MY ALARM ROUSES ME AND I stretch, feeling blissfully rested. This is the first time in ages that I’ve been awakened without wanting to gouge someone’s eyes out. When I come to more, I see that I’m still in Camden Harris’ room. How is it possible I slept better in this chair than in the on-call room?
I glance over at the bed to see Camden’s hand draped over my ankles that are propped by his side. It feels a bit peculiar—his large hands clasping my narrow ankles. Almost like cuddling, which is not something I’m at all familiar with.
Growing up, my parents weren’t the snuggle in bed type. They are both archeologists who still spend all their time in the field, so I rarely see them enough to experience any type of genuine affection. My grandmother who raised me was the same. She believed sending me to year-round boarding schools was what was best, so I only went home a couple of times a year.
Additionally, since my romantic relationships are extremely limited, sleeping with someone, even as innocently as this, is something that feels odd.
I check the time and exhale when I see it’s not yet eight o’ clock. Reality casts over me, along with the light of day. Sickness settles in the pit of my stomach. I just slept all night in the room of a VIP, semi-famous footballer whom I’m supposed to operate on tomorrow. There is a definite blurring of lines happening here.
I stare at his sleeping face and try to remember what possessed me to say yes to him last night, other than the fact that he’s a charming sod. Drunk on the cocktail that is the Camden Harris pheromones, maybe? I mean, honestly, as a twenty-four-year-old female with eyeballs, when a man like him asks you to stay, how can you resist?
My decision to stay may have had something to do with the fact that I want him to be Penis Number One, and it was nice to get to know him a bit to confirm his girlfriend status. Regardless, sleeping with him without sleeping with him is surely something Belle would whack me over the head for. She’s always warned me that Penis Number One types are the heartbreakers.
But she doesn’t realise how easy it is for me to detach from people. My upbringing conditioned me to do just that. Every summer and on holidays, girls left school to go spend time with their families while I was always left behind. Honestly, I didn’t care much either way. Going home wasn’t much different than staying in school. I was still alone. My parents weren’t around most times. Even as an adult, I haven’t seen them since my grandmother died two years ago. They do send cards with sizeable cheques on my birthday and Christmas. Other than that, they continue to live their lives with bones.
Shocked that my alarm hasn’t roused Cam by now, I carefully slip my legs out from his grasp and kill the annoying chirping. I slide my glasses on and smirk as a thought hits me. He noticed I had different glasses on last night.
Shut up, Indie. This is not the time to swoon.
He still hasn’t moved a muscle, so I lean over and press my hand to his throat. I am pleased to feel a pulse and learn that he’s just a heavy sleeper. The nurses will be rounding in here soon. If I hustle, I can get a shower in before Prichard is ready for me.
I smooth down my scrubs and throw my stethoscope around my neck. Shuffling quietly over to the door, I peer out and see the coast is clear. It’s quiet in this VIP wing, so escaping unnoticed shouldn’t be too difficult.
I exhale with relief a moment later when I’m striding past the nurse’s station and realise how easy it was to get away with something. It all felt positively thrilling and even a bit—
“Indie!” a deep voice says, startling the bejesus out of me as I’m fixing my name tag. “You’re here early. Well done. I was just heading to Mr. Harris’ room.”
My heart hammers in my chest as I swerve to find a bright-eyed Prichard staring at me from around the corner. Camden’s sister, Vi, is standing next to him looking fresh as a daisy, which is just offensive at this hour. Where’s this Beardie nurse when you need a pick-me-up?
“Dr. Prichard. I didn’t see you there. I erm…was just checking the vitals of Cam—Mr. Harris and all looks well.” My head is nodding stupidly, but I’m powerless to stop it. “He’s sleeping soundly, so…there’s that.” Shut up, Indie, you sound and look like a moron. Stop moroning!
Prichard puzzles his brow at me while I straighten my mess of hair self-consciously. “Very well then. Glad to hear it. You remember Mr. Harris’ sister, Vi. We’re heading his way to measure his knee for the replacement graft. Since you’re here early, you can join us.”
I hesitate for a split second, really not wanting to go back into Camden’s room already. Part of me was hoping to avoid him until he is knocked out and draped with blue cloths in the OR tomorrow. I really don’t seem to make the best decisions around him.
