Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 19358 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 97(@200wpm)___ 77(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19358 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 97(@200wpm)___ 77(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
When I got to the courthouse, I took the final sips of my coffee and tossed the cup in the bin before going through the metal detector and waiting for my bag to be X-rayed. On the other side of the security checkpoint, I was shocked to see Xavier. After hearing about his medical heroics, I felt my face heat.
“Hon,” he said in surprise.
The sound of my name took me by surprise. He’d never called me by the shortened version before. “Dr. Rhodes.”
His lips quirked up as he tilted his head. “Oh, are we…? Okay then, Mr. Baptiste. Good to see you.”
“Why are you here?” I asked. “I didn’t expect your case to go to trial, much less this quickly.”
“No. It’s not. I was here testifying in a different case.”
I must have looked surprised because he laughed. Before I could say anything, he continued.
“Yes, Mr. Baptiste, I wear many vests besides the evil surgeon one. I’m also a mediocre son, but good enough to testify against the man who vandalized my parents’ fence. Thanks to my testimony, and the video I took of the incident, my parents won recompense in the amount of three hundred and sixty-seven dollars to have it repaired.”
I looked around behind him. “Are your parents with you?”
He shook his head. “They’re still in with the attorney. And before you ask why I didn’t just pay for the damned fence to be repaired myself, believe me, I did that the first four times Bill destroyed the fence. Apparently, my method wasn’t a deterrent. Neither will this be, by the way, but it’s the best I could do.”
It sounded like a story I wanted to hear. Unfortunately, I was now borderline late for my hearing. “Shit!” I pulled out my phone to check the time. “Sorry, I’m supposed to… ah…” I nodded toward the door to my assigned courtroom.
He gestured for me to go ahead, but as I passed him, he lowered his voice and said, “Let me know if you ever want to pull me into a patient room again.”
I glanced back over my shoulder at him in shock. “I, uh… I don’t.”
His bark of laughter made me jump. “Okay, well. If you change your mind, I’m at 12 Tuley Street. It’s no patient room, but there is a bed. And a sturdy door, if that’s your preference.”
I continued to the courtroom, doing my best to ignore him.
And the searing heat on my face.
It took me another full week to cave. A week of jacking off in the shower to the memory of Xavier’s mouth on me, the image of his strong forearms on the conference room table, exposed by rolled-up shirtsleeves, and the knowledge that he wanted a repeat as much as I did.
By the time I got up the nerve to knock on his front door, it was late on a weekday night. When I’d seen his car in the driveway, I’d almost chickened out. Maybe part of me had hoped he was stuck at work. Then he wouldn’t be able to judge my clear desperation.
“Mr. Baptiste,” he said, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “Welcome. Would you like to come… in?”
I rolled my eyes at the innuendo and stepped into the entryway of his large, expensively decorated home, allowing him to close the door behind me. Unfortunately, the sight of my car in his driveway would be enough to start tongues wagging around here, which was why I’d parked two doors down in front of a house I knew to be owned by a young couple who would be way too exhausted with their newborn twins to be looking out the window this time of night.
“Can I get you a drink?” he asked, gesturing for me to follow him further back in the house toward the kitchen.
Xavier was still dressed in suit pants, but he only had on an undershirt with it. His bare feet caught my attention, and I couldn’t look away as I followed him.
For some reason, they made him look real. Less powerful and intimidating… not that he’d intimidated me.
When I finally dragged my eyes up the back of him, I appreciated the round swell of his ass, the narrow dip of his lower back, and the broad stretch of his shoulders. An errant curl flicked out behind one ear, another sign he was no longer wearing his “Very Important Surgeon” image now that he was at home.
“I have wine, beer, bourbon…?” He glanced over his shoulder at me. “Water? Juice? Antiseptic spray for the frog in your throat?”
“Wine. Thanks,” I said, sounding about as nervous as I felt.
When we entered the kitchen, I was surprised by how warm and inviting it was. While the fittings were all clearly high-end, there were also personalized touches like framed photos of family and friends, an almost threadbare pillow embroidered with a caduceus and a funny phrase about never giving free medical advice to people except your parents. I’d seen a similar one in one of my law professors’ offices years ago, but that one had shown the scales of justice.