by Amanda Faye
One, to protect me from saddling up too close to Logan. He doesn’t flirt with me too much at work, just like he promised. I’m still not sure if I appreciate it or resent the fact that he’s respecting my wishes. But tonight is a different setting, with different people, and lots and lots of alcohol. I’m going to need a buffer.
Plus, despite my almost constant prattling on about him the past two weeks, Charlotte has yet to see him, and I know she’s dying to get a look in person.
I do have a few pictures on my phone, but most of those find him in some phase of debauchery, and I have no desire to share him in that state with anybody but myself. Besides, a picture simply won’t do it. She needs to get the whole Logan package to see what’s turned me into a one-woman porno company these last few weeks.
Taking a deep breath to soothe my runaway nerves, I finish putting my heels on and stand in front of my full-length mirror again.
I know the dress code is black tie, which means formal dresses for the ladies, but for about the millionth time since Charlotte talked me into trying on this dress a week ago, I genuinely doubt my ability to make sound decisions.
The first warning bell should have been that it’s the middle of winter in Denver, and the dress is one shoulder only. But it was on the clearance rack for 75% off, and it's not like we’re going to an outdoor event.
Made of some sort of layered floaty material, it cinches and bunches in all the right places to perfectly hide the stray love handle or two. My breasts are hugged to their absolute advantage, and the fabric on my shoulder is secure enough that, between it and the torture device I’m wearing underneath, I’m not afraid of my boobs falling out.
The back is low enough to show my upper shoulder blades, but not so low that it shows the bra/corset/Spanx/plexiglass underwear thing I have on. The lingerie thingy cost more than the dress and does fantastic things for my figure; I can’t deny it. But it’s snug to the point that more than one sip of champagne and the zipper will bust and the hook and eye closures up the back will surely bend and warp into some sort of modern art piece. Okay, well, maybe it’s not that tight, but I have no doubt it’ll feel that way by the end of the night.
The dress itself is a purple so pale it could almost be white with purple hues, and a bottom layer the softest of lilacs. When I stand upright, it’s simple and straightforward and reaches my feet — bordering on boring, really. When I walk or sit or do anything other than stand like a statue, though, you see the slit on the left side that goes almost to my hip.
Charlotte talked me into a white g-string to match the white slip/Spanx thingy, and I have to admit, I look mighty fucking good. It’s nothing like I usually wear, and Darcy will most likely have a cow when he sees me in it. Hopefully, though, a particular plastic surgeon will flip his lid too, and that’s the response I’m looking for. Not that I’d ever admit it.
My hair is pulled back into a soft bun at the top of my neck, and I’m wearing the pearls our parents got me for my college graduation — Pearl drop earrings and a single strand that dips onto my cleavage. I kept my makeup simple, because I hate putting on makeup, but did make an effort to pluck my eyebrows and do a little much neglected grooming.
My heels are incredibly impractical for hours of standing and walking around on my feet, but again, Charlotte talked me into them. Open-toed, they are a luxurious purple velvet fabric with crisscrossing straps up my foot and over my ankle. My heel is enclosed and secured with a mini zipper. Stilettoed and platformed to boot, I’m already preparing to want to cut my feet off by the end of the night. But the sales guy tried to pick me up when I purchased them, unsuccessfully hiding a woody, so I suppose that’s as good as a thumbs up as I’m liable to get tonight.
Okay, it’s now, or never. Pull on your big girl panties, Emma.
I’m transferring all on my necessities from my carry-all bag to the cream colored clutch we bought when the chorus of ewwws and Charlotte's loud and emphatic ‘shit’ echoes from the other side of the house.
Moving as fast as my heel covered legs will let me, I arrive in the boys’ room just in time to see John vomit spectacularly into the old Halloween bucket that’s been unceremoniously shoved under his face. That is obviously a new development, because Charlotte, my beautiful, wonderful built-in buffer Charlotte, is covered head to toe in her sons puke.
