Dr. Knight

By Ashlee Price

A hot neurosurgeon for a cold Christmas party.
Sounds like a perfect fake date, right?
Wrong.

I'm his intern.
I knew it was wrong to spread my legs for him.
But I did it anyway.
I was supposed to hand him scalpels.
Instead, I handed him my V-card on a silver platter.
It should've been a one-time thing.
Except that now, I want more.
I want to pretend to be his fiancee.
Take him to that fancy party.
A party where secrets will come out.
Mine will too.

A secret that I'm carrying in my belly... His little surprise gift.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ashlee Price
• Release date: Oct 29, 2019
• ISBN: 9798224222360

Book preview

Book Description

A hot neurosurgeon for a cold Christmas party.

Sounds like a perfect fake date, right?

Wrong.

I'm his intern.

I knew it was wrong to spread my legs for him.

But I did it anyway.

I was supposed to hand him scalpels.

Instead, I handed him my V-card on a silver platter.

It should've been a one-time thing.

Except that now, I want more.

I want to pretend to be his fiancee.

Take him to that fancy party.

A party where secrets will come out.

Mine will too.

A secret that I'm carrying in my belly...

His little surprise gift.

Chapter 1 ~ Doctor's Orders

Ellis

Happy Thanksgiving, Smithson.

Dr. Amelia Carver's voice jars me out of my step-by-step recollection of the tonsillectomy I scrubbed in on just a few hours ago.

I can't help it. Since the first moment I stepped inside an OR, my mind has been stuck there, and until I'm actually spending most of my time there, it will be. It's like when you're watching a TV series one episode at a time. You keep thinking about the last one and wondering what will happen in the next. On the other hand, if you binge watch, there's no room for anxiety, just anticipation. You just keep going from one episode to another, getting lost in the flow until time has passed you by.

God, I can't wait to binge on surgeries, but right now, I'm just an intern, so I have to take what scraps off the table I can get and try not to piss off any of the residents or attending physicians.

Happy Thanksgiving, Dr. Carver, I return the greeting with the most sincere smile I can manage. And thank you again for letting me scrub in earlier.

Don't sweat it. She bites into the cupcake in her hand and lets out a sound between a sigh and a squeal. Oh my God. The frosting on this is amazing. If these are homemade, I want the recipe. Mm, that amount of pumpkin spice is just right.

Would you like me to ask?

Dr. Carver looks at me. Smithson, your shift is over. You're not required to kiss my ass anymore.

Sorry, I mumble as I bring my cup of punch to my lips.

There goes my attempt at sincerity.

A moment later, I cough as I set down my cup. What the hell did I just drink?

Lived up to its name? Dr. Carver asks.

I take my glasses off so I can wipe the tears from the corners of my eyes. Feels more like I got burned then punched.

She grins. I guess Maggie still hasn't gotten her recipe right.

I frown. So this horrid excuse for a Thanksgiving punch has been served before? Come to think of it, none of the residents or attending physicians are drinking it. But of course they didn't warn us interns. Where would the fun be in that?

I put my glasses back on. Maggie?

Accounting. Lovely person.

Maybe she should stick to crunching numbers.

Dr. Carver narrows her eyes at me.

Oops.

Smithson, do you have a life?

What? Y-yes, I answer as I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. I...

I mean outside this hospital. Do you have a life? What do you do when you're not here?

I... I rattle my brain for an answer. Sleep?

And let me guess. That's what you're doing later?

Yes.

When I get back to my apartment, I'm going to grab a bite then take a shower, put on my sleep shirt and my eye mask, and sleep for as many hours as I can.

Dr. Carver sighs. FYI, Smithson, that's not a life.

I shrug. But if I don't sleep, Dr. Carver, I'll... die.

I'm not telling you not to sleep. I'm saying you should do more. Take tonight, for example. It's Thanksgiving, right?

I nod.

I know you can't be with your family, but instead of going straight to bed, why not hit a bar with your fellow interns?

I don't drink.

