Doctor Scandalous : A Fake Engagement Romance (Boston's Billionaire Bachelors Book 1)

by J. Saman

  They dismiss me immediately, their cause to find me a “normal” male to talk to outweighing my antagonism. And really, if it’s taking this long to find someone then the pickings must really be slim here.

  I move to flag down the waitress to order another round when Margot points to the far corner.“There.” The tenacious little bug is gleaming like she just struck oil in her backyard. “That guy. He’s freaking hot as holy sin and he’s alone. He even looks sad, which means he needs a friend.”

  “Or he wants to be left alone to his drinking,” I mumble, wishing I had another drink in my hand so I could focus on something other than my friends obsessively staring at some random creep. Where the hell is that waitress?

  “Maybe,” Aria muses thoughtfully as she observes the man across the bar, tapping her bottom lip with her finger. Her hands are covered in splotches of multicolored paint. As is her black shirt, now that I look closer. “Or maybe he’s just had a crappy day. He looks so sad, Halle.” She nods like it’s all coming together for her as she makes frowny puppy dog eyes at me. “So very sad. Go over and see if he wants company. Cheer him up.”

  “You’d be doing a public service,” Rina agrees. “Men that good-looking should never be sad.”

  I roll my eyes at that. “You think a blowjob would do it, or should I offer him crazy, kinky sex to cheer him up? I still have that domination-for-beginners playset I picked up at Angela’s bachelorette party. Hasn’t even been cracked open.”

  Aria tilts her head like she’s actually considering this. “That level of kink might scare him off for the first time. And I wouldn’t give him head unless he goes down on you first.”

  Jesus, I’m not drunk enough for this.

  “Or he’s a total asshole who just fucked his girlfriend’s best friend,” I protest, my voice rising an octave with my objection, my hands flailing outward like a chicken who has lost her way. I sit up straight, desperate to make my point clear. “Or he’s about to go to prison because he hacks women into tiny bits with a machete before he eats them. Either way, I’m. Not. Interested.”

  “God,” Margot snorts, twirling her chestnut hair as she leans back in her chair and levels me with an unimpressed gaze. “Dramatic much? He wouldn’t be out on bail if that were the case. But seriously, that’s like crazy psycho shit, and that guy does not say crazy psycho. He says crave-worthy and yummy and ‘I hand out orgasms like king-sized candy on Halloween.’”

  “Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” Aria says with a knowing smile and a wink.

  She swivels her head to check him out again and licks her lips reflexively. I haven’t bothered to peek yet because my back is to him and I hate that I’m curious. All three ladies are eyeing him with unfettered appreciation and obvious lust. Their tastes in men differ tremendously, which indicates this guy probably is hot.

  I shouldn’t be tempted.

  I really shouldn’t be.

  I’m asking for a world of trouble or hurt or legal fees. So why am I finding the idea of a one-nighter with a total stranger growing on me?

  I’ve never been that girl before. But maybe they’re right? Maybe a one-nighter with a random guy is just the ticket to wipe out my past of bad choices in men and make a fresh start? I don’t even know if that makes sense since a one-nighter is the antithesis of a smart choice. But my libido is taking over for my brain and now I’m starting to rationalize, possibly even encourage. I need to stop this now.

  “He’s gay. Hot men are always gay. Or assholes. Or criminals. Or cheaters. Or just generally suck at life.”

  “You’ve had some bad luck, is all. Look at Oliver. He’s good-looking, sweet, loving, and not an asshole. Or a criminal. And he likes you. You could date him.”

  Reaching over, I steal Rina’s cocktail. She doesn’t stop me or even seem to register the action. I stare at her with narrowed eyes over the rim of her glass as I slurp down about half of it in one gulp. “I’m not dating your brother, Rina. Any of your brothers for that matter. That’s weird and begging for drama. You and I are best friends.”

  She sighs and then I sigh because I’m being a bitch and I don’t mean to be. I like her brother. I like all of her brothers, but Oliver and I are tight. He is all of those things she just mentioned, minus the liking me part. But if things went bad between us, which they inherently would, it would cost me one of my most important friendships. And that’s not a risk I’m willing to take.

