Page 167 of The Billionaire's Christmas Bride

"I can't wait to see you in scrubs," I mutter.

"I am sure I can oblige." He smirks, " kinky doctor-patient games are my specialty."

"And here I thought it was food kink that got you off." I widen my gaze.

"When it comes to you, babe, everything I do takes on another dimension." He runs his big palm down the curve of my waist and slaps my butt.

"Whoa, whoa," I protest. "What's that for?"

"Keeping you warm." He massages my arse, then cups the other cheek with his free hand and squeezes. My sex instantly clenches. He drags me up on my tiptoes, and the tent in his crotch pokes me.

"You're hard," I mumble.

"You're soft." His grip on my backside tightens and my nipples instantly pucker. Moisture pools between my thighs. "This is not the time," I half protest. "Julia will be back any moment."

He groans, "I think I much prefer the cabin. At least, I could have you to myself there."

I chuckle, "I'll always remember it as the place where I walked in on you naked."

"If I had my way, you and I would be naked for a month, on an island in the middle of nowhere."

"Just as long as there is an oven where I can bake." I warn.

"I'd rather see you baking in the sun... Naked, of course."

I shake my head, "Don't you think of anything but sex?"

"Do you?" He chuckles.

"I think you're fast becoming my favorite dessert, Doc Kincaid," I reply.

"You know you are always mine." He laughs and his features light up. His hair is all mussed up, thanks to me—I'd clung to it, when he'd insisted on going down on me, one last time before he'd released me. Seriously, the man is insatiable. The soreness between my legs is testament to that—and the hickeys on my neck, the bitemarks on my breasts—which is why I am wearing this long-sleeved turtle-neck sweater and a fresh pair of jeans. I glance down at his bare feet, "Did you lose your shoes?"

"Gave them to the homeless guy outside the apartment building."

A warm feeling seizes my chest. "You did that?" I ask. "You gave the shoes you were wearing to someone who needed them?"

He raises his shoulders, then widens his stance. "Don't go reading anything into it," he mutters. "It seemed like the thing to do; no big deal."

I scan his features, "I don't know of too many people who'd do that, you know?"

He cracks his neck in a gesture I am beginning to recognize. He does it when he's embarrassed and trying to hide it.

"You're full of shit Dr. Kinky-as-hell-Caid," I say. "You try so hard to come across all dominant and hard-ass, but in reality, you're like... like..."

"Like?"

"A Jammie dodger."

"A Jammie dodger?"

I nod, "One of those cookies which is double-layered, and hard on the outside, but is filled with sweet gooey jam in the center."

"Hmm." His eyes gleam. "You can taste my jam any day, baby."

"Eeyugh," I make a gagging sound, "I left myself open to that, didn't I? Will I never learn?" I groan.

"It's too easy to tease you." He steps closer, "You're the jam to my cookie; the pumpkin to my pie, the chocolate in my toffee."