Then just get a Shirley Temple. But go! Laugh with your friends.

They're not my friends.

When you're an intern, everyone else is either your case, your boss or your competitor. No friends.

Dance.

I don't dance.

Dr. Carver rolls her eyes. Now I understand why you're a virgin.

My eyes grow wide. How does she know that?

A quick glance at the snickering interns across the room gives me my answer. Why, those little...

Smithson. Dr. Carver reels my attention back. How old are you?

Twenty-eight.

And still a virgin.

I frown. With all due respect, Dr. Carver, I don't think there's anything wrong with -

Word of advice, Smithson. She crumples the cupcake sheet. If you want to survive in this hospital, if you want to feel alive in a place reeking of death, you need to loosen up and get laid.

She presses the paper against my palm.

And tonight seems like a good time to start.

She walks off.

Dr. Carver, I don't believe interns should have sex with other interns, I blurt out after her.

I know it's common practice. Too common. It's like a phase the interns go through, as if they practice on each other before going after the residents or the attendings. But I definitely don't approve.

She glances over her shoulder. Who said anything about banging another intern? Just find someone with a dick, Smithson, preferably not too big so you don't tear that much.

Tear?

She waves her hand and leaves. I throw the cupcake wrapper and my glass of punch in a trash bin and walk over to the other side of the room. I cross my arms over my chest and clear my throat. The other interns fall silent and turn their heads towards me.

I draw a breath. I can't believe you told Dr. Carver.

About what? Laura, the redhead who can't stitch to save her life, asks innocently.

I point my eyes to the ceiling and tap my arm.

Oh. You mean about you being a virgin?

I glare at her.

She places a hand on my shoulder. Don't worry, Ellis. She's not the only one who knows. We told everyone.

My fingers clench into a fist. Why?

She shrugs. Because you're a virgin?

The others chuckle.

She gives a fake gasp. Oh, wait. Did you want us to keep that a secret? We're so sorry.

I roll my eyes.

You think other people stop picking on you when you graduate from high school? Think again.

Oh, come on, Ellis. She pats my shoulder. It's not a big deal.

Apparently it is, or she wouldn't have told the whole hospital. Front page news.

Yeah, Marcus seconds. So what if you've never been laid? The worst thing that can happen is... well, people will try to help you.

I can help. Asher winks at me.

I narrow my eyes at him. No, thanks. I'd rather get run over by a truck.

The others snicker but Asher keeps a serious face as he steps forward.

So you want it rough, huh? I can do that.

Laura pushes him aside. Nope. If you're going to have sex for the first time, it has to be with someone who isn't going to rip you open.

Asher looks at her. You still look whole to me.

Laura ignores him and points to the pencil-neck nurse in the corner. Take that guy, for example. He looks... harmless to me.

Asher snorts. You mean he looks like he won't know what he's doing. Chances are they'll both end up in the ER with things in places where they shouldn't be.

Laura laughs.

Marcus lifts a finger. Oh, you mean like that fifty-year-old couple who -

Alright, that's enough, children, I tell them. I'm leaving.

I turn on my heel.

Children? I hear Laura snort behind me. You're the one who's a virgin.

And she's going to seize every chance to remind me of that fact, is she?

I put my bonnet on before stepping out of the hospital. A chilly breeze greets me and I rub my arms through the sleeves of my coat.

It may not have started snowing yet - I've been told that lately, snow doesn't fall in Chicago until December - but it sure is freezing cold. Thank goodness I live just a block away. Maybe I'll add a cup of hot chocolate to the things I'll be doing when I get home.

I tuck my hands into the warmth of my pockets and start walking. After a few steps, I sigh.

I should never have said I was a virgin. I didn't mean to. The fact just slipped out while I was washing a ten-year-old's vomit out of my hair. I didn't even think Laura heard me. But of course, she did. And of course she couldn't keep her mouth shut.

