The hospital fundraiser was upon them. The Sport Medicine's gymnasium had been transformed seemingly overnight: turquoise and navy ribbon festooned the rafters, reflecting the Teamsters' colors, and a revolving disco ball twinkled in every corner. The perimeter of the gym floor was choked with well-dressed people: parents, doctors, donors, and coveted high-rollers. They all chatted animatedly with one another and appeared to be enjoying themselves.

Two weeks hadn't seemed like enough to pull off such a function, but Dylan and the rest of the hospital had assembled the team to make it happen. Charlie would have taken a longer moment to absorb it all if his hand weren’t so busy flying through the motions of his signature.

"Not bad," Smitty said around a toothpick loaded down with cheese cubes. "For a small town, I mean. The lights look great. Just wish they would have taken my suggestion and gotten a real DJ from Austin."

Charlie sat bent over a table, signing an autograph in looping, hasty scrawl, when Smitty prodded him in the ribcage. He clenched his aching hand around the Sharpie almost hard enough to burst it. "Smitty, I swear to God, if you put one more pile of photos in front of me I'm going to need rehab for my…"

"I think you're gonna want to see this, big guy."

Charlie glanced up in annoyance, but what he saw nearly knocked the wind out of him. Dylan, tall and leggy in the first pair of heels he'd ever seen her wearing, looked as sinfully good as any professional model he had ever seen—no, scratch that. She radiated like a goddess. The crimson red dress he had ordered from Austin clung to every curve, broadcasting to every eye just what it was Dr. Rose had been keeping under wraps. Her dark hair was pinned up in an elegant twist, and her naturally lovely face was expertly made up. The overhead lights broke into sequins and scattered across the gym floor almost the exact moment she arrived, and the DJ—perhaps inspired by the appearance of a new muse—started playing “When the Stars Go Blue.”

She was the most breathtaking creature Charlie had ever seen.

She paused just past the entrance to the room and surveyed the scene casually, evidently unaware that almost everyone in attendance was gazing back at her. It was like Cinderella arriving at the ball, or any one of a number of Hollywood movie scenarios that Charlie would have found it hard to suspend his disbelief for. When she turned her head toward him, her earrings shimmering around the elegant curve of her neck, it was like a physical punch to his gut. There was no mistaking the change that came over her expression—the instant's recognition, the flash of unmasked happiness, followed by the professional chill he was so damn used to. Dylan handed her purse off at the coat check and strolled toward him. He ditched Smitty by the autograph table and met her halfway."Dylan." His eyes swept over her again. "You look…" He was at a loss for words. Dylan's thick, cherry-red lips compressed over a smile. She knew how good she looked, and damn, if that confidence wasn't sexy. "Why don't you look like this more often?" he asked finally.

"Are you saying there's something wrong with the way I look normally, Mr. Wild?"

"God dammit, you know what I mean." He didn't know where the sudden flare of aggression came from, but he had a feeling he wouldn't have to search very far to find the cause. Just the sight of her standing before him made him horny as hell, and he wasn't used to having his physical desires frustrated. "You deliberately try and hide how absolutely gorgeous you are.”

"Normally it works." The lips he would have given anything to have on him peeled back in a dazzling smile. "Can I get you a drink?"

"Hell, no." Now that he had seen it, he wanted to feel that dress for himself. He pulled her out after him onto the dance floor; Dylan came willingly, for once submitting to his command. Feeling her give way to him this easily only made him harder. He turned and pulled her in against him to disguise the fact from other people as much as to let her feel for herself just what she did to him.

"Oh." Her breath caught a little. "I see the need for urgency now."

"Do you?" Charlie ducked his head close, watching her dangling earrings sway from his own breath. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"

"I'm starting to have a…growing awareness," she admitted as she wound her fingers around his shoulders.

"You know it isn't just me."

"You mean I make every other man in the room as hard as you are right now? I think you overestimate my womanly wiles, Charlie."

"I mean you can't deny you have feelings for me, Doc."

"That's one of the most infuriating things about you," she hissed as he spun her around the dance floor. In a thirty-second conversation, he had managed to raise her ire as much as the sight of her had managed to raise the more insistent parts of his anatomy. "You claim to have knowledge of—to be the master of—everyone else's emotions. You think the world you exist in is so predictable."

"That's because it is," he replied.

His awareness of the room had narrowed to tunnel vision, until she was all he could see. Everything seemed suddenly, inexplicably clear to him, like an optometrist had turned the dial on his life and snapped it all into new focus. He pulled Dylan more firmly against him. The move was decisive, intimate, and there was no more room for misinterpretation. She gazed up at him with jade-green eyes rimmed in smoky eyeliner, and Charlie knew she felt more than just the press of his physical need against her.

"I think I need a drink." Her voice quavered.

"I think you need some air."

"Charlie!" Dylan laughed breathlessly as Charlie pulled her after him. "Charlie, where are we going?"

"The hospital can keep raising funds without us," he said. He glanced both ways down the hall; the lights were low where they stood and completely off further down the wing that held the staff offices. He knew she wouldn't let him lead her far—this wasn't the dance floor. As soon as he felt that expected tug of resistance, he turned.

"Good enough," he decided aloud.

Dylan obviously wasn't expecting his sudden change in direction. She barreled into him, and Charlie took advantage of the moment to grab hold of her and back her into the shadowy alcove around a door.

"Charlie!" she gasped. As soon as her back hit the door, he swooped in.

But Dylan evaded his advance. She turned her head away at the last instant, avoiding his lips. Charlie froze, watching her panicked eyes search the wall beside them. Her hands came up between them to rest against his chest—not pushing back, but not giving way, either. She knew what he wanted and was clearly undecided herself.

"This feels like rejection at the high school dance all over again," he muttered into her hairline.

Dylan laughed despite herself. It was a reluctant, almost panicked sound; her chest heaved a little with it, and he could feel the tight swell of her breasts press themselves against his chest. He stood so close that there was nowhere for them to retreat to, even after her laughter had died off, and he relished finally experiencing the impression of them for himself.

"As if you've ever been rejected by anyone," she commented.

"It's a foreign feeling," he admitted as his hand came up to palm her breast through the thin fabric of her dress. Dylan gasped at the unexpected contact. "Didn't know how much it drove me crazy until I met you."

"Don't," she protested. "Charlie…"

"Tell me you feel it, too." He deepened his touch, pushing past her weakening hands and penetrating her defensive line. "Tell me I'm not alone. Your body gives you away, Doc, but I want to hear you say it with that hot little mouth of yours."

"Oh, God." Dylan moaned at his words, and the last of Charlie's restraint broke. He pressed her back into the door until it strained on its hinges beneath their combined weight. Dylan was a tall woman, especially in heels, but he still managed to dwarf her when he rose to his full height. He just hoped his knee didn't go out…fuck. Did he really just think that? The good doctor was rubbing off on him in all the wrong ways.

Time to make an executive decision. Time to take the future—their future—into his own hands and accept the consequences.

Damn the rules.

Charlie slowly, deliberately, lowered his mouth to her, and took his taste of paradise.