Trigger Warning: Slight physical harassment near the end of the chapter. Nothing bad to the normal reader but if you're sensitive to these things due to past trauma, please tread carefully.

•  •  •

3

– Jodha –

THE ODOR OF ALCOHOL and cigarette smoke hit me when I walk into the pub, enveloping me in a sparse fog. It's somewhat dark, the music pumping through my veins and I squint, searching for my friends in the crowded place.

Esme is the first to spot me. Her swinging hand catches my periphery, making me grin and return her wave as I make my way towards them. Her cloudy expression bristles me, discomfort lining my stomach, when she chastises me for being late and not taking anyone's calls.

"Do you have any idea how worried we were?"

Surveying my friends, I shrug in apology. "I'm really sorry, guys. I forgot my phone home, that's why I wasn't taking calls."

"You travelled in a stranger's car without your phone?" Esme looks ready to pop, red in the face and mouth scrunching in a tight bow.

A semblance of a shaky smile forms on my lips. "Oops?"

Multiple claps divert our attention, the girls rising to hug me and offer me a chair.

"Chill, Esme," Alice says, passing me a mug of beer. "She's here and safe. That's all that matters."

Esme sighs, a roughened noise of mild annoyance at my level of stupidity. Even my mom would kill me when she realizes that my phone is ringing off the hook at home. Only God knows how that happened in the rush to get here.

"Alright, but I'm dropping you home myself."

"Okay, okay." Knowing Esme, it's better to acquiesce than argue and at this point, there's no other option for me.

A fun song comes on. Bella and Rose hit the dance floor while Alice prances to where the guys are for Jasper. Doctor Cullen is with them. Dressed to perfection in a black turtle-neck and jeans. His sun-touched hair is slicked back, though a small but thick lock is stuck at the side of his forehead. Even in the dim light, he's the epitome of male beauty and broad-shouldered virility – unmatched by and surpassing any other man present.

My teeth pull on my lower lip as he drinks from his glass and tugs gently on the fabric encasing his neck. His swallow is the sexiest thing I've ever seen. His moistened lips glisten in the low light and when he licks the excess liquid off, my mind triggers – fantasizing about things that I've never experienced yet yearn for. Desperate, unfulfilled desire settle deep in my belly. Wanting him as much as I've loved him for over a year. Wondering why I never tell him, even if it results in just one night.

One memorable night is probably all I'll need. To cherish him, see him in a way no other woman ever would. Not even the nurses he flirts with. The ones who never keep their mouths shut when they realize that they were nothing more than a conquest.

One night that would perhaps ruin me.

The same way it ruined them.

There's more to him than what meets the eye...and I want to uncover it all.

He pulls the sleeves of his shirt up, revealing strong forearms and there's no difference between the forceful bass and my thumping heart. He's an enigma, a flaming candle, and I can't help but be drawn to his destructive light.

It's only when my eyes return to his face that I realize he's staring at me. As I've been staring at him. For much longer than intended.

His dark gaze pierces me, even with our distance, ripping open my soul for his viewing. Naked and raw. Rendering me hapless as my breath stills.

Turning away, my trembling hand reaches for my beer and I gulp a large swallow before launching in a sputtering, coughing fit that wracks my entire body. Esme is quick to press a paper napkin into my palm as I heave and my face burns, wondering just how much of a fool I made of myself.

God, I can't face him for the rest of the night.

"Be careful," she chides, albeit in a caring manner – her wide brown eyes pinning me with such an emotive, indecipherable look that is impossible to avert. The merest shift of her gaze over my shoulder clues me in as I pat my mouth and chin dry.

Shaking it off, my fingers shred the paper towel in absentminded strokes. "Yeah, I know," I croak, clearing my throat and feeling meeker than ever. "I'm just...a complete mess this evening."

"We won't have too much alcohol then." She smiles, overwhelming me with her instinctive maternal side. I adore her, but she can be just as overprotective and overbearing as my very own parents. "How about some of those wings?"

Still, her presence and sage advice can be such a blessing for which I am grateful.

With a smile, I nod. "Sounds good."