Plus, the way his sister seems to be staring at me is something I don’t really want to stick around for. I don’t know how Camden handles all his family hovering and meddling all the time. It’s seven-thirty in the morning for goodness sake and he already has a visitor. I’m surprised one of them didn’t sleep over with him last night. All that togetherness and rule by committee nonsense would seriously drive me mad.
But I’m also not willing to lose out on this surgery. So, despite my nerves, I follow the good doctor and Vi like the perfect little student I always was.
Time to put on your business face, Indie. No awkwardness. Just professionalism.
Prichard waltzes in and heads over to the window to open the drapes instead of flicking on the harsh overhead lighting. Vi reaches Cam’s bed and begins shaking his arm in an attempt to wake him.
“Mmmm…yes,” Camden’s voice murmurs sleepily in a deep, throaty timbre. “Stroke lower, Indie. Don’t be shy,” he finishes and I swear on my life, I almost puke.
“Camden!” Vi shouts and punches him hard in the stomach. “You pig!”
He harrumphs and lets out a blast of air, wincing against her mighty blow. “Fuck, my knee! Bloody hell!” He reaches down to grasp his leg as I watch the entire scene in horror.
“Don’t bloody hell me, you pervert!” Vi chastises him like a scolding mother.
“I was sleeping! I can’t help it!” His eyes finally open more and immediately land on me. His lashes are dark and hooded around his sapphire blues. Damn, he even looks sexy now—horny, sleepy pig and all. “It was some dream,” he adds, scowling down at the chair where I was lying moments ago. He looks at me and my cheeks feel as if they are going to melt right off my face.
Prichard’s deep chortle distracts all of us. “Well, I can’t say the boy doesn’t have good taste.” He looks over at me, not the slightest bit bemused.
I straighten my glasses and frown. What is happening right now? If these blokes think I’m the hot, nerdy librarian type, they are going to be sorely disappointed. Those are the types that pull a pencil out of their buns and their silky locks tumble down to their shoulders, right? I can’t even remember the last time I brushed my hair.
Despite my intense discomfort over this entire situation, I smile politely and glance back to Camden, who’s lost all good humour on his face. He’s indiscreetly shooting daggers at Prichard, making me want to throw up again. If I could cover myself in an invisibility cloak and disappear, I totally would.
Prichard clears his throat and finally begins explaining to Cam and Vi where the scope incisions will be located on Cam’s knee, all while taking measurements. Cam listens intently but keeps eyeing me over his shoulder with a smouldering look that’s thankfully going unnoticed by everyone else.
“Indie will be on one side, running scope two,” Prichard adds, “And I’ll be here, running scope one. Then we’ll make one more incision for the camera to show us what we’re doing in there. It’s a minimally invasive surgery and, because of this new 3D grafting technique, there won’t be any need for bone drilling.” Cam’s nostrils flare in response to the last part, but Prichard doesn’t seem to notice and continues, “You’ll be able to go home the same day.”
“So one more night here and I’m good as new?” Camden asks, his voice stiff.
“Nearly,” Prichard answers. “You’ll feel normal when you go home. You’ll start physical therapy immediately. But to get back your full mobility on the pitch, you need to have the graft removed, which is why we’ll have you come back in one month for the follow-up surgery.”
“It’ll take a day or two for the swelling to go down around the incisions both times,” I add, feeling Camden’s tension and trying to calm his nerves. “But exercise is actually good for helping your incisions to heal.”
“But no football?” he asks Prichard.
“Not straight away. After the second surgery, you’re welcome to train at one hundred percent. Unfortunately, your season is over for this year, but there’s always next year, right mate?”
Camden looks down and nods, seemingly far away with his thoughts.
“Indie will take you for another MRI this morning. It’s always good to repeat after the swelling has gone down to make sure there’s nothing else we’re dealing with. We don’t like surprises in the OR if we can help it.”
My blood turns cold as I think about being alone with Cam again after last night. After our ICU kiss, it’s not a good idea. “I’ll get an intern on it,” I respond, pulling out my mobile to page one of them.
Prichard frowns at my lack of enthusiasm. Normally, I always do what he says, but I’m praying he lets this one time pass without a fight. I need some space.
