Doctor Holy Hotness (50 Shades of Grey's Anatomy Book 4) Read online

  He’s just what the doctor ordered…

  The minute I laid eyes on Jenny Price in medical school she was mine — One look and she belonged to me.

  I had one chance to make her mine, but she ran away.

  Now I’m the Chief of Orthopedic Surgery and not much phases me.

  That is, until I walk into a room and see her.

  Dr. Jenny Price right there in front of me.

  She’s even more beautiful than she was years ago, and her scent makes me want her body to be my next vacation.

  Too bad she’s intent on picking a fight with me every other day.

  But when she barges into my office and brushes those soft curves against me, that’s when all the arguing turns into something else.

  And now that we’ve both gotten a taste, I don’t know if either of us can stop.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Don’t miss these One Handed Reads!

  The DILF

  Her Gentleman Dom

  Bought for Love

  Chapter One

  TEN YEARS AGO

  MATCH DAY

  ALEX

  All right, I have a confession: I’ve been half in love with Jenny for years.

  From afar.

  I kept my distance, knowing she used every minute outside of class to study and take care of her grandmother, when she was alive. Rumor around campus was that her grandmother had raised her, so Jenny wanted to be the one by her side until the very end. Jenny was good to everyone, but she kept to herself.

  It was time to act: four years of medical school were almost over. In fact, it was Match Day, when all graduating medical students found out where we were spending our residencies. There must have been hundreds of people in the auditorium, all with white envelopes in hand, but I couldn’t keep my eyes off her, the angel with the dark blond hair, two rows ahead. As people settled into their seats, people around her made sure to say hi, offer a smile, a light touch on her arm. She may be shy, but everyone was drawn to her anyway.

  Outsiders probably assume the students in this room all endured the rigors of medical school out of a desire to help people. Closer to the truth was that the students liked solving puzzles. They fed off of the high of finding the right answer to the riddles contained in the human body. Disease was the villain, and the symptoms were the clues.

  It was different for Jenny. She truly cared for people, wanted to save them by healing them. She was a pure soul. That’s why, in spite of her shyness, her fellow students always went out of their way to say hello to her, to check in. Maybe, deep down, they were hoping a fraction of her light could change them. Of course, it doesn’t work that way, but that didn’t mean others would stop trying.

  Her hair was tied up in one of those messy buns, and she wore these oversized, black, owl-like frames, which rested on the tip of her nose. She was adorable, in this distracted, absent-minded-professor kind of way.

  Of course, the way she was gnawing on the end of her pen, sucking on the cap, was driving me crazy. I couldn’t stop myself from imagining what that mouth could do to me. I already knew what mine would like to do to her, how good I wanted to make her feel.

  Damn, that mouth of hers.

  I wanted to possess it.

  I’d barely spoken to her and, already, I could tell: I was in trouble. This girl was going to be my undoing. And I didn’t give a fuck. Getting to know her was all I craved.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience,” said the local coordinator for the National Resident Matching Program. “We all know and appreciate the hard work and sacrifices you’ve made these last four years. We congratulate you, for being here means you’ve matched with one of your choices. Those who did not match were informed earlier this week. So, once again, congratulations on your upcoming residencies. You may now open your envelopes!”

  The sound of paper ripping echoed throughout the auditorium, but Jenny was just staring at hers, a big envelope in such tiny hands.

  Something was wrong. I shoved mine in the inside pocket of my corduroy blazer, not even bothering to open it, and made my way over to her.

  She was more than capable of taking care of herself. Unfortunately, she’d been doing just that for years. I was just hoping she’d let me get to know her, maybe even be someone she could lean on.

  People were congratulating each other, some were even crying, but most were already leaving the auditorium, so I managed to work my way over.

  Her hands were shaking.

  “Hard to believe, all our work comes down to some words inside an envelope,” I said low and close to her ear.

  “What?” She startled, jerking her head back and clocking my chin.

  For such a little thing, she packed a hell of a wallop.

  “Oh my God! I’m so sorry! Did I hurt you?”

  I rubbed the sore spot. “Nope, that was my bad,” I said, trying to reassure her.

  “No, trust me. I’m the klutz,” she said, her golden hazel eyes studying my face. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  I brushed aside her concern. I didn’t want her worrying about me. I was here to make her feel better.

  “I’m fine. Really,” I said, leaning against the chair back. “I came over because I couldn’t help but notice your envelope was still intact. Nervous about seeing what’s inside?”

  Her brows V’d. “What about you? Did you open yours yet? Did you get your top choice?”

  “Not yet,” I said, patting my jacket pocket. “I thought maybe you’d want to open them together.”

  She stared at me for a couple of beats before letting out a sigh. “That’s so sweet, but I was thinking I would open it later,” she said. “You know…alone…in my apartment, with the lights off. Maybe after I polished off a bottle of Fireball.”

  I barked out a laugh. “You’re kidding, right? Cinnamon whisky? You’ll incinerate your insides.” I smiled, shaking my head. “C’mon, I bet you got into your first choice.”

