Page 7 of Playing Doctor

“My thoughts exactly,” Gabe agreed.

Ian shifted and the little chair wobbled under the strain of his weight. “You’d think they’d put out chairs a grown man would feel safe sitting on,” he grumbled, handing Gabe a Heineken.

Gabe looked over at Ian and tried his damnedest not to laugh. Ian wasn’t your typical example of most grown men. Standing at six-three and carrying around two hundred-plus pounds of solid muscle, the Navy SEAL made a comical sight perched on the little bow-backed chair. Gabe started to tell him so, and then remembered they were pretty close to the same size, give or take an inch or a pound. Taking a cheap shot at your buddy when you probably looked as dumb as he did sucked all the fun out of the jab, so Gabe backtracked, held up his beer and made a toast.

“To the bride and groom,” he said, and clinked bottles with Ian.

“And to the photographer’s assistant,” Ian added with a wink.

Grinning, Gabe inclined his head. Then he waited. Waited for the guilt to crawl in, the shame to rise up and beat him down as it had countless times in the two years since Rita’s death. To remind him how careless he’d been with her, how building his practice had taken precedence over her, and all he’d lost because of it.

How he didn’t deserve to even look at another woman.

Hell, he knew he wasn’t worthy of a second chance. Wasn’t looking for one. He had all the responsibility he needed or wanted working in the ER.

His family and friends were always there to help him get through the rough days, but there had been so many times when he felt overwhelmed and lost without Rita at his side. Especially at night when he’d turn, reach for her, only to find his arms empty.

His body had eventually demanded release, craving the warmth and succor of a woman’s touch. Finding a willing woman was never a problem. He took what she offered and made sure she left his bed with a satisfied smile on her face and the knowledge that he wasn’t looking for anything more than the moment. He had yet to be tempted otherwise.

Oddly enough, as he tipped the longneck and watched the brunette over the bottle, his old pals Guilt and Shame didn’t pound on him today, or at least not for the moment, and it felt fucking great.

When the kid moved, she moved, as did the lush curves under the tailored, royal blue business suit. The slim skirt ended just below mid-thigh, displaying long, shapely legs. The kind that would wrap around a man, pull him deep, and hold him there while she came around him.

His gaze dropped to her feet. An appreciative grunt slipped from his throat. If that man were lucky, she’d be wearing those ball-tightening BDSM shoes while she did it. Tall heels with a network of straps and buckles crisscrossed her feet, ending just above her ankles. The shoes said, come get some, but the confident angle of her chin, the way she carried herself, said the woman wearing them could kick your ass with them if she wanted to.

From behind him, someone in the crowd called out, “Beth!” She turned, a graceful twist of her body that accentuated the generous swell of her breasts and the enticing curve of her ass. Her gaze skipped past him, then swung back and traveled over him with a smoldering, sloe-eyed appraisal that lingered on his crotch a little too long to be an accident before drifting back up to meet his eyes.

For a moment, Gabe thought he’d need a defibrillator to jump-start his heart, but then it kicked back in gear and jackhammered against his ribs. Life, as potent as the stoutest Kentucky bourbon, coursed through his veins, as heady as the burning need swelling his cock. The way her breasts lifted on a hitch of breath and her bright-as-bluebell eyes widened suggested she’d felt something, too.

When she glanced past him again, smiled at whoever had summoned her, Gabe lowered the bottle. His breath came out with a grunt. What the fuck?

A blur of silver satin and tanned flesh briefly obstructed Gabe’s view of the brunette. He straightened in his chair, hooked an ankle over his knee and dropped his arm over his lap.

Eve Winters, maid of honor and sister to the bride, planted her shapely bottom on the chair between Gabe and Ian and looked covetously at Gabe’s beer. When she reached for it, he did as he would have done for his own sister—he held it out of reach.

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