Why is it such a big deal anyway? So what if I'm a virgin? I'm still human. I'm still a woman. And it doesn't impair my cognitive skills or any aspect of my physical performance in any way. What? Just because I've never had sex, I'm suddenly not qualified to be an expert on the human body? Hello, I'm a medical intern? Or do they think that because I've never been laid, I'm thinking about it all the time? Hell, no. I mean I've thought about it a few times, mostly while we were studying anatomy in medical school. But do I look at every man and want to have sex with him? No. I've never even seen a man I want to have sex with. Not in real life, anyway. I've never met a man who's made my heart beat so wildly it might come out of my chest, who's excited me as much as the thought of putting on surgical gloves can, who's made me feel so breathless and yet so alive and...

My thoughts skid to a halt along with my feet as my gaze is drawn to the man across the street. More than six feet tall. Rings of jet black hair. Thin lips curved into a smile. He's on his phone. That's why he's stopped walking. His other hand won't keep still, though. His fingers run through his hair or through his thin beard. He loosens his maroon scarf. He pulls a flap of his coat back as he grips his hip, revealing a wide, toned chest and a flat stomach and making me wonder what else he's hiding beneath those layers of clothes. Even from this distance, I can tell he has a great body. I can see gorgeous, chiseled features stained with the light from the street lamp he's standing under. Is he some kind of model? An up-and-coming celebrity?

Whoever he is, I can't keep my eyes off him. Even when he's done with his phone call and starts to walk away, I still find myself staring. Only when he's out of sight do I feel myself breathing again, do I feel my heart pulsing in my rib cage, this time with a slight spring in its beat.

I place my hand over my chest. Did I just crash or something?

Hey! A man interjects after his shoulder bumps into mine. The sidewalk is for walking, not standing, loser.

I open my mouth to apologize but no words come out. Apparently, my body hasn't regained full function.

I step aside and draw a deep breath. What on earth just happened?

I try to figure it out as I continue walking but give up on it. I don't know. I'm not sure I even want to know. At any rate, I'm back to normal now. I'm fine.

I'm fine, I repeat to myself as I turn my head to the other side of the street.

No. I'm not hoping to catch another glimpse of him. I'm just... looking at those pretty Christmas lights, that's all.

My eyebrows furrow. Wait. Christmas lights?

My jaw drops. Oh, right. Tonight is when they're putting up the Christmas tree in the park. How could I forget?

I cross the street and walk in the direction of the lights. As I approach the park, I hear carols drifting through the air and I smile.

I just love the holidays. I love the lights, especially when they're all that's on inside the house. I love the shiny ornaments, particularly the gold and silver ones. I love the smell of tinsel. I love the crunch of wrapping paper. I love the crackling flames of a fire in the hearth. I love the music. I love just seeing people gathered together with smiles on their faces.

Yup. I'm a sucker for Christmas. It's the only thing that can light me up more than the thought of a nine-hour surgery or the smile of a patient after waking up from one I've successfully performed.

There aren't too many people at the park. Probably most of them are wrapped up in their own Thanksgiving celebrations. There's a man suited up as Santa, though, giving out candy canes to children, and some men and women dressed up as elves handing bags of food to some homeless people. There's also someone selling chestnuts and a group of carolers in red and gold singing on a platform.

I stand right in front of the platform, close my eyes and listen to them sing. They're good. Maybe not as good as the Ray Conniff singers I love listening to at this time of the year, but they're hitting most of the notes. If anything, I wish they sounded more genuinely joyous, but it is cold here at the park, especially when the breeze blows.

Suddenly, I hear a snap. I open my eyes just in time to see a branch above the carolers falling.

Shit.

I clasp a hand over my mouth as fear grips my chest but let out a sigh of relief as the branch gets tangled in a string of lights which prevents it from crashing down on the carolers.

Thank goodness.

Or so I think until I hear a thud. As I look at the platform, I see most of the carolers glancing behind it, their song barely audible now. I run to the back of the stage and gasp as I see a woman lying on the ground.

I rush to her side. Are you alright?

She nods. I was looking at the branch and the next thing I knew, I fell.

