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‘Can’t. Working the next three nights.’

I shrug. ‘You’re welcome any time.’

‘Nights aren’t good for me.’

Her eyes seem to say,neither are you. But I’m done with pansy-assed excuses. I know she wants me, I’ve just seen it in her eyes, for fuck’s sake. ‘Maybe I could give you a demo in the morning? You could drop in for breakfast. I make awesome pancakes.’

I don’t know whether it’s her hair, but I have maple syrup on the brain. I try not to think about pulling up that scrub top and pouring the sweet, sticky stuff all over her tits.

I am not in the least bit successful.

Her eyes flare a little more, as if she can see the pictures inside my head. ‘No.’ She lowers her gaze and pushes the needle through the skin. I feel a dull pressure, but nothing else.

‘Mornings not good, either?’

She ties off the stitch and sighs, her frame losing some of its stiffness. ‘I already told you, we can’t do this.’

‘Right. I’m not part of your plan.’

Sitting back, she looks at me directly. I try to keep my focus on her face and not the way the stethoscope nestles in that valley between the boobs I love so much.

‘I have several more years left in my residency. If I pass. I’m having breakfast with my textbooks for the next few years.’

‘So?’ I shrug. ‘Bring them with you. You gotta eat, right?’

She shakes her head. ‘You don’t understand. If I want to become an attending after my residency, I have to keep my head down and work and study. This stuff is hard.’

By which she implies being a drummer isn’t. That’s not true, of course, but it’s not as hard as a medical degree I imagine.

‘All I have is gaps, tiny slices of time here and there. I don’t have hours or days to give anyone. And God knows I don’t have the energy. I’d be a lousy partner. It’s better to not even go there.’

Jesus. I’ve never heard anything sadder in my life. ‘I’m not planning on adding to your burden of things to get through each day, Doc.’ I smile at her because she looks weighed down just talking about it. ‘I’m happy to fit into those gaps, and I’m not just talking about sex. I’m talking about fun. Stress relief. A foot rub, a hot bath, a cooked meal. Pillow talk if you want it. Someone to rant at when you’ve had a lousy day at work.’

Fucking hell. I sound like a complete sap. But even as the words tumble from my mouth, there’s a resonance in them that settles into my bones like the dying notes of a cymbal swell shimmering gently into my marrow.

It should terrify me but it doesn’t. I’ve known this woman is different from the first time I laid eyes on her. She looks terrified though because I’m clearly talking about more than fucking, which is no doubt an even greater threat to her life plan. Sex is one thing; foot rubs and feeding her is something else entirely.

So if I have to meet her where she’s at right now, I will.

‘Although screwing you until you can’t see straight is also on offer.’ I shoot her an easy grin. ‘And you know what I can achieve in a short space of time.’

Her lips purse. Am I pushing too fast, too far? The glitter in her eyes tells me she’s going to push back. ‘Danny.’ She glances over her shoulder and drops her voice when she returns her attention to me. ‘Screwing a drummer is a really lousy career move.’

I chuckle. If she’s trying to be insulting, it won’t work. Plus I’m encouraged by that dirty word slipping from her pretty mouth. ‘Haven’t you heard, Doc? Screwing a drummer is always a great career move.’

She rolls her eyes and leans over my arm to continue her work. ‘We come from different worlds.’ Her voice stays low as I feel more dull pressure. ‘Being with someone in my profession makes more sense. They’ll understand the rigors of the job, the demands on my time.’

I know she’s trying to discourage me but the fact she’s even thinking about being with me is cause for celebration. Still, I keep it light. I don’t want to scare the horses. ‘Ah… I see. You only want to fuck doctors, huh?’

I suppose I should be jealous AF over that, but I know I can give her what she really needs. What she didn’t know she needed.

Her hand falters as it pulls the thread through my skin. ‘At least another doctor would understand why I’m always at work.’ I can hear the certainty in her voice. ‘And why even when I’m not at work, I’ll probably still be totally preoccupied with it.’

I smile at that. I do like a challenge. ‘That’s only because you haven’t had anything else to be preoccupied with, Doc. But I bet you my last cent, work has been the last thing on your mind since the’ – I deliberately lean in closer to her and whisper – ‘screwdriver.’

Her hand falters again as she ties off the suture. If she’s thought about me half as much as I’ve thought about her, we’re both in serious trouble.

She doesn’t say anything, just puts in the last stitch, pulls the surgical drapes off my arm, and calmly applies a dressing. Only when she’s done that does she look me in the eye, her expression serious. ‘That isn’t who I am, Danny. The woman in the elevator.’