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  The impressive, unnerving bulge.

  “Dude.” I winced. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” He shifted closer at once, reaching without hesitation for my waist. “We really aren’t done here.”

  It took more willpower than I thought to swat his hand away. “No. We really are, Mac. You know the saying, right? No means no?” I tilted my head up, daring to confront the dark jade lust in his gaze. “You’re not a dense man. You did make it through medical school, after all.”

  To my surprise, a grin broke past his lips. “Make it through? I graduated top of my class, love.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Of course you did.”

  “So, definitely not dense.”

  “Of course not.”

  “So if I say something is going to happen? It happens. And this?” He motioned back and forth between us though let his hand stray once it reached me, stroking a defined path across my shoulder blades…and then down between my breasts. “This is going to happen.” His tone roughened, matching the slower intent of his touch. My heartbeat clamored toward his mesmerizing fingers, throbbing like a cobra beneath the spell of a masterful charmer. “This is intense, Taylor Mathews, and we both know it. Stop trying to deny it.”

  I swallowed, knowing he noticed but unable to hold back. My nipples pebbled inside my bra. My lungs scrambled to claim nonexistent air. And holy shit, my pussy began to respond too. Yes, already. Yes, to the point of agony. Yes, seeping into my panties and my jeans.

  “Y-You’re crazy.”

  The edges of his mouth lifted again. His eyes dropped, watching every inch of my face. “Maybe a little of that too. But there’s one thing I’m not, Taylor.”

  “Wh-What’s that?”

  “A liar.” His tone was nonchalant but direct, almost as if we were negotiating business. The contrast between that clinical sound and the visual strip-down from his gaze… Yeah, I was wet again. “I’m not a liar, Miss Mathews. Ever. With me, you’ll always get the truth—even if it’s not what you want to hear.”

  His conclusion gave me an opening for insouciance. “So…is that some kind of mystical warning?” My confusion wasn’t a lie. While I might not have graduated top of my class, I wasn’t a daft person, either.

  “No. I’m just telling you something about me.” He shrugged as though that wasn’t an odd thing to just announce—spinning me into even deeper puzzlement.

  “Okay, what’s going on here? I barely know you, Maclain Stone—only today, you magically show up in the exact same place as me, instantly going Mr. Pushy about my eating and then taking over Sally like—”

  “You really need to name her something other than Sally.”

  “Shut up.” I slammed both hands to my hips. “Now you’re in my crappy apartment, damn near dictating we’re going to sleep together, and I feel like I’m watching a lost episode of the Twilight Zone.” By the time I realized I’d added my tapping toe to the posture, fulfilling every nuance of his—and not altogether awful—nickname for me, his fresh grin said he had done the same math there too.

  “Like I said, sassy, you’ll never get anything but the truth from me. As I said back at Scripps, I was there for a job interview. My buddy from med school, Lawrence Ball, works in the Neurology Department there. He called a few weeks back about an opening they have, right after I booked the flight to come out for the wedding. I gave him some dates, and he hooked me up with the department head and chief of staff.” He shrugged again, his broad shoulders moving with no effort, toppling every inch of my hard-won attitude from distraction. “It was a complete stroke of luck that I ran into you in the parking lot, but maybe that was a good thing too.”

  “Yeah?” I refocused and rallied, tossing him a look that was drollness on crack. “And how do you figure that?”

  “Because you really do need to eat more and probably need someone to tell you that. And maybe that someone is me.” And just like that, he reclaimed the upper hand—literally—by using that easy grace to hypnotize me as he stepped back in, crowding my space once more. With the same flow of motion, he leaned over and pressed a thumb right into the bruise on my shoulder. “Believe me, love…you need all the help you can get to keep up your strength.”

  He smirked as I squirmed, shamelessly wicked about his gloat. When I wriggled harder, he yanked me around the waist, pulling me against him.

  “Mac. What’re—”

  “And this isn’t a crappy apartment.” His statement—command?—matched the green iron spikes that entered his gaze. “It’s charming and full of personality, much like its sassy little occupant.”