"Hello, ladies." Emmett's booming voice fills our space. We welcome him with excited grins, his natural joviality contagious, as he straddles a chair. "How are things going over here?"

Esme laughs, tossing her hair behind as she shakes her head at him. "Absolutely first class. Tired of the guys already?"

His cheeky grin persists, stature pin-straight and self-assured. "Oh, I'm always tired of them." He rests a hand on his buff chest, exaggerating a pout. "I just can't bear to see two lovely ladies suffering without my company."

It was my turn to laugh this time.

Just as the music dies.

God help me.

No prudish giggles or fond smiles, which should've been the go-to as the men don't frequently hang out with us. Even more embarrassing when nearby heads swivel in my direction.

Loud and carefree, my sides ache with the force of my mirth – resounding in the momentary silence and I cover my mouth. As my humor wanes, I struggle to perceive what was so funny about Emmett's response – be it his inflated sense of self or genuine comedy. Or perhaps a hysterical by-product of my earlier embarrassment.

Mercifully, the music starts back up with renewed gusto.

Ignoring their astounded looks, I take a tiny sip of beer to stifle residual giggles before relaxing into my seat – certain my expression must be manic with the heat flooding my face no worse than a river of lava.

"I'm so sorry, Em." Patting his forearm, the widemouthed grin is difficult to drop from my face. "I couldn't help it. You're just...so hilarious."

He grins, trying to ruffle my hair at which I feign slapping away. "And you're just so cute."

Esme recovers with a breathless chuckle, her blinks rapid. "I haven't heard you laugh like that in a long while."

I shrug, stumped on how to respond to that as it's quite the shock for me too. "How about a round of those spicy wings?"

"Of course, order as much as you like. Whatever you ladies want is on me tonight."

My body stills. There's no doubt as to whom that dulcet tenor belongs to. Glancing up, an intense cobalt stare heats me as I take in Carlisle's chiseled features. Up close and personal, he is beyond breathtaking and threads of immediate need have my insides tangled up.

Need – to lace my fingers in his thick hair. To trace his sharp, aquiline nose and strong, set jaw. To feel those plump lips on every inch of me.

Each of these simple fantasies leaves my mouth dry and forces me to look away.

"Are you sure?" My attention turns to Esme, who struggles to comprehend his words. "We don't want to impose."

I can feel his gaze on me even as he responds, enervating me more. "I'm perfectly sure, Miss Platt. Don't worry about it. I insist."

"Drinks are on me," Emmett declares, shooting Carlisle a seeming dirty look but the doctor's scrutiny never lets up.

His stare rouses me in unfathomable ways, making my heart race. Something that has never happened before. Especially in the workplace, where we have always kept a distance from each other.

Then it hits me.

It's the same panty-dropping look he gives the nurses he finds attractive. Curious, in a way, and utterly hypnotic. Conquering the poor nurses who are ever eager to share his bed for a short time.

That identical, penetrating look which now targets me with laser focus.

For some reason, an undertone of excitement thrills through me – although I know better.

Esme flags a waitress to make the order while the rest of us request fresh drinks. Risking a quick glance, my relief from his attention is short-lived when he occupies the chair right next to me in one fluid movement. We're completely close and the drum solo in my chest raves on as our shoulders graze. His soft cotton clothing is gentle on my skin; the warmth of his body seeps into me.

He's so comfortable.

A whimper almost escapes me.

"You're in a cheerful mood tonight, Miss Absalom."

A spiced, heady musk assaults my senses, hot breath tickling my ear as his voice carries over the din. Time stands still, drowning my surroundings in a muffled bubble. For a brief moment, it's just us. I suppress the shiver that slithers up my spine.

A hint of shame sears at me but I nod with ample grace and manage a small smile while meeting his eyes. "I try to be. Please call me Jodha while we're here. Formalities are for the workplace, no?"

He chuckles, neon lights casting his face in a magenta hue. "Then you must call me Carlisle."

Oh, I do.

I've whispered it a thousand times in the dead of night, locked away in my bedroom under the covers when my passion needed an outlet. It's a familiar secret. Easy as breathing.

