Club Prive: Sweet Escape (Kindle Worlds Novella) (9 page)

I look at the woman in front of me and type:
No, but thank you. Please invoice my accountant as normal.

Avery moans again, and I soothe her by stroking her hair. Gently opening her mouth, I check her tongue and throat, happy to see the swelling is nearly gone.

This is my first day on the job, and I have a million things I need to be doing right now. But I take a seat, her hand still in mine and tap on the attachments Dan sent me. With a heavy heart, I read the details of her childhood as she sleeps.

Chapter Twelve – Avery

I’m still on the couch where Brooke planted me when we got home, refusing to let me lift a finger. A soft afghan is covering my legs and pillows are at my back, a kettle of tea on the table beside me. We’re both eating the soup — a gift from Sir — that had been delivered only ten minutes before.

The buzzer sounds for the second time since I’ve been home and I stop eating my soup to look up at Brooke. She gives me an “I have no idea” shrug of her shoulders and steps over to the intercom.

“Delivery for Miss Beck,” a man’s voice says and Brooke buzzes him up. A few moments later, two men are in our apartment, setting a number of bags of groceries on the kitchen counter. “You’ll want to freeze these quickly,” one says, pointing to a bag. “And refrigerate those.”

Brooke digs into the brown paper bags, pulling out two cartons of ice cream, a gallon of orange sherbet, and four varieties of popsicles. There’s also enough fruit and vegetables to feed a small country. And a Vitamix blender! That gets my attention in a big way. It’s been on my bucket list for several years.

Brooke is laughing as she puts everything in our small fridge, trying to make it all fit. When she tries to tip the men, they refuse, saying it’s already been taken care of, “courtesy of Sir.”

Closing the door behind the men, Brooke gives me a wide-eyed look. “What did you do to that man last night? I need me some of that special fairy dust.”

I giggle. Giggle! Yes, a tee-hee-hee just came out of my throat. That hasn’t happened in years. Brooke is just picking up her bowl of soup when the buzzer sounds again.

“Good heavens!” she says and sets the bowl back down. She’s on her feet and a few minutes later is carrying a large bouquet of flowers into the room. They’re stunning, an assortment of sunflowers and pink tulips along with red Alstroemeria and purple aster. She waggles her eyebrows when she hands me the card.

“They’re from the ICU staff,” I tell her. The note from Tabitha nearly makes me cry:
Please be better soon. You mean the world to me and I’d never ever hurt you on purpose. I hope you know that.

I do know that and don’t blame her for a second. Gray is probably right and I’ve developed some new allergy, which can happen in an instant. It’s strange how our bodies are. A person can be stung by bees all their lives, then boom, one sting and they’re down.

Picking up my phone, I take a picture of the flowers and send the image to Tabitha with a text:
You mean the world to me too. This isn’t your fault. Do *not* blame yourself. See you tomorrow.

She responds immediately.
You better keep your pretty self in bed all day tomorrow and rest. If you show up here, we’re barring the door.

Another text follows:
Told ya that cute doc likes you.
There’s a series of emojis. Winking man, along with a cat with heart eyes, and a rainbow with a pot of gold at one end.

I’m tempted to send her the middle finger one back, but as close as I’ve grown to her, I still haven’t known her very long.
He is cute, isn’t he?

She responds:
Sigh.

Brooke and I are both digging into the soup again when the buzzer goes off once more. She says nothing, just pops up and pushes the button.

“It’s Gray.”

She whirls around, but I’m already on my feet, straightening my hair and running on wobbly legs to the bathroom to brush my teeth and slick on another layer of deodorant. “Just a minute,” I hear her tell him. Then she is skidding past my bathroom door, her fuzzy socks sliding on the wood floors. She reappears, huffing as she asks, “What do you want me to do?”

“Give me thirty seconds,” I say through a mouthful of toothpaste and look down at my clothes. I’m in my rattiest t-shirt and running shorts. I spit a huge wad of foam into the sink. “Make that forty-five.”

She’s gone and I can hear her picking up bowls then said bowls crashing into the sink while I pull on cute little Victoria Secret lounging bottoms and a tank. I run a brush through the snarls on my head and smooth chap stick over my lips.

