Crash & Carnage by Emma Slate

Chapter 5

“Holy cow, you weren’t lying,”I said to Amanda, as I looked out at the Dallas skyline from my spot at the bar. “This place is incredible.”

“Right? Cheers.”

I clinked my vodka gimlet against her chocolate martini and then took a sip. It was the perfect blend of tart and sweet.

Her cell phone trilled in her beaded black clutch. A shadow of annoyance passed over her face as she reached for it. “Sorry. It’s probably Martin.”

Smiling, I took another drink of my cocktail.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered. “The one night I want to get dressed up and go out for a fancy girls’ night, Martin says Daphne feels warm. I need to call him real quick. Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” I said. “I’ll be here.”

With a roll of her eyes, she hopped off the stool, grabbed her clutch, and stalked away. I noticed a few men in suits watching her. Amanda was a petite brunette with curves, and the green dress she wore had a flouncy skirt that showed off a lot of leg.

As I waited for her to return, I scanned the room. There were clusters of people sitting on couches, and the gas fireplaces roared with cheer and warmth. I sipped on my cocktail, my eyes resting on the two men at a table in the corner by the window.

The lighting in the room was dim, but there was something familiar about one of the men. And then he turned his head ever so slightly, revealing a strong jaw covered in scruff and mussed dirty blond hair.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered.

I heard the click of Amanda’s heels, and then she appeared next to me. I glared at her.

“What’s that look for?” she demanded. “I wasn’t even gone five minutes.”

“Not that.” I gestured with my chin in the direction of Boxer. “That.”

Amanda’s expression was quizzical. “What’s he doing here?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

“Play dumb? Why would I—oh my God! You think I did this on purpose, that I knew he’d be here. No, Linden, I swear I didn’t know.”

“Why the hell is he here? What’s he doing at The Rex?”

“No idea.” She pitched her voice lower. “He’s looking over here.”

“Nuh‐uh.”

“Yeah, huh,” she said with a nod. “And…he just got up.”

My eyes widened.

“He’s coming over.” She flashed a grin and urged the cocktail toward me. “Take a hearty swallow and stop looking terrified. You have no reason to be terrified. You look fucking hot, and he noticed.”

I downed a hefty swallow of my gimlet, and then I rotated on my stool to watch him as he approached. He was moving slowly, no doubt from the pain of his recent appendectomy, but his natural swagger made my heart flutter.

He was wearing his leather cut, but also a white button-down shirt underneath. It looked out of place—just like he did. He didn’t belong in The Rex. He was too earthy, too primal and no amount of feigned dressing up was going to change that.

Boxer sauntered toward me, an affable grin on his face. “Doc.”

“Boxer.”

His dove gray eyes raked over me in appreciation, but his gaze wasn’t lewd. It caused my skin to erupt in tingly pinpricks.

Boxer looked at Amanda, and his smile widened. “Hey. Are you having a girls’ night?”

“We were supposed to,” Amanda said blithely. “But I left my husband at home with a two-year-old, who decided to get sick on my one night off this week. Sorry, Linden, I’ve got to bail.”

My head swiveled to hers, and my gaze narrowed. I had no idea if she was telling the truth or if she was using her child as a convenient excuse to push me into Boxer’s vicinity.

“I hope Daphne feels better,” I said.

“I’m sure it’s just a twenty-four-hour bug,” Amanda said, all but admitting her crafty nature. “I’m sure you can find someone else to entertain you.” She looked pointedly at Boxer.

“I just finished up my shit,” Boxer said, taking the empty stool next to mine. “I’m free as a bird, with nowhere to be.”

“Lucky how that worked out.” Amanda grinned and then quickly hugged me. “Cheer her up, Boxer. She needs it. See ya later, Linden.”

With a wave and toss of her brown hair, she strode toward the elevator.

“So,” Boxer said, reluctantly pulling my attention back to him.

I sighed. “So.”

“Could she have been more obvious?” Boxer grinned.

“I don’t think so.” I shook my head.

“Why do you need cheering up?”

“What are you doing here?” I fired back, ignoring his line of questioning.

“Here? You mean at The Rex?”

“Yeah. It doesn’t really seem like your scene.”

The bartender approached and asked Boxer what he wanted to drink. “Club soda, thanks.” He shot me a wink. “I’m following your orders, Doc.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“I’m here because I’m buddies with the man who runs The Dallas Rex.”

I raised my brows and looked in the direction of the table where Boxer had been sitting. His friend was no longer there. “You’re buddies with the man who runs the hotel? Do you always drive an hour and half to hang out with your buddies?”

“Sure, why not? It’s not that big of a deal. I make the drive a couple of times a week. Now, why do you need cheering up?”

