2

“This is Shaun Stone,” Evan says smoothly, gesturing toward the man beside him. “Mr. Stone’s eldest son.”


Oh, fuck you, Melissa. Looks like you were right. Eldest son, huh? Which means the mysterious new bastard son was conceived somewhere in the middle of Randall Stone’s very respectable marriage.


“And this,” Evan continues, “is Dr. Liana Carlson. One of Bellevue’s residents.”


Shaun holds his hand out toward me. His expression is almost completely neutral. Almost. I’d swear there’s the faintest trace of a smirk pulling at one corner of his mouth, like he knows something I don’t.
I slide my hand into his and shake it lightly. “Nice to meet you.”


“Carlson,” he repeats. His hand stays wrapped around mine a second longer than necessary “Would you happen to be related to George Carlson?”


For a moment, I just stare at him. Of course he knows my father. Men like Shaun Stone and men like George Carlson exist in the same circles. Same parties. Same business deals. Same polished bullshit hidden behind expensive watches and fake handshakes.

Eventually, I ease my hand out of his grip. “He’s my father.”


That faint smirk deepens slightly. “What a small world.”


“Dr. Phillips,” I say, turning my attention back to Evan, “can I steal you for a dance?”


He hesitates. “Uh…”


Jesus Christ. Sure, he’s an attending and I’m a resident, but we’re at a gala, not standing in front of the hospital board. At this point I’m dangerously close to telling him to save the panic for when he’s fucking Jenny.


“Dr. Phillips isn’t feeling well tonight.” Shaun steps in before Evan can finish stammering his way through whatever excuse he’s trying to build. “He’s only here out of courtesy, so dancing is probably out of the question. But I’m sure I can survive taking his place.”


What the hell?


Before I can even respond, he takes my hand. And the arrogant bastard actually loops it through his arm like this entire thing was already decided without consulting me. Then he starts walking, casually dragging me along with him.


He doesn’t bother pretending to be polite about touching me. The second we reach the dance floor, he pulls me flush against him. One hand stays locked around mine while the other slides beneath the curtain of my hair and settles against the bare skin of my back exposed by the dress. Warm. Possessive. And way too fucking comfortable there.


Then we start moving. “So,” he says casually as he guides me across the floor, “where exactly have you been hiding all this time? How is it possible I’ve never seen you before?”


“Kinda depends.” I glance up at him. “Where exactly are we talking about? Your father’s hospital or beside my own?”


“Both.”


From this close, the dark ring around his gray irises becomes visible, sharpening the color into something almost unreal. There’s nothing soft in those eyes. Nothing gentlemanly either. Just heat. Pure fucking heat.


I decide his question deserves absolutely no answer. “You mind toning it down?” I mutter instead. “It feels like you’re trying to swallow me whole with your eyes.”


A quiet laugh rumbles low in his chest. Then he leans closer, mouth brushing near my ear, “Playing shy, are we?”


I should push him away. Honestly, I want to. But my entire body is already too warm from the sound of his voice, from the steady pressure of his hand against my back, and I’m painfully aware that he can probably feel it.


His fingers flex slightly against my skin. “Your body’s telling a different story.”


Dammit. I take a slow breath, forcing myself to pull whatever’s left of my composure back together. “Are you always this comfortable with women you just met?”


“Only the pretty ones.” A smirk tugs at his mouth. “Besides, you’re not exactly a stranger.”


“I’m not exactly familiar either.”


“We’ll fix that.” He actually fucking winks at me.

Jesus Christ. The ego on this man.


“I doubt it. My life doesn’t exactly intersect with yours.” I tilt my head slightly. “Considering I’ve worked at your father’s hospital for two years without ever seeing you, I’m guessing tonight’s probably the last time we’ll ever meet.”


“Wanna bet?”


Oh, he’s one of those men. The aggressively persistent kind. I huff out an amused breath and pull my gaze from his.


“Li-a-na.” He rolls my name across his tongue. His eyes stay fixed on. “I like the way it sounds in my mouth.”


“Wow.” One corner of my mouth lifts. “That might actually be the worst line I’ve ever heard. Congratulations. You’ve officially pushed flirting into unexplored territory.”


He leans closer instead of looking embarrassed. His face dips nearer to mine while his palm glides slowly along the bare skin of my back, almost lazy in the way it moves. “Give it a minute,” he murmurs, voice low, edged with something darker. “I haven’t even started yet.”


Oh my God. My breath catches so fast it’s almost humiliating. No. Nope. Absolutely fucking not. I am not doing this with him.


“No need,” I manage. “I’ve already heard enough.”


“Liar.” The arrogant bastard laughs.


I really don’t need this flirting dragged out long enough to land me in a situation I’ll regret later. Thankfully, fate decides to intervene. A sudden shift in attention ripples through the other side of the ballroom, drawing Shaun’s gaze away from me.


“Looks like my dear brother finally decided to show up.” The sharp edge dripping from his voice catches me off guard for a second. Well. That doesn’t sound healthy.


I follow his line of sight, trying to spot the infamous new Stone son through the crowd gathering around him. He’s tall. Probably around Shaun’s height. Even from behind, he stands out too easily, broad shoulders cutting above the people surrounding him while conversations subtly orbit in his direction. And if he would kindly turn the fuck around, I could actually see his face.


“Come on,” Shaun says suddenly. “Let me introduce you to my brother.”


Before I can protest, he cuts the dance short entirely and grabs my hand again, already steering me through the crowd toward the other side of the ballroom.


Fantastic. Whatever the hell burns between the Stone brothers, I absolutely do not want front-row seats to it. But every bit of resistance I’m trying to gather collapses instantly the moment I finally see the man standing at the center of the crowd.


Everything inside me stops. And crashes. At the exact same time. My heart stutters so violently I can physically feel it, one brutal second of nothing before it starts slamming against my ribs hard enough to hurt. Heat floods through my bloodstream so fast it almost makes me dizzy.
No. No fucking way.

Julian?