Page 37 of Dr. Attending

Weston raises a dirty-blond brow, but he says nothing as he watches me.

“What?” I snap, unable to stop myself. “You really think you have the game to get in my pants?”

I’m sure he believes that just because he’s got a chiseled chest, strong jaw, and broad shoulders, he wouldn’t have to work for it.That he could just snap his fingers, and I’d bow down at his feet. But he would be wrong.

So wrong.

Because I’m not going to let him embarrass me again.

“Caroline,” he warns again.

His voice drops low, and it sends a frustrating flicker of arousal through me because it’s so different from his normally playful tone.

It’s sexy.

“Weston,” I answer, matching his tone.

His hazel eyes flash darker, erupting into an alluring burnt umber that makes it difficult to hold his gaze. But he doesn’t respond, almost like he’s holding himself back.

“I knew it,” I goad, amusing myself as I float my toes up to the surface of the bubbling water. “You always were so full of shit.”

I can practically see when Weston reaches his breaking point because a well-defined muscle ripples in his jaw like he’s clenching his teeth. I would smile at my success in getting under his incredibly patient skin, but he catches me off guard. His fingers wrap around my ankles, and he yanks me toward him so fast that I don’t even have time to scream before I sink beneath the water.

I resurface with a dramatic cough, sputtering as I push my wet hair out of my face. I blink to try to get my bearings, realizing that I’m now straddling Weston’s lap with my legs on either side of his hips. My brain barely registers the intimacy of the position before he circles one of his surprisingly strong arms around my waist, grips my wrists behind my back, and pulls my body flush against him.

I hear myself gasp as his sizable erection presses against me.

Weston chuckles like he knows what I’m thinking as his other hand reaches up and strokes my face. His tender touch makes a warm heat pool between my legs, and I find myself tryingto squirm out of his grasp because it’s way more intimate than I expected. Unfortunately, those bicep muscles that I noticed earlier are real, and I don’t get anywhere.

I should be pissed. Iwantto be pissed. But there’s something about the way he’s holding me that’s soft and hard at the same time—something that makes it impossible to focus on anything except for the tension between us.

“Let’s set the record straight, princess,” Weston drawls, his tone low and controlled as his fingertips skate down my jaw. “That guy was a fucking scumbag. He was bragging to me about all the girls he was going to bag once you guys left for college. And it pissed me off. So I kissed you. And I’d do it again.”

My chest tightens because I wasn’t expecting that. “You . . . you barely knew me.”

“I’ve always known you.” His attention dips to my lips before returning to my eyes. “Just like I knowyou’rethe one who’s full of shit when you say that I don’t have the game to get in your pants.”

He traces a line down my neck before sliding his fingers through my tangled hair. “The question is . . . when are you going to finally admit that you want it? Hmm? When are you going to beg for it?”

I scoff, ignoring how his touch feels like pure fire on my skin. “I don’t beg.”

His mouth kicks up into a grin. “We’ll see about that.”

Weston gives my hair a rough tug, yanking me back and tilting my head up so that my neck is exposed.

The quick sting of pain should make me whimper, but something similar to a moan comes out instead, echoing in the still summer air.

I can’t move, stuck in place by his grip on my wrists and hair. The position makes my breasts feel heavy, and I feel my breaths come faster as desire burns through me.

“Fucker,” I seethe through clenched teeth, trying to get some sort of response from him because I’m beginning to ache with need.

Weston tightens his hold on me. “What was that?”

The growl in his tone does something to my lower belly, making me feel like I’m empty and full at the same time. But that doesn’t stop me from snarling and repeating myself. “Fucker.”

He clicks his tongue. “And here I thought we were making progress,” he taunts, shifting beneath me. “Were we not?”

“No.” I shudder as the tip of his cock somehow finds my clit through our swimsuits, nearly making my eyes roll into the back of my head.

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