Текст книги "Sinful Desire"
Автор книги: Lauren Blakely
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Could she really be related?
Nah.
He was getting ahead of himself.
“It’s just a common last name, right?” he said to the dog. Johnny Cash panted, then eyed the Frisbee. A reminder. Didn’t matter to the dog what the woman’s name was. Throw the damn Frisbee.
He picked up the purple disc, chucked it across the yard once more, and peered again at the screen through his shades. His fingers tingled, itching with possibility.
Winston.
Sophie Winston.
Showing up at the same building where John Winston worked.
The same John Winston who knew why his father’s murder investigation had been reopened but wouldn’t pony up the details.
Winston. Winston. Winston.
Take a deep breath. Maybe the detective just happened to have the same last name as the woman Ryan wanted to get his hands on.
He popped open another browser window, plugged in her name and John’s together, and soon the all-knowing Google revealed that the woman who’d invited him to the fete was the detective’s sister.
“Huh,” he said, staring at the screen in a sort of awed silence. As his dog scurried back to him, Ryan kneeled down and patted his head. “What kind of lucky son-of-a-bitch am I?”
The dog panted and Ryan imagined he was saying, “The luckiest.”
He scratched the dog’s chin. “I can’t be that much of an asshole to hope she might know something, can I?
The dog had no answers. Instead, he nosed the Frisbee.
Not wanting to deny his best friend and confidant, Ryan pointed to the pool, then threw the Frisbee into the glistening crystal-blue oval in his yard. The dog splashed loudly, then paddled to the shallow end in hot pursuit of his favorite thing.
As Ryan returned his focus to the screen, he told himself to slow it down. Just because Sophie-come-hither-to-my-party-tonight-Winston was the detective’s sister didn’t mean she was going to serve up details of the case to him. Hell, she probably didn’t know anything. He didn’t share the details of his job with his sister, so it was foolish to think John had told her the things Ryan was desperate to know.
Besides, he was interested in the woman because there’d been some kind of fuse lit between the two of them this afternoon, and far be it from him to deny that kind of heat. He wasn’t some fool who believed in love at first sight. He had no interest in love, nor any faith that it existed. He did, however, believe in the almighty power of lust.
Ryan had been invited to spin into Sophie’s orbit, and that was precisely where he intended to be tonight. But he didn’t like to be unprepared. He vastly preferred arming himself with data and details, so he spent a little more time with Google and Sophie, learning she possessed a hell of a lot more than a beautiful body.
Apparently, she had quite a large brain, too.
She wasn’t simply “noted Vegas philanthropist Sophie Winston.”
Several business news articles told him what else she was, and it shocked the hell out of him.
Never ever would he have pegged her as a goddamn tech millionaire.
He zeroed in on a well-known tech blog and read its coverage of the sale of an Internet start-up to an online search giant several years ago.
Stanford graduate Sophie Winston sold the encoding compression start-up InCode in a deal rumored to be valued at $100 million. She launched the company while finishing her computer science degree at Stanford, and oversaw two rounds of venture capital funding for the technology, which has been used by networks and broadcasters, and in enterprise applications. Her brother was the original investor, having provided the initial seed funding from his savings, she has said. Winston tells us she is “delighted” with the acquisition, and plans to step down as CEO, return to her hometown of Las Vegas, and begin charitable work. “I’m thrilled that InCode will be in good hands, and am eager to return home to be with my family.”
Ryan whistled in admiration. The sound caught the attention of his sopping wet dog, who cocked his ears as he trotted to Ryan.
“Guess what, Johnny Cash?” he said, as the dog shook the chlorinated water from his fur at Mach speed. Ryan stepped away, making sure the tablet screen wasn’t in the line of fire. “Seems I was wrong when I thought she was a movie star. The woman’s a retired Mark Zuckerberg.”
He chucked the disc into the pool, and his dog raced after it, launching into the deep end.
But maybe that wasn’t the best comparison, because there was nothing unfeminine about Sophie. She was all woman, and all sex appeal, and he intended to find out tonight what made her tick.
Because his desire for the beautiful—and evidently brainy—blonde had nothing to do with the fact that she might be privy to things he wanted to know. Nothing at all. It had everything to do with how she looked in that dress, and how insatiably curious Ryan was to learn how she looked out of it.
He was living for that moment, and that moment only.
Chapter Three
Sophie was late.