I glance at the platform, where there is now an empty spot in the back row. How high is it? Three feet? Four?

Are you in pain? I ask her.

No, she answers as she sits up. But I think I hit my head.

She touches the back of it and I push her hand away so I can look. No blood. No bruise. It looks fine. Even so...

How is she? a voice asks me.

She hit her head, but there's no wound, I answer. She doesn't appear to have a concussion, but...

I stop talking as I turn my head only to find myself staring into a pair of dark brown eyes. Eyes looking out from a face of perfectly attractive features. The same face I was staring at earlier.

Holy shit.

I'm fine. The caroler tries to get back on her feet. I need to sing.

She manages to stand up, but then staggers and stumbles back. The man in front of me catches her.

You should rest, he tells her. And maybe go to a hospital to get your head -

I'm fine, the caroler interrupts. She turns to me with a pleading gaze. Please. I have a solo coming up and I've been practicing for a month.

It's only Thanksgiving, my real-life McSteamy answers. I'm sure you'll get your chance to sing a carol at least once in the next month. Who sings carols this early anyway? God knows the holidays last long enough. Let someone else do it. You're in no shape to go back up there.

No one else can do it, she reasons. And I can't let them down. I can't...

She stops talking and places a hand on her forehead.

I look into those mesmerizing chocolate eyes. I can tell the thought process behind them is the same as mine.

Clearly, this woman isn't fine. She needs to be checked by a professional, maybe get a CT. Now. But she won't leave until she knows everything will be fine without her. As concerned as I am for her health, I can understand that sentiment.

I'll do it, I tell her. I'll sing for you.

Her eyes grow wide. You can sing?

I nod. What song is it?

'What Child Is This?' she answers.

I know it.

I probably know every Christmas song by heart.

You'll bring her to the hospital? I ask Mr. Piercing Dark Eyes.

Sure, he answers.

I leave the caroler to him and make my way up the platform. The other carolers seem surprised to see me, but they turn their faces forward and continue singing. I sing along. When the opening notes of What Child Is This? start to play, I brace myself and start to sing as best as I can. I haven't sung in public in a while, but thankfully, I still remember the lessons I learned when I was in the choir back in middle school. I just square my shoulders, tuck my stomach in, and open my mouth. My voice rings through the air, and after I hit the first few notes, the rest goes smoothly.

When I'm done singing, I hear applause but I don't have time to celebrate. We move on to the next song and then the final one. Only after I take my bow with the others do I allow myself to soak in my triumph and feel proud about what I've done.

Damn. That feels good.

You can sing.

I turn my head at the sound of the voice, one I now feel I'll be able to recognize anywhere. The sound of a fantasy coming to life.

I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and try not to blush. What? Did you think I was lying?

No. I bet you've never lied in your life.

I frown. Are you making fun of me?

No.

I push my glasses up my nose. How is she?

A cop offered to bring her to the hospital at the end of the street. She should be fine.

I nod. If she's at the hospital, then she's in good hands.

I'm Rainier, by the way. He offers me his hand.

Rainier. Even his name is stunning.

I hesitate for just a moment before taking it. Ellis.

He smiles and my pulse jumps to something like 150.

He lets my hand go. So, do you have a concert after this, or...?

Shut up. I wave a hand in front of me.

Yes, I can sing, but I've never once thought of being a singer.

So no plans? Rainier asks me.

I see the gleam of excitement in his eyes and look away.

No. I try to breathe. I was just heading home.

Ah. To eat turkey with your family?

Nope. No turkey. And my family isn't here.

So you're going home to spend Thanksgiving alone?

Yes, I answer. Is that a problem?

Yes.

He takes a step forward and I catch a whiff of his perfume. My breath catches.

No one should have to spend Thanksgiving alone, he adds in a slightly deeper voice.

I make the mistake of meeting his gaze and my heart stops. A lump forms in my throat. I swallow.

I...

I know this nice restaurant that's not far from here. Rainier looks at his silver watch. They don't serve turkey, but they have great food. I'm sure we can get a table.