  “Oh, my God.” A new eye roll. I didn’t care if I got another thumbprint on my bruise for it. And the man really expected me to believe his “calling it like I see it” BS now?

  “Go clean yourself up.” Again, he went on as if my words were Teletubby babbles. “And we’ll go get a pizza or something. I’m starving—and I wasn’t joking when I said you’ll need energy for what I have planned for the rest of the evening.”

  I started the toe tapping again—considering it preparation for kicking him. “Why the hell aren’t you listening to me? You are not staying here.”

  He stepped back. Only by an inch. Jogged his jaw at me by an equal amount. “Let’s settle it on your chess board.” He started back toward the table with the marble set on it, in a little alcove to which I referred as the “office.”

  “I told you I don’t play.”

  Glancing over his shoulder, he countered, “And I’m calling your bluff. Six moves to checkmate. Whoever gets there first decides if I’m staying or not.”

  “Six?” I raised my eyebrows. Damn it. Damn him. I couldn’t resist a challenge, not one like this—and I could almost taste the sweetness of victory on my lips. It’d feel so good to beat his ass. “You’re a dead man, clown.”

  He thought for a second, and I ignored how hot he looked doing it. “Then don’t you mean you’re a dead clown?”

  “Oh-ho.” I nodded with a knowing smile. “So you’re a grammar Nazi too?”

  “I have many talents, little sass. You’ll see.” He leaned against the corner where the alcove began. “Another one of them is a lockbox memory—meaning I’m going to overlook your lie about not being able to play. That makes three things I’m looking forward to punishing you for…when you’re ready.”

  I gave an inner groan. Maybe a soft outer one too. I might have been able to let the new mention of his mysterious punishments fly by unnoticed, but he had to add that last part, once more in that presumptive growl. When you’re ready. Like he completely expected I would be…and that I’d even enjoy it…though not nearly as much as him.

  And why did the idea of his pleasure even matter—let alone bring such a deep wash of heat to my bloodstream?

  This ended now. The second I checkmated his ass, so I could toss every hot-as-hell inch of it away from my temptation forever. “Cute,” I retorted to him while tugging the table and board away from the alcove. “But you can just tear up your little ‘infractions’ list now. It’s never going to happen.”

  Mac eyed the area from which I’d just yanked the board, right next to the small credenza where I kept my computer and printer. The board was handy for when I played opponents online, so I could move actual pieces as every move was made onscreen. Sometimes—many times—chess wasn’t just the logistical but the tactile. The actual weight of a piece in one’s fingers, lending psychic insight for the next move, was sometimes the difference between rote strategy and insightful victory. Of course, none of my friends knew this about me, and I preferred it that way. It was best for everyone that Taylor Mathews remain her sarcastic but sunshiny self, not the pensive chess player with the laundry list of trust and codependency issues. Yes, best for everyone and way easier for the nerd recluse—who once more snapped on her audacious mask while scooting toward the breakfast bar, the best place to put this thing for his little suicide match.

  But as I moved, there was no physical way to
avoid contact with the smirking man. He couldn’t move out of my way because of the couch, so our bodies were pressed achingly close against each other. I tried a deep breath for self-control, but that only reminded me how good he smelled, the old-school cologne colliding with all that virile musk, and…shit.

  Mac himself did nothing to ease the situation. With just one subtle move, he dipped his huge frame over me, giving him the perfect vantage point for fitting his lips to my ear again.

  I froze.

  He murmured, “I promise you will beg me to punish you.”

  The board trembled in my grip, making the pieces dance.

  The waltz betrayed my growing excitement. My clamoring arousal.

  Though it was ridiculous, right? That a threat—a promise—like that would make me feel this way?

  “I-I think you’re taking the drugs you prescribe for people.”

  Yes. Ridiculous. But ohhhh so unbelievably real.

  “I don’t prescribe drugs for people, silly girl. I fix people so they don’t need drugs.”

  “Oh, my God.” I plopped the board onto the breakfast bar and dropped my head into my hands in disbelief.