Sophie was often late.
Being on time was so hard when there was makeup to do, and hair to blow-dry, and chandelier earrings to locate in the bottom drawer of her jewelry chest (when she swore she’d left them in the top drawer), and stockings to pull on just so, inch by delicate inch, because you didn’t want them to rip.
Stockings took time to do right.
Hers were positioned properly with the garter attached at her thigh.
She’d be wearing them even if she didn’t have that little, fluttery hope of a hot man in her crosshairs. She wore them because she loved stockings. Stockings were sexy, and being sexy was fun. After years upon years of donning jeans and hoodies and knit caps because that was what the “nerds” wore and she’d desperately wanted to look the part—since being a woman in the tech field had already made her stick out like a sore thumb—she relished looking like a woman. She’d shed the old Sophie when she left the land of bits and bytes behind her, that man’s world of dressed-down anti-fashion.
Now, with her new focus on philanthropy, dressing up was not only embraced, it was essential.
The panties though…those were just for her.
She had on her favorite pair, though nearly every pair she owned was her favorite. La Perla had a way with silk and satin and beads and pearls that made every slinky bit of fabric enticing. Tonight’s panties were black like her dress, and sheer, with a slim, crisscross tie up the side.
She smoothed a hand over her dress, gave herself one more quick once-over in her full-length bedroom mirror, then snagged her purse from the middle of the cranberry-red comforter on her bed. She swiveled around, ready to go, then sneaked one more final glance.
Just to make sure that the piece of hair above her ear hadn’t fallen out of place.
Nope. All was well.
Wait.
Did she have any lipstick on her teeth? She bared her canines and was satisfied. Everything was in order. She headed down the hall to the wide-open living room with its floor-to-ceiling windows, which boasted her favorite view in the universe—Vegas, lit up and neon, bright and bold, her favorite city in all its unabashedly sinful glory.
She paused in the living room, one hand on the back of the soft chocolate-brown couch, wondering if she’d remembered to put fresh pillowcases for her brother in the guest room at the other end of the condo.
A flicker of tension skimmed through her veins.
She knew she had. This was just a momentary bout of OCD making her doubt herself.
She stood stock still, tapping her fingers against her forehead. She could recall perfectly having placed new linens on the bed just this morning. The gray-and-white striped ones. Masculine and perfect for John.
She headed for the front door. But it was always better to be safe, right? Checking and double checking, and then checking one more time in that final quality assurance test—well, that was what had gotten her far in life. She’d been notoriously thorough as a student and as a computer scientist, a trait stemming from her drive to just check once more. Tugging on her skirt and gathering up the soft material, she race-walked down the opposite hall, turned the doorknob, and breathed a sigh of relief as she took in the sight of the bed, as crisply made as a hotel room in the Bellagio.
Okay, she could go now.
She made her way to the front door and gripped the handle when she was nearly knocked on the floor by the unexpected force of the door opening.
“Oh!”
“Shit. Sorry, Soph. I thought you’d be gone by now.”
She waved off his worry. “I should be. Running late.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Were you checking everything three times?”
“Only your room,” she admitted in a low voice.
He clasped a big hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry about that stuff. Besides, I’ll happily sleep on the floor, or an unmade bed. You don’t have to check to make sure everything is perfect for me,” he said softly, then gestured to her right ear. “But you might want to check on your earring. Looks like one is about to pop out.”
Lifting her hand to her ear, she felt the edge of the earring slipping from her earlobe. She peered in a small mirror by the door, catching the reflection of a framed photograph of her parents from across the room, her heart lurching briefly at the image, and how much she loved and missed them. “I thought you were working late,” she said as she repositioned the jewelry.
He shrugged. “Yeah, but I figured it’ll be nice and quiet at your place, and you’ll be out so I can work on the case here.”
“Close to solving it?”
He scoffed. “Not even remotely. Talked to some guy today who I’m sure knows something, but he won’t let on what it is.”
“What do you think he knows?” she asked, turning away from the mirror to face her brother, who was unknotting his tie and tugging it off.
“Something that would help me find the other guys I think were involved.”
“What kind of case it?”
He laughed. “You’re not getting that out of me.”
