Chapter Fifteen: The Scrub Room Confrontation

Sarah tore off her gloves the second she stepped out of the operating room, latex snapping sharply against her wrists. The sound felt too loud, too accusing. She tossed them into the biohazard bin and braced herself against the stainless-steel counter, head bowed, breath coming shallow.

Her reflection in the polished surface mocked her. Renowned cardiothoracic surgeon. The woman who’d performed impossible bypasses, reconstructed shattered arteries, saved lives with precision that left colleagues awestruck.

And yet, today her hand had trembled. The suture hadn’t landed cleanly. A junior resident had caught the slip, her correction masked as deference, but Sarah knew. The attending knew. Everyone in the OR knew.

A crack. Small, but visible.

Her pulse hammered. She pressed her fists to the counter as if force alone could steady her shaking.

The door hissed open behind her.

“Doctor Smith.”

The voice curled through the room, velvet laced with amusement. Her body stiffened.

Not here. Not now.

She turned slowly, every muscle pulled taut. Liam Hamilton stood framed in the doorway, still in his tailored suit, his tie loosened just enough to look indecent. His gaze swept over her, leisurely, devouring, as though she were already on her knees.

“You looked…” He paused, lips curving. “…less than perfect in there.”

Sarah’s jaw clenched. “Get out. This is restricted.”

“Restricted?” He stepped inside, the door sighing shut behind him. The air seemed to shrink with his presence. “Come now, Doctor. You of all people should know, this entire hospital belongs to me. Including this room.”

She turned back to the sink, scrubbing her hands furiously though the surgery was done. She needed something to anchor her, anything to drown out the heat coiling in her stomach. “I don’t have time for your games.”

“You call them games,” Liam murmured, moving closer. “I call them truths.”

His reflection appeared in the steel panel beside hers, towering, magnetic, hungry. Sarah gripped the sink harder, her knuckles blanching. “You’re delusional.”

He bent forward, his mouth near her ear. “Am I? Because I saw your hands shake. I saw the sweat at your temple. And I know exactly why.”

Her breath hitched. She squeezed her eyes shut, but it was too late, images slammed into her mind. His bare chest beneath her palms. His guttural moans. His toes curling helplessly under her tongue.

Her knees weakened.

Liam’s chuckle vibrated against her spine. “There it is. The truth.”

“Stop it,” she whispered.

“Stop?” His lips hovered an inch from her ear, his breath hot. “Or do you mean don’t stop?”

Her eyes flew open. Rage and arousal tangled in her chest, choking her. She spun to face him, intending to shove him away, to cut him down with words sharp enough to wound.

But he caught her wrist mid-motion.

The force wasn’t brutal, no, it was worse. It was gentle, deliberate, as though he wanted her to feel how easily he could control her. His thumb stroked the inside of her wrist, right over her racing pulse.

“You’re trembling again,” he whispered. “And not from fear.”

Heat surged through her, mortifying and electric. “Let go.”

Instead, he tugged her forward, closing the distance until her chest brushed his suit. The faint scent of his cologne, cedar, smoke, danger, flooded her senses. His eyes bored into hers, dark and endless.

“You don’t get to run from this anymore,” Liam said, voice low, steady. “Not from me. Not from yourself.”

Before she could protest, he pulled her past the sinks, past the rows of sterile cabinets, toward the adjoining door that led to an unused operating theater.

“Liam—” she hissed, stumbling after him, her protests strangled by the pounding of her heart. “Stop—someone could—”

“No one will.” His hand was unyielding around her wrist, his stride sure. “This room’s empty.”

The door clicked shut behind them.

The OR was cold, gleaming, every instrument perfectly in place. The table at its center loomed under the harsh white light, straps neatly coiled at its sides. The sight made Sarah’s stomach lurch.

“Don’t you dare—”

But he already had.

In one swift motion, Liam lifted her off her feet. She gasped, her hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging into the fine wool of his suit. The raw strength in his arms was terrifying, thrilling. He carried her as though she weighed nothing, setting her down on the operating table with ruthless precision.

“Liam!” Her voice cracked, half fury, half something far more dangerous. “This is insane—”

“Insane?” He leaned over her, his shadow swallowing her whole. “Or inevitable?”

She pushed at his chest, but her body betrayed her. The contact seared, her palms unwilling to leave the hard planes beneath his shirt. Her thighs clenched involuntarily as heat pooled deep inside her.

And then, a click.

Her wrist jerked as leather slid around it, tightened, locked.

Her eyes flew wide. “What are you—”

The second click silenced her. Her other wrist was bound, spread out against the cold steel arm of the table.

“Liam!” Her voice rose, sharp and frantic. “Untie me this instant—”

But he only smiled, dark and slow, as his hands moved lower. Her legs kicked weakly, but he caught one ankle, strapped it down, then the other.

In seconds, Sarah Smith, renowned surgeon, controlled, untouchable, was pinned to her own battlefield, her body stretched open and helpless beneath the white light.

Her chest rose and fell in frantic bursts, her breath loud in the sterile silence. Shame burned her cheeks. Terror knifed through her. And yet, her nipples tightened under her scrubs, her thighs quivered, her body betraying every denial.

Liam hovered over her, his face a perfect mask of sin. “Do you know what I see when I look at you like this?” he asked, his voice a low growl.

“Let. Me. Go,” she hissed, straining against the restraints.

He leaned closer, until his lips nearly brushed hers, his breath hot and devastating.

“I see the truth you’re too afraid to admit,” he whispered. His eyes flicked down, devouring her trembling chest, her restrained wrists, her helpless legs. “That you don’t want control anymore. You want me to take it.”

Sarah’s heart thundered, her body blazing with betrayal.

The straps bit into her skin. Her breath broke. Her lips parted against her will.

And Liam, his smirk devastating, his voice lethal, sealed her fate with a final whisper.

“Now, Doctor… let’s see what happens when the surgeon becomes the patient.”

The OR light hummed overhead. The silence tightened.

And Sarah realized she had no escape.