by J. Saman
“Actually, I’m on the one doing the surgery, Angelica,” Grace smoothly interjects. “Dr. Fritz is simply here to watch me work. So, if you’re ready to get back to work, I’d like to start.” With the patient fully prepped and ready, Grace gets into position, holding out her hand. “Ten blade, please.”
The scrub nurse obliges, and all other commentary seizes as Grace sets to work while I watch on, here to jump in at any time if needed, but I already know I won’t be. Grace, for heading into her third year of residency is as competent as any fourth year or attending. She’s by far the best OB-GYN resident in the hospital.
Just as she makes the incision, the pediatrics and NICU teams roll in. The patient is holding her own, getting another unit of type-specific blood while Grace works diligently and methodically to get the baby out. That’s actually the easy part. The fastest part. After that is where the real work for us begins.
Especially with a case like this. We have to remove the placenta without causing more damage or further bleeding.
“How’s my patient doing, Larry?” Grace asks the anesthesiologist just as we get a couple of beeps on the monitor.
“Blood pressure dipped a little, but I’ll get it back up.”
“That would greatly appreciate.” Grace locates the fetus, working with skilled, precise movements. “If you’re not too bored over there, Carter, maybe you could cauterize that bleeder for me?”
“I’ve got it,” the nurse says, doing her job.
“I think Dr. Fritz is well beyond cauterizing bleeders,” Angelica simpers. “I’ve seen him perform the most complex of surgeries with ease.”
“Hey, Larry?” Grace cuts in once again, completely ignoring Angelica who has always been a flirty kiss ass. “Did Dr. Fritz ever tell you why he decided to become an OB-GYN when the field is predominantly comprised of female providers?”
“Here we go…” I mutter.
“Yes. Here we go.” Grace extracts the baby, blue and wet, handing him directly to the waiting pediatric team. They immediately start working on him. “Time of delivery nineteen-thirty-two.” She glances up at me. “Seventy-eight seconds, Carter. I believe you owe me one hell of a birthday present.”
“I’ll let you use the robot in my next surgery.”
She shakes her head. “No way. I want something better from you, doctor. Something real I can sink my teeth into.”
So do I, I think and then quickly shut that bitch up. “A steak then?” I offer. “Since we know Tony won’t be around to take you to dinner.”
I get a death glare for that.
“Wait, back up,” Larry jumps in, before Grace can unleash more of her wrath. “Why are you an OB-GYN, Carter? You that into pregnant chicks and pussy?”
Grace, as well as every nurse in here, throws Larry a scathing look.
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that, because it makes you sound like a total misogynistic asshole,” Grace barks while she goes about removing the placenta and tying off any active bleeding vessels. “But no. He actually walked in the room when his mother was in the throws of delivering Rina and after that decided birthing babies was his life’s calling.”
I hate that story.
It always makes me sound like such a pussy—pun intended.
Plus, Rina works in this hospital as an ICU nurse so I know this will somehow funnel back to her, which never fails to make her laugh at my expense.
Speaking of… all the nurses right on cue start oohing and awing, humor dancing in their eyes. The NICU team who have an umbilical line placed and are giving the baby—who is pinking up and half-crying—oxygen to help him along, are also joining in on the dig my resident just took at me.
She’s not dumb either. Grace has to know I’ll punish her for this. Professionally speaking of course. I’m not actually allowed to punish her the way I’d like.
My comments about Tony must have really pissed her off this time.
Still, when you’re engaged to a total dipshit, douchebag who takes you for granted and is never around you should learn to get used to people making disparaging comments about him. Even Oliver can’t stand the guy and Oliver generally likes everyone.
“That true, man?” Larry inquires, not bothering to hidie the laugh he’s having at my expense.
“Yes, it’s true, and now I’m one of the top surgeons and OB-GYNs in Boston that you—” I point at Grace. “—have the pleasure of learning from and watching in action. Just wait till you see what I have in store for you tomorrow, Dr. Hammond.”
Grace peers up, likely to say something else that will boil my blood when Pediatrics cuts me off. “Five-minute APGAR is six. We’re moving the baby up to the NICU. Have someone page us when mom is awake.”
They roll out and we finish our surgery, everyone quiet as they work, the tension in the room so thick you could cut it with a scalpel. Just as Grace finishes the last stitch, I turn and march out of the room, tearing off my surgical gear and going straight for the sink to scrub out.
Then I slink back, tucked in the corner along the shadows.
Two minutes later Grace comes out, glances around and when she doesn’t spot me, she sighs. In relief or regret I cannot tell, but she goes for the sink rolling her neck until it pops as she begins to scrub out. And when her hands are lathered in soap, and she has nowhere else to go, I move in behind her, towering over her with my heigh. I take a deep inhale, marveling how she still manages to smell sweet and clean after a day spent in the hospital, and my cock twitches in my scrubs.
She feels me behind her, not touching her but merely inches away, and she stiffens. “I thought you’d gone.”
“Not quite yet,” I whisper, my lips dipping down till they’re hovering by her ear, watching as goose bumps dance across her neck. “Pull another stunt like that and I’ll have you running scut along with the interns for the rest of your residency. As it is, tomorrow you’re on post partums. No surgeries.”