“Well, make sure it’s a good intern. This is important,” Prichard orders before turning to say his goodbyes to Cam and Vi. I hurriedly follow him out of the room, anxious to get away from Camden’s confusing emotions that I seem to feel instinctively. I glance over my shoulder and lock eyes with him one last time. I am overcome by my desire to know what he’s thinking, but I have to disconnect. I have a full day of patients ahead of me. Additionally, if I still want him to be Penis Number One, I need to keep my distance.
Time flies through the day. By the time evening comes, I feel as if I’ve run a marathon. At dinner time, Belle flops down across from me in the hospital cafeteria. “Where the hell have you been all day?” she asks, picking up her apple and rolling it in her hands.
I glance down at her tray where only a Kit Kat remains. I would laugh at her odd combo, but I know she’s always on a weird diet so it’s best to just let her be.
I wrap my mouth around a spoonful of chicken noodle soup, hoping to buy myself some time, so she adds, “I woke up this morning and you were gone. I didn’t see you for lunch. Now it’s nighttime and, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were avoiding me. We always eat dinner together.”
“I’m not avoiding you. I’ve just been swamped and I had a four-hour-long surgery today.” Which is mostly true.
The fact is, after I left Camden’s room this morning, I wasn’t sure my poker face could hold up in front of Belle. I’m not ready to talk about everything so avoiding her was vital. Thankfully, it was a busy day in Patch Alley, so I really was just busy.
She hasn’t been the only one I’ve been avoiding. I checked in on Cam’s digital chart and managed everything I needed to do for him via an intern so I didn’t actually have to step foot in his room. The intern said he had people swarming in and out the entire day, so I’m sure he hasn’t even noticed.
“I knew Prichard would start rounds early because of the Harris brother, too, so that’s why you missed me this morning,” I add after downing the last bit of my soup. “I got up early to suck up to him as much as possible to ensure my position on the surgery tomorrow.”
“Oh, right. The Wilson Repair. Of course you’ll be on the surgery. You’re Prichard’s favourite and the best one for the job, you lucky cow.”
Lucky isn’t quite the word I’d use. I seem to be on Prichard’s rotation most weeks as of late, and his demeanour around me is getting more and more uncomfortable. But I’m interested in ortho, so I’m doing my best to grin and bear it.
“The whole hospital will be talking about you even more than they already do,” Belle adds, her expression full of mirth. “The third years are all moaning behind your back already.”
I roll my eyes. “Nothing different there.”
“But this will shut them up once and for all. This will prove that you are not only a book doctor. You’re a surgeon. They know it but are too stubborn to admit it.”
I gaze back at my friend, who’s now focusing intently on her green apple, and I instantly feel tremendous guilt for not telling her about last night. She’s such a loyal friend. Why am I keeping this from her?
“Well, hello, hello,” a voice calls from behind Belle just as she takes a massive bite of her apple. I look up to see a hairier version of Camden striding toward us.
Tanner Harris flops down in the open seat beside me. He strokes his beard and Belle’s mouth freezes on her apple. He flicks his head back, clearing his shaggy blonde hair away from his face and says, “Dr. Porter, am I right? Or would you rather be called Indie like that other prat of a doctor called you?”
“If she’s a doctor, you should call her Dr. Porter. It’s rude to call her anything else,” says another voice as yet another Harris brother takes the open seat next to Belle. Her mouth is still locked on the apple, causing him to eye her quizzically.
I recognise this brother as the youngest one, Booker. I was introduced to all of them when I explained the surgery to the family yesterday. He has a slightly lower muscle tone than his twin brothers, but is still tall and broad. Trim, dark hair matches his dark, sensitive eyes. Christ, these Harrises are even more handsome in street clothes. Even the hairy one.
Tanner eyes Belle as her bite remains frozen on her apple mid-bite. “Are you just here as a table decoration? Or does that apple actually come out of your mouth?”
I smile as Belle’s dark eyes turn to saucers. She completes her chomp down on the fruit, wiping away a dribble of juice that slithers down her chin.
“This is Dr. Ryan,” I add. “Definitely not here for decoration.”
“You can call me Belle,” she adds, her voice wobbly.
“This is Booker. I’m Tanner,” he says, leaning in closer, his voice dropping an octave. “Nice to meet you, Dr. Ryan. You’re much too pretty to be just a table decoration.”
He shoots her a wink and Belle giggles nervously. Her eyes look a bit too wide to be natural, but I don’t know how to make her stop.
