Page 30 of Dr. Bad Boy

“I wouldn’t be calling as your client this time.”

“Then you’re absolutely right. I’d tell you personal contact isn’t appropriate.”

“Tell me that now.”

“I just did.”

“No, you said that’s what you would tell me.” He prowls toward me and my stomach drops. “Tell me to leave you alone.”

Heat coils tight and low in my belly. I can’t do that. The thought of not seeing Max again hurts. But this has to stop. That feeling has to die. “Shouldn’t you be playing hockey right now?”

“Couldn’t make it this week. I had a patient to check up on.” He points to my hand. “How’s it healing?”

See? He’sevil. I flush as I lift it up, showing him the stitches. “Just fine.”

“May I?” He waits for me to nod—reluctantly and eagerly at the same time, however that’s possible—before he takes my hand in his. He’s careful but sure as he looks at the stitches, then turns my hand this way and that before pronouncing that all looks well.

I slip my hand from his and clear my throat, trying to ignore the tingly feeling still skittering across my skin. “You know you shouldn’t be here.”

He doesn’t respond right away. His gaze follows my hand as I drop my arm back to my side, then he slowly pulls his eyes up to find my face. “I know you’re off-limits and I should call an escort service.” His voice dips, becoming more private, and it takes on a sharp edge. “Maybe I should arrange someone else to meet me at the Chateau Laurier. Excise the memory of your skin from the palm of my hand.”

Each word is a blade, and he wields them just as efficiently, slicing me open with surgical precision. The thought of him with another woman, giving her the spanking I never got, makes me see red. Probably the blood of my career, leaching out of me. “You’re not being fair.”

“What would be fair?”

I’m flustered and panicking, but I try not to let that show. I try to keep a handle on my flyaway heart and my terrified mind, but they’re both working overtime. Max has played me well. “You’re going to ruin me,” I whisper.

He gives me a long, solemn look. Less mean, more hurt little boy. “You’ve already ruined me. This makes us even.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. “I’ve done nothing of the sort.”

“No?” He leans in close. “I told you. I haven’t been with another woman since you, Violet. I can’t bear the thought of another man touching you. And you tell me that we can’t happen again. You tell me that your submission is no longer mine to command. And you think I should just blithely carry on?”

Images of us together flash through my mind and I force them away, swallowing hard against the desire surging up inside me. “Yes. I don’t know about blithely. I’m not going to pretend I’m not affected. But we move on. That’s what we do.”

“You’re such a pretty little liar.” His voice slides again, another try. Another angle. He’s a consummate actor, even after all these years. And this one…this approach is my kryptonite. This is what Max can give me that nobody else can, this dominance. His eyes glint with confidence as he watches me unravel. He deepens his voice. Commanding now. “But lying’s wrong. Liars should be punished.”

“That’s not your right.” My voice wavers. “You don’t have that power over me.”

He exhales roughly. “Is there someone else?”

I close my eyes. We’ve both danced around this, and I should reiterate that there isn’t, of course there isn’t. I can’t lie to him. Not about that. I can pretend a lot of things, but not cheating.

Not that it would be cheating.

My eyes fly open, wide and shocked at the thought.

He’s staring at my face, his gaze intent as he catalogues the myriad of emotions obviously playing out.

It couldn’t be cheating. We aren’t together.

We aren’t a thing.

Except we’re notnota thing.

We’renottogether.

But we’re totally a thing. A hot, complicated, fucked-up, off-limits, can’t-happen thing.

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