“Carter—”
“The proper response is yes, Dr. Fritz. Anything else is completely unacceptable.”
“Yes, Dr. Fritz,” she grits out through clenched teeth, and I grin, making sure she feels it on my lips. That’s how stupidly close I am to her right now. So stupidly close I feel her sharp intake of breath and quickly force myself to get control and step back.
I shouldn’t have done that.
Each time I give in just an inch I lose ground on forcing her into her neat and tidy role in my life. Brother’s best friend. Resident. Engaged.
Off-motherfucking-limits.
“Good work in there, Doctor. Keep it up and I will take you out for that steak.”
With that I turn and leave the hospital, needing to clear my head. Clear it of her.
Because that’s all I can ever do with her. Even when the desire for more is growing increasingly unbearable.
The End
Want to get your hands on Carter’s and Grace’s epic love story? Get your copy of Doctor Mistake now!
And keep reading for an excerpt of The Edge of Temptation to meet Oliver before he got his HEA. Boston’s Billionaire Bachelors is a spin-off of The Edge series so you will see many familiar faces!
Also by J. Saman
Wild Love Series:
Reckless to Love You
Love to Hate Her
Crazy to Love You
Love to Tempt You
Promise to Love You
The Edge Series:
The Edge of Temptation
The Edge of Forever
The Edge of Reason
The Edge of Chaos
Boston’s Billionaire Bachelors:
Doctor Scandalous
Doctor Mistake
Start Again Series:
Start Again
Start Over
Start With Me
Las Vegas Sin Series:
Touching Sin
Catching Sin
Darkest Sin
Standalones:
Just One Kiss
<
br /> Love Rewritten
Beautiful Potential
Forward - FREE
End of Book Note
Dear reader! Thank you SO much for taking the time to indulge in the Oliver and Amelia’s story. I’ve had this couple, this series, in my head for two years and I’m so excited to finally get it out there.
First, a thank you to my family. My girls and my guy. You’re the best. My heartbeat. My life line. My love. I am eternally grateful for all that you are.
My betas, Patricia and Danielle… you rock! This book would never had turned into all that it did without you! And to Joy Westerfield for throwing in a helping hand!
I love Oliver. Let’s just start there. He first showed up in The edge of Temptation and then grew a bit more in The Edge of Chaos. He’s my super hero. My ultimate alpha boyfriend. And Amelia is just sort of along for the ride. A lot broken and scared. Scarred. Oliver is too, but Amelia’s battle wounds run deep.
I had trouble softening Amelia. I wanted her to be strong and independent. A woman who is battle-hardened and has grown from the bullied girl. But I wanted some of that bravery to carry over into her love for Oliver.
Layla might have been one of my favorite characters to write and we will definitely see more of her in future books.
I hope you’ll stick around for Carter’s book, coming January 2022!
Much love!
XO,
J. Saman
The Edge of Temptation
Halle
“No,” I reply emphatically, hoping my tone is stronger than my disposition. “I’m not doing it. Absolutely not. Just no.” I point my finger for emphasis, but I don’t think the gesture is getting me anywhere.
Rina just stares at me, the tip of her finger gliding along the lip of her martini glass, her expression saying she’s got me right where she wants me. “You’re smiling. If you don’t want to do this, then why are you smiling?”
I sigh. She’s right. I am smiling.
But only because it’s so ridiculous.
In all the years she’s known me, I’ve never hit on a total stranger. I don’t think I’d have any idea how to even do that. And honestly, I’m just not in the right frame of mind to put in the effort.
“It’s funny, that’s all.” I shrug indifferently, playing it off. It’s really not funny. The word terrifying comes closer. “But my answer is still no.”
“It’s been, what?” Margot chimes in, her gaze flicking between Rina, Aria, and me like she’s actually trying to figure out the mathematics behind it. She’s not. I know where she’s going with this and it’s fucking rhetorical. “A month?”
See? I told you.
“You broke up with Matt a month ago,” she continues. “And you can’t play it off like you’re all upset over it, because we know you’re not.”
“Who says I’m not upset?” I furrow my eyebrows, feigning incredulous, but I can’t quite meet their eyes. “I was with him for two years.”
But she’s right.
I’m not upset about Matt.
I just don’t have the desire to hit on some random dude at some random bar in the South End of Boston.
“Two useless years,” Rina persists with a roll of her green eyes before taking a sip of her appletini. She sets her glass down, leaning her small frame back in her chair as she crosses her arms over her chest and purses her lips like she’s pissed off on my behalf. “The guy was a freaking asshole.”
“And a criminal,” Aria adds, tipping back her fancy glass and polishing off the last of her dirty martini, complete with olive. She chews on it slowly, quirking a pointed eyebrow at me. “The cocksucker repeatedly ignored you so he could defraud people.”
“All true,” I agree. “Matt was the absolute worst sort of human.”
