Page 13 of Mother Pucker

Rowan comes back, wearing his team’s signature gym shorts and a white undershirt. I hadn’t noticed the compression sleeve around his thigh earlier–probably because I was too busy focusing on his anaconda–or the slight limp to his gait.

Still, his clothing isn’t an improvement over him being practically nude, since I can clearly make out the edges of his pecs and abs. And with the way the undershirt hugs his arms, it’s like his biceps are purposely trying to be indecent.

“How are you feeling?” I gesture toward his thigh. “Have you been icing your thigh like we talked about?”

I spoke to his team doctor a few days ago and was sent over his medical records. Based on his recent MRI, I was glad to see it’s only a strain and nothing major.

He nods. “Feeling pretty good, actually. It’s a little tight in the mornings.”

I glance back down at his thigh, admiring the sheer girth of it before I clear my throat and break my gaze from it. The man has a tenacity for catching me staring at him like he’s a gluten-free, high-fiber protein bar I’d like to sink my teeth into.

My gaze lands on the wall behind me, with three large hand-painted pictures–a red sports car, a jet ski, and a pair of skates with a hockey stick. Under the paintings is a large display of trophies and his old jersey from when he played for the New York Mayors.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

For no reason at all–other than the fact that his voice hits me somewhere inside my stomach–I jump, turning around to face him again. “Um, water. Thank you.”

When he goes to the fridge to get me a bottle of water, I point at the paintings on the wall. “Are you a speed demon off the ice, too?”

He hands me the bottle before putting his hands in his pockets. “I would have asked the artist who did those to paint me a motorcycle, too, buttechnically,I’m not supposed to be riding those.”

I take a swig of water, interpreting his answer to mean yes. “Why do I get the feeling thattechnicalitiesdon’t seem to phase you, Mr. Parker?”

“Rowan,” he reminds me. “And yeah, the technicalities that matter to me tend to stay on the ice.” His eyes sharpen on me. “Otherwise, I firmly believe that rules are made to be broken.”

I hold his gaze for a moment before I remember why I’m here. And then I remember the other reason I’m here–to return hisverygraciousgift.

I open my purse to get it out. My face feels hot as I hold it between us. “There are some rules I definitely won’t break, and one of them is stretching the boundaries of ourprofessionalrelationship, as doctor and patient,” I clarify, in case he forgot. Hot, cocky men with anacondas as pets seem to do that. “So, as uh . . .thoughtful,but assumptious, of a gift as this was, I can’t accept it.”

Rowan takes a step forward–his towering frame making my head tilt up to look at him–and suddenly, my hand feels slightly shaky. “It’s not assumptious when it’s a fact, Doc. Andthat,” he flicks his gaze to the box holding the world’s most expensive dildo, “is yours.”

“It’s not a fact, and I can’t accept this,” I respond, squaring my shoulders.

Rowan’s lips twitch. “Are you denying that there was a malfunctioning vibrator in your purse during the time you were using your hands on me?”

I squint at him, knowing full well he said the whole ‘hands’ bit to get under my skin. “Yes.”

He takes another step closer, and now the length of the box is the only thing that separates us. I can smell the soft notes of his cologne–sage, apple, and spice–and it’s undeniable that I love it.

No, I don’t. I hate it.

“The pulse thumping rapidly against your neck, the way your eyes are dilated, and the fact that you can’t seem to hold that box steady says you’re a liar. And I’m willing to bet that if the reward was worth it, you’d be a rule-breaker, too.”

I swallow, feeling tiny droplets of sweat bead at my hairline.

Rowan’s mouth grazes the shell of my ear and my thighs clench automatically. “Want to know what the reward for breaking all your rules would be, Doc?”

Goosebumps scatter over my neck where his face still hovers. “I . . . I don’t . . .” I seem to have lost all my English-speaking capabilities.

Rowan chuckles softly, the vibration of it traveling down to my core before he leans back, giving me enough space to catch my breath again. “You can deny it all you want, Doc, but we both know you took thatgiftout for a test drive. And aside from the fact that Iwon’ttake it back . . . Ican’ttake it back. You know why?” He lifts a brow but doesn’t wait for my response. “Because your initials are engraved on it.”

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rowan

A little voiceinside my head asks what I’m doing.

Why am I pushing this woman’s buttons? Why do I crave her reaction–the little gasps she makes when I’ve caught her off-guard, the rapid blinking, the most delicious spread of goosebumps along her dark skin? The kind I want to leave my nose on and inhale until I’ve gotten my fill. The kind I want to taste, crawling my lips up the side of her neck until I feel her shudder against me.

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