“Tell me, Doc,” Booker says, addressing me with a thoughtful look. “What kind of meds have you prescribed our brother today? He’s a moody sod and he’s just kicked us all out of his room.”
I cloud up. “What do you mean? Is he feeling all right?”
Booker shrugs. “Seemed okay. We were talking football like we always do and he flipped out on us out of nowhere. Told us to go bug someone else. Don’t get me wrong. He is always an arse, but this arse was of a particularly bitchy variety.”
“Our dad sent us to look for you,” Tanner adds. “He thinks maybe Cam is in more pain than he’s letting on.”
The notion bothers me so I can’t help myself from asking, “Maybe he’s just ready for some space? It’s almost eight o’clock at night. I’m sure he’s exhausted. Pain meds make you drowsy, so to fight sleep this long isn’t a pleasant feeling.”
“Harrises don’t really do space,” Tanner replies, sitting back in his chair and stretching his legs out. “Something is up with him.”
I nod, taking note of their concerned expressions. “I’ll go check on him,” I say as I stand up from the table with my tray. My shift is over, but I’m invested in this surgery that’s happening tomorrow so this is my issue.
“You’re leaving?” Belle hisses while not-so-subtly head nodding to the brothers still seated at the table with her.
“Yeah. A-list patient and all that.” I give her a “you’ll be fine” lift of the brow and scamper off, ignoring the cracks Camden’s brothers make about VIP standing for Very Important Prick.
When I get to the private wing, I see Mr. Harris pacing outside Camden’s room with his mobile clamped tightly against his ear. He’s speaking in hushed tones, but when he sees me approaching, he cuts off whomever is talking and abruptly hangs up.
“Dr. Porter, hi,” he says, eyeing me seriously.
I smile politely as I gaze into the blue eyes of an older, more weathered version of Camden. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, and still extremely fit for a middle-aged man. I never knew I could be attracted to the silver fox variety. Prichard has never pinged much on my radar, even though I know he’s attractive and the nurses all constantly swoon over him. But I would certainly make an exception for Vaughn Harris.
“Doc, I think my son might be in some pain. He’s been quite testy all day, which isn’t like him. He’s usually…well, all of my boys are always very light-hearted. They don’t let much trouble them, so I’m thinking he might need something to take the edge off. Can you help him with that?”
I nod sympathetically. “Of course, I was just going in to check on him.”
“Cheers, cheers. That other doctor was here a minute ago, but Cam doesn’t seem to like him much. I don’t care for him either, to be frank, but I’ve done my research and I know he’s skilled.”
“Yes, very much so. Cam—I mean, Mr. Harris is in good hands with him. You’re very lucky.”
“Exactly. Cam’s fine. It’s probably nothing.” He purses his lips and squints, causing the crow’s feet around his eyes to stack on top of one another. “But if you can deal with him as much as possible, I think that’d be wise. He seems to like you.”
“Absolutely. I’ll take good care of him.”
“Excellent. We’re all heading home. He doesn’t want us here anymore. I erm…won’t be here for the surgery tomorrow, but here’s my number. Can you text me when he’s out?”
“You won’t be here?” I ask quizzically. Every time I’ve come down this wing, I’ve seen Camden’s dad outside his door on his mobile. I assumed he’d be here for the actual procedure.
“No. I’ve got an early meeting.” He looks around uncomfortably, almost as if he’s just now realising he’s standing in a hospital. He moves to walk away but turns around and places a surprising hand on my shoulder. “Thank you, Dr. Porter. This procedure will save my son’s life.”
I grimace at his choice of words and, before I can stop myself, I reply, “Mr. Harris. This isn’t a life-threatening injury. Some people never get their ACL tears repaired. Not athletes, I know, but I just want to make sure that you understand he’s going to be okay, with or without the surgery.” I say it with a smile and in a polite tone, but I feel anything but courteous. In fact, I’m feeling a bit of annoyance toward all the Harrises. I want Cam to have the surgery more than anyone. It’d be huge for my career, but it feels as if everyone is more concerned about football than they are about Camden.
Vaughn smiles in a patronising way. “Doc, you’ve dedicated a lot of hard work and years of education to get where you are, haven’t you?”
“Yes, of course.”