I'm sure he can get whatever he puts those charms to.

So? What do you say about having Thanksgiving dinner together, Ellis? he asks me.

I swear, even my name sounds sexy on his luscious lips.

I should say no. I have pasta at home waiting to be heated. My bed and my soft, thick quilt are waiting, too. Besides, Rainier may have given me his name, but I still don't know anything about him. He's a stranger.

The hottest stranger I've ever met.

Okay, I find myself saying as I run my fingers across the strap of my purse.

So what if I don't know him? Didn't Dr. Carver tell me to go and have some fun? I'm just following doctor's orders.

Great. The resulting smile makes Rainier's eyes shimmer and sends a tingle down my spine.

How could any woman say no to this man?

I draw a deep breath and give him a smile. So, Rainier, where exactly is this nice restaurant? I'm famished.

~

I can't believe you don't like chocolate, I tell Rainier as I dig my spoon into my Death By Chocolate to get another mouthful of decadence.

He, on the other hand, takes a sip from his glass of wine. And I can't believe you don't drink.

Fair enough.

Although I find it harder to believe that I've never seen you before, he adds as he sets down his glass.

His long fingers caress the stem. God, how can a man have such beautiful hands?

I turn my attention back to my dessert. Well, I only moved to Chicago three months ago.

He nods. Right after I took off. No wonder I haven't seen you. I would have remembered if I did.

In spite of the fact that I know he's just saying that because it sounds nice, I blush.

You know what I can't believe? The fact that this man doesn't have a wife or a girlfriend. Shouldn't a supermodel or an heiress have snagged him by now? Why is he having Thanksgiving dinner with me?

Yes, I know I don't look bad. I've got icy blue eyes - someone in my third grade class once called me Sparkly Eyes Barbie - and I've taken really good care of my teeth so they're as close to perfect as can be. Plus I have naturally good skin. Even though I don't have any particular skincare regimen, I've never had an acne breakout and my pores seem just the right size. And my high metabolic rate ensures that I don't really gain weight even if I eat a ton. But I wear glasses, my hair is as stubborn and frizzy as can be, and I'm pretty sure my breasts are a size too small, which is why I don't wear strapless dresses. My point is that Rainier is off-the-charts good-looking and I'm just a tad above average at best.

You wouldn't have, I tell him. There are a lot of women in Chicago.

And he's probably been out with half of them.

He points to his head and grins. I've got a good memory.

Strangely enough, I don't doubt that. Everything he's said and done so far hints at an excellent brain behind that handsome face. Yup. Perfect in every way.

He's memorizing me now. The color of my eyes. The shape of my nose and my chin. The angle of my cheekbones. The shade of the lipstick I'm wearing.

The scrutiny is too much. I hide behind my glass of water and try to think of something to say.

Think, Ellis. Show him you've got a brain, too.

You know what I find hard to believe? That you don't like Christmas.

Rainier's eyebrows furrow. When did I say that?

Well, you said the holidays last long enough, I tell him as I put down my glass. If you liked Christmas, you would wish they'd last forever.

He says nothing.

I pick up my spoon and grin. I have a good memory, too.

I wouldn't have made it through medical school if I didn't.

Rainier crosses his arms over his chest. Well, it's not that I don't like Christmas.

I raise an eyebrow.

He sighs. Fine. I don't. It's... tedious.

Tedious? I snort.

He shrugs. Why risk getting trampled on by a crowd just so you can spend a ton of money on stuff other people don't even want, much less need?

Then don't. Christmas isn't about presents.

Really?

He sits back. With his scarf and his coat out of the way, I have a better view of his ripped upper body. I can almost see the rigid muscles through his knitted sweater, though I've been trying to pry my eyes off them for the past hour.

Thank goodness we're already at dessert. If I stay another hour with this utterly perfect, steamy, magnetic storm of a man, something might just melt and I can't guarantee it won't be my panties.

I push my glasses up my nose. Really.

He taps his fingers on