I can’t even deny it. My ex was a black-hat hacker. And while that might sound all hot and sexy in a mysterious, dangerous way, it isn’t. The piece of shit stole credit card numbers, and not only used them for himself but sold them on the dark web. He was also one of those hacktivists who got his rocks off by working with other degenerate assholes to try and bring down various companies and websites.
In my defense, I didn’t know what he was up to until the FBI came into my place of work, hauled me downtown, and interviewed me for hours. I was so embarrassed, I could hardly show my face at work again. Not only that, but everyone was talking about me. Either with pity or suspicion in their eyes, like I was a criminal right along with him.
Matt had a regular job as a red-team specialist—legit hackers who are paid by companies to go in and try to penetrate their systems. I assumed all that time he spent on his computer at night was him working hard to get ahead.
At least that was his perpetual excuse when challenged.
Nothing makes you feel more naïve than discovering the man you had been engaged to is actually a criminal who was stealing from people. And committing said thefts while living with you.
I looked up one of the people the FBI had mentioned in relation to Matt’s criminal activities. The woman had a weird name that stuck out to me for some reason, and when I found her, I learned she was a widow with three grandchildren, a son in the military, and was a recently retired nurse. It made me sick to my stomach. Still does when I think about it.
I told the FBI everything I knew, which was nothing. I explained that I had ended things with Matt three days prior to them arresting him. Pure coincidence. I was fed up with the monotony of our relationship. Of being engaged and never discussing or planning our wedding. Of living with someone I never saw because he was always locked away in his office, too preoccupied with his computer to pay me even an ounce of attention.
But really, deep down, I knew I wasn’t in love with him anymore. I didn’t even shed a tear over our breakup. In fact, I was more relieved than anything.
And then the FBI showed up.
“I ended it with him. Before I knew he was a total and complete loser,” I tack on, feeling more defensive about the situation than I care to admit. Shifting my weight on my uncomfortable wooden chair, I cross my legs at the knee and stare sightlessly out into the bar, still feeling ridiculous in ways I wish I never will again.
“And we applaud you for that,” Rina says, nudging Margot and then Aria in the shoulders, forcing them to concur. “It was the absolute right thing to do. But you’ve been miserable and mopey and very . . .”
“Anti-men,” Margot finishes for her, tossing back her lemon drop shot with disturbing exuberance. I think that’s number three for her already, which means it could be a long night. Margot has yet to learn the art of moderation.
“Right.” Aria nods exaggeratedly at Margot like she just hit the nail on the head, tossing her messy dark curls over her shoulders before twisting them up into something that resembles a bun. “Anti-men. I’m not saying you need to date anyone here. You don’t even have to go home with them. Just let them buy you a drink. Have a normal conversation with a normal guy.”
I scoff. “And you think I’ll find one of those in here?” I splay my arms out wide, waving them around. All these men look like players. They’re in groups with other men, smacking at each other and pointing at the various women who walk in. They’re clearly rating them. And if a woman just so happens to pass by, they blatantly turn and stare at her ass.
This is a hookup bar.
All dark mood lighting, annoying, trendy house music in the background, and uncomfortable seating. The kind designed to have you standing all night before you take someone home. And now I understand why my very attentive friends brought me here.
It’s not our usual go-to place.
“It’s like a high school or frat house party in here. And definitely not in a good way. I bet all these bros bathed in Axe body spray, gelled up their hair, and left their mother’s basement to come here and find a ‘chick to bang.’” I put air quotes around those words. “I have zero interest in being part of that scheme. Boring conversations with half-witted men who w
ouldn’t know a female orgasm if it came in their face.”
“Well . . .” Rina’s voice drifts off, scanning the room desperately. “I know I can find you someone worthy.”
“Don’t waste your brain function. I’m still not interested.” I roll my eyes dramatically and finish off my drink, slamming the glass down on the table with a bit more gusto than I intend.
Oops.
Whatever. I’m extremely satisfied with my anti-men status. Because that’s exactly what I am—anti-men—and I’m discovering I’m suddenly unrepentant about it. In fact, I think it’s a fantastic way to be when you rack up one loser after another the way I have.
Like a form of self-preservation.
I’ve never had a good track record. Even before Matt, I had a knack for picking the wrong guys.
My high school boyfriend ended up being gay. I handed him my V-card shortly before he dropped that bomb on me, though he swore I didn’t turn him gay. He promised he was like that prior to the sex.
In college, I dated two guys somewhat seriously. The first one cheated on me for months before I found out, and the second one was way more into his video games than he was me. I think he also had a secret cocaine problem because he’d stay up all night gaming like a fiend. I had given up on men for a while—are you seeing a trend here?—and then in my final year of graduate school, Matt came along.
Need I say more?
So as far as I’m concerned, men can all go screw themselves sideways. Because they sure as hell aren’t gonna screw me!
“You can stop searching now, Rina,” I suggest. This is getting pathetic. “I have a vibrator. What else does a girl need this day and age?”
All three pause their search to examine me and I realize I said that out loud. I blush at that, but it’s true, so I just shrug a shoulder and fold my arms defiantly across my chest.
“I don’t need a sextervention,” I continue. “If anything, I need to avoid the male species like the plague they are.”
