Page 11 of One Night Only

She’s special, there’s no doubt about that. Warm, witty, with a wildness she tries to hide.

The delight that crossed her face when she spied the dual jets in the shower, the soft little groan that slipped out when she rubbed the fluffy towel against her face, the impish smile when she asked if I would feed her because she’s starving, everything about her fascinates me.

The truth is that I’ve done nothing like this, ever.

I trust my gut, my intuition, of course. It’s the quality that sets me apart in my chosen field instead of operating with an oversized ego.

When I do feel the urge for sex, I have a couple of friends-with-benefits. Women who have the same highly charged, competitive, God-complex-inducing careers like mine. Women who know the score and want nothing more.

Like a hard, pounding run or a grueling workout, sex became another way to blow off steam. To release the stress valve after a patient dies on the operating table or a child’s difficult consultation looms ahead.

But lately, those quick encounters leave me feeling emptier than before, itching for more.

Is Annika the answer? Or am I going mad?

Chapter Eight

Ethan

“Something smells amazing.”

I turn around to find her standing under the arch of the bathroom entrance, her hair framing her face in damp tangles. Hands clasped at her middle, she looks so nervous that I feel protective as hell.

Until I note what she’s wearing.

“Hope it’s okay that I borrowed your stuff,” she says. The first three buttons on the shirt are undone, giving me a glimpse of smooth skin I want to mar with my teeth. “Not that you can ask me to take it off now.”

My gaze flies to hers, and she looks as surprised at her comment as I feel. “I didn’t mean it like a challenge.”

“Clearly, you’re better at flirting than you think you are,” I say, taking her in.

She tied the tails of the shirt in the back, so the fabric pulls against her chest. The shirt’s damp in places, thanks to the wet strands of her hair. I swallow at the shadow of her breasts visible through it.

Beneath it, she has black boxer briefs which bare her long, toned legs. The idea of her intimate folds touching the same place as my dick has me blazing hot.

God, I am a perverted old man.

“They were sitting near the sink, freshly laundered.”

The hesitation in her voice yanks me out of my fantasies. “That’s fine.”

I rub a hand over my face and turn away.

It’s not like she’s unaware of the blaze of heat every time we lock eyes. It might as well be a third entity in the room. But I hesitate, and it’s as much a shock as this whole evening.

Usually, I’m the most confident guy in any room, the one that people are looking at for answers. Like I’m their savior. While I don’t let it go to my head, I operate with a level of confidence that’s required to save lives.

But something about her, about this crazy attraction, makes me hesitate.

I want to touch her so badly that my hands shake as I lift the domes on the dinner tray. Suddenly, the luxurious suite with its king bed and a sitting lounge feels far too small for me and my throbbing dick.

I clear my throat. “I ordered a Caprese salad, mushroom risotto, and affogato for dessert. They will deliver hot chocolate whenever you want.”

Her mouth drops open with an audible gasp. “Those are all my favorites.”

I shrug, feeling like my chest has been splayed open under the knife of her gaze. For a second, all that shit that Jonah tells me about dating in the current world floods me.

No.I’m too old to play stupid power games.

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