  “Chess, then?”

  He slid onto a bar stool, already looking triumphant. I lifted my head, yearning to smack the smugness off every inch of his sexy face. I opted for a hard glare instead.

  “Let’s do this so you leave me in peace.”

  His lips quirked. “Let’s.”

  “Hope you’re not a sore loser.”

  “We’ll see who’s sore in the end, sassy.”

  I said nothing—and since I was feeling charitable, I pushed the white pieces in his direction, giving him first move. In a game of just six moves, that already gave him the advantage—technically speaking. The psychological warfare was different. Take the edge, clown. You’ll need it.

  We each made quick work of setting up our pieces, and I sat back to await his opening move.

  Which consisted of him stretching a hand across toward me.

  I stared down at those extended fingers and ordered myself not to remember what those talented digits were capable of doing to my body, my brain. “What?”

  “Good luck.” His smile doubled his natural handsomeness—as well as the devil behind his easy charm.

  “Sure.” I smiled and shook once. Nothing wrong with giving in to the cordiality of a good-looking stud, if it was just for a few seconds. “You’re going to need it.”

  Twenty minutes’ worth of tense silence later, he plunked his bishop closer to my queen—and I instantly recognized the foolishness of the move that had preceded it. I’d thought I had him beat and gotten lazy about studying the entire board. As a result, he was able to fill the air with one soft but deliberate word.

  “Checkmate.”

  I blew out a long breath—as my heartbeat quickened with a bizarre mix of dismay and anticipation.

  Have I actually…wanted to lose all along?

  No. I’d given the match my best—though now that my gig was up, the loss wasn’t so hard to take. My nerves sparked hotter. My skin prickled, antsy, agitated, and anticipating. It was difficult to stand and not look jittery, but my hand was steady as I offered it to him. “Great game.”

  He didn’t reply. Instead, he stood, took my physical yield with a determined grab—and hauled me against his body with an audible thud.

  At once, his scent surrounded me—and his muscles enervated me.

  “You’re a very good player,” he said, too damn controlled about every syllable. “I thought for sure you had me at the end.”

  “Well, you beat me,” I managed, not nearly as polished. “Straight up. So what’s your prize going to be?”

  A dark chuckle, bordering on a growl. “You have to ask?”

  Deep gulp. “I guess I don’t.”

  “You know what I want, Taylor. But I won’t force you to do something you don’t want to do. So how about we start with dinner? I’d really like to see you eat something besides cookies.”

  “And eggs, bacon, and toast.” I slanted a challenging eyebrow. “This morning. Remember?”

  “Aaahhh, that’s right. With real butter.” He winked, and I struggled not to grin. I wondered if he used those winks as part of fixing his patients. They could be prescribed as effective therapy. “So…if I stay overnight, can I expect the same breakfast of cholesterol champions?”

  “Depends on how well you perform tonight at the circus, clown.” I looked up, taking in his gorgeous face, trying for a flirtatious look of my own. Perhaps it was time to start fighting fire with fire.

  “Well, it’ll be all three rings for you, Miss Mathews…trust me.”

  Trust me.

  Did he have any idea how hard it was for me to take those words seriously?

  But this wasn’t a moment for that dysfunction. This was an opportunity to let my eyes slide shut, glorying in the expert rolls of his hips, savoring every inch of his erection grinding into me. He tucked his mouth against my jaw, his breath heavy and purposeful, steaming my mind’s dirty recesses with dark, illicit promises. He felt so damn good.

  So. Damn. Good…

  This man would be the certain death of me if I wasn’t careful. Sharp wit, sinful sexuality, and a body built to bring it all to life… Yeah, my self-restraint was already halfway toasted. My most erotic fantasies played ring-around-the-roses right in front of me, and we were all about to fall down—right into my bed if I wasn’t careful.

  “Food.”

  His deep voice brought me back to the present. “Hmmmm?” I sighed back, voice gritty with need. “What?”

  “Food first,” Mac reminded, scooting back. Damn. “Sex later.” He finished it with a more wolfish version of the wink. This man.