“I know. I just like asking, because it’s funny to see how many ways you can say no comment.” John never gave up details. He always spoke vaguely about his work so she could never connect the dots. Not that she wanted to. She vastly preferred operating on her side of the world, entertaining the wealthy and privileged and encouraging them to dig deep into their pockets to help those who needed it most—the children, the ill, the underprivileged, the animals who needed a voice. She’d helped raise money and fund new programs for all those causes, and she intended to do just that tonight for the hospital.
* * *
Sometime later, after the silent auction of a painting by Miller Valentina—donated on behalf of a New York-based couple who’d said the piece had given them so much already, and they wanted to give back—Sophie walked to the podium in the ballroom and thanked the sea of glittering guests in their shimmery dresses and crisp suits.
“I am so unbelievably thrilled to share the news that, thanks to your generosity, we’ve raised well above our funding goal for the new children’s wing, which will provide state-of-the art care,” she said, surveying the tables in the ballroom as the crowd clapped in recognition of the good news.
The man in the green tie hadn’t made it, and Sophie simply told herself c’est la vie. She didn’t know anything about him, and it had been silly to want a stranger so badly. Besides, he’d never truly said he was attending. He’d simply nodded when she’d made that leading comment during her phone call to Jenna. He was probably a decadent flirt, too, just like her. Better to move on, and better to rid her chest of this tinge of sadness.
Besides, she had a busy agenda for the rest of the evening. “We would not have been able to do this without your generosity,” she said, beaming at the guests. Her heart was full, bursting with joy over their willingness to give. “But don’t think I’m going to let any of you gorgeous people—and for the record, you are all my favorite people—slip away this evening. We have Heaven Leigh here with us, and if her voice doesn’t make you want to snuggle up to your date, then I don’t know what will. She’ll be on in five minutes.”
Sophie’s assistant, Kelley Jeffers, caught up with her as she walked through a small section of the wings backstage. Ever efficient and always prepared, Kelley tapped her clipboard. “You have forty-five minutes until we need you on again to close out the event with the awards.”
“Perfect. I’ll grab a drink and mingle.”
“Be sure to be backstage at nine forty-five so we can stay on time.”
“Absolutely,” she said then headed to the steps, ready to chitchat and socialize. As she reached the ballroom floor, though, she nearly froze.
She wasn’t sure if she saw him first or merely sensed him. If perhaps her body had installed some sort of homing beacon to detect the presence of Absolutely Delicious Male in the ballroom. She turned her head, and goose bumps rose on her bare arms as she drank him in.
In the distance, he leaned against the big doorway to the ballroom, looking cool, sexy and debonair, wearing a dark gray suit that fit him like a glove—tailored, and snug where it needed to be, revealing strength and tone. His light brown hair was messy, but not sloppy. It was the type of hair that was too thick to be contained, that couldn’t be combed into submission, but instead simply invited fingers to run through it.
But then, if she was doing things right, her hands wouldn’t be free.
Across all the tables and chairs, past the dazzling chandelier lights, beyond the sea of designer dresses, he locked eyes with her.
His seemed to say I’m here for you. I’m coming to get you.
She flashed a smile, aware that it was a high-wattage one, but then that was how she felt—bubbly, buoyant, and powered by the thrill of possibility. She hadn’t misread the moment outside the municipal building. The chemistry had been electric and instant—and intense enough for him to come calling.
As she walked around the dance floor to find her way to him, a flash of gray hair appeared in the corner of her vision. Next came a phlegmy clearing of the throat.
Oh dear.
Not now.
Please not this second when her hormones were beating a path to Mr. Hotness Whose Name She Didn’t Know and Liked It That Way.
One of her regular donors placed a clammy hand on her bare arm—Clyde Graser, pushing eighty, sweet as could be, and more generous than virtually anyone.
He was also terribly out of touch with women.
“Sophie, how are you, my dear?”
He received one of her brightest smiles. “I’m very well, Mr. Graser. So good to see you.”
After a minute of small talk, he cleared his throat once more, a sign he had something important to say. “My grandson Taylor is coming back to town. He graduated from Harvard Law earlier this year and has been hired into a corporate practice here. I have a hunch the two of you would get along swimmingly, and I would love to introduce you to him.”
A newly minted law school graduate was probably all of twenty-five. Divorced and thirty-one, Sophie had a clear cut-off. You had to be over thirty to ride this ride. She simply wasn’t into cradle-robbing.
“I’m sure he’s lovely,” she said, doing her best to be kind but evasive.
