Page 25

She sighs. ‘Fine. You’re lucky we’re in a lull right now. Follow me.’

Yes, ma’am. Fuck, I’d follow her right into hell at this particular moment.

I trail her ramrod frame as it briskly covers the distance to the nearest gurney. Even in slightly baggy scrubs, I can make out her ass, and I wonder if those pants just pull down. Her ponytail brushes between her shoulder blades in a hypnotic swing.

‘Sit here.’ She gestures to the empty gurney. ‘I’ll get some stuff and get Trisha started on the paperwork.’

She strides off again, and I watch her until she disappears, turned on by just the motion of her. I sit on the thin mattress and dangle my legs over the edge. The clinical smell of the place works deeper into my nostrils as I wait for Holly’s return. I hear low voices, a grizzling baby, a mechanical pinging noise, and then she’s back.

With equipment.

Bustling around, setting things up. I could watch her all night. Her quiet efficiency keeps my desire on a low simmer and my hard-on raging. I have no idea when efficiency became such a fuckin’ turn on, but my dick is hard as stone watching her brisk, methodical movements. Or maybe it’s just the scrubs and the stethoscope.

Finally she sits on a stool and uses her feet to roll it close to me as she snaps on some green gloves. The snap zips straight up my spine.

‘Let’s see it.’ She holds out her hand, all business.

Lust churns in my gut, as does the urge to rile her up. ‘You want me to pull the curtains, Doc?’

She shoots me a no-nonsense look. ‘I think they’ll be just fine open, thank you.’

I grin, and she ignores me as she quickly unwinds the bandage. She squirts some saline on the wound, which has stopped oozing now. She’s quick and thorough as she wipes at the old blood with some gauze. Once it’s clean, she angles the lamp to examine the cut. Luckily my tats don’t extend to my forearms, which makes visualisation easier.

‘What kind of glass was it?’

‘Beer bottle.’

She gives a soft snort, and I suppress a smile as she inspects the site, her head bent over it, her profile glowing in the lamp light. Her hair smells sweet, like maple syrup, and my mouth waters. She shuts her eyes and feels inside and along the edges for what I assume might be retained glass fragments.

It’s sore, but my balls ache worse as the V of her scrub top gapes a little, and the bell of her stethoscope brushes the slight swell of her cleavage. I want to play doctor with her so fucking bad.

She lifts her head. ‘Probably needs four or five stitches.’

I smell coffee on her breath. ‘Okay.’

‘When did you last have a tetanus shot?’

‘About two years ago with my last lot of stitches.’

She looks both curious about those stitches – left calf – and disappointed she’s not going to get to jab me in the ass.

‘I’ll just wash up.’

She disappears, then comes back a couple of minutes later drying off wet hands. Within two minutes she’s gloved and I’m draped, a patch of hair has been shaved around the site, and I’m all numbed up. She gets to work with the stitching, barely saying a word to me except for simple directions.

How can she be so cool when I’m running so fucking hot?

‘So you were boozing?’

I laugh at her emphasis on boozing, like drinking’s another sin she’s added to the mental list she’s compiling to keep me at bay.

‘One beer at the end of the gig when this happened.’ She sniffs a little, but doesn’t make further comment.

‘It might hurt to use your sticks the next few days.’

‘I’ll manage.’ I dismiss her concern – it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve played injured. ‘Unless you want to come and supervise me. My own personal physician.’

The curved needle stops, poised above the ragged edges of the cut, and she glances up, the same flare of interest I’d seen in the elevator burning brief and bright before it’s gone.