Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 28745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 144(@200wpm)___ 115(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 144(@200wpm)___ 115(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
“What time is it?” she asked as she unfolded her body and stood.
“Midnight. What are you still doing here?”
Samantha’s cheeks turned pink, and she fidgeted with the long strands of hair hanging over her shoulder. “Maria told me what happened, and I…well, I was worried.”
“About the baby?” I asked, confused. There was no way for her to know who the child was.
“Well, yes, but…um, I can’t imagine how hard it would be to do what you do, and on a little baby. I guess I just wanted you to see a friendly face when you finished. I thought maybe”—her blush deepened to dark red—“you’d have sweet dreams instead of sad ones.”
She was so fucking sweet that it made my teeth ache.
I smiled and forced my arms to stay at their sides. “That was really thoughtful, ba—Samantha. Sometimes it’s hard to shut out the images, especially when I go to bed so soon after an operation.”
Her face lit up, clearly happy that her idea had been a good one. “I’m glad I could help.” She glanced at the clock on the wall and grimaced. “I’d better go. The trains are really unpredictable this time of night, so I’m going to walk home.”
“Absolutely not,” I growled, taking a step closer. My scowl was dark as I thought about all the things that could happen to her. “Not a chance in hell am I going to let you traipse around the city by yourself at this time of night.”
Samantha’s big blue eyes widened, and I would have been worried that I scared her with my intensity, except I saw a flash of heat in them. I filed that tidbit of information away for future use.
I’d been in the mood to be alone this morning, so I’d driven myself to work. “I’m parked in the garage next door. I’ll give you a ride.” Pictures of her riding my cock bombarded me, and I sucked in a deep breath as I turned around and marched toward the exit.
I led her next door, and since the valets there knew me, Juno, the man on duty, immediately went to fetch my car. We waited in comfortable silence, neither of us feeling an awkward need to make small talk.
The large elevator doors on the left wall opened, and my silver Bugatti Centodieci slowly emerged, inching its way toward us. It always made me chuckle that the guys who worked here were so careful with my car. They weren’t careless with anyone’s vehicle, but they were terrified of damaging mine, so they drove it like little old ladies and double parked it in the lot below.
The car was a limited edition—in fact, there were only ten ever made—so I understood and appreciated their handling of it.
Juno pulled up in front of us and climbed out of the car, then came around the front to open the passenger side door. But he jerked to a halt when he spotted my frown and took a step back. I opened the door and helped Samantha lower herself into the leather seat. Then I shut her door and handed Juno a couple of hundreds as I thanked him and jogged around the vehicle and got in.
Pulling my seat belt across my body, I glanced over to check and see if my girl was securely belted in. I’d considered doing it myself when she climbed into the car, but I couldn’t be sure that I wouldn’t have lost my mind being so close to her lips.
I drove out of the garage and turned left toward Lexington Ave. My hands itched to drive to my apartment, but I forced myself to take Samantha to her parents' house.
“Do your surgeries always take that long?” she asked after we’d traveled a few blocks.
“Depends on the operation,” I answered, keeping my eyes on the road. “Open heart surgery usually takes four to eight hours, assuming no complications.”
Samantha gasped, and I stole a quick peek at her before returning my focus to the drive. Her lips were curled down, and her face was full of sadness. “Is that what you were doing for the baby? Open heart surgery?”
“Yes,” I replied. “Her family was in a car accident in the Riverside Drive rotunda. Some idiot came barreling off the parkway at nearly eighty miles per hour and slammed into them.”
“Holy cow,” Samantha whispered. “Did…?” She trailed off, obviously avoiding the question even though she wanted the answer.
“The mother was DOA. Her father lived long enough to make it into surgery, but there was too much damage, and he died on the table.” Cardiac trauma from a car accident wasn’t super common, but the little girl’s injuries had collided with preexisting conditions, making it necessary for me to operate. The internal bleeding had been a bitch to get under control, and we’d encountered a few other issues, which was why the surgery had taken so long.