Clyde’s matchmaking effort wasn’t the first she’d had to deflect. These sorts of offers had been happening with increasing frequency since she and Holden had divorced two years ago. With the money she’d socked away from the sale of her company—even after Holden’s cut of the profits—and the work she did now, many of the city’s old wealth wanted her for their sons.
She wanted no such thing.
“Wonderful. Then I’ll bring him to the Beethoven concert,” Clyde said. The law firm Clyde had founded was a lead sponsor of that upcoming charity event, and Sophie hoped to convince him to pour even more of his corporate cash into a community center that was being refurbished in a section of town that had been a hotbed for a local gang many years ago—a street gang that had been rising up again, which made it all the more important to revitalize the neighborhood.
“I can’t wait,” Sophie said as Clyde walked away.
Then her pulse suddenly quickened.
She knew.
Knew the sexy man had to be mere feet from her. She knew it by the way the little hairs on her arms stood on end. Sophie and this man were two elements smashing into each other and setting off sparks. There was no other explanation, because she’d never felt this kind of intense desire for someone she’d just met.
It was a riot inside her body.
He placed a hand on the small of her back—gentle, terribly gentle, and it unleashed an electric charge in her. “Can’t wait for what?” he asked.
Oh God, his voice. His deep, sexy voice that was an aphrodisiac. It was the opening act in the seduction of her.
“For the evening to turn more exciting,” she said as she came face-to-face with the man she knew nothing about. He was the sexiest stranger she’d ever met, and he wasn’t going to be a stranger much longer.
“Looks like I arrived just in time. Because that’s exactly what I intend to do.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Excite me?”
The first notes of a sexy ballad sounded from the stage. “Yes. That’s why I came here,” he said, gesturing to the throngs milling about around them. “Right now, however, I’d like to monopolize you on the dance floor, Miss Sophie Winston.”
“You know my name,” she said, shooting him a look that said she was impressed.
“I do,” he said, holding her captive with his dark blue eyes. “And I’d like to get to know more than your name.”
“That sort of intel might be obtained with a dance,” she said, clasping his hand and letting him lead her to the dance floor as the lights dimmed and the song wrapped itself around them.
Chapter Four
As the slinky, silky Vegas nightclub singer belted out a bluesy number from the stage, the lights in the ballroom dimmed. They turned the bright, silent auction that Ryan had caught the tail end of into a sultry, nighttime affair. The chandeliers flickered, and violet lights shone on the dance floor. Men in tuxes and women in evening dresses moved and swayed; the event reeked of old money and new money, mingling together. This was the cocktail mix of the Vegas built on the bedrock of Rat Pack era casinos, stirred up with the cool swagger of the sleek, skyscraper crowds of today.
Ryan led Sophie to the dance floor, threading their way through the glitz and glam of the dolled-up and dressed-up. She kept her eyes on him as he dropped a hand on her elbow, leaving his palm on her back.
Her skin was so soft. So bare. So fantastically naked in this backless dress as he pulled her near and they began to dance.
“So you made it,” she said.
“I would have been here sooner, but I had to walk my dog.”
She burst out in surprised laughter. “Really?”
“You don’t believe me?”
“It’s not that I don’t believe it. It just came out sounding like an excuse,” she said as they swayed in time to the jazzy number from the red-sequined woman on stage.
“He’s a very demanding dog. Have you ever met a Border Collie mix? They can be quite needy. And I like to make sure he’s happy.”
“How good of you to think of him.”
“I was thinking of you, too,” he said, his eyes fixed on her as he spoke. “I couldn’t get you off my mind.”
“Is that so?” she asked, but her smile made it seem less like a question. “I figured I’d read you wrong.”
“You didn’t expect me to show up?” He spread his fingers across the bare skin of her back. Goose bumps rose on her flesh.
“One never knows if a man has it in him to respond to an invitation on the street,” she said coyly.
His spine straightened, and he stood even taller. “When a woman like you tells a man she wants him, that man should do everything in his power to show up.”
She moved closer, her sky-blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “I don’t believe I said I wanted you,” she whispered.
He bent his head to her ear, catching the faint scent of her perfume. Something vaguely tropical. Something that suggested hot summer nights. He wanted to run his nose along her skin and inhale her. A groan worked its way up his chest. “You didn’t have to say it,” he said.
She shot him a sharp stare, but she didn’t let go of him. “My, my. Aren’t we a little over-confident?”
