Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 82868 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82868 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“Because of people’s expectations?” she asks.
I pause. “Yes. And…also, because they’re so brilliant…so objectively successful, it’s hard to question them—professionally, I mean.”
I glance at her and she’s frowning. I’m probably not making much sense to her.
“They’re wonderful people though. Both retired now.” I laugh again and it’s not at all bitter—more resigned and incredulous. “Their legacy lives on. I think because they were both brilliant in their own right but they were married, so they became this power couple. It’s never really happened in medicine before.”
“So you feel like you’re in their shadow? Is that why you don’t seem to want any patients?”
I blow out a breath. I’m on dangerous ground. She’s confessed personal stuff to me and I don’t want to tell her a series of lies or half-truths to cover up what I’m really doing here—it would feel like a betrayal. “Let’s not talk about work.”
“Sorry if I overstepped.”
I shake my head, sliding my other leg against hers, trying to reassure her that I’m not upset. I just don’t want to lie to her. It seems I’ve spent the last decade of my life lying to myself and I’m running out of road. The more I write, the more I want to write, and the more I can’t picture myself doing anything else. There’s no going back after this trip, but I want to enjoy this calm before I have to reenter reality and figure out how to move forward.
We finish dinner and set about clearing the table, piling plates up on the kitchen counters, ready to wash.
“Wash or dry?” she asks.
“Don’t mind.”
“Well, yellow is my color,” she says, reaching for the rubber gloves. “So I’ll wash.”
She snaps the gloves on with a ping that I feel in my balls and turns to the sink. We work as a team, washing and drying until the kitchen looks back to normal.
“Anything else before I take these bad boys off?” she asks, holding up her gloved hands and glancing around the kitchen.
I didn’t realize I could find lack of vanity such a turn-on.
“Just one thing.” I throw the tea towel I’m holding onto the counter and take a step towards her, closing the gap between us.
I cup the back of her head and hold her gaze. “This is long overdue, don’t you think?”
She swallows and nods, and I grin before I press my lips against hers.
She tastes sweet and fresh like oranges with a hint of cinnamon, and I can tell by her short breaths and the trip of her pulse under my fingers that she wants this. But she’s nervous. She’s a delicious juxtaposition of unflinchingly capable and entirely innocent. I want to know her better, unwind her defenses, peel back her layers.
She discards her rubber gloves and her hands smooth up my chest. I shiver and deepen our kiss. I don’t know if it’s because I’m here—in Scotland, being who I want to be—but I feel a freedom I haven’t felt in a long time. Maybe ever. And somehow Ellie feels like part of that freedom.
I shift, pushing my thigh between her legs and she moans into my mouth. The sound vibrates through my body, making every cell stand to attention.
Instinctively, I break away and take a step back, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, waiting for my pulse to stop thumping in my ears.
Her mouth is reddened from my stubble and strands of her hair have fallen around her face. She looks fucking incredible, but if I don’t get a grip now, I will push further than I should.
And when I fuck her, I don’t want her to feel pushed.
“Okay,” she says.
“I hope that’s not your grade for that kiss.” I lean back on the counter and can’t help but grin. “Because, it was at least an excellent.”
She tilts her head and hums. “Nope. For it to qualify for excellent, it would not have ended so…abruptly.”
“I’ll work on that for next time.”
“Maybe,” she says, pulling the yellow gloves from where they lie discarded on the counter and arranging them neatly at the sink.
Definitely.
Sixteen
Ellie
I wake up with a start. I swear I just heard a bomb go off.
A bang echoes throughout the house again and I leap out of bed, throw on some clothes and go and investigate.
As I’m entering the sitting room, Zach is coming into the cottage, an armful of wood in his arms. I’ve never been a girl who’s into woodchopping lumberjack types, but I’ll make an exception for the Zach that just came through the door. His stubble is longer than I’ve ever seen it and it suits him. He’s got a look of determination in his eye that I saw just before he kissed me last night.
He meets my gaze and I feel our kiss buzz between my legs.
If he hadn’t broken it off, I would have climbed him like a tree and begged him to take me to bed. If his tongue is as skilled as I think it is, I wouldn’t have gotten much sleep last night.