by Kimberly Fox
“Any idea when I’ll be able to leave?” he asks, looking up at me with worried eyes.
I sigh as I look down at him. I’m trying to get him out of here as fast as I can, but I’ve done everything I can think of. I even sent his case to a dozen different specialists around the country, hoping for some clarity.
“Not sure,” I say with a tightness in my chest. “I’d like to run some more tests.”
He shifts uncomfortably in the hospital bed. “Because my daughter is getting married next week and—”
“I know,” I say, holding my hand up. I have enough pressure on me to get him well without the added pressure of getting him to his daughter’s wedding. This is hard enough on me, and I don’t want to have to think about him lying in an empty hospital room as his daughter walks down the aisle by herself.
I rub my forehead as he starts to tell me all about her.
I can’t. This is a line I don’t want to cross.
If I can’t release him in time, the image of his daughter—who I now know is an elementary school teacher—skipping her wedding dance with her father because of my inadequacies will weigh on my shoulders and haunt me for the rest of my life.
The less I know, the better. So, I cut him off.
“I’m going to take some more blood and send you for an electrocardiogram,” I say, interrupting him as he tells me about the archway he was building for his daughter’s big day.
He pinches his lips closed and nods. “Thank you, doctor.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Thatcher.” That’s better. This is a formal relationship. No need to get personal.
I take a deep breath as I leave his room. My heart starts racing because I know who’s up next. The one I’ve been thinking about for the past two days, the one I’ve been dreaming about, the one who makes Mr. Sparkles beg for a time-out.
Three nurses are in Shane’s room, and a low territorial growl escapes from my throat when they all start giggling.
Shane is lying on his hospital bed with his gown bunched around his waist. He’s proudly showing the horny nurses the many scars on his body.
He points to a five-inch scar on his hard abs as the three girls lean forward. They’re so entranced by his words that they don’t hear me walk in.
“I got this one during practice when I tried my first backflip,” he says, turning his hips as he talks. His abs flex with the movement, and I have to swallow the excess saliva flooding into my mouth. “I broke my left arm on that one, and snapped my ankle,” he says, smiling like his gruesome injury is a fond memory.
The three nurses each take turns touching the scar, their fingers lingering on his hard abs. My jaw hurts from clenching it so hard. Okay. I’ve seen enough.
I cough loudly, and the three of them jerk their heads back, looking at me with guilty eyes like kids caught with their hands in a cookie jar.
“I’d like some alone time with my patient,” I say, narrowing my eyes on them. It’s their lack of work ethic that’s causing my breath to come out coarser and making my stomach harden. It’s not because I’m jealous.
Definitely not because of that.
Takara and Carol’s cheeks are still red as they hurry past me, trying to stifle their giggles. Shondra stops beside me and leans into my ear. “Did you see Mr. Motorcycle’s parking brake?” she whispers. “It’s huge.”
My cheeks get so hot that I might end up in the burn ward.
She just giggles before waving at Shane and joining the other two nurses outside.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Winters,” I say, trying to sound professional as I look down at my clipboard. The blurry image of his naked torso is so distracting that I can’t read anything on his file.
“Hello, Madison,” he says in a smooth voice. A voice that has been running through my head for the past two days.
“Did they take good care of you while I was gone?” I ask, grabbing two latex gloves from the box on the counter. He’s the only patient I don’t want to wear these with. They hide the nice feel of his warm skin under my fingertips.
“The one male nurse in the entire hospital was the one to give me my sponge bath,” he complains. “Who the hell set that up?”
“I don’t know anything about that,” I mumble as I look down at the clipboard with guilty eyes. “Did he have gentle hands?”
“I’m trying to erase it from my memory.” He covers his eyes with his hand, and I take the opportunity to admire his chiseled stomach. He’s the perfect specimen. His picture should be in biology textbooks under Hot Alpha Male. It definitely would have made studying a lot more fun.
“Let’s get down to business,” I say as I snap on the gloves and walk over. “The MRI showed that the swelling in your spine has decreased. Has any feeling returned to your feet?” It better or we’re in trouble.
He shoots me a sexy grin as he wiggles his toes. “Remember,” he says, batting eyelashes that I would kill for. “We have a deal. When I walk again, I’m taking you out.”
“I don’t recall agreeing to any deal,” I say as I slide the stethoscope into my ears. I place the diaphragm onto his massive tattooed chest and listen to his heart. Thump thump. Thump thump. Thump thump. The beautiful sound of his heart beating awakens every nerve in my body, and a tingling sensation rockets through me. It sounds like paradise, and I could listen to it forever. The only thing that would make it better would be to lay my ear on his chest and listen that way.
“Your heart sounds good,” I say, nodding professionally.
“I hope so,” he says with a grin. “It’s beating for you.”
I sigh as I turn to him. “Mr. Winters—”
“Shane.”
I huff out a breath. Maybe I have a little, tiny, itsy-bitsy sliver of a crush on my patient, but I’m not going to do anything about it. I’m not going to cross that line no matter how hard my heart beats when he smiles at me, or no matter how much I’m fantasizing about removing his gown and giving him a full body exam—with my tongue. It’s just not going to happen.