He leans his head down to meet my eyes. “My Camden has done the same thing. Football to us…is our life. It’s more than that really. In ways I can’t even begin to describe. So please, just get us through this. That’s all I’m asking.”
He looks as if he’s saying so much more with his eyes than he can say with words, but it’s not something I’m privy to understanding. Regardless, this isn’t really an argument to be having with a patient’s father. “I’ll do my very best, Mr. Harris. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.” I smile genuinely.
He smiles back. “No need to be sorry. I’m just glad he has a doctor who cares.”
Seemingly soothed enough to bid me farewell, he strides away without looking back. I turn and push open Cam’s door, bracing myself for the hotness of this particular footballer, only to find an empty bed with an empty knee brace resting upon it.
Frowning, I see the light on in the attached toilet and hear water running. “Cam—Mr. Harris?” I call out, pushing the door open slightly. “Are you in here?”
When there’s no reply, I take a tentative step in and eye the walk-in shower. The white curtain is drawn and steam is billowing out from the top. “Cam?” I call out again a bit louder. Still nothing. Feeling suddenly nervous by his lack of response, my emergency training takes over and I yank back the curtain. I find him sitting on the floor with his back against the tiled wall as water cascades down over him.
“Camden, what happened? Are you all right?” I ask, squatting down beside him and checking for a pulse on his wrist. His head is dropped and he’s hunched over but I feel a steady beat. I pull my flashlight out of my pocket to check his pupils. His eyes are pinched shut and when I attempt to pry one open, he startles with a jump. The sudden jolt sends me flying backwards onto my rear and right under the heavy stream.
“Cam!” I screech, scrambling my way out of the water as my soaked scrubs cling to my body in a matter of seconds.
“Fuck, Indie!” he exclaims as he grabs hold of my wrist and yanks me toward him and out of the water.
It’s then that I find myself unceremoniously draped over a completely naked and completely rock-hard professional footballer. “You’re naked,” I croak, pushing myself off his wet chest. I’m childishly grateful that his legs are bent enough to conceal his manhood so I’m not completely scandalised.
“One usually is inside the shower.” His wet face has the nerve to look confused as he squints at me through the steam. Realising I’m staring, I quickly stand up and turn my back to him, but it wasn’t until after I caught sight of his…well, to give it the technical term…penis.
“Are you all right?” I ask with a shaky voice.
“Yes. Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You were unresponsive!” I reply in challenge.
He sighs heavily. Clearly agitated, he asks, “What are you doing in here, Indie?”
“I came in to check on you and found you passed out in the shower!” I gesticulate wildly as I find his face in the reflection of the mirror. He’s scowling at me while his eyes trail down my back. Why do I have to explain myself? He’s the one who shoved me into the water. “I thought you were having a seizure or something.”
“I was fine. I was just sleeping.” His voice drips with annoyance.
“You were sleeping in the shower?” I stare ahead in disbelief.
“Yeah, I’ve done it before. It’s not that hard. And after having my family up my arse all day, I’m exhausted.”
“Oh,” I say in an exhale as reality tumbles in around me. He was sleeping. Not in the most conventional of places, but still. He’s a grown man and I just swooped in and…God, I’m an arse. And now I’m also drenched.
My eyes flicker down over my shoulder to find his are still lingering on my backside. Despite his annoyed tone, his expression is one of amusement.
“If you laugh, I’m kicking you in your bad knee,” I snap, grabbing a hand towel and wiping down my glasses before putting them back on my face.
He chuckles and says, “Oh God, don’t. I’m not sure how I’m going to stand up from here as it is.”
I roll my eyes and turn to cut the shower off without looking down at him. I toss a towel over my shoulder. “Come on now, let me help.” I turn and hold my hand out to him. “And I hope you feel properly emasculated after this.”
He grips the towel against his abs to conceal himself and slips his other hand in mine. Using me for balance more than strength, he stands up, putting all his weight on his good leg. His towel slips off as he steadies himself against the wall.
My eyes shoot up to the ceiling, but now that we’re standing only inches apart, I can feel him watching me. “Mind grabbing that for me and finding out just how emasculated I am?”
My face screws up in disgust. “Your sister is right. You are a pig.” I grab him a fresh towel from the non-penis-level towel bar before getting one for myself. I begin dabbing at my soaked clothes and hair. “This is useless. I’m soaked all the way through.”