  “Yes. Food. Then we’ll see.” Without his cock mercilessly taunting my sex, I sounded a little more like myself. Thank God.

  “Whatever you say.” His tone made it seem like he didn’t think my resolve was very strong. “Let’s call for a car. That way we can have a few beers—or whatever you like to drink.”

  “I like beer.”

  “Another plus.” He kept me captive in his arms while we chatted.

  “Where are you staying, anyway?” I had to tilt my head back pretty far when I spoke to him. I guessed he was over six feet tall.

  “Ummmm, La Valencia? In La Jolla. Yeah, that’s the name of it.”

  “Oh. The place on Prospect?”

  “I have no idea.” The self-effacing version of his grin was just as gorgeous as the others…perhaps more so because of the way it crinkled the corners of his eyes. One man, so many facets and so many ways to captivate my attention. It was thrilling. And scary.

  I finally managed to toss out an indulgent laugh before asking, “Well, does it seem to be the main drag in town?”

  “Yes. The traffic is ridiculous. I’m glad I don’t have to park around there.”

  “Yeah, that’s it. I love that place. The ocean right out back, and I’ve eaten at their restaurant a few times.” When Claire or Margaux were treating. “There’s a beachwear store across the street that I love too.” And had actually shopped at, when I had a little cushion in the bank account and felt like splurging.

  “Yeah. Great for sleeping.”

  His comment couldn’t have been more “man blunt” if he were quoting football scores—and upped his adorable factor by another notch. I had to admit, dating guys who knew more about thread counts than me was a little strange.

  “I’ll bet it is,” I murmured, using our clasped hands to urge him back toward my door. “So…wouldn’t you rather go back there after dinner?”

  His brows pushed together. “What’s wrong with here?”

  “Besides the crappy and cramped part?” And the fact that you fill too much of the air in it? And that I’m beginning to like that? But I was also uncomfortable in the not-so-good ways. Observing him here, in his luxury threads, his precision-cut hair, and his confident stance, seemed to make my humble
abode that much more…well…humble. But right now, it was all I could afford for comfort while still socking away funds for Mom’s “emergencies.” Sure, I’d have rather lived on the coast along with many of my friends, but Janet Mathews raised the term “bail money” to a whole different level of meaning.

  “I told you before,” Mac all but growled back. “This place doesn’t bother me.” He went on, disregarding my protesting huff, “This place has you. And a chess set. And even a thermostat I don’t need a degree in rocket science to operate.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “I thought neuroscience was nearly the same.”

  “In some ways, sure. Just don’t ask me to bump up the heat by a couple of degrees in a hotel room.” He mock-shuddered, spurring my soft giggle. “Those big, fancy places… They’re impersonal and cold. And the people… Way too many for my liking.”

  “So…wait.” I scowled deeper. “Are you telling me Mr. Bigshot Brain Doctor Dude doesn’t live in one of those sparkly new buildings in Chicago?” I gave a hard huff. “Who do you think you’re kidding right now, mister? Just because I sound like a hayseed doesn’t mean I am one.”

  His expression tightened. “Okay, I just explained this shit to you. I’m not a liar, Taylor. I live in a medium-sized condo in a nice neighborhood. Parts of Chicago have become pretty dangerous, so I pay for the address, but I’m not attached to it.”

  “Which was why you considered your friend’s job offer?”

  He shrugged, his ire shifting to nonplussed—another new expression for me to absorb. “One of the reasons…among many.”

  “What are the others?” I genuinely wanted to know. From what I’d been able to fathom when spending all those days in Chicago Memorial Hospital with Talia, the man was close to a celebrity in Chicago’s medical scene. What else could inspire him to leave such a sweet gig?

  “Well, I’m not a fan of the weather,” he quickly conceded. “I often don’t get to pick the two seconds a week I’m not working, so I’m at the mercy of the elements, which are often up to delivering humidity or snow for some fun fuckery. I’m not certain which one I hate more.” He paused, as if weighing the two for their merits. “No, definitely hate the snow more.”