Page 14 of The Wrong Husband (The Davenports #6)

Phoenix

What the—? He confessed that he followed me. Hadn’t expected to hear that from him. Or perhaps, I had?

Perhaps, my hindbrain was alerted the moment he walked into the coffee shop that, surely, I wasn’t likely to see this man who made such an impact on me so soon again?

Perhaps, it's my subconscious that feels there's more here than meets the eye. But asking him is one thing.

And him confessing that he orchestrated our meeting in the ER is…not what I’d bargained for.

"I… I’m not sure I understand." I clear my throat.

"I don’t mean any harm." He raises his hands in a gesture that’s meant to reassure me.

I notice how wide his palms are, how thick his fingers are, how broad his wrists are… And my mind automatically goes to how big that tent at his crotch was. Big hand. Big…thang, and his feet are big and wide, too. Definitely big thang. Ugh.

Also, big hands can be dangerous.

And, strong. And capable. My brain, traitorous as ever, still drags up the image of those same hands peeling off his shirt in the ER.

No. Focus.

I can’t let myself be distracted by his voice, his shoulders, the way his gaze coils around mine like a rope. Because what he’s saying isn’t sexy—it’s unsettling .

He didn’t just stumble into the ER. He planned it. He didn’t just see me again. He orchestrated it.

And now he’s standing here, in my space, acting like it’s all perfectly reasonable.

I should be panicking. A lot. Blame it on the fact that I face life and death situations daily.

Or perhaps, it’s the fact that he introduced himself to my friends, and that Skylar is within earshot.

Either way, I don’t think I’m in any real danger from him…

Even though he has a dangerous edge to him.

I’m more intrigued. I want to understand the reason behind his actions.

And yes, I’m a tiny bit alarmed. But mostly, I’m curious. Why would he follow me?

"I know you won’t hurt me.” I jut out my chin.

"Oh?"

"Call it instinct, but I don’t feel threatened by you.” Not physically, that is . Emotionally and mentally…? Things are more complicated than they should be. I shove that thought aside.

“What I don’t understand is how you managed to arrange things, so I’d be the one treating you in the ER.”

“I pulled a few strings. Made sure that when my turn came, I was assigned to you.” He raises a shoulder.

"You can do that?" Then it dawns on me. “The nurse… She directed me to your bay. Was that…was that you?”

I can’t believe he’d pull something like this. Surely, he can’t manipulate hospital systems.

But then he tilts his head. “If you know the right people—and are able to motivate them in the right way—anything is possible.”

I gape, more stunned than alarmed… And God help me, more than a little intrigued.

The confidence rolls off of him in waves, that calm, dangerous certainty that says he’ll always get what he wants.

It’s reckless. Unpredictable. And there’s a strength there—a steadiness—that whispers I could lean on him if I let myself.

I shake it off. He’s run undercover missions. Of course, this would be easy for him. I will not be impressed by his resourcefulness. I will not be flattered that he’s set his sights on me. What he did was wrong, and I need to remember that. I set my jaw.

“By your own admission, you followed me prior to today?"

“I did.” He places his palms face-down on the table.

"Oh."

I should feel upset and pissed off that this guy stalked me. And I am upset and pissed off, because I’d been sure my imagination was playing tricks on me.

"Do you know how many times I felt like someone was watching me? Good to know I’m not going crazy.” I glower at him.

“No one I've followed before this has ever been alerted to my presence. Ever .” His forehead furrows. “But you… I could tell you were picking up on my presence, and that it was upsetting you to think someone was watching you. I knew, I had to come out and tell you.”

“Should I be grateful?” I throw up my hands. “You infringed on my privacy.”

“Technically, I didn’t. I watched you from afar, and only when you were in a public space. I never once investigated inside your house. Never infringed upon your privacy?—”

“Thank you so much,” I snap.

“—and if things had gone according to plan, I’d have reported to James that you were fine, and you never would have been aware of my existence.”

“James?”

His expression takes on a tinge of discomfort, then he leans back in his seat.

"Your brother was worried about you. He wanted me to keep an eye on you.”

What the hell?

“James sent you?” I blow out a breath. "I've sent his last calls to voicemail, sure. But I always meant to call him back.”

For a moment, I feel guilt for not staying in touch with my big brother. But it’s quickly replaced with rage.

“I can’t believe he sent you to spy on me.” I throw up my hands. “Typical, overbearing, older brother bullshit.”

I pull out my phone and begin to dial James’ number, but Connor places his hand on mine.