“Best just take them off.” He squints at me while tightening his towel around his waist. Seriously. Washboard abs are a real thing apparently. “Are you wearing white under there?” he asks. “White and wet are almost as fun of a combination as oil and water.”
I roll my eyes at his blatant come-on. “I can’t leave here like this. I’m not even supposed to be working right now. My shift is over. This looks so bad.”
“Just wrap yourself in this towel and I’ll find you something to wear.” He pierces me with a blatant challenge as he holds a towel out to me. “Or are you too shy?”
His expression is knowing, as if he’s certain there’s no way I’ll strip down in front of him. Because of that, some dark place inside of me wakes up. I want to wipe that smirk off his face and prove I’m not some innocent, naïve little girl he can predict.
I tuck his towel under my arm, turn on my heel, and sludge my soggy feet across his room. Then I click the lock on his door. When I turn back, he’s limping into the room toward his bed. He quirks a brow at the sound of the lock.
Without hesitating, I peel my scrub top off over my head. His eyes drift down to my wet, white cotton bra, and the flicker in his gaze makes my insides clench. It feels so wrong but so right at the same time. He licks his lips as I take my time wrapping the towel around my chest, enjoying the feel of his heated eyes on me. The lust crackling in the air between us is intense and—
Oh my God, it’s turning me on!
Even knowing this, I still don’t want to stop. I can’t stop. Some dormant inner sex kitten has awakened inside of me and completely taken over my body. I’m now being commanded by my vagina and that duplicitous brain of mine is on a holiday in Yorkshire for all I know. Maybe it’s this room. It doesn’t even feel like the hospital. It feels like a hotel room. A hotel room where very bad things can happen.
When I conceal myself under the towel, I hear a growl of frustration come from somewhere in his throat. Satisfied, I skillfully kick out of my shoes and shimmy out of my pants, underwear, and finally, my bra.
We stand facing each other in matching towels, completely bare underneath. The only thing separating us is ten feet and a single piece of fabric. The realisation of that fact causes our breaths to come heavier than before. I can’t stop appreciating the full fleshy sight of him in nothing but a towel. Good God, he really is nothing short of male, human anatomy perfection.
“Impressive,” he states deadpan.
I don’t know if he’s referring to my body or my skilled act of getting naked under a towel. Either way, my voice is shaky when I reply, “Can you get me those clothes now, please?”
I fear if he doesn’t get me clothes, I will do something even more stupid than this moment right now, which is already catastrophically senseless.
He remains frozen in place.
“Please, Camden?” I ask again and cross my arms over my chest. “Your night nurse might be coming any minute.”
He glances at the clock. “Actually, we have a whole hour.”
“Are you sure?” My nakedness doesn’t feel as empowering as it did initially.
“Positive,” he murmurs as he grabs his brace up off the bed and deftly secures it over his injured knee. He finishes and stands up straight, mirroring my pose by folding his arms over his chest. His biceps widen and flex, and my eyes take note of the veins running the length of his forearms.
“I’ll get you some clothes, but I’ve got a bone to pick with you first and it has nothing to do with the one you’re slicing into tomorrow.” His familiar challenging eye twinkle is back and it’s actually kind of comforting.
“We’re not slicing into your bone tomorrow, Camden.” I roll my eyes.
“Semantics,” he grumbles. His damp chest rises with a deep breath before he continues, “You seemed awful keen on avoiding me today.”
I frown, shocked by his accusation that I never saw coming. “I had somewhere to be,” I retort, marching closer to him to state my case. I’m stunned to see a flicker of hurt in his eyes, but he quickly conceals it. My voice softens, “And it’s a good thing I left when I did or Dr. Prichard might have caught me in here.”
His blue eyes narrow further, his lashes covering the colour almost entirely. “Why didn’t you want to take me for my MRI? I’ve heard you’ve been around. My family have all talked to you. That intern. But despite the fact that you are my doctor, not theirs, you avoided me like I had a bad case of herpes, which I know is fully cleared up right now.”
“You have herpes?” I screech and slap my hand over my mouth, afraid of drawing his nurse’s attention outside.
“Fuck no, Indie. It’s a bloody joke.”
“Why would you joke about a lifelong STD?”
He scoffs and drops his hands to his hips. “You have my damn medical chart. You’d know if I had herpes.”