  Plus, unbeknownst—or maybe just ignored—by Rina, Oliver is one of the biggest players in the greater Boston area.

  “I’m just saying not all men are bad,” Rina continues, and I shake my head, unwilling to budge on this. “We’ll buy your drinks for a month if you go talk to this guy,” she offers hastily, trying to close the deal.

  Margot glances over at her with furrowed eyebrows, a bit surprised by that declaration, but she quickly comes around with an indifferent shrug.

  Aria smiles, liking that idea. Then again, money is not Aria’s problem. “Most definitely,” she agrees. “Go. Let a stranger touch your lady parts. You’re waxed and shaved and looking hot. Let someone take advantage of that. And by take advantage I mean I mean take advantage. You need sex, Halle. It’s been a hundred years since your orgasms weren’t self-produced.”

  “And if he shoots me down?”

  “You don’t have to sleep with him,” Rina reminds me, cutting a glare at Aria who clearly doesn’t agree. “Or even give him your real name. In fact, tell him nothing real about yourself. It could be like a sexual experiment.”

  I shake my head in exasperation.

  “We won’t bother you about it again,” she promises solemnly. “But he won’t shoot you down. You look movie star hot tonight.”

  While I appreciate the sentiment from my loving and supportive friends, being shot down by a total stranger when I’m already feeling emotionally strung out might just do me in. Even if I have no interest in him. But free drinks . . .

  Twisting around in my chair, I stare across the crowded bar, probing for a few seconds until I spot the man in the corner. Holy Christmas in Florida, he is hot. There is no mistaking that. His hair is light blond, short along the sides and just a bit longer on top. Just long enough that you could grab it and hold on tight while he kisses you.

  His profile speaks to his straight nose and strong, chiseled, cleanly shaven jaw. I must admit, I do enjoy a bit of stubble on my men, but he makes the lack of beard look so enticing that I don’t miss the roughness. He’s wearing a suit. A dark suit. More than likely expensive judging by the way it contours to his broad shoulders and the flash of gold on his wrist that I catch in the form of cufflinks.

  But the thing that’s giving me pause is his anguish. It’s radiating off him. His beautiful face is downcast, staring sightlessly into his full glass of something amber. Maybe scotch. Maybe bourbon. It doesn’t matter. That expression has purpose. Those eyes have meaning behind them and I doubt he’s seeking any sort of company.

  In fact, I’m positive he’d have no trouble finding any if he were so inclined.

  That thought alone makes me stand up without further comment. He’s the perfect man to get my friends off my back with. He’s going to shoot me down in an instant and I won’t even take it personally. Well, not too much.

  I can feel the girls exchanging gleeful smiles, but I figure I’ll be back with them in under five minutes, so their misguided enthusiasm is inconsequential. I watch him the entire way across the bar. He doesn’t sip at his drink. He just stares blankly into it. That sort of heartbreak makes my stomach churn. This miserable stranger isn’t just your typical Saturday night bar dweller looking for a quick hookup.

  He’s drowning his sorrows.

  Miserable Stranger doesn’t notice my approach. He doesn’t even notice me as I wedge myself in between him and the person seated beside him. And he definitely doesn’t notice me as I order myself a dirty martini.

  I’m close enough to smell him. And damn, it’s so freaking good
I catch myself wanting to close my eyes and breathe in deeper. Sandalwood? Citrus? Freaking godly man? Who knows.

  I have no idea what to say to him. In fact, I’m half-tempted to grab my drink and scurry off, but I catch Rina, Margot, and Aria watching vigilantly from across the bar with excited, encouraging smiles. There’s no way I can get out of this without at least saying hello. Especially if I want them to buy me drinks for the next month.

  But damn, I’m so stupidly nervous. “Hello,” I start, but my voice is weak and shaky, and I have to clear it to get rid of the nervous lilt. Shit. My hands are trembling. Pathetic.

  He doesn’t look up. Awesome start.

  I play it off, staring around the dimly lit bar and taking in all the people enjoying their Saturday night cocktails. It’s busy here. Filled with the heat of the city in the summer and lust-infused air. I open my mouth to speak again, when the person seated next to my Miserable Stranger and directly behind me, gets up, shoving their chair inadvertently into my back and launching me forward.

