Nicholas on the brain, but are you telling me you haven’t noticed how good a job Dr. Santana is doing? Or how hot he is? I know a good optometrist if you need an eye exam.”

Jasmine turned her back to Keisha as she slid a folder into one of the drawers. “I can admit he’s good-looking,” she said reluctantly. Despite her friendship with Keisha, she had never told her that she knew Maxwell intimately.

“Thank you! I was beginning to wonder if you were blind.”

“My eyes are fine, thanks.” Jasmine retrieved the file she had been searching for and slammed the drawer shut.

“I get the feeling that you don’t like him.” Leaning back in her chair, Keisha studied her with a thoughtful expression. “You’re one of the few people I know who gets along with everyone. I’m more likely to not like him.”

“I think he took care of that issue when he bribed you with the plant. For the record, we get along fine, so it’s not that I don’t like him,” Jasmine said.

“What’s the problem, then?”

“Who says there’s a problem?” Jasmine countered.

“There’s definitely a problem.”

Keisha wasn’t budging, so Jasmine had to think of something to say, but she couldn’t articulate what the issue was because she didn’t know herself. She and Maxwell had a strange relationship. Their banter energized her, but she knew it couldn’t go any further. Nonetheless, her pulse tripped over itself every time she heard him talking in the hallway or heard his deep-throated laughter because one of his little patients had said something funny.

And why did he look extra hot in his white coat—with multiple pens stuck in the top pocket—as if he was on a runway instead of strolling the halls of a pediatric practice?

“He’s too perfect,” she blurted.

Keisha’s eyebrows drew together. “What do you mean?”

“It’s ridiculous how all the mothers are already fawning all over him. ‘Oh, Dr. Santana, thank you so much.’ ‘Dr. Santana, you’re so patient. I wish my husband were more like you.’” Jasmine rolled her eyes.

Keisha covered her mouth as she giggled. “Stop. I mean it.”

Now that she was on a roll, Jasmine didn’t want to stop. “Mrs. Livingston met him for the first time at the tween workshop and showed up with her twins yesterday—in a sundress! It’s February! I know her ass was cold. Talking about, ‘I do hope you’ll be the boys’ doctor for a very long time. Have you settled into Atlanta okay? If you need help with anything, do let me know.’”

She thought that was a good one, especially since she put an extra Southern drawl into her voice to match Mrs. Livingston’s accent. But Keisha didn’t laugh this time. She was looking over Jasmine’s shoulder, and that’s when she felt it. The distinctive shift in the air that she should have noticed before.

“He’s behind me, isn’t he?”

Keisha nodded, biting her bottom lip.