Fuck my life. I mean, pitiful, poor Charlotte, but what in the hell am I going to do without her tonight?
Before I even have a chance to offer her a baby wipe, the doorbell rings to let us know the car is ready to take us to the event.
Chapter 12
Emma
“Here, he comes.”
“Here, who comes?”
“Logan, our new reigning king of surgery, of course. Man, I bet he’d be fun in bed.”
I can’t help the choked off giggle that escapes my mouth, and I lift my champagne glass to cover it. The donor that we are standing with turns to watch Logan’s approach as well, and quickly asks whether he is gay or straight before he makes it to us.
“Esme, I can’t believe you said that.”
She shrugs her shoulders in a who gives a shit sort of way before answering.
“What? He’s feisty, and he kind of reminds me of your brother before I tamed the wild beast. I like him.”
A shudder passes through me from head to toe, and I quickly down the rest of my glass.
“Oh God, please never say that again. Like ever.” With one statement, Esme may have single-handedly ruined the next three months for me.
“Haven’t you noticed the way they both cross their arms in front of their chest? Hot. It shows off all of their muscles. Surely you’ve noticed it before now?”
Now I’m going to puke. Fucking Hell Esme. You’ve ruined Logan for life for me. Or, maybe not. He doesn’t look like Darcy, after all. And he is just so fucking pretty.
A few nurses join our impromptu audience, and we all turn to watch the show.
Logan is a natural flirt, which translates well when you’re trying to get people to part with their money. Seemingly on pure instinct, since he’s barely been here three weeks, he knows exactly where to stop and smoodge. Who’s back to pat and who he can pull into his personal space for a kiss on the cheek and whisper in their ear.
Logan’s tux is expertly cut and clings to his frame like a second skin. His dress shoes are trendy and fashionable, and his pants are simple and black, snug against his hips. His jacket is a vibrant and beautiful blue with black lapels. It’s trim at his waist and buttoned with a single button. His dress shirt is white and crisp, and as he makes his way closer, I see he has cufflinks in the place of buttons at his wrist. He finishes the look with a black bow tie and a white hanky in his pocket. His hair is loose and flowing again, and I hate a man who has prettier hair than I do.
Derek, still the only gentleman in our current clique, tisks out his appreciation while commenting, “Watch and learn ladies, right there is a master at work.”
Derek has been a patron of the hospital for years. In his fifties and openly gay, he once told me that he enjoys picking up guys at events like this because they either have their own money and therefore aren’t after his, or, if they are after his money, he’s guaranteed that they’re going to work hard for it. If you know what I mean. The way he’s watching Logan walk the room, it looks to me like Dererk would be the one offering to work for it tonight.
When my phone goes off, I give an apologetic shrug to the people I’m standing with, already going through my list of current patients and the complications that would cause the hospital to page. Instead, it’s a text from Logan. I really should get him a custom ringtone.
You look absolutely stunning tonight. I’m going to take you in that dress, mark my words.
When I realize that I’m holding my breath, I take in a shaky bout of oxygen, and Esme turns to make sure I’m okay. Desire pools around me, and my ovaries start doing jumping jacks inside my belly. Warming up for the workout to come, I
’m sure. I’d be willing to bet that my boobs just perked up an inch and pushed themselves out into the open. They are begging for Logan’s undivided attention.
I never saw him reach for his phone, but I see him watching me for my reaction, and I’m sure I don’t disappoint. He excuses himself from his most recent companion and makes a beeline over to where we’re standing around unabashedly watching him.
◆◆◆
Esme, as the wife of our esteemed leader, makes the introductions when Logan finally joins us. Derek and Logan flag down a server and share in the duty of making sure all of our hands hold a new drink, and the small talk about our latest attending begins.
Derek, of course, takes the first opportunity that presents itself to see how far he can get with Logan.
“Logan, wherever did you rent your tux? It looks made for you. Delightfully sinful.”
