Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 31149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 156(@200wpm)___ 125(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 156(@200wpm)___ 125(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
Before I lay her down, I give him a look. “Sit,” I command, and I feel Maggie go tense in my arms. I look at her and grimace. “Sorry, he’s a wild man.”
Her lips curve. “No, totally fine. Just wasn’t expecting you to be so…”
I raise a brow. “So…?”
“Authoritative,” she says, very slowly and seductively. Or am I making that up because I know what lives in this woman’s head? I have read everything she has written. She has a talent for going from sweet to totally off-the-charts deranged in a matter of pages. She takes pride in the fact that she uses the word cock as a sentence enhancer, and all I really want to know is if what she writes is what she likes.
Because I volunteer as tribute to explore and be at the mercy of whatever this woman wants.
My face is on fire as I swallow thickly and set her down. “I can be.”
“Good to know,” she mutters, but I hear it and I promptly ignore that little comment. Honestly, this could all be head-injury induced. Once she’s healed, she might not look my way at all. Lord knows she hasn’t made any move on me, just a wave here and a smile there. Not that I’ve given her an opening. I run the other way every time I see her.
Because I haven’t been living.
Because finding out what I want to know about her will only feed my obsession. What if she’s freaked out by the fact that I’ve read her books? What if she loves it but doesn’t fall for me like I know I will for her?
There is a reason I read romance—I grew up without love from my parents, both doctors and both too busy for me. So busy, my mom left when I was seven, and then my dad met Tessa’s mom. She sure as hell didn’t like me, and I wasn’t getting any attention from my dad. I have a bad habit of falling hard and not expressing that because I don’t know how. It’s why I moved to where my sister is, so I can have a relationship with her. To show her I’ve grown. But maybe I haven’t, since I won’t put myself out there.
Since I chose work over my sister.
I chose the inside of a book over the outside world.
Why am I the way I am? I have spent years working on myself, but here I am, questioning everything because a concussed hot chick is flirting with me.
Mentally kicking myself in the ass, I make sure she’s comfortable and then turn to wash my hands. Tenille comes in to set up the sutures station, and Mrs. Welch tells her when Maggie’s last tetanus shot was, not that I’m listening. I’m too far into my own head.
Tenille taps my back to tell me she’s done. Before she came to the clinic, she was an ER nurse up in Lake Placid. We only have nurses in the clinic in the mornings since our afternoons are usually dead and Tenille is able to assist me with anything I need. I nod to her as I squeeze my hands into fists to stop them from shaking. When I feel like a confident doctor again, I grab for gloves just as I hear the paper on the table crinkling. I look back to check on Maggie, and Kip has his whole body covering hers, his nose up under her chin as she pets him slowly.
Her eyes meet mine, and I raise my brows. “Kip.” He doesn’t move, doesn’t even acknowledge me. “I know I told you to sit.”
He whines and cuddles deeper into Maggie as she grins widely at me. “But I need snuggles.”
You cannot be jealous of your dog.
But I am.
I shake my head. “Wow, you’re trouble.”
Did I just say that? That is not professional at all.
“Is he talking to you or me? Probably me,” I hear her tell Kip. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s me.”
Damn it, she’s cute.
I swallow hard and ignore the look Tenille is giving me before nodding down to the station she has set up for me. Needing to distract Tenille, I ask, “Ready for me?”
“Yes, Doctor.”
I smile a thanks, still not looking into her eyes, before I push the silver cart to my patient, who has my dog lying across her like a blanket. I give him a look and let out a sigh. “This is not sanitary.”
She grins. “Nope, but that’s small-town living for ya.”
She isn’t wrong, and while I want to fix that since I want her to be safe, I can’t bring myself to tell my dog to move. Instead, I reach out, brushing her hair from the two-inch gash at her temple. Even with gloves on, I can feel the heat from her skin, and I beg to touch more of her.