“Am I?” he asked, letting go to spin her in a circle then tugging her back as the music rose to a crescendo.
“Perhaps I just wanted to make sure the ballroom was full,” she said, gesturing to the crowd. “Maybe that’s why I invited you.”
“Is that what you wanted? One more attendee at your event?”
She swallowed and parted her lips. “Maybe I want other things.”
She pressed her hand against his shoulder, and the pressure from that slight touch sent electricity flying through him. He stopped swaying and dipped her, holding her in that pose, her back bent in an arc, her body draped over his arm, trusting him. “Tell me, Sophie. What other things do you want?”
He watched her like that as he waited for her answer. Her eyes never wavered from his. There was no shyness in her gaze, no nerves evident in her expression. Only confidence, which was so damn alluring. She licked her lips then answered, “A man who can figure those things out.”
Oh, hell yeah. This woman turned him on fiercely. She was direct and naughty at the same time. He raised her up. Her full breasts were flush with his chest, and he was sure he could spend hours worshipping them. Or biting them. Or fucking them. “I can figure out all those things you want. I can deliver all of them, too. But right now? Here on the dance floor? I presume this is when you need me to role play at being a perfect gentleman,” he said, casting his gaze briefly at the crowds dancing alongside them.
“So you wouldn’t be a gentleman if we weren’t in front of all these people?”
“I would absolutely not be a gentleman at all,” he said, letting his hand travel along her back. “But for the moment, you have your donors here to entertain.”
She raised her chin and looked at him studiously. “You did your homework, Mister—” Then she laughed and cut herself off, placing a finger over his lips. “Don’t tell me your name. I prefer to think of you as the Man with the Green Tie. So we can pretend we hardly know each other. We can be strangers.”
“Strangers can make the best lovers.”
“Are you? A good lover?”
“I don’t really think you want me to answer that question.”
“Why on earth wouldn’t I want the answer to that?” she asked, toying with his tie, her voice a purr that lit up his organs, setting every last part of him on fire.
He shook his head. Pressed his lips near her ear. Whispered. “I think you’d rather I show you.”
She gasped, an enticing sound that ignited him. His body was strung tight, like a snare drum. He was torn between wanting to pounce on her now, and drawing out the anticipation. Making her want him. Making her beg. He was willing to bet she was a marvelous beggar, that she could get on her knees and say please in a voice that snapped all his restraint.
“Show me,” she whispered, then her eyes floated closed as he touched her, fingertips brushing her back. They traveled higher, and she arched into his hand, like a cat being pet. He reached her hair, winding a loose, blonde strand around his index finger, cataloguing the expression on her face, the way her features were so soft, so open—her lips parted, her eyes closed, her breath gentle.
He let her long curls fall through his fingers as she molded to him.
Then he showed her what else he liked. That he wasn’t soft. That he wasn’t gentle. With his fingers gripping her hair, he tugged.
Hard.
Her eyes snapped open, and they blazed at him. “That wasn’t gentlemanly.”
“I know,” he said, her hair still twisted in his fist. “And you liked it. Now, have you got any more questions about how I am in bed?”
She gulped. A touch of nervousness seemed to flicker across her eyes. “Not at the moment.” She blinked and seemed to rearrange her features as he let go of her hair, smoothing it out as it fell along her neck. “So tell me, Mr. Green Tie, what did you learn about me when you went hunting for information?”
He learned she shared DNA with the lead detective re-investigating his father’s murder. But that wasn’t exactly information that needed to be served up for small talk. “I learned you know everyone here, and can convince anyone to contribute to a worthy cause. Lots of money. Insane amounts.”
She pursed her lips together. “That does sound like one of my skills,” she said playfully.
“I learned you do it because you can. Because you made your mint already and now you give back.”
“True, true. Does that bother you?”
“That you made a mint?”
She nodded. “Yes. That can intimidate some men. When a woman is successful.”
He scoffed. “I’m not easily intimidated. And I happen to think successful women are”—he moved in closer, his lips daringly close to hers—“incredibly hot.” He skimmed his hand from her shoulder down her arm, unable to resist touching her. “But that’s what I learned from your bio, Sophie. I know other things about you, just from these last ten minutes.”
“What do you know?” she asked as the singer began a new tune, and the purple lights swooshed across the dance floor.
He ran a fingertip along her wrist, her chest rising as she drew in a quick breath. “That you like being touched.”
