f**k. I don’t want to spook her—but then again, I don’t know what I do want is that much better. She’s so young, too young to invite back to my place, too young to pull up into a hidden balcony so I can drop to my knees and find out how she tastes…
God, I should walk away. Stick to my usual buffet of socialites and strippers. But even though I straighten up to go, I can’t actually make my feet move my body away from her.
Those copper-tinted eyes. That luscious mouth.
It wouldn’t hurt just to talk, right?
She squares her shoulders as I’m thinking about this, lifts her chin as if she’s come to a decision. “Which are you?” she asks. “Doctor or donor?”
“Donor,” I say with a smile. “Or rather, my firm is a donor.”
She nods, as if she already knew the answer, which I suppose she di
