Page 62 of A Prescription to My Heart

I feel him watching me.

Even from across the ballroom, with glittering chandeliers overhead and champagne flutes clinking everywhere, I feel the weight of Soren’s stare.

He’d been drawn into an intense and long conversation with Dr. Meyers from Oncology, and while he was distracted, I’ve been cornered into a conversation of my own in which I’m an unwilling participant.

I badly want to look at him, feeling my neck prickle under his stare.

But I can’t look at him right now. Not while Dr. Morgan Hayes—orthopedic titan and habitual flirt—is standing this close to me, laughing at something I barely even heard.

“So, are you sure you’re actually married to Calloway?” Morgan grins, tilting his head. “Because that man doesn’t strike me as the marrying type. Shocked he even managed it the first time, honestly. Doesn’t smile. Doesn’t mingle. Doesn’t even drink, unless you count black coffee as a beverage.”

I smile politely, trying to steer the conversation back to neutral. “He’s full of surprises.”

“Are you one of them?” Morgan asks, stepping closer, the teasing in his voice starting to edge on something else. His cologne is expensive and cloying. It makes my nose twitch.

I laugh a little, nervous. “You know, I should—”

My words cut off as a warm, firm hand wraps around my waist from behind.

“Soren,” I gasp.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just slides in beside me like he’s done it a thousand times, fitting against my side with practiced ease. His fingers tighten at my hip, possessive, steady. His eyes don’t leave Morgan’s face.

“Hayes,” he says coolly—velvet and ice. “Good to see you.”

Morgan’s smug expression falters. “Calloway.”

“Enjoying the Gala?”

Morgan glances between us, the air turning heavy with tension. “It just got interesting.”

Soren doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. His hand shifts higher on my back. My skin sings under his touch, electricity surging up my spine like a live wire.

I look up at him, trying to silently ask what is going on. And that’s when he does it. Without warning, without pretense, Soren cups the side of my face, leans down, and kisses me. Right there. In front of Morgan. In front of what feels like the entirehospital.

I freeze. My lips part in shock—just enough for him to take more.

His mouth is warm, firm, unrelenting. It’s not a peck. Not a show. It’s slow, deliberate, and deep.

It’s possessive.

And I’m powerless against it.

My fingers clutch the front of his jacket, not to pull him closer, but because my knees feel like they’re about to give out. He tilts my chin slightly, deepening the kiss, and I forget what air tastes like. I forget where we are. I forget everything.

Because when Soren kisses me, it’s not play-pretend. It’s fire. Unrestrained and dangerous.

When he finally pulls back, the room slides back into focus in pieces. My heart thunders. My flushed and breathless. A little dazed.

And Soren? He’s staring at me like I’m the one who just crossed a line.

I blink up at him, lips still parted.

He says nothing.

I don’t trust my voice. I don’t trust what’s happening inside me. I don’t trust that it didn’t feel real.

Morgan is long gone. I didn’t even see him leave.

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