Page 10 of Doctor's Surprise Bride

Chapter Seven

Daisy

I’m wide awake by the time Ashton lets us into his apartment, so I can’t help but cringe at the memory from the last time I was here.

I push my glasses up my nose so that I don’t miss a piece of furniture and trip like I did last time. Ashton steps in front of me, eyes roaming over my body like a hungry wolf before reaching over and tracing a thumb over my cheek.

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting, I should have asked for your number before I left this morning.”

“It’s okay, I figured you’d be late.”

Rayne had stared at me like I’d lost my mind when I’d told her I was going to wait up for Ashton. She’d figured it wasn’t a great idea to wait for the guy, considering everything that had happened. She thought I was setting myself up for heartbreak, and part of me was inclined to believe her but … When I’d signed up for the mail-order bride website, I’d taken a risk to begin with, and it had led me to cross paths with Ashton Ford. Sure, our first meeting had been rocky at best but he’d made very it clear that morning that he was interested in me. That he wanted me.

Could he hurt me? To great lengths, I’m sure, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take with Ashton. So I’d waited. I’d sat down in the library alone and read through my favorite novel, hoping I wasn’t building castles in the air with a man that felt too good to be true. And he’d showed up.

“Still, I’m sorry you had to wait for so long. To make up for it, I’ll make us dinner.”

“You’re cooking?” I ask in disbelief. Surely, it’s not fair to be this attractiveandtalentedandbe a good cook. He has to be bad at something.

The corner of his lip lifts in a smirk, as if he can read my thoughts. “I rarely have time to cook but I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.”

He starts for the kitchen and I follow him, settling on a stool behind a counter to watch him. I watch hungrily as he rolls up the sleeves of his white shirt, offering me a perfect view of his muscular forearms. I swallow hard and my nerves crackle as I watch him prep in the kitchen.

All the men I have ever liked have been straight from a book. Most of them are Vikings or scoundrels from the historical fiction I love to read ,and I’ve had them built up in my head a thousand times over. Not a single one of them comes close to Ashton. None of them have eyes as dark as Ashton’s or have made my heart beat as wildly as he does. And he’s got something that none of them have.

He’s real. He wants me.

But still, my insecurity sits in the pit of my stomach, festering. With anyone else, I don’t think I’d feel as inadequate. But he’s Doctor Ashton Ford. Everyone expects him to marry some hot fellow doctor, or a model, or one of the hundreds of women that have expressed interest in him. So many of them are smart, successful, and pretty; I can’t hold a candle to them

I close my eyes to fight the destructive thoughts, but they keep coming. Finally, I blurt out the question I’ve been asking myself all day.

“Why me?”

Ashton looks up, his gray eyes crashing into mine and I have to remind myself to breathe if I want to live long enough to get his answer. To his credit, he doesn’t pretend to not understand what I’m asking.

“Well, you’re—”

“To be clear, I’m not fishing for compliments,” I explain, sighing shakily. My throat’s dry, and I’m pretty sure my hands are shaking in my lap but I’m too nervous to look down.

He regards me with those dark eyes of his, thinking for a moment before speaking. “There’s something about you, Daisy. It’s like you’re a flower and I’m a bee, hopelessly drawn to you in every way. I can’t get enough of you. Never in my life have I experienced such an instant connection to another person the way I do with you. It’s so natural and genuine that it makes me want to be around you more.”

Ashton reaches into a cupboard for water glasses, and fills one from the tap before handing it to me. I immediately lift it to my lips, eager to quench my dry throat. I don’t know what I expected him to say, but it definitely wasn’t that. And yet, I fully understand what he means.

“Does that answer your question?” he asks, lifting a hand to cup my cheek, waiting until I’ve nodded in response before walking back around the counter.

“So why did you become a surgeon? I don’t even know what kind of surgery you do.”

“I’m a thoracic surgeon, so I treat conditions relating to the chest. You know, cardiac issues and other problems with the respiratory system.” He says it casually, but the thought of opening someone’s chest open and seeing their heart and lungs has me leaning in, intrigued. “To answer your question, I got into medicine because my father had a lifelong smoking habit and I was convinced he’d get lung cancer. I wanted to treat him when he did.”

“And did you?” I ask.

“He quit smoking during my last year of residency.”

The air between us relaxes as we share more about ourselves. He tells me about growing up his cousin, who’s almost more like a brother to him, before they parted ways, one going to med school and the other joining the military.

The dinner goes just as smoothly and I don’t realize how long we’ve been chatting until I look up at his wall clock and gasp at the time. It’s a quarter to two and I need to be up early tomorrow for work. I help Ashton clean up after dinner and once I am done, my mind is made up about him. He asked for one night but I feel like he already knows that my mind was made up as soon as he walked in to wake me up at the library.

“Thank you for tonight, you really do make a mean omelet,” I whisper shyly, reaching for my purse. “I had a great time.”

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