  She grimaced. “I don’t know. I don’t have a good feeling.”

  Being this close, I noticed she had a smattering of freckles across her pert nose and the longest lashes I had ever seen. She wasn’t wearing a stitch of makeup, but she didn’t need any. She had a natural glow about her.

  But she was distracted and upset, and fuck me, but I wanted to fix it.

  “Tell you what,” I said. “Let me take you out, help us both relax… I bet you haven’t eaten anything yet today. Am I right?”

  She nodded. “That’s true. Although, to be honest, I’ve been too nervous to eat.”

  As if on cue, her stomach let out a wicked growl. Our eyes locked, and we both cracked up.

  “By the way, I trained myself to do that,” she said.

  “Is that right?”

  “Oh, absolutely. Just in case this whole medical school thing doesn’t work out.”

  Holy shit. She’s funny.

  Her stomach growled again.

  “I’m thinking that’s my cue to get some good food into you. It’s hard to think on an empty stomach, no?”

  “I suppose so,” s
he said, threading her hair behind one of her ears. She was back to being shy.

  “There’s a place not far from here, somewhere I’d like to take you. Then, when we’re ready, we’ll open the envelopes together. What do you say?”

  She studied my face, as if waiting for a punchline. “I don’t understand,” she said. “You’re gorgeous.”

  Well, good. At least she likes what she sees.

  I smiled. “I think you’re gorgeous, too.”

  She breezed right by the flattery, not letting its truth sink in. “Seriously, you’d make Henry Cavill put a bag over his head.” She broke into a fake British accent. “Oh gawd. I’m hideous next to this chap. The shame, the shame!”

  This girl was completely unfiltered—and I fucking loved it.

  I didn’t know who this Henry was, but I wasn’t happy hearing about another guy she found attractive. But I didn’t want to scare her off by being too intense.

  “Well, I have no idea who that is, but I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “Oh sure you do. He played Superman.”

  I shrugged. “Honestly, I’ve been so busy, I can’t even remember the last time I went to the movies.”

  “Same here!” she said, bouncing in her seat. “I have this fantasy of spending a whole afternoon just watching one movie after another. Nothing but me, a bucket of popcorn, and the silver screen.”

  I gazed down at her hands. She was still holding onto the envelope.

  “Your hands aren’t shaking anymore,” I said.

  She looked down. “Huh, look at that.”

  “You know, you really are beautiful. That’s not a line.”

  “Please, no need to lay it on thick because you feel sorry that I’m sitting here, freaking out. I’m okay…maybe cute when I put some effort into it, but I am certainly not beautiful.”

  Wow, she didn’t have a clue about herself.

  Why was I excited that I was going to be the one to show her?

  “We can debate that later. I’m Alex, by the way. Alex Petrinov,” I said, offering my hand.

  Her eyes darted to my hand, before she slid hers into mine.

  “I know who you are,” she said, her voice soft. “Every woman at Harvard does.”

  “I don’t care about any other woman at Harvard. I only care if the one in front of me is going to agree to have dinner with me.”

  She tilted her head, looking like a confused puppy. “Are you…asking me out on a date?”

  This woman was killing me.

  “Well, I’m trying to, but not with much luck, so far,” I said, chuckling. “Wait a second…you don’t have a boyfriend, do you?”

  If she did, I may have had to kill him. Okay, maybe not that.

  She laughed, unfortunately letting go of my hand. “Oh, that’s a good one. I appreciate you thinking I have a semblance of a life.”

  The corner of my mouth curled up. “So…no boyfriend?”

  “Nope. No boyfriend. Nada. Zilch.”

  “And no semblance of a life?”

  She threw her head back and made a sound between a laugh and a groan. “Not even a little bit of a life. Sorry to disappoint you, Alex Petrinov, but I’m just your typical Harvard nerd girl. In fact, all I’ve done since I’ve gotten here was study. Oh, and a little bit of sleep—and even then I reviewed what I had just studied in my sleep. I can’t remember the last time I had a shower lasting longer than five minutes. Let’s not even talk about the last time I waxed.”

  I suppressed a groan. I needed to get to know this woman before I went there.

  “You know, for someone who claims to barely get in a shower, you smell amazing.”

  That’s when I saw it: a flicker of something impish and wicked in her eyes.

  “Don’t tease. I haven’t been with a man in years,” she said, letting out an embarrassed laugh. “I think I’ve forgotten how.”

  My mouth went dry. Please let me be the one to re-educate you.

  “Too much with the sharing?” she asked.

  If she only knew.

  “Jenny, one thing you’ll learn about me: it’s never too much.”

  Chapter Two

  JENNY

  I was having one of those perfect dreams, the kind where the colors of the setting sun were electric and I could feel the warm, not-quite-summer breeze on my skin. And in this dream, everything was unfolding exactly as I wished. There was nothing stuck in my teeth, and I wasn’t walking into my college lecture hall naked. Even better, my brain wasn’t conjuring some freaky Fellini plot twist, where I started kissing Jake Gyllenhaal, but he turns into a geriatric Mick Jagger and then into that plant from Little Shop of Horrors.