I skimmed the rim of my martini glass as I replied, “Tough day at work.”

“Yeah? Tell me about it,” he invited.

I frowned. “You want to hear about it?”

“Yeah. I’ll listen, if you want to talk.”

Did I want to? Or did I want to forget and drown my sorrows in another expensive cocktail?

I gestured to the bartender and said, “May I have another vodka gimlet, please? Thanks.” I finished the rest of my drink and pushed the empty glass across the bar.

“I lost a patient,” I said finally. “Early thirties. He left behind a wife and a couple of young kids.”

“Fuck,” he said. “That’s gotta be rough.”

“Yeah,” I said with a sigh. “Today was not a day I enjoyed being a doctor. Today I felt like I failed.”

“Could you do anything about it?” he asked. “I mean, you did everything you could, right?”

“Of course, I did everything I could, but it didn’t matter. I lost him anyway.”

The bartender set my fresh cocktail in front of me.

“Thank you.”

“So, you went out with Amanda tonight, looking for a little bit of a distraction?” Boxer asked, pulling my attention back to him.

“Something like that.”

“I can distract you.”

I raised my brows. “Oh, can you?”

He leaned forward, close enough that I could smell the scent of his skin and feel the warmth emanating from him. “Yeah, Doc. I can distract the fuck out of you.”

My pulse pounded in my ears and desire coasted along my nerve endings to settle deep in my belly. Temptation coiled through me, and I turned my face up to his, silently begging for him to kiss me.

“Linden?” he whispered.

“Yeah?”

“How are you at playing jacks?”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Jacks,” he repeated. “Johnny, can we have a bag of jacks?”

The bartender grabbed a small brown leather pouch and set it down in front of Boxer. “Anything else?”

“Keep the drinks coming.”

* * *

I was going to kill Amanda. I was going to kill her slowly, and I was going to make it hurt.

This was all her fault.

She’d used her child as an excuse to ditch me and now I was drinking, laughing, and spending time with a biker.

I wanted Boxer to kiss me.

I hoped for it.

But Boxer hadn’t obliged. In fact, he was being obtuse—and for a man who’d charmed the entire nursing staff, I wondered what the hell was wrong with me.

Why didn’t he want to kiss me?

Why didn’t he brush my hair away from my shoulder?

Why didn’t his eyes linger on my lips?

“You’re up, Doc,” he said, reaching for his glass of club soda.

“What number are we on?” I scooped up the pile of jacks into my hand and grabbed the ball with the other.

“Sevensies.”

I scattered the jacks and then dropped the ball, letting it bounce once. But in my haste to grab seven jacks in one hand, I knocked over my half empty martini glass, spilling vodka gimlet across the bar.

“Whoa there,” Boxer said, sliding back on his stool to miss being covered in a sticky mess. “Are you sure you’re the same woman who took out my appendix?”

Cheeks flaming, I hastily reached for the cocktail napkins that had WR stamped in red on them. “To be fair, I hadn’t had any alcohol before your surgery.”

Johnny came to our rescue with a rag and cleaned up the spill with a smile and an air of professionalism. “Another drink?”

“God no,” I muttered. “I’m fine. Thanks.” I peered at the ornate clock behind the bar. “Is that the time? Crap, I need to get home.”

“Did you drive?” Boxer asked.

“I—yes. Dang. I can’t drive home.” I glared at him. “This is your fault.”

He looked amused. “My fault? How’d you figure?”

“You’re the one that told Johnny to keep the drinks coming.”

“You didn’t have to guzzle that last one.”

I gasped. “I do not guzzle.”

“You’re a guzzler. Face it, Linden, you’re no better than a frat guy doing keg stands.”

“I’m offended.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not.” I sighed. “But I still can’t drive home. This is bad. I guess I can take a cab.”

He held out his hand. “I’ll drive you.”

“What?”

“I’ll drive you,” he repeated.

“You’re not supposed to drive.”

“Says who?”

“Says me, remember?”

“I’m not on any painkillers, and I haven’t been drinking. My pain is at a five today. How far away do you live?”

I blinked at his rapid change of discussion. “I’m only about a ten-minute drive, actually.”

He flashed a grin. “I promise to get you home in one piece. Okay?”

“Okay,” I said on a sigh.

He held out his hand to me.

I took it.

Boxer chuckled. “I meant for you to give me your keys.”

“Oh.” Embarrassment washed through me, and I hastily dropped his hand. “The valet has them.” I grabbed my clutch and hastened toward the elevator, wobbling on my heels as I went.

What other stupid things was I going to do by the time he dropped me off at my condo?

