Frost continues to remain silent as well, much to your surprise. You was certain he was going to drill and interrogate you to no end from the looks he’d given you back at the mansion when you ran into him.
You should really be happy he isn’t saying anything, but for some reason, his silence—or perhaps refusal to talk about the very obvious pink elephant in the room—is somehow more disturbing than any yelling or blackmail he might have had in store for you.
The silence continues to stretch on between us, and you can’t stop shifting in your seat at the discomfort you feel. You’re letting a stranger drive you home. You don’t understand how you can feel both so uncomfortable and safe with him at the same time.
You finally arrive at your apartment, and the engine dies down, leaving you in complete silence. It’s even more awkward now even though you’re in familiar territory now. You decide not to put yourself through this unbearable awkwardness a second longer.
“Well, thank you for bringing me home, Doctor Frost,” you say, unfastening your seat belt and taking off his jacket as quickly as you can. For some reason, you don’t feel like it’s appropriate for you to call him by his first name, even though he insists on it.
He pulls the keys out of the ignition and pops his door open.
“I’ll walk you to your door,” he says, looking at you intently again. It’s a definitive statement and you know it, but you really just want this night to end and you certainly don’t want him following you up to your apartment.
You shake your head. “That’s fine, you don’t have to.”
“I insist,” he says, making no attempt to stop what he’s doing.
“Really, that won’t be necessary—” you try to convince him, but he doesn’t listen, and he heads out of the car before you can even finish what you’re saying.
He swings his door shut and walks around the car to yours again. You’re already opening it and trying to get out by the time he gets to you, but you’re having serious trouble doing so thanks to this ridiculous dress, yet again. You feel the damn thing shutting off your oxygen supply as it squeezes you mercilessly when you try to bend to retrieve your shoes or each time you shuffle in your seat in an attempt to get out.
Ugh! This dress is complete shit. It seriously should never be this hard to get out of a damn car. You swear you’ll jump into a large pool full of piranhas before you ever agree to wear anything of Nicole’s ever again.
Frost reaches for you, and you think he’s going to take your hand, but instead, he grabs each side of your waist and hoists you into the air, pulling you out in one effortless motion.
You make a startled sound, feeling totally shocked by the abrupt and unexpected act. You didn’t expect to feel his hands on you again, at least not tonight, and certainly not in such an intimate way.
You want to protest and tell him to put you down, but then you realize that most of the sidewalk and the other pathways are still wet and muddy from the snow, so you let him carry you all the way to the main landing.
Your arms instinctively go around his neck before you can even realize what they’re doing, and you can feel wisps of his thick, dark hair caress and tickle your skin as you do. It feels so soft and lush, and you have to ball your fists to stop yourself from just taking liberties with it and running your fingers through his silky tresses. He really does have the kind of hair that’s perfect for playing with—especially during sex. Heck, it’s perfect for playing with before and after the act, as well.
You try your hardest to block out the incredible sensations his sure and assertive hands elicit from your body, and the deviant thoughts that they’re instigating in your head.
You’re still in awe even though you remain silent. This man seriously just picked you up like you’re made of the world’s tiniest baby bird feathers.
God, why the hell does he have to be so sexy and strong and intriguing and a host of other things that make me—and your recently hyperactive pussy—so damn restless?
He’s also very married, Ramona, the more reasonable part of you scolds. And that means he’s very unavailable, you gushing idiot.
You have to sigh at yourself. You seriously need to get your mind right and stop acting like some thirsty groupie chick whenever you’re around this guy.
You get to your door, and suddenly, for some reason you can’t even begin to understand, it only occurs to you right in this moment that he knows where you live.
That he knows exactly where you live!
You’re not really sure how you feel about that. Given the way your body seems to abandon any and all self-control whenever you find yourself around him, having more knowledge of each other’s personal lives is clearly a very bad idea, and may prove to be troublesome. Keeping as much distance between you as possible would be the smart thing to do—if only you were actually doing that.
What the hell was you thinking? You guess the problem is that you weren’t thinking at all. Being around him seems to do that to you a lot. You don’t seem to make the best or the smartest decisions whenever he’s near, and that’s definitely a problem for you. A big problem.
It’s so aggravating that you can’t seem to function normally at the mere sight of him, and you barely even know the man!
But it’ll be fine. After tonight, you won’t see him again.
It’s not like he’s the only physician in the world—even if he is one of the best. You can always consult with a different doctor, and soon enough, Dexter Frost will be out of your life for good and nothing but a distant and very brief memory.