I’m jumping back on the couch when the knock comes on the door. By the time Brooke opens it, I’m under the soft afghan and am raising a cup of chamomile tea to my lips. Casual. Classy. That’s me.

I see the flowers before I see the man, but it’s the man who captures my attention. He’s wearing the same suit from before, the tie loosened and top button undone. His hair looks like he’s run his hand through it a hundred times. I’ve never seen anyone so beautiful.

“Thank you for the soup,” I say, my tongue feeling as thick and unwieldy as it did right after my reaction. “And the groceries. And the flowers. And the crazy amazing blender.” I meet his eyes and something curls low in my belly. “And for saving my life.”

The hair on my arms stand up as he steps closer to me, as if his very presence is charged with electricity. Behind him, Brooke is pointing to the kitchen and tiptoeing in its direction.

“I like your apartment,” he says, setting the flowers on a side table. The smell of Peruvian lilies and roses fill the air. He shoves his hands in his pockets, as if he’s uncertain what to do with them now that they’re no longer holding their burden. His uncertainty warms me, strengthens me. Pushing the blanket aside, I stand and walk over to him.

“I was very lucky to have answered Brooke’s ad looking for a roommate when I decided to move to Manhattan. I could never have afforded a place like this on my own.”

He takes another look around the surprisingly spacious living room with its warm walls and dark hardwood floors. The comfortable, overstuffed ivory couch and chairs, the inexpensive but lovely art on the walls. The huge TV peeking out of an antique cabinet that is a work of art in itself.

“Do you believe in luck?” he asks me, taking a step closer and lifting a hand to trace the curve of my jaw.

I swallow as his hand moves down my throat, resting there. “I believe in everything,” I tell him and his lips curve into a smile.

His hand squeezes the tiniest bit, and I feel my pulse beating under his fingers. “I’m beginning to believe in everything too.”

A long sigh comes from the kitchen and I smile up at him but don’t step away. A blushing Brooke comes tiptoeing from the room, a carton of ice cream in one hand, a spoon in the other.

“Sorry,” she mouths as she walks toward her bedroom, but less than thirty seconds later, she’s back with a small bag. She tosses it on a chair, winks at me and is back in her room, closing the door behind her.

“She seems very nice,” he says, his thumb rubbing my lower lip, his other hand coming up to stroke my hair.

“She’s amazing. I can’t imagine how sad my life would be if she wasn’t in it.”

“Have you eaten?”

I nod. “Again, thank you. The soup was delicious.”

“I should go and let you get some rest,” he says and disappointment floods through me.

“I took a nap earlier.” I tangle our fingers together. “Don’t go.”

He brings my hand to his lips and that electrical charge between us heightens. “Avery, you nearly died today. Your body—”

“My body needs you to make it remember that it’s alive.”

He growls low in his chest, his eyes darkening as they sweep from my hair to my lips and back up to meet my eyes again. “One day you want me to make you forget, and the next, you want me to make you remember. You’re quiet the complicated woman, aren’t you?”

I lick my lips, and he growls again, the sound pooling between my legs. “Too complicated?”

He seems to be considering it. “Mmm, some women are too complicated while some are too simple. You, my dear, are—”

“Just right?” I tease and he full out smiles, his white teeth a stark contrast to his dark beard. “My, what big beautiful teeth you have,” I continue the game.

He yanks me to him, his thigh separating my legs, the taut muscle pressing against me, pushing up until I gasp. “The better to eat your sweet little pussy, my dear.”

In one quick movement, I’m hauled up against his chest and his lips are crushing down on mine. An hour ago, I’d been exhausted, completely zapped of all strength. Now? I feel powerful and strong as I wrap legs around his waist and suck on his tongue, my fingers brushing through his thick hair.

“Maybe you should give me a complete physical, Dr. Atwood,” I say when his lips trail down my jaw to my ear.

“Yes, I agree.” His lips fall to my throat. “Your pulse is abnormally fast, Miss Beck. And you feel hot to the touch.”

“Think I need an…” I wiggle my eyebrows. “Injection?”

His head falls back and his laugh is musical. I feel it vibrate all the way through him. “I think you need a spanking for such a terrible joke,” he says and slaps my butt hard enough to sting.

It turns me on even more. “It just so happens that I’ve recently learned that I like a bit of pain with my pleasure.”