He’s right. For a moment I forgot I am his doctor.
“Would it disappoint you if I had herpes?” he asks, his tone far too serious.
“Yes! What the hell are you going on about?”
“Why would it bother you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why would you care if I had an STD?”
“Because it’s herpes. It’d be weird if I wasn’t bothered. And…” I falter.
“And what?” he volleys.
“And I’m…”
“And what?” he snaps.
“And I’m interested in you!”
His brows lift. “Are you? Because as far as I can tell, you’re just a bird who fell asleep in a chair and buggered off without another word. Our bodies have barely touched.”
“Oh, sod off. It was more than that.” The words feel stroppy in my mouth.
“You left without a word. That was a bloke move and I didn’t like it.” His arms flex and my eyes fall to that perfect V-line peeking out from his towel. How is it that all footballers seem to have that V? How is it that I’m still ogling his half naked body right now?
“Camden, I’m your doctor. You are my patient.” I exhale, trying to get a hold of myself. “This whole thing is an ethical disaster that I can’t seem to get away from. Bloody hell, what did you expect this morning? Breakfast in bed and a goodbye snog?” I grumble.
Is this real life? Is Camden Harris seriously insecure over me? I can’t even comprehend this logic. He’s one of the hottest footballers in London. But looking at his face, I’d venture to say he’s hurt and that my sharp tongue isn’t helping matters.
“Christ, I’m sorry, all right?” I add.
His brows lift in shock, as if he’s impressed that after all that I apologised.
“Are you herpes sorry?” His hard eyes hide a playful twinkle.
“I don’t even know what that means,” I groan.
A soft laugh shakes his shoulders. “Fine, let’s get back to that goodbye kiss you mentioned.” He begins moving toward me with slow, tender steps. I could laugh at how easy it is for him to change course, but even with an injury, Camden Harris moving toward me is no joking matter. Those intense eyes make me forget all about why I tried to avoid him all day.
“What about a goodbye kiss?” I ask, the pitch of my voice suddenly deeper. My treacherous gaze moves to his bare chest and curves over to his half-sleeved arm. I never knew I liked tattoos until I saw his.
“The way I see it, that kiss we had in the ICU seems like a long time ago. All day, I’ve been trying to determine if it was as good as I remember, or if it was just the adrenaline from my injury. Let’s see if those sparks are still there. Then we’ll know if these risks are worth the rewards.”
I’m pretty sure I should be offended by his last remark, but I’m too busy staring at his lips as he comes within inches of my face. His warm breath is mixing with mine and it’s an intoxicating combination. It invigorates a completely different part of my brain—the part that acts on raw feelings and emotion. Primitive in nature.
But the right side of my brain knows that what we’re doing could get me into serious trouble and maybe even cost me my job. But his scent. His face. His body. His being is so overwhelming and exciting, I can’t think straight. My hormones have completely taken my body hostage.
How can one person seem so very wrong but so very right all at the same time?
“I like the red specs,” he murmurs before his arms snake around my waist and pull me to him. My hands land on his bare chest. The sensation of his skin against mine and the wrongness of it all are exactly what urge me on.
“I’m going to kiss you again.” His lips flutter so close to mine it already feels as if we’re kissing.
“Are you sure we—” My weak response is cut off by the unapologetic fervor of his mouth on mine. I squeeze out a surprised moan as he smothers me with his hard body and slides his tongue forcefully into my mouth. Reflexively, my eyes roll to the back of my head as my limbs desperately grope every square inch of his upper body, searching, pleading, grasping for some sense of sanity. Some sense of awareness of my surroundings. Some lifeline to pull me out of this danger.
But I don’t find it. I only find mounds of hard, roped, and incredibly smooth muscle. God, does it feel good. And bad. And oh, so right. He’s consuming me as if I’m Christmas dinner and he hasn’t eaten in months. I nearly squeal with excitement when his right hand drops to my towel-covered arse and palms it decadently.
He pulls me snuggly against his crotch.
Against his erection.
It’s in that one pump of his hips that I realise with a thunderous thud of my heart that the playboy flirt who kissed me when he came into Patch Alley yesterday is gone.
Instead, he is replaced by a sinfully arousing and totally mind-blowing conqueror that is Camden Harris.
And I am screwed.
