Page 2 of The Doctor

The slinky dress she wore was disaster and temptation. Black lace covering nude silk, the hem shimmering like a mirage as it tempted me to look at places I shouldn’t. Like the long expanse of leg showing between her knees and the bottom of the dress. Like the luscious swells of her breasts that the lace bore like a devilish secret.

Desire wasn’t a strong enough word for the horror show pulsing through me. Death might have been preferable to the storm of want raging through me as she pressed her palm into my gut and slid it up my chest.

I swallowed down the jagged rock that had shifted itself into my throat, then forced myself to push past the feelings holding Clara in my arms now brought.

“Hey, kid. Long time no see.”

Her smile was sunshine and golden skies, edging away her storm. But that raging crash of thunder shook through me as she lowered her hand down, down, stopping just above my belt. She pressed her palm there, lifting onto her toes until her lips were a brush against my ear. On a whisper, she spoke. “I’ve missed you so much.”

Fucking hell.

My dick kicked in my pants, and I knew I would burn in the hell she’d thrown me into the minute she came into my life. Wanting Clara was like wanting to climb dick first into a meat grinder. Though that pain might have hurt less.

I edged back, though with her sky-high shoes, she was still too fucking close. So I tried to put some much-needed space between us by hitting on the one subject I knew might set her off.

“Staying out of trouble?”

Could swear I heard her snarl as a wicked sneer cut across her pretty face. “Of course, I am.”

She used that moment to release me from her spell, tearing out of my grip and leaving me raw and aching in all the places her touch had burned into me. A rush of possessiveness pulsed through me as she went to hug Arik before lowering herself to the rug at Chaya and Sarah’s side.

Possessiveness I had no right to feel.

Clara wasn’t mine.

She could never be mine.

I’d told myself I didn’t want her so many times over the past three years that I almost believed it.

But being in her presence made my lie flare and flash until there was no believing anything but God’s honest truth: I’d never wanted anything more than I wanted her.

“Dr. Fierro?”

Jerking away from the hand that landed on my arm, I whipped around, spitting out a harsh, “What?” before tamping down a heavy lid on the guilt that rushed through me at the sight of Paulo’s steward, Maso.

The man dipped his head, ignoring my clenched fists and the way my shoulders had lifted toward my ears. “Mr. D’Angelo requests your presence in his office.”

My chest squeezed, and I eyed the front door like it could be my savior. “Of course.”

I ran a hand down my chest, then started off toward the long hall leading to his office, only to stumble as I realized the path my hand had taken.

The same one Clara’s had moments ago.

The same one that had led me to the depraved thoughts that threatened to steal my sanity.

I chanced a glance over my shoulder, and I found her watching me as I walked away. Her gaze blazed a path down my body, lighting up every inch and making me want to run.

But did I want to run away, or back toward her?

That was the problem.

The answer to that was my own personal hell.

At Paulo’s office door, I knocked three times, then pushed it open. He stood over the coffee table by the fireplace, pouring whiskey into two crystal tumblers. Parched as I was after my encounter with Clara, I went to him and gladly accepted my drink.

He raised his glass in a toast, and I tapped mine to his before taking that much needed sip.

“I’m assuming you didn’t bring me here just for a drink?”