“Just an apron.” And then I hang up.
A few seconds later, I get a text message.
Ryle: Pic, please.
Me: Get over here and you can take the picture yourself.
I’m almost finished preparing the casserole mixture when the door opens. I pour it into the glass pan and don’t turn around when I hear him walk into the kitchen. When I said I was just wearing an apron, I meant it. I’m not even wearing panties.
I can hear him suck in a rush of air when I reach over to the oven and stick the casserole inside. I might reach a little too far for show when I do it. When I close the oven, I don’t face him. I grab a rag and start wiping down the oven, making sure to sway my hips as much as possible. I squeal when I feel a piercing sting on my right butt cheek. I spin around and Ryle is grinning, holding two bottles of wine.
“Did you just bite me?”
He gives me an innocent look. “Don’t tempt the scorpion if you don’t want to get stung.” He eyes me up and down while he opens one of the bottles. He holds it up before he pours us a glass and says, “It’s vintage.”
“Vintage,” I say with mock impression. “What’s the special occasion?”
He hands me a glass and says, “I’m going to be an uncle. I have a smoking hot girlfriend. And I get to perform a very rare, possibly once-in-a-lifetime craniopagus separation on Monday.”
“A cranio-what?”
He finishes off his glass of wine and pours himself another one. “Craniopagus separation. Conjoined twins,” he says. He points to a spot on the top of his head and taps it. “Attached right here. We’ve been studying them since they were born. It’s a very rare surgery. Very rare.”
For the first time, I think I’m genuinely turned on by him as a doctor. I mean, I admire his drive. I admire his dedication. But seeing how excited he is about what he’s doing for a living is seriously sexy.
“How long do you think it’ll take?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Not sure. They’re young, so being under general anesthesia for too long is a concern.” He holds up his right hand and wiggles his fingers. “But this is a very special hand that has been through almost half a million dollars’ worth of specialty education. I have a lot of faith in this hand.”
I walk over to him and press my lips to his palm. “I’m a little fond of this hand, too.”
He slides the hand down to my neck and then spins me so that I’m flush against the counter. I gasp, because I wasn’t expecting that.
He pushes himself against me from behind and slowly slides his hand down the side of my body. I press my palms into the granite and close my eyes, already feeling the rush of the wine.
“This hand,” he whispers, “is the steadiest hand in all of Boston.”
He pushes on the back of my neck, bending me further over the counter. His hand meets the inside of my knee and he glides it upward. Slowly. Jesus.
He pushes my legs apart, and then his fingers are inside me. I moan and try to find something to hold on to. I grip the faucet, just as he begins to work magic.
And then, just like a magician, his hand disappears.
I hear him walking out of the kitchen. I watch as he passes the front of the counter. He winks at me, downs the rest of his glass of wine and says, “I’m gonna take a quick shower.”
What a tease.
“You asshole!” I yell after him.
“I’m not an asshole!” he yells from my bedroom. “I’m a highly trained neurosurgeon!”
I laugh and pour myself another glass of wine.
I’ll show him who the tease really is.
• • •
I’m on my third glass of wine when he walks out of my bedroom.
I’m on the phone with my mother, so I watch him from the couch as he makes his way to the kitchen and pours himself another glass.
That is some seriously good wine.
“What are you doing tonight?” my mother asks.
I have her on speakerphone. Ryle is leaning against a wall, watching me talk to her. “Not much. Helping Ryle study.”
“That sounds . . . not very interesting,” she says.
Ryle winks at me.
“It’s actually very interesting,” I say to her. “I help him study a lot. Mostly reviewing fine-motor control of the hands. In fact, we’ll probably be up all night studying.”
The three glasses of wine has made me frisky. I can’t believe I’m flirting with him while I’m on the phone with my mother. Gross.
“I gotta go,” I tell her. “We’re taking Allysa and Marshall out to dinner tomorrow night, so I’ll call you on Monday.”
“Oh, where are you taking them?”