She nodded. “If a man knows how.”
“That you like to play games.”
She frowned. “You make that sound bad.”
“Games aren’t bad.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I bet you like to play pretend. Make believe. Role-play.”
“I have an idea,” she said in a purr, as she roped her hands around his neck then trailed her fingertips across the back of it, her touch a jolt of pleasure. “We could pretend, say, that we just met, and I’m curious about the man who has been in my thoughts. All I want is a little something. A little bit of intel to round out the picture. How about this for a simple question? Since you know what occupied my time in college, why don’t you tell me what occupied yours?”
This was easy. He could tell her his college major without giving up too much. “History.”
“Why history?”
“I like to understand what motivates people. Why they do what they do.”
“And did you learn what motivates people?”
“Usually it’s a desire for property or money.”
She smiled ruefully. “Sounds about right. What about sports? Did you play sports?”
“Yes. Hockey. Right wing.”
“Did you cause fights?” she asked, curiosity dripping from her voice.
He shook his head, his lips in a smirk, proud to be able to say no. “I was the one who stopped the fights.”
Her eyes widened. “Interesting. Why is that?”
“I like to be in control.”
She inched her hands up toward his hair, and he grasped her wrists and returned them to his shoulders. “What line of business are you in?” she asked.
“Security.”
“What do you do in security? Watch over banks? Guard the mall?” she said, lightness in her tone.
He laughed and shook his head. “No. I run a security company. Does that turn you on?”
“If you’re asking if your job turns me on, the answer is no. And that’s because I don’t find jobs a turn-on or off.” She danced her fingers down the front of his shirt. “I find men who know what they want a turn-on.”
“I know what I want.”
“You do. You want me.”
“So fucking much,” he growled. He tugged her in closer, aligning his body to hers, letting her feel how he wanted her already. A sexy sigh escaped her lips as he brought her near to him. She fit in his arms perfectly. Like that, they danced and moved under the dim lights to the next few songs, chatting about Vegas, and the event, and the silent auction, as he asked her questions about the gala and the hospital it benefitted.
“See? You are a gentleman. Asking a woman questions. Getting to know her,” she said, then touched a lock of his hair that had fallen on his forehead. He caught her arm, his fingers wrapping tightly around her flesh. He bent his head and brushed his lips against her wrist.
Their first kiss, and he was nowhere near her lips. But the skin of her arm had that same sultry, sexy scent as her neck. He let his lips linger on her wrist, then let go. “You taste fantastic,” he said, holding her eyes, letting his meaning register.
“Do I?”
“Yes. You do. I bet you taste delicious everywhere.”
She waved a hand in front of her face. “It’s getting awfully hot out here. I’m afraid I might combust if we stay on the dance floor like this.” She tipped her head to the bar. “Drink?”
He nodded and pressed his lips briefly to her neck, dusting a kiss on her collarbone. A soft moan floated to his ears. He was going to have a field day with Sophie Winston. She was a dream—every touch, every taste and she murmured, she sighed, she moaned.
He hadn’t even properly kissed her yet.
They threaded their way to the bar where he asked for two champagnes. As he reached for the flutes, a woman in a high-necked maroon dress and a severe bun zeroed in on Sophie, commanding her focus to ask her opinion on how the children’s wing should be decorated. As that woman finished, another darted in, declaring that she knew a building contractor, and she could up her donation if that would help secure the contract. Sophie was gracious with all of them, but after a few minutes she tossed Ryan a save me glance.
He stepped in next to her, handed her a glass of champagne, and flashed a smile at the two ladies. “I hope you’ll forgive me for interrupting, but I have to leave shortly, since I’ve been called to the hospital to do an unplanned surgery.”
The woman in maroon shot him a curious look. “Oh, you’re a surgeon?”
He nodded. “I am. And I need two minutes with our Sophie before I have to begin a bone graft.”
The other woman eyed his champagne. He quickly thrust it at her. “Please. Take this from me. I can’t drink on surgery nights, of course. I don’t even know why the bartender gave it to me. But I hate to be rude,” Ryan said, shaking his head as if he couldn’t bear the thought of turning down the man tending bar.
“Of course you don’t want to be rude. You’re a respected surgeon,” the second woman said in a commanding voice.
“And we don’t want to be rude either,” the maroon woman added. “Please. Go on. We don’t want to keep you from the bone graft.”
