Page 31 of Instigator

“Go ahead and stand on that mark,” she says, pointing to a taped X on the floor. “On my count, the camera will circle you twice, and all you have to do is stand still. And then when we’re ready, we’ll move on to the next step.”

“Got it.”

After a little more fiddling, she brings the camera closer, then sets it down and backs away. With the click of a button, a bright red light fills the room again, and the wheeled camera revolves around me. I keep my eyes squeezed shut, not wanting to look.

“They were out of hazelnut, so I brought you—oh!” A woman’s voice cuts off abruptly. “I didn’t realize you were with a player.”

“We’re almost done,” Dr. Whitney says.

“Well, I won’t bother you.”

There’s something familiar about her voice, but I can’t place it. It’s rich and husky, with a twinge of a Midwestern twang mostly overwritten by a Boston accent. It almost reminds me of Annie, but that doesn’t make sense. Why would she be here? It must be my guilt talking, once again reminding me that I’m a worthless piece of shit.

Have I met Dr. Whitney’s colleague before? The voice doesn’t belong to Dr. Palmer, our neurologist, or Vanessa Larsson, the logistics coordinator. I’ve seen Dr. Whitney having lunch with both of them before.

“You’re not a bother, Ceci. You know that.”

Ah. Ceci Ramos. She’s on the board of the Grizzlies Foundation, and she’s friends with my sister. She’s also some sort of tech billionaire. In the back of my mind, I vaguely knew she was related to this project, but I didn’t know the details—still don’t. The less I know about this, the better.

I’ve met her once and made an idiot of myself. I thought I grew out of the whole spontaneous erection thing after puberty, but one minute with the dark-haired bombshell was enough to make my pants situation very uncomfortable.

And at a charity gala, of all places. Talk about bad timing. The bolt of lust that raced through me was foreign and unexpected, and I spent the entire night hiding from her—and my sister, who wasn’t subtle about wanting to set us up.

But that’s in the past. It’s not like I’m going to suddenly get hard again simply because she’s close by. She’s not even talking to me. I can totally survive this.

Footsteps sound as Ceci moves closer, and then the subtly smoky scent of bourbon and caramel floods my nose. That scent has haunted me. Taunted me. Blood rushes through my veins so fast I’m nearly dizzy, that familiar pull of want deep in my gut. My cock twitches against my thigh, my body reacting psychosomatically to the memory of what happened after.

I glance over my shoulder and freeze.

Because Ceci Ramos is the woman I’ve been salivating over from the bistro. I haven’t seen her in years, and she’s lost a lot of weight, but that fire in her eyes is as appealing as ever.

She’s even more gorgeous than I remember, the dark chocolate-brown strands of her hair falling in a subtle wave halfway down her back. A full face of makeup accentuates her features, her lips painted a deep berry-red color.

Fuck. A pang of need ricochets through me, and I swallow, hard, as my head starts to go all floaty. She’s pretty. She’s really pretty.

“We’re going to put a cap over your hair, then take some silicone molds of the contours of your head,” Dr. Whitney says.

Right. The helmet.

I take the stocking cap she hands me, shoving it unceremoniously over my head.

Ceci giggles, the sound rich and husky, an intrusive thought pinging around in my brain. Her laugh sounds familiar.

Dr. Whitney adjusts the cap, then applies a layer of something cold and squishy to my head. I flinch, and she curses under her breath.

“Sorry, the texture is a little uncomfortable,” she says.

“Not your fault,” I mutter, folding my hands over my lap. I don’t like this. I don’t like this one bit. The ick pulsing through me is an effective damper on my libido, my cock wilting.

She moves quickly, spreading the substance with a brush. I can feel the smooth stroke of the bristles through the cap. Is this gunk going to get stuck in my hair? Great. Just great.

“Did you ever hear back from that dude?” Dr. Whitney asks, and it takes me a second to realize she’s not talking to me.

“What dude?”

“The guy who stood you up and pissed you off for the last four days.”

Alarm bells go off in my head. Ceci was stood up? But she’s absolutely gorgeous. What could possibly be better than a date with her? I’d give my left nut for a chance with her.