  Straight into him.

  I fly without restraint, practically knocking him over. Not enough to fully push him off his chair—he’s too big and strong for that—but it’s enough to catch his attention. I see him blink like he’s coming back from some distant place. His head tilts up to mine as I right myself, just as my attention is diverted by the man who hit me with his chair.

  “I’m so sorry,” the man says with a note of panic in his voice, reaching out and grasping my upper arm as if to steady me. “I didn’t see you there. Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I’m fine.” I’m beet red, I know it.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  Just my pride. “No. Really. I’m good. It was my fault for wedging myself in like this.” The stranger who bumped me smiles warmly, before turning back to his girlfriend and leaving the scene of the crime as quickly as possible.

  Adjusting my dress and schooling my features, I turn back to my Miserable Stranger, clearing my throat once more as my eyes meet his. “I’m sorry I banged into you . . .” My freaking breath catches in my lungs, making my voice trail off at the end.

  Goddamn.

  If I thought his profile was something, it’s nothing compared to the rest of him. He blinks at me, his eyes widening fractionally as he sits back, crossing his arms over his suit-clad chest and taking me in from head to toe. He hasn’t even removed his dark jacket, which seems odd. It’s more than warm in here and summer outside.

  He sucks in a deep breath as his eyes reach mine again. They’re green. But not just any green. Full-on megawatt green. Like thick summer grass green. I can tell that even in the dim lighting of the bar, that’s how vivid they are. They’re without a doubt the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen.

  “That’s all right,” he says and his thick baritone, with a hint of some sort of accent, is just as impressive as the rest of him. It wraps its way around me like a warm blanket on a cold night. Jesus, has a voice ever affected me like this? Maybe I do need to get out more if I’m reacting to a total stranger like this. “I love it when beautiful women fall all over me.”

  I like him instantly. Cheesy line and all.

  “That happen to you a lot?”

  He smirks. “Not really. Are you okay? That was quite the tumble.”

  I nod. I don’t want to talk about my less than graceful entrance anymore. “Would you mind if I sit down?” And he thinks about it. Actually freaking hesitates. Just perfect. This is not helping my already frail ego.

  I stare at him for a beat, and just as I’m about to raise the white flag and retreat with my dignity in my feet, he swallows hard and shakes his head slowly. Is he saying no I shouldn’t sit, or no he doesn’t mind? Crap, I can’t tell, because his expression is . . . a mess. Like a bizarre concoction of indecision and curiosity and temptation and disgust.

  He must note my confusion because in a slow measured tone he clarifies with, “I guess you should probably sit so you don’t fall on me again.” He blinks, something catching his attention. Glancing past me for the briefest of moments, that smirk returning to his full lips. “I think your friends love the idea.”

  “Huh?” I sputter before my head whips over my shoulder and I catch Rina, Aria, and Margot standing, watching us with equally exuberant smiles. Margot even freaking waves. Well, that’s embarrassing. Now what do I say? “Yeah . . . um.” Words fail me, and I sink back into myself. “I’m sorry. I just . . . well, I recently broke up with someone, and my friends won’t let me return to the table until I’ve re-entered the human female race and had a real conversation with a man.”

  God, this sounds so stupidly pathetic. Even to my own ears. And why did I just admit all of that to him? My face is easily the shade of the dress I’m wearing—and it’s bright motherfucking red. He’s smirking at me again, which only proves my point. I hate feeling like this. Insecure and inadequate. At least it’s better than stupid and clueless. Yeah, that’s what I had going on with Matt and this is not who I am. I’m typically far more self-assured.

  “I’ll just grab my drink and return to my friends.”

  I pull some cash out of my purse and drop it on the wooden bar. I pause, and he doesn’t stop me. My fingers slip around the smooth, long stem of my glass. I’m desperate to get the hell out of here, but before I can slide my drink safely toward me and make my hasty, not so glamorous escape, he covers my hand with his and whispers, “No. Stay.”

  Want to find out what happens next with Halle and Jonah? Grab your copy of The Edge of Temptation now and get lost in the world of hot doctors and spicy romance!