He is giving his best ‘what this old thing’ shrug. Logan plays to his audience and gives us a slow turn.
“It was made for me. It’s my suit. I have a few but only brought this one to Denver. At my old hospital, fundraising was just a part of the job.”
Logan talks about his specialty and his desire to make the world a more accepting place for children with physical deformities. He talks about his decision to ‘Hospital Hop,’ as Derek puts it instead of staying in one place and opening a private practice.
“Plastic surgeons are a dime a dozen, and most get into it for the money. I'm not saying that's a wrong reason, just that it's a common enough tale. I got into it for different reasons and honed different skills than most because of that. Without a set home base, I can go wherever I’m needed and help parents and children who otherwise wouldn't get the kind of care I can give them. It’s easier for me to come to them, and not to toot my own horn, but I love the feeling of leaving a place just a little prettier than when I got there.”
“Toot away, son, Lord knows we’d love to toot it for you.”
If I roll my eyes any harder, they’re going to get stuck that way, but Logan just laughs good-naturedly. He knows he’s good looking, and I bet he’s been using it to his advantage since he was still in diapers.
“But do you know how hard it is to get away with anything when you have a face this pretty? Sure, I can talk my way out of almost anything, but I have to be able to do that because I’m always getting caught. God’s blessing and his curse, I suppose.”
If this evening is going to turn into a night about Logan, I’m going to have to drink something a hell of a lot stronger than champagne.
“So Logan, have you been seeing anybody since you’ve been in town?”
It doesn't help that the back of his fingers are brushing up against my leg.
“Who has time to date? Between my work at the hospital and getting to know a new town, I haven't had the time or inclination to.”
No inclination? I take another swig of my drink to hide my disappointment. I know I’m the ones who put the rules in place, but he doesn't have to be so happy about it.
“That settles it, Dr. Taylor! Let me take you out this weekend. You don't mind if I call you Logan outside of work, do you? I'd be happy to get you away from the surgical floor, show you the town. I'm great at helping to soothe away all of those aches and frustrations from working in a hospital all week.” Annabell says.
I just bet you are, bitch. Annabelle is one of our younger nurses and hasn't yet lost the desire to use the hospital as her hunting ground. Though, as long as people keep going home with her, I doubt she ever will.
Logan's smile is charm itself, but I notice it doesn't quite meet his eyes in the way it does when he smiles at me. His fingers quicken their pace on my leg, and I pray that no one will see him rubbing me.
“That's a sweet offer, and maybe one day I'll take you up on that, but while I haven't had time to date, I have made a new friend, and I’ll probably spend most of my weekend with her.”
“Maybe your new friend will want to join us then? I don’t mind. If you’re interested, the more, the merrier as far as I’m concerned.”
“Annabell!”
Esme hisses out her name, and the environment around us goes from awkward to uncomfortable in an instant. Without hesitation, I reach over and remove the mostly empty glass from her hand and drop it onto the plate of a passing server.
“Hey! I’m not working tomorrow. Dr. Adams said that we only have to limit our drinks if we’re working tomorrow.” She simultaneously tries to pout at Logan and give me a dirty look. Derek has to complete about-face to hide his uncontrollable laughter. Esme looks disgusted, and I notice the friends Annabell saddled up with have all mysteriously disappeared. At least they still have good instincts.
“Yes, well, this Dr. Adams says that you’ve had too much to drink if you think propositioning your superior in front of a potential donor for a threesome is a good idea.”
“Dr. Taylor can answer for himself, thank you very much.”
“Te vas a arrepentir de esta pequena nina.” Esme sings out under the breath. The only words I caught were little girl, but that sounds about right as far as I’m concerned.
