Page 34 of Doctor’s Forbidden Match

I find Nikkita’s contact and open our message thread. The last exchange was months ago. I type out a message:

Me: Hey. I know it’s been forever. How’s the business?

Nikkita: Hannah. Finally. It’s insane. Swamped with events. You good?

Me: Busy with filming, but good. Actually, I’m messaging about business. Do you need makeup artists in LA?

Nikkita: I’m always looking for talented people. Why?

Me: I have someone. She’s amazing. Does my makeup here, and she’s been wanting to move to LA.

Nikkita: If you can vouch for her, she’s in. Send me her info.

Me: Her name is Jaina. But she can’t leave for about 3 months. We’re still filming.

Nikkita: No problem. When she’s ready, she’s got a spot.

Me: You’re amazing. Thank you. This will mean so much to her.

Nikkita: That’s what friends do. Miss you though. We need to catch up properly.

Me: I know. I’m sorry. Once this wraps, I promise we’ll organize a dinner.

My phone rings with an incoming call. I hit send on my message to Nikkita, and then answer. “Mom.”

“Hi, sweetheart. How are you?”

“I’m good,” I start to say, but a yawn takes over. “Sorry.”

“I hope you’re not pushing yourself.” I can picture her pacing the kitchen back home.

“I’m not,” I reassure her, even though we both know I am.

“Do you want me to come there?”

“No. I saw the doctor today for a checkup.” I shift against the pillows, trying to find a more comfortable position.

“How was that?”

The question makes my stomach flutter unexpectedly. My mind flashes back to the examination room.

Dr. Sterling, with his serious blue eyes and that stern expression that makes him look angry all the time. Until he looks at me, and something shifts.

Heat creeps up my neck at the way his fingers wrapped around my bicep when I wobbled getting onto the table. How his entire body went rigid, like touching me had done something to him. His jaw was so tight, I could see the muscle popping beneath the skin when I mentioned my work, like he was actually angry on my behalf. Not the polite, professional concern of a doctor, but something raw and protective.

And that moment. God, that moment when I first sat on the examination table, and he took in my outfit, his expression barely changed, trained into the neutral doctor mask, but his eyes… they tracked down from my face, lingering at my cleavage as his throat bobbed. His fingers flexed at his sides, like he had to physically remind himself not to reach out and touch me more.

My breath caught in my throat, heat pooling low as I realized that stoic, unreadable Dr. Sterling was struggling to maintain his composure, and it was because of me.

Then later, when he lifted his glasses and propped them on his head, his eyes suddenly met mine, and my stomach did this stupid flip. Without the barrier of the lenses, I could see the way his pupils dilated.

And at the end, when I touched his forearm to thank him, he tensed. Every muscle in his arm went taut as his gaze dropped to my mouth.

There’s something there. Some pull between us that makes the air feel charged whenever we’re in the same room. My pulse raced the entire appointment, and even now, just thinking about him, I feel that same flutter in my chest.

Or maybe I’m just reading into nothing. Maybe he looks at all his patients that way, and I’m just desperate to feel something other than pain and exhaustion. So I’m making up attraction where there isn’t any.

But God, I hope I’m not imagining it.