I break our kiss and moan out in pain when her fingers bite harshly into my flesh at the hem of my shorts. But it’s not knee pain I’m moaning about. It’s pleasure pain. It makes me want to rip the scrubs off her body and bite one of her nipples as payback.
My moan was evidently a bucket of ice water dumped on her head. She wrenches away from me and stares down wide-eyed.
“You just kissed me,” she pants, her large lips blotchy from my assault.
“You let me,” I huff back defensively, feeling so incredibly empty at the loss of her weight on me. I can’t take my eyes off her mouth, nor stop silently wishing we were still kissing. If she thinks I was in that kiss alone, she’s dead wrong. I probably have the nail marks on my abs to prove it.
Her eyes dance around the room nervously. “Crap. I did! Oh my God, what did I just do? I’m your doctor. That was a horrible line we just crossed. Horrible. I’ve gone completely mental!” She swallows hard. “Come on. We need to get you out of these clothes.”
“It’ll be hard to do with a buggered knee, but I’m sure I can manage if you climb on top.” I quickly pull my jersey off over my head and toss it on the floor while adding, “It won’t be my best performance, but I’ll make it memorable. I promise.”
“What?” she shrieks at my dumbfounded expression. Then her eyes feast down on my bare chest and stomach. “Your MRI, Camden. I mean! Mr. Harris! Crap. I meant that we need to get you undressed for your MRI. Oh my word. I’m sending in an intern.” She rushes up to me, and just when I think I see a spark in her eyes that makes me hopeful she’s coming back for more, she snatches up her stethoscope that must have slipped off during our tryst. “Crap, crap, crap,” she murmurs as she scrambles away from me and leaves me with a raging fucking boner.
Just then, Dr. Prichard, the man who received me when I came in, pulls the curtain back and walks in with a wake of Harrises staring daggers through the glass behind him. The entire fishbowl imagery is as effective as a cold shower. My cock slumps back down into depressed submission.
I DRUM MY FINGERS ALONG my lower lip as I stand at the radiology counter awaiting Camden Harris’ MRI report. Prichard said he was eager for the results so he wanted to send someone over here to hurry the tech along.
Now, here I am. Alone with my thoughts. Nowhere to escape. No one to talk to. And still tasting Cam’s—
“You know, staring at me isn’t going to make me work any faster,” the radiologist snaps.
My eyes widen because I hadn’t even realised I was staring at her. I turn away from the counter and mumble a quiet apology. Jeez, pull yourself together, Indie. It’s not as if you were just mauled by one of the sexiest men you’ve ever laid eyes on or anything.
Remaining calm is an impossibility at this point. I was so shaken by the kiss that I had tripped over Prichard’s feet on my way out of the exam room. He caught me in front of the Harris family and did that whole awkward “are you all right” thing people do when you wish they’d just act as if the fall didn’t happen. Or the least they could do is laugh with you. Both of those options are better than the “did you hurt yourself” look.
It had to be Camden’s eyes. Or his abs. Or his face. But definitely his eyes are what sent me into a psychopathic frenzy. They were on me constantly and causing some seriously embarrassing things to happen in my knickers. Closing my lids, I can still see the dangerous midnight blue irises that bewitched every organ in my body. They held such danger in them. Such life. Such excitement. Even as he lay there with a career-altering injury, his dark lashes beckoned me with sinful promise. Couple that with his tousled blonde hair and abs of steel, and I was doomed.
I pop a sherbet lemon in my mouth and suck on it thoughtfully. Who knew “rock-hard abs” is a truthful synonym? I’ve seen countless patients and none of their stomachs have felt like that. It’s positively ludicrous how they hardened beneath my touch as if they were enjoying the feel of my hands. Good grief!
I crunch down on the hard sweet and the juicy centre erupts in my mouth. The creamy syrupiness creates a synonym of its own for how I behaved around him: Smooth and hard on the outside, a gooey mess of molten lava on the inside.
I mean, of course I am attracted to him. That’s just science. But kissing him in the ICU is about the stupidest thing I could have done. I’ve never, in my life, been conflicted over whether to behave like a doctor or like a woman. What possessed me to drape myself over the top of a patient and allow him to attack my lips for who knows how long?
Oh, sod off, Indie! You know exactly what was going through your head. Stop lying to yourself.
I push my glasses up my nose and swallow down the remaining bits of sweetness as I finally set the truth free inside my brain. You wanted Camden Harris to be Penis Number One.
It couldn’t be more obvious if it was stamped on his forehead. Of all the guys in all of London. Of all the patients in all the hospitals, he had to be mine? I could lose everything if I let something that horrid happen again.
But bloody hell, when his lips touched mine, I was doomed. For the first time in my limited experience, my physical reaction to a man trumped all the mental qualifying that my brain has done with other blokes in the past.
Did I actually think I could climb aboard and let him take me in the middle of a workday? I’ve worked so hard for my career and am constantly having to prove myself to my colleagues because of my age. Was I going to throw it all away for abs that felt like bones, as if I’m some star-struck fan girl?
No, no. This is not me.
No man makes me act this way, no matter how hot he is. I’ll chalk this up to either extremely intense pheromones or low blood sugar. Both can have some severe side effects. I pop another sweet in my mouth.
“Holy shit, you have a Harris brother as a patient!” Belle squeals from behind me. I’m taken so off guard that when her hot breath sprays moisture into my ear, I suck my sweet into the back of my throat.
My face contorts and I cough while aggressively wiping at the dewy liquid she sprayed. “Say the news, not the weather, you animal,” I grumble.
Ignoring my jab, she props herself against the counter beside me and pats my back. “You have a bloody Harris brother. I heard it’s one of the twins. Which one? Long hair or short?”
Her eyes are bright and hungry for more information. After I recover, my own gaze narrows with an ounce of possessiveness. Not necessarily possessiveness over Camden, but possessiveness over my thoughts. I’m still processing what I want him to be, yet Belle is going to put it all out in the open like she always does.
I swallow and begrudgingly reply, “His hair is short, but longer on the top.” I’m pretty sure I copped a feel of that gorgeous golden mess during our…encounter. I inwardly recoil.
“That’s Camden then. He was seen with a supermodel a few weeks ago.”
A supermodel. Of course. Way to set your sights high, Indie!
“So is he as stunning in person as he is in the papers?” Belle’s dark eyes twinkle mischievously. “God, I bet he is. Can you imagine that level of athleticism in the bedroom? Too bad it’s not the oldest brother, Gareth. I’d let him stick it in any hole he wanted, even my ears if he liked that sort of thing.”