Nodding in acceptance, my smile widens as he scans my face. Maybe roving over every detail. What does he see in me? Our professional dealings never led him to attempt anything amorous with me but he also never displayed blatant interest either. Though avoiding him has been my top prerogative.

Compared to other women, my looks are simple. No makeup cakes my face. Flirting is more of a social hazard for me than an enjoyable, teasing experience.

I love my body more than anything, but I wasn't ignorant of the fact that my physical attributes don't meet the conventional feminine standards that most men are receptive to. Certainly not for the standards of a demi-god like Carlisle, for sure.

Too thin. Too short. Not enough cleavage. Excessively long hair.

I'm just me – plain, simple and real. For that, I'm quite proud.

With this touch of positivity in mind, my favourite song blasts the speakers – the melody overtaking me as my body moves in my seat.

● ● ●

– Carlisle –

HER QUIET, UNEXPECTED BEAUTY startles me. A pretty vision who's used to hiding her true identity it seems. It's no surprise Jodha's just as soft-spoken and welcoming as she is at work. Her innate humility shines through and I find myself unable to keep my eyes away for too long.

The thought doesn't settle well within me but somehow, it's understandable. The few occasions we work together, there are always inevitable forces of high pressure and time constraints. She's not the type to stick around in the office chatting it up with the other folks. We've never had a decent conversation that didn't revolve around work, our interactions reduced to patient updates.

If she is the ward's angel, she has only been a mere employee in my presence – even while maintaining her kind, respectful demeanour.

Then again, the innumerable times my name has topped the hospital grapevine as the most difficult doctor can instill some wariness in anyone.

The rare instance we bump into each other in the corridors never dissolves into a friendly exchange. We simply aren't that way, sharing no camaraderie in any real sense.

Yet our workplace dynamic, while peculiar at best, still manages to complement our personalities.

Until that evening she came to me, surprising me with food and allowing me a fleeting glimpse into her personality.

Now, sitting this close to her – watching as she lets her hair down and have a good time – feels like such a damn sin. Wrong.

Hearing her laughter earlier, a mellifluous song, and seeing her let loose as she moves to the rhythm in her seat...it opens up an entirely new side of her that makes me eager to observe and experience.

Here I am, thinking the next six weeks will consist of me having to suffer with a shy, timid mouse of a girl. Unaware of the confident temptress lurking beneath that nondescript guise.

Esme chews her food in thought, her expression indistinguishable as she steals occasional glances at Jodha who dances in her seat with a level of sophisticated abandon. Perhaps thinking the same as me? It's doubtful. My foot taps an agitated beat under the table, contemplating the new information overriding me.

Far more sensible to assume Jodha's personality changes based on how close she is with someone. Unless drunk or high. Probably.

Being unable to pursue a conversation with her irritates me as Emmett hogs her attention, the fucker making sure to slant a devilish smirk at me as he steals chicken wings from her plate. Whatever his plan is, it'll fail before the night is over and that is when I'll make my move.

For now, I'm content to sit back and enjoy the view.

What a sight it is indeed.

My conscience falters in a twinge of restless guilt as I glance at Esme dabbing the corners of her mouth as she finishes up her box of food. Part of me bleeds at the thought of not dedicating my time to her, especially when the opportunities for getting closer are endless.

Yet the thought of Emmett and the others ruining my plans makes my teeth grit in simmering anger. Nothing is more viable than the urge to shout at the top of my lungs, call this thing off and just admit to Esme what I feel about her. Even if it might not be love at this point, surely it will graduate there?

Nevertheless, there's a self-loathing coward in me and as much as Esme attracts me, there's an even greater urgency to prove that I'm capable of fidelity. That I don't need the 'right' woman to stop my promiscuous ways. That this strength exists within me despite being disintegrated beyond recognition.

In a way, Jodha has become the key to my absolution because I'm so fucking tired of this life.

Signaling for the waitress, my need arises for one last whisky to eradicate any form of rationality. Maybe this small hurrah will clear the muddy slate in my mind.