“Mr. Winters,” I repeat with a little oomph in my voice as I pull out a tongue depressor. “I’d rather you keep your mouth closed at all times, but for one short exception, please open it.”
He grins before opening his mouth nice and wide. Wow. His teeth are so straight and white, and I can’t help but admire them before I place the depressor on his tongue. He’s staring me in the eyes the entire time as I try not to think about his tongue and all the amazing things it’s capable of.
“Looks good,” I say as I quickly check the back of his throat and then toss the depressor into the garbage.
I raise my ophthalmoscope to his bright green eyes next and see that his pupils are dilated as he watches me. His sparkling eyes shine seductively, and for some reason, I hold my breath the entire time while I check them.
“All right,” I say as I stand up off the bed. “I’m going to examine your legs now.”
“Before you do that,” he says. “I want to remind you that we have a deal.”
“Our only deal is that I provide you with medical advice and care in exchange for your payment to the hospital.”
He shakes his head. “Not that deal. The other one. You agreed.”
“You agreed,” I snap back. “I don’t date patients.”
“What if I get a new doctor?” he asks, biting his bottom lip as he looks me up and down. I’m wearing my tight jeans—the ones that hug my hips—and a shirt that’s lower cut than what I normally wear to work. I also left my lab coat in my office today.
All coincidence of course.
“Would you date me then?” he asks.
“You’re going to get a new doctor just so I’ll go out with you?” I ask, staring at him in disbelief.
“I’m going to do whatever I can so you’ll go out with me,” he says. He looks so cocky lying there, looking me up and down with the sexiest green eyes on the planet. Not many guys can pull off a hospital bed, but Shane sure as shit can.
I cringe when I picture him asking my boss if he can get assigned to a new doctor. Mitchell is looking for any excuse to fuck with my career because Anabelle won’t call him back, so I can’t take that chance.
“Fine,” I say as my back stiffens impossibly tight.
“You’ll go out with me?” he asks, perking up in his bed with a wide grin on his face.
I try to convince myself that I’m doing it to save my career, but would my chest be fluttering like this if it was all business?
“When you walk again,” I say in a tight voice. “We can have a coffee. For ten minutes.”
He’s grinning. I hate that he won.
But Mitchell is looking for results, and since Mr. Thatcher still isn’t diagnosed, I have to give Shane a little encouragement.
“You won’t regret it,” he says.
“I already do,” I say, shaking my head. “Now can we start the exam?”
“Start away,” he says, leaning back on the pillow. His chest and abs are still showing, and my brain wants to tell him to cover up, but my ovaries are in control.
And my ovaries are enjoying the view.
My fingers start tingling as I sit on the edge of his bed and pull the blanket off his feet. Even his feet are hot. Long and powerful, but I shouldn’t have guessed anything less from a guy with a footlong cock like his.
I guess I don’t really need the gloves. I mean, he’s not contagious, and neither am I.
I snap the gloves off my hands and stuff them into my pocket before I can convince myself that breaking regulations is a bad idea.
My pulse starts racing as I take his feet in my hands and gently massage them. He lets out a low moan—or maybe that was me.
I’ve never had a foot fetish before, but I’m ready to sign up for a lifetime membership.
“Do you feel this?” I ask.
“It feels good,” he says with a moan as he closes his eyes and rests his head on the pillow.
“I didn’t ask you if it felt good,” I say, looking at him over my shoulder with a heated glare. “I asked if you felt it. This is an examination. Not a foot massage.” If it was, I would be lighting some candles and slathering on the oil.
“I feel it,” he says with a growl as I slide my hands down to his heels.
“This?” I ask, gently squeezing his foot as I move my fingers up to his ankles.
“Oh yeah,” he says in a voice that sounds like a moan.
I narrow my eyes on him as I turn back. Is he actually getting off on this?
But I shouldn’t talk. Having my hands on his warm skin has awakened the beast between my legs. It’s growling for me to go higher up to his long, hard—
“How high are you going to go?” he asks with a smirk as I feel his powerful calves.
I swallow hard as I pass his knees and see the impressive size of his huge thighs. His gown is bunched up over his cock, and the hungry demon between my legs is screaming at me to remove it.
“I think this is far enough,” I say, taking a deep breath as I jump off the bed and turn away from him. My heart is pounding in my ears as my body overheats.
“I’m free tonight,” he says as I walk over to the sink to catch my breath. “Are you?”
“I’m not sure if I want to know what you have in mind, but I’m working,” I say, washing my hands with freezing cold water. I would spray some on my face to cool off, but that would be too obvious. “I’m on a twelve-hour shift.”
“When is your break?”
“I’m a doctor,” I say, leaning on the sink as I turn back to him. “I don’t get breaks.”
“You can’t squeeze out ten minutes?” he asks with a mischievous grin.
My eyebrows curl together as I try to understand what he’s getting at. I realize it when he swings his legs off the bed as he smiles at me.
He’s holding the bunched-up gown over his cock with one hand as he grabs the bars on the bed to stabilize himself with the other.
“Wait,” I say, rushing over. “Put your gown on first.”