We were silent during the ride down to the lobby. I chanced a peek at Boxer who was facing forward, all but ignoring me. It didn’t make any sense. Where was the guy who’d asked the nurses about me?

I couldn’t figure him out.

The doors opened. In my haste to leave, I lost my footing, and my ankle gave out. I would’ve gone down, but Boxer was suddenly there, catching me before I fell.

He grunted.

“Boxer!” I hissed. “Your stitches!”

“I’m fine.” He grimaced.

“You’re not fine. If you start bleeding because—”

“I’d rather start bleeding than ever let a beautiful woman fall to the ground. Besides, you’re a menace to yourself,” he teased, as he wrapped his arm around my shoulder. “You need me.”

I tried not to notice the strength in the lines of his body that I was nestled up against, or the excitement I felt when his hand slid down to claim my waist.

“I’m okay,” I said, hating that I sounded breathless. “You can let me go.”

“Hmmm. And let you face plant? Nah.”

My skin was alive with want. I could’ve blamed the alcohol. It would’ve been safer to blame the alcohol. But there was something about Boxer. Maybe it was his ease. His charm. His confidence. Maybe it was a combination of all those things.

We walked across the lobby, with Boxer’s arm still around me. The doorman opened the door, and we stepped out into the valet area. Two attendants snapped to attention when they saw us. I reached into my clutch and pulled out a ticket and handed it off. Before I could tip, Boxer had let me go and was pulling a twenty out of his pocket and handing it over.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I protested. “Let me pay you back.”

“Don’t worry about it, Linden.” When I was about to insist, he looked at me and said, “Seriously. I got it.”

“Thanks,” I said, wondering if this was more than just about tipping a valet. “Oh, no.”

“What?”

“I forgot to pay my tab in the Whisky Room.” I turned around to head back inside when Boxer’s hand grasping my wrist stopped me. Amanda had gotten the first round of drinks and I’d never given Johnny my credit card.

“I took care of it.”

“How? I didn’t see you pay.”

“Buddies with The Rex manager, remember? Johnny knows me.”

“Well, still,” I protested lamely. “You shouldn’t have.”

He shrugged and then let me go.

I was just about to ask why he’d paid my bill when the valet returned with my black Mercedes AMG edition SUV. The waiting attendant held open the passenger door for me.

“Thank you,” I murmured, setting my clutch on my lap. He closed the door, and then I buckled up.

Boxer eased himself into the driver’s side. I couldn’t help the snigger that escaped. He was too tall for my seat adjustment, and he looked completely wrong in my car.

He peered at me and grinned, and then he maneuvered the seat settings as he got comfortable.

I plugged my address into the GPS, and then he was pulling away from The Rex Hotel.

“How are you getting home?” I asked, needing—wanting—to fill the silence that had descended between us.

“A prospect will come get me.”

“So, you didn’t drive yourself to The Rex? Or ride your motorcycle?”

“At ease, Dr. Ward.” He winked. “I have a chauffeur.”

I leaned my head back against the seat, letting my eyes slowly close. Lights of the city melded into patches of gold behind my lids, and I sighed.

The GPS announced her directions and Boxer turned down my street and into the parking garage.

“Code?” Boxer asked.

I gave it to him. The security arm lifted, and we drove through. He found a spot near the elevator and parked.

“Thank you,” I said. “For driving me home.”

He plopped the keys into my hand. “It’s the least I could do for the woman who saved my life.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across my face. “Thanks for tonight, too. I mean, for making this day a lot less horrible.”

Boxer raised his brows. “I think that was a compliment.”

“It was,” I assured him. I got out of the vehicle, and he did the same, though he moved slowly. After the doors were shut, I hit the clicker and the car locked.

I headed for the elevator, and he followed. I pressed the button, and the doors opened immediately. “Well, thanks again, Boxer. Have a good night.”

I stepped into the carriage and turned.

He was staring at me with a blank expression, but something moved in his eyes. Something I couldn’t decipher.

The doors began to shut but just as they were about to close all the way, his hand shot through the gap. They opened, and then he was stepping into the elevator and one of his arms went around me, while the other cradled the back of my head.

He stared into my eyes for just a moment, and then his lips covered mine. His tongue thrust into my mouth, and I heard someone moan.

It was me.

And then I was kissing him back, and I dropped my clutch so I could grab the lapels of his leather vest and pull him toward me.

Boxer’s mouth was a match, and I was a rope doused in kerosene. I twined around him, wanting to get closer.

Just as I was about to sink deeper into our kiss, he pulled away. He looked down at me, and his thumb skimmed across my cheekbone.

“Have a good night, Linden.”

He released me and stepped out of the elevator.

His intense silver gaze was the last thing I saw before the doors closed.