● ● ●

AS THE YOUTHFUL NIGHT progresses, Jodha's rising passion for dance assails those around her. Esme jokes about the idea of getting it down after a couple more drinks. A cluster of chairs surround two tiny tables pushed together as a pitcher of beer sits precariously on its unsteady parallel, given with the kind compliments of the bar's owner who also seems to be an admirer of Jodha.

Ranveer Kaur, Wolfsbane's boss and Jodha's oldest friend, hovers about our table. Consistent efforts to impress the girl and casual banter flourish as Jodha and the others entertain his company. Perhaps he thinks the way into a girl's panties is to ply her friends with alcohol until they're drunk off their asses.

Props to him for trying though.

My mood has deteriorated to abysmal levels as the rush to garner the girl's attention skyrockets, leaving me struggling to speak to her for at least two minutes.

Not that there's much to complain about. Observing her is a unique journey on its own and the volume of things I've learned about her in the span of two hours is enough to know exactly what's in store for me.

To think that this is her life outside of the hospital stuns me speechless in multiple ways. She's special, alright, but no matter how much I acknowledge it, I still can't see why. There's nothing that sets her apart from other genuine, caring personalities in this small town. Nothing.

Even worse, this girl is a natural people-pleaser. Trying to be with everyone at once. No fucking boundaries at all, especially when Kaur asks her for a dance. There's a momentary stiffness in her body language which no one else seems to catch before her countenance changes in the blink of an eye. She readily agrees to it.

Fucking hell, where is her backbone?

I'm not one to get presumptuous or riled up over someone else's issues – but Jodha is too nice and intelligent of a girl to lack such self-awareness. It's incredulous and inane.

Still, my eyes remain glued to her retreating form as Ranveer leads her to the floor just as an eighty's song comes on. He wraps an arm around her, jolting her close to his body. Nurses Hale and McCarty giggle and nudge each other. The others are lost in conversation, which I mutter a halfhearted reply to when called upon, but my focus is on little Miss Absalom. Strobe lights wind and twist all over the shadowy dancing area, making it impossible to see their faces.

Their bodies, however, are perfect to track as they sway in the same general vicinity. She moves with the grace of an elegant swan, the fierce sensuality of a prowling lioness. Those hips certainly don't lie as she shakes them to the beat. Saliva pools in my mouth, making me swallow hard. My fist tightens over my mouth as the roll of that waist drags me down an unholy path.

Jesus H. Christ, I've lost my goddamn mind to be watching her like this. Yet I'm enthralled, though seeing her in another man's arms borders on voyeuristic. Something slashes at my insides at the sight of them, molten hot and visceral, and I try to regain my sense of self-control.

Damn, she's really special if she has me doing this shit.

When Ranveer tilts her in a slight dip, her jet-black hair fans out in an unmistakable glossy wave. He twirls her and they separate for a bit. She seems sincere in enjoying herself which leads me to believe that she probably knows her limits after all.

Until he pulls her back to him. I'm instantly on the alert, sitting up straighter. Someone calls my name but I'm too caught up in her avoidant reaction towards his advances.

He pulls her closer again, his act seeming almost rough towards the dainty girl. Their faces are still obscured but she seems to be moving with him.

She misses a step, hands pushing up against his chest. My body is possessed, rising unbidden from the chair. She manages to free herself from his grip, turning to walk away, until she's yanked back to him again and he tries to steer her away from where her friends can see.

To the untrained eye, their tense tango is a natural part of dance but I know better than to let him pull this shit with her.

A fiery haze clouds my judgment and renders me a slave to my swift anger. I move faster than I ever have before.

"Carlisle, no!"

My stride is filled with purpose and vengeance as I follow them into the throng of drunken patrons.

I don't think.

I simply act.

● ● ●

Word Count: 3239

Accumulated Word Count: 9045

● ● ●

Hey guys!

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I really don't mean for things to move slow and I'm trying my level best to pick up the pace but damn, it's a struggle. Practically 9k words and I still haven't gotten to the meat of the story yet.

Why do I do this?

If you liked this instalment, please be sure to vote and comment and give me some love. I would really appreciate it. If it was bad, tell me how I can improve.

And if it blew you away (maybe?), don't forget to share the goodness with your friends!

Thank you so very much for reading.

-HEAVEN