That growl again. It curls my toes.

“I look forward to exploring your pain tolerance, Miss Beck.” He nips at my lower lip. “But not tonight. Tonight, it seems I have a gentle side that I’m surprisingly eager to investigate further.” He starts to kiss me again, but pulls back, frowning.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t have any condoms on me. Do you?”

Crap.

“No…” Then I remember the bag and the wink from Brooke and groan. “I think my roomie might have a crystal ball in her bedroom.”

His forehead wrinkles.

“The bag.” I nod to the chair. He carries me over to it and I snatch it up. A string of condoms comes out along with a brand new tube of lube.

He nuzzles my neck. “I really do like your roommate. Where’s your room?”

As he walks me in the direction I point, misgivings begin to fill me. From the moment I walked into work this morning, I’ve done nothing but sweat. I even peed on myself a little during the attack. I can’t have sex like this, especially if he fulfills his promise to use those big pearly whites on me.

“Gray?”

He kicks my bedroom door shut with his heel. “Yes, baby.”

“Uh, I need a few minutes to, well, shower and freshen up.”

He nuzzles my neck, running his tongue up my carotid. “You smell fresh to me.”

I wiggle against him, trying to get down, which is a mistake because it causes my clit to rub against his stomach in the most distracting way. “Oh.” I blow out a breath and try again. “It will just be a few minutes, I promise.”

“Where’s your bathroom?”

I point and soon find myself standing next to my favorite thing about the apartment, the claw foot tub, as he turns the water on.

“This really is a nice place,” he says as he inspects my bath salts, sniffing several of them before choosing my favorite, vanilla and eucalyptus.

“You should have seen the closet I was living in before I moved here.” I laugh at the memory. “I’d been looking for a change and accepted a job in a physician’s clinic here in Manhattan. Brooke’s ad appeared as if by magic and I’ve been living with her for a little over a year now.”

“Why leave the clinic for the hospital?”

I wrinkle my nose. “Because the doctor was a little too free with his hands and a lot too free with his prescription pad.”

He growls, but the sound isn’t sexy this time as he dips his hand in the water to test the temperature. “McGill seems to have free hands as well.”

I don’t remind
this
doctor where his hands have been. The thought brings me back to a troubling question.

“You and I are going to be the talk of the hospital tomorrow,” I murmur.

He exhales and comes closer, fiddling with the hem of my tank. “I know, and it’s my fault. I’m sorry. I was just so…” his fingers move to the straps, “excited to see you that I didn’t even consider.” He shakes his head. “No, that’s not true. I did consider the ramifications, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself. I wanted to see you alone, then the allergic attack happened, then…” He slides the straps down my arms. “Dammit, Avery, then I couldn’t stop touching you.”

Happiness.

I’m sure there are better, more eloquent words to describe how I’m feeling right now, but happy seems very appropriate.

“I don’t want you to stop touching me,” I tell him as I reach up to brush his hair back from his forehead, and his palms cup my now exposed breasts. “And we’ll need to decide how to handle things at work so that—”

“I’ll quit,” he says quickly, “if our relationship causes you trouble, I’ll walk away without a backwards glance.”

I blink at him because that seems to be all I can do.

He grins at my stunned expression. “Now, don’t freak out. I’m not proposing or anything. We’ve only known each other for about thirty seconds. But I want to get to know you. Dinners. Dates. Maybe spend some weekends together. And if a damn job stands in the way of that happening, fuck the job.”

“But—”

“But I promise not to tender my resignation unless us being together creates a problem. I’m not your direct report. You’ll still work directly under McDouchebag, or you will until I fire his ass. Then, you’ll work directly under the ICU team leader that replaces him.”

I begin unbuttoning his shirt. “So you’re officially my boss’s boss?”

“Yes. And the employee relationship policy doesn’t ban relationships between co-workers or even those in supervisory roles. We’ll just need to follow the workplace boundaries outlined within the policy.” He grins. “Yes. I’ve already checked.”

I take his nipple between my teeth, then peek up at him, all innocence. “Does that fall outside of the boundaries?”

He wraps his hand around my hair and pulls my head back. “You’re wicked. What shall I do with you?”

“I think you should make sure that I understand these boundaries thoroughly, chief.”