Page 22 of The Wrong Husband (The Davenports #6)

"Firstly, I’d never jeopardize your calling. I respect that you’re a doctor. You save lives, and I don’t take that lightly. And secondly"—he shoots me a quick sideways glance—"do you want me to woo you?"

Damn, I shouldn’t have used that word.

I lean back in my chair. "A slip of the tongue. Ignore it."

"Hmm." His smile widens further, enough for me to see the slight indentation in his cheek. It’s so not fair that everything about him appeals to me. Even when he’s acting like a domineering asshole. Especially when he’s acting like a domineering asshole.

Which says something about me. Something I’m not willing to examine deeply.

I clench my jaw, count to five, then blink slowly. "Seriously, I don’t know how you managed that, but I don’t appreciate you getting involved in how I do my job."

"I’d never do that. I simply wanted to make sure you had some time off. Which will only help you do your job better. I didn't mean to upset you. I’m sorry if I did." He stops the car at a traffic light.

Damn, he apologized again. It shouldn’t surprise me.

It’s the decent thing to do. But it still surprises me that he does.

Given his good looks and privileged background, plus my perception that he’s definitely the kind of person more used to giving orders and being obeyed, I expected him to be an asshole.

And I’m not used to him acting to the contrary.

He’s one of the most thoughtful men I’ve come across.

I really shouldn’t stereotype him.

And he’s right. I’ve been working nonstop without a break. I know, I’ve been flouting guidelines. But given the situation at the hospital, I figured the management wouldn’t notice. Apparently, I was mistaken. I blow out a breath.

"It’s all well and good that you’re apologizing, but it doesn’t change the fact that you interfered in my career. In my life."

"Only because I was concerned about you."

"You don’t need to be. Also, you could have had the conversation with me first."

"Would that have prompted you to take the day off?"

"Umm…" I wriggle about in my seat. "Probably not."

He gives me a look which implies, I rest my case.

I toss my head. "It still doesn’t excuse what you did."

"You needed time off. This was the only way to get you to take it. Also"—he softens his tone—“you should know, I would never compromise you in any way at your place of work.”

He’s so confident and so calm, I deflate a little. The light changes, and he eases the car forward.

“Doesn’t change the fact that this is very high-handed of you,” I say stiffly.

“I didn’t mean to upset you, but it’s my prerogative to make sure your health is not compromised.”

When I stay silent, he blows out a breath. “I really am sorry if I come across as overbearing.” His tone softens further.

I cross my arms across my chest. “You don’t just come across as overbearing, you are overbearing.”

“I am,” he agrees.

“And controlling.”

“True.”

“And pushy, and domineering.”

“All true.” A hint of a smile plays around his eyes. And holy endorphin ambush , he looks incredible.

With his T-shirt stretched across his shoulders, close-cut hair, and that square jaw, he resembles a Hollywood superstar on his day off. And he smells incredible. It’s nice to think I don’t have to go into the ER. With a huge sigh, I lean back in my seat.

“Feel better?” he asks softly.

I toss my head, feeling the rest of my ire slip away. “Where are you taking me?”

He pulls up at another traffic light, then pulls a black silk scarf from his pocket and holds it out.

"What’s that?" I ask warily.

"Remember what I said about you deserving every happiness?"

"Umm, yes?"

"Well, this is me making a start at it."

"How do you mean?" I look up to find his eyes gleaming with mischief. His features are lit up with a half-teasing smile that makes me pause. Combine his dominance and his tenderness with his touch of humor, and I’m a goner.

He glances at the silk scarf, then back at me. "Wear it over your eyes."

A flutter of excitement pools in my belly. "Pardon me?" I fold my arms over my chest, trying to ignore it.

"Trust me," he drawls, that infuriating half-smile curving his lips. "Just for a little while. Just until I can surprise you."

Surprise me?

I hesitate, the logical part of my brain screaming that I barely know this man and should probably run the other way.

But my brother knows him well enough to call him a friend.

And that magnetic pull in his gaze, and the way his presence seems to wrap around me like a physical force, tells me that Connor would never do anything to hurt me.

Still, something inside me insists I resist his demand.

"Is this some kind of kinky fuckery?"

His eyebrows shoot up. "My, my, Ms. Hamilton, four letter words from your mouth sound like the background to my most erotic dreams."

I suppress a laugh. "If you think you can talk me into following your orders"—I tip up my chin—"you’re absolutely right."

A surprised chuckle wells up his strong throat. The masculine sound plucks at my nerve endings. I’m so turned on, I have to look away, so he doesn’t see the reaction he’s drawing from me.

That’s when he leans over and looks into my face. "Close your eyes."

I do. That edge in his tone insists I obey him.

He wraps the silken fabric over my eyes, his fingers brushing against my cheek as he knots it gently behind my head.

A shiver runs through me. Electricity seems to hum between us.

My thighs quiver. My scalp tingles. The world is blanked out, darkness in front of my eyes.

The sound of my breathing is too large in the space.

Unable to see, everything else is magnified. His scent in the car grows more intense, until it surrounds me, wraps about me, pins me in place.

Then the car moves forward. I’m unable to stop the shivers of anticipation flaring in my cells.

"Where are we going?"