Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
But more importantly, he revealed that he values his independence and enjoys feeling competent at his job, even if he doesn’t seem particularly passionate about it. I wonder if he’s simply being modest about how he must help people as a doctor. Dane doesn’t strike me as a modest man, but I can’t dismiss the possibility that he’s humble.
Or maybe his reasons for pursuing an altruistic career are simply too intimate for an initial conversation on a first date.
I shove aside my curiosity and choose to engage with his preferred topic: my art.
“I studied Art at College of Charleston, but I didn’t finish my degree,” I admit, ignoring the familiar shame that heats my gut. “I just love painting. I decided that I don’t need a degree to prove that.”
I have my own reasons for dropping out of school, but that’s too much to dump on him so soon. We’re just getting to know each other, and I don’t like expressing my damage to anyone, not even myself. I summon up an easy smile and skate over the moment of discomfort.
“My only regret is that I didn’t get to study abroad before I quit,” I continue. “I actually wanted to study in London for a semester. I’d love to visit England one day. You said you’re from York, right? Is that close to London?”
He shoots me a half-smile. “By American standards, yes. By English standards, it’s quite far. Yorkshiremen can get very prickly about differentiating themselves from Londoners.”
My brows lift, and I lean toward him slightly, interest piqued. “Oh? Are you a Yorkshireman, then?”
He barks a laugh, white teeth flashing in a perfect grin. “Let’s just say I was born in Yorkshire, but I don’t exactly fit in with the locals.”
“Is that why you decided to come to America for college?” I press. “Don’t you like where you’re from?”
His gaze focuses on something beyond me, and the slight distance between us makes it feel as though he’s shut off the sun.
“Yorkshire is beautiful,” he rumbles. “But I wanted to forge my own path.”
Maybe I have more in common with Dane than I would’ve guessed.
“I understand,” I murmur, drawn to open up to him so that he’ll focus on me again. Being the center of his attention is thrilling and addictive. I’ll confess almost anything to get it back.
“My family wanted me to finish my undergraduate degree and then pursue a master’s.” I reveal one of my secrets. “They wanted my success to be their own.”
His gaze cuts back to mine, sharp enough to pin me in place.
“They put a lot of pressure on you,” he surmises.
I nod and continue my confession, the words tumbling from my lips as though I can’t help myself.
“My parents never really cared about my art,” I admit. “They just wanted to be able to tell people that their daughter’s a successful artist.”
“My family had certain expectations for me too,” Dane says, offering me a small confession of his own.
I latch onto it like a lifeline. A sense of intimacy blossoms between us, and the promise of this connection is as seductive as his heated gaze. I crave more, so I press, “And you defied them?”
He inclines his head. “I’m here, aren’t I? An ocean separates us, and I prefer it that way.”
I’ve only managed to move a few cities away from my family, but I’m determined to live my life separately from them. This shared, painful history with Dane takes my breath away.
He takes a sip of his old fashioned, and I mirror him, allowing the moment of kinship to settle between us. The Champagne bubbles on my tongue, and sparks dance up my spine when his thumb brushes my lower back.
I shiver despite the warm evening and lean into him. He commands my full attention with only the lightest touch, and I’m hyperaware of him: his intoxicating scent swirling around me on the light breeze, the setting sun illuminating the verdant shade of his eyes, the subtle splay of his hand spanning the small of my back.
A long moment of silence stretches between us before I push for more information. “So, you came to Charleston to practice medicine? Didn’t you like Baltimore?”
He takes another sip of his drink, as though he’s considering his answer. I do the same because I’m feeling slightly jittery. I don’t want to ruin this moment between us with inane chatter, so I savor the bubbles that fizz over my tongue.
“I value the education I received there,” he says. “My time in Baltimore gave me the skills I needed to pursue the life I want. One of my colleagues is from Charleston, so when he asked me to move here and form a private practice with him, I said yes.” That wicked half-smile tugs at one corner of his sensual lips. “I’m still fairly new to the area. You can show me around.”