“Annabell, is it? I want to thank you for your kind invitation. But my friend, you see, she’s fiery and possessive, in all the best ways. I imagine, if I were to suggest to her that we invite you to join us in our time together, she would surgically remove my balls for me while I was sleeping. So, alas, I’m going to have to decline. If you go in that direction over there, though, I’m sure you’ll find more than a few gentlemen who would gladly take you up on your generous offer.”
Annabell is looking up at him with adoration in her eyes and doesn’t seem to understand that he just pawned her off on some other poor sucker. Instead, she thanks him for thinking of her, and scuttles off in the direction Logan pointed, immediately making a beeline for a group of twenty something men who would be more than willing to take her home tonight.
“That was slick, Dr. Taylor. I have to hand it to you. I would have made her squirm some more before I let her off the hook.”
Derek is looking at Logan with admiration and is probably thinking about all the ways he’d let Logan make him squirm if he ever got the opportunity.
“She’s young. We’ve all been there.”
Esme, ever the pain in my ass, works her way back into the conversation.
“Am I to take it from your surgical comment that you’re new friend is a surgeon as well? Do they belong to our community or another?”
Esme opened her damn mouth at the exact same time I tried to take another sip of my drink, and I end up choking back the liquid in an undignified and embarrassing gurgle. Esme jumps back as quickly as her Jimmy Choos will allow her, and Derek gives us one of those devilish one eyebrows lifted smirks while singing ‘Interesting,’ under his breath.
It’s time to put an end to this. Now. I don’t like the way Esme is looking between us one freaking bit. Why in the hell did John have to get sick tonight of all nights?
“Logan? Have you seen Darcy yet? I’m sure he’d like to say hi. Let’s go and find him, shall we?”
Without grace or any sense of self-dignity, I bodily shove Logan in the opposite direction. I’m just going to pretend the peeling laughter behind us isn’t because Esme and Derek just caught us both red-handed.
Chapter 14
Emma
Where have you Been — Rihanna
I don't move as fast as I usually would in these shoes, and Logan reaches behind him and grabs my hand to pull me along. I can still hear Esme and Derek's laughter trailing behind us. An unexpected burst of amusement slips from my own chest when Logan catches my eye and gives me his trademark evil grin.
I'm sure we make quite the spectacle, Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome dragging me behind him like a plaything, my dress rippling in the breeze our brisk walk through the hotel banquet hall is causing.
He seems to know where he's going, or at least has a destination in mind because we're moving with purpose towards the ar
ea where the servers are coming from.
Or not. Still dragging me behind me, he stops at every door we pass, opening and examining the inside, once apologizing in an embarrassed laugh, until at last, he seems to find what he's looking for.
Pulling me in behind him, he slams the door and pushes me up against it before diving for my lips. He tastes like whiskey and something sweet, and I find myself licking into his mouth just to get a deeper hint of it.
"Jesus Christ, Austen."
Without warning, Logan grabs my hand and shoves it on his crotch. The move is so unexpected I stumble forward slightly in my heels.
"Feel what you've done to me in that dress? You should be illegal, walking around looking like this. From the minute I first saw you tonight, I've thought of nothing but lifting that skirt and burying myself inside of you."
Logan is hard as steel and as thick as a pole under my hand, and I wonder how he's kept it hidden all night long. It's intoxicating, knowing that I did that to him.
I squeeze him through his trousers and relish the moan that starts deep in his chest and ends licking up my spine.
"You look pretty good yourself, Logan. Every person in this building is imagining themselves being under you and over you by the end of the night."
"Well, you can let them know that position has already been claimed for the foreseeable future."
Before she has a chance to respond, his hands are on my face, and his lips are tangled with hers. Gone is the gentle lover she's been introduced to over the last few weeks — the one filled with laughter and smiles. In his place is the sex God whose every touch sets Emma's blood to boil.
Using his body against hers, he backs her up until her ass hits the wall and then keeps pushing until his body is flush with hers. His hands roam over her body with rough touches, and I have a moment of embarrassment that he's going to feel the garment underneath the dress; that's the only thing letting me look this good.