“Good idea,” he says with a smirk. “We’ll save that for after our date.”
I try to roll my eyes, but the giggle bubbling out of my lips ruins it. I help him slip the gown back on, gulping out loud as my fingers graze his round tattooed shoulders.
“Now, go slow,” I say, ready to help him if he falls. But he’s so big, with broad shoulders and a powerful back, that the only thing I could do if he tips over is help soften his fall as he crushes me under his weight.
His face is focused as he drops his feet to the floor and slowly shifts his weight onto his heels. His sexy arm is flexed as he holds onto the bar, and—being the helpful doctor that I am—I wrap my hands around his flexed bicep to help him out.
With a grunt, he stands up on wobbly legs, smiling triumphantly at me as he straightens up. Holy hell! He looked tall in bed, but I didn’t realize he was at least a foot taller than me.
Our eyes are locked together as he stands over me.
With a deep breath, he releases the bar and stabilizes himself. His legs haven’t been used for over forty-eight hours, and they’ve atrophied a bit. He should get his full use back after warming them up for a few minutes.
I reluctantly release his arm, wishing I could hold it forever, and watch with a smile on my lips as he walks across the room.
He even looks good in a hospital gown. I’m convinced this guy could make any piece of fabric look good.
“Um,” I say as he walks past me, and I get a view of his back. A full view. “You’re supposed to tie those things before you walk around in them.”
I could go help him, but I’m too busy standing here, admiring his hard ass through the crack in the gown. My fingers tingle as I try to think up a credible reason as to why I would need to examine it.
“So, tonight,” he says as he turns back around, denying me the beautiful view. “You owe me ten minutes.”
I swallow hard as I look up into his bright green eyes.
I can barely breathe—let alone talk—with him looking at me like that. “Okay,” I squeak out.
He gives me a sexy smile as he sits back down on the bed. “Pick me up around eleven?” he asks.
I nod my head up and down like a jackhammer as I walk backward, unable to find any words. I bump into the door frame, and he laughs softly.
“I’ll be here,” I say before slipping out the door into the hallway.
Holy shit.
My head is so light it feels like it’s been filled with nitrous oxide.
I have a date. With a patient.
I gulp as I head down the hall to get back to work.
All kinds of rules are getting broken!
Chapter 7
Shane
I’m watching my third Mexican soap opera in a row when Christopher walks in. My Spanish is a little rusty, and I can’t tell why the characters on the tiny screen are so upset. Either the leading girl is having an affair or she’s a robot. Either way, she’s got big tits and I’m riveted.
“How’s my favorite client?” Christopher asks when he walks in.
“Bored,” I answer as I turn off the TV. This place is only exciting when sexy Dr. Mendes is in the room. The rest of the time, I’m either dreaming of her dark blond hair and olive skin or counting the ceiling tiles. There’s thirty-eight of them, if you’re wondering.
But tonight is going to be anything but boring. I have a hot date with the hot doctor, and I’m going to enjoy every minute of it. All ten of them.
“I brought you an iPad,” Christopher says, reaching into his bag. “There are some movies on it for you to watch.”
“Thanks,” I say as I take it. I’ve never been one to sit back and watch TV. I’ve always had way too much energy for that. I’ve always liked to spend any spare time that I have flying around on a bike, but it might be a while before I get to do that again, so maybe I’ll try to watch some movies for a change.
“No balloons this time?” I ask with a chuckle.
“You thought right,” I say with a grin.
He’s nervous. I can tell it right away by the way he keeps scraping his hand through his hair and shifting from foot to foot.
“What is it?”
Christopher eyes the exit before looking at me. “I just checked on your hospital tab,” he says. “It’s high.”
I cringe. “How much?”
“One hundred and seventy thousand.”
I drop my head back on the pillow feeling like I got punched in the gut. $170,000. I’m so fucked.
I’ve made a good share of money during my motocross career, but the sport itself isn’t cheap. I’ve had to buy bikes and equipment, fly my crew around the world for championships, pay medical bills, and of course there’s the lifestyle that comes along with it: nightclubs, girls, expensive trips, girls, designer clothes, girls, limos, girls, private jets, girls, and girls, girls, and more girls.
Add in a bunch of bad investments from my genius manager over there, and it’s not just my spine that’s in bad shape. My bank account is going to be in the negative when I get out. By a lot.
I take a deep breath as I stare at the wall. “Sign me up for Moxie.”
Christopher jerks his head back. “You sure? It’s only three and a half months away.”
“I’m sure,” I say, trying to convince myself that I’m really sure. The Moxie Energy Drink Championships has a grand prize of a million dollars. If I can heal up and get there, I know I can get on the podium and come home with one of those oversized checks.
“It isn’t a broken arm this time,” Christopher says. “This is your spine. Maybe we should skip Moxie. You don’t want to end up in a wheelchair, do you?”
“I don’t want to end up in a homeless shelter either,” I say as I rub the stubble on my chin. That reminds me, I have to shave before my date tonight.
“I have another idea,” he says, stepping forward.
I squeeze my eyes shut as I hold my breath. “This better not be what I think it is.”
“You could sue the hospital,” he says.