Electricity zings up my arm from the point of contact. This awareness between us is ridiculous. It seems to have multiplied since we met in the ER this morning. I pull my hand out from under his, my fingers trembling. The phone slips from my grasp and onto the table.

"I didn’t mean to startle you," he says softly.

The concern in his voice does funny things to my composure.

If he were rude, I could handle it better.

The fact that those startling blue eyes are looking at me with concern and apology touches a chord inside me.

It feels like he’s melting through the resistance I’ve built up around my heart. I clear my throat and look away.

"You can understand why I’m pissed off at James, and at you. I’m a grown woman. A doctor. A professional with my own life. An adult." I rub at my temple. "And you were following me, and stalking me?—"

"I wasn’t stalking you." He shifts uncomfortably. "Not in the strict sense of the word."

“And I’m supposed to believe you because—?” I spear him with a look like he’s a misdiagnosis I plan to correct. “Oh right, because stalking people is your profession. ”

“On occasion,” he says, maddeningly calm.

That non-answer snaps something in me. Seriously? He follows me for weeks, and that’s the tone he takes?

“You have good instincts,” he offers, like he’s doing me a favor.

The nerve .

“If you think a few compliments are going to win me over?—”

“I’m stating a fact.” He shrugs. Like we’re talking about the weather, not the fact that he’s been shadowing me.

Anger coils in my chest, tight and sharp. My heart’s pounding, and it’s not just from rage. It’s him. His calm. His arrogance. That infuriating confidence that should repulse me— but doesn’t .

God help me, I find it hot.

I hate that I do.

He’s been watching me. Me. Not just in passing—he’s been focused on me. For weeks. And now that I know, I can’t un-know it. There’s something twistedly intimate about it.

Moisture gathers between my thighs. My armpits are damp. My thoughts are a mess of fury, confusion, and something that feels suspiciously like arousal.

This is wrong. So wrong.

And yet the idea of him disappearing from my life makes my stomach pitch. I’d miss him.

The thought slams into me like a punch to the chest. It’s a full-body jolt. I shoot to my feet.

“I think I’ve heard enough.”

Because if I stay one second longer, I’m afraid of what I’ll say. Or worse—what I’ll give away by my actions.

He rises calmly; which means, he towers over me.

It also means, he’s able to show off those massive shoulders, and that gorgeous neck, and that superb, sculpted chest across which the T-shirt stretches, and which now doesn’t show any sign of blood.

It’s a twin to the one he was wearing earlier, but it's new. For that matter, his jacket is, too.

“You changed?”

As soon as the words are out, I curse myself.

It shows I’m paying attention to what he’s wearing. And that I’m not serious about getting away from him. Which I’m not. But I don’t need him to realize that.

Not that it gets past him. He acknowledges my comment with a nod. “I wanted to look my best when I take you out to dinner.”

Huh. A warm feeling squeezes my chest. I bat it away. Yeah, okay so he changed his clothes for me. Big deal.

“I don’t want to have dinner with you.”

I move to step around the table, but he shifts with me—smooth, fast, blocking my path. Hands raised again, like that could possibly make him look harmless.

“I think you do,” he says, calm and cocky.

Confident. Arrogant. And devastatingly sexy.

God, help me.

I could brush past him, but that would mean getting close. Too close. And I’m not entirely sure I can do that without doing something reckless—like touching him. Or worse, sniffing him. So, I hold my ground and summon my most bored expression.

“Why would I want that?” I snap.

“Because I have an offer you’ll want to hear.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, I doubt that.”

“I don’t.” His voice drops. “In fact, I’m sure of it.”

Right on cue, my stomach growls. Loudly.

His lips twitch, smug. Of course, he heard that.

“It’s just food,” he says casually. “And conversation. And maybe, a little more about who I am.”

I tap a finger to my chin, pretending to consider it.

Truth is, I am hungry. Despite stuffing my face with dessert, I never turn down a full meal when I know one’s guaranteed—and uninterrupted. ER life trains that instinct into you.

Besides, I am curious about him. Not that I’ll ever admit it out loud.

“Please?” His smile turns charming. The kind that makes women lose their minds. And probably, their underwear .

Mine, unfortunately, are already damp. I press my thighs together, refusing to let that smug bastard see the effect he’s having on me.

“Fine.” I tip up my chin. “Dinner it is.”

Something flickers in his eyes. Satisfaction? Victory?

But he’s not getting the last word. I smile sweetly. “On one condition.”