  Nope, in this dream, every scintilla of my existence was going beyond right.

  But what’s really and truly mind blowing is that this dream wasn’t a dream at all.

  It was real. He was real.

  I was really and truly walking through the cobblestone streets of Cambridge, Massachusetts, with the most stunning and enigmatic man ever created—and he was holding my hand like it was something precious.

  He led us through a crowd of people, glancing over his shoulder every few seconds to check on me with a smile so blinding, I just knew the cones and rods behind my eyes may never fully recover.

  I kept trying to pinch myself, but we were moving too fast and I didn’t want him to see. When it came to revealing my inner dorkasaurus, I had already reached maximum capacity for the day. I knew the deal: a little was cute, any more was just…awkward.

  “Are you up for something different?” he asked as we stopped in front of a plain door with one of those cut-out panels in the center, the kind that slid back and forth.

  Great, he’s a freak.

  I just knew there had to be something wrong with him. If this was some underground swingers club or an amateur porn set, I was soooo getting out of there and becoming a nun. The fact that I’m Jewish was not a deterrent to my plan.

  “Uh, what’s on the other side?”

  He gave one of those crooked smiles, then rapped his middle knuckle on the center square. It slid left, and all I could see of the guy were his bushy eyebrows, beady little black eyes, and handlebar mustache, which twitched every third word he said—in Russian. For some reason, it bugged me that he put so much effort into the stache but let those brows go wild.

  Then, just as fast, he slid the panel back and the door opened.

  “You know, a lot of episodes of Dateline start exactly like this,” I said.

  His eyes twinkled. “Who knew the shy girl with the big glasses was so funny,” he said. “C’mon, I promise you’ll like it.”

  I don’t know what I was picturing behind that big door, but I couldn’t help but let out a relieved sigh when I realized where he had taken me: a restaurant.

  If there was such a thing as nineteenth-century Russian kitsch, this place was it, complete with gilded framed caricatured paintings of Stalin and Lenin. Everything was gold-plated—the utensils, the lighting fixtures, even the ornamental Russian bears in the corners. The place was a celebration and a jab all at once.

  Every person in the restaurant stopped to watch us walk across the room. If Alex noticed their gazes, he didn’t show it.

  Of course, I wasn’t so elegant. Even with a clear path in front of me, I managed to trip over my own feet. I fell backward, but something firm stopped my epic tumble, with muscled arms wrapping around my waist.

  “I’ve got you,” he said into my ear. “You all right?”

  “Please, except for wanting to smite my own eyes out so I don’t have to face anyone, I’m groovy.”

  He helped get me back on my feet. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about. C’mon, let me feed you.”

  The guy with the beady eyes led us to a small, intimate booth, partially hidden behind a pinned-back, heavy, taffeta curtain.

  “By the way, a note to put in your mental file box,” I told him. “What just happened won’t be the last time I klutz it up. Jus
t for your information.”

  He leaned an elbow on the table, resting his temple on two fingers. “Hope I get to be the one to catch you.”

  I may have to trip myself up more often.

  His awesomeness was too much for my brain to process. I had to change the subject.

  “This place is really cool. Thanks for bringing me.”

  “You’re surprised,” he said more than asked.

  “Oh, I am,” I said, unfolding the crisp linen napkin and draping it on my lap. “I was half ready for that door to open and find a pile of dead bodies next to an unmarked white van. What is this place?”

  My snark earned me a big smile from him. At least he found me amusing.

  “It’s a pop-up restaurant. It’s been open for a couple of months, but it will only be here for another week. Then, it’s gone.”

  I let my eyes wander everywhere but at him, as if I was fascinated by the restaurant decor and its patrons. I mean, it was really nice, but that wasn’t why I kept looking around.

  Truth was, Alex made me nervous.

  “How did you know about it if it’s only here for such a short time?”

  He shrugged. “It’s a Russian restaurant, and I’m Russian.”

  That was the only explanation he gave, as if being Russian was an answer in and of itself. “I’ve heard it said that Russia is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma. Perhaps the same can be said for you.”

  His left brow arched. “Paraphrasing Winston Churchill?”

  “I love that you know that,” I whispered. “My nana was a big fan of his.”

  “I am too,” he said. “Who else do you like?”

  I sighed, wracking my brain. “Oh, I don’t know…I go through phases. Right now, I’m on a Southern Gothic novel kick.”

  “Flannery O’Connor, William Faulkner?”

  “Yes, but also Cormac McCarthy, Eudora Welty, too.”

  He chuckled.

  “What?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “I always thought of the Southern Gothics as the American version of Russian novelists. In spite being in different centuries, on opposites sides of the world, there’s a common thread, a preoccupation with the darkness in everyday life.”

  I tilted my head to the side, peering at him. “Well, well… I’m guessing there’s a lot more to you than the gossip I’d overheard at the library or in line at the cafeteria.”