Page 68 of Doctor’s Forbidden Match

Hannah’s hand finds my knee, squeezing gently. The warmth of it seeps through the fabric of my pants, and I have to resist the urge to cover her hand with mine. To hold on to it. Instead, I just sit there, very aware of how easily she touches me. How natural it seems to her. “She sounds amazing.”

“She is.” I don’t elaborate. Can’t. My family is too much.

“So, what other secrets are you hiding? You can paint? Code? Carpentry?”

“I can gut a fish in twenty seconds.”

She laughs. “Okay, that’s actually kind of hot in a disgusting, rugged way.”

“Kind of hot?” I turn to face her fully.

Her cheeks flush, and she bites that bottom lip again. “Actually... it’s very hot.”

I smirk.

We eat in comfortable silence for a while, the TV still playing low in the background. I’m struck by how natural this feels. I’ve never been good at small talk, at filling the quiet with meaningless conversation. But with Hannah, nothing is awkward. It’s… easy.

She yawns halfway through her dinner.

“Tired?” I ask, even though the answer is obvious.

“A little.” She sets her plate on the table, shifting to curl against my side. “But I don’t want today to end.”

My arm moves on its own, wrapping around her shoulders and pulling her closer. “You need rest. Doctor’s orders.”

“Yes, Doctor,” she murmurs against my chest, the words doing dangerous things to my self-control.

Another yawn, bigger this time.

“Come on.” I stand, then scoop her up again before she can protest. “Bedtime.”

“I can walk.”

“Not on my watch.”

I carry her down the hallway to her bedroom. Her unmade and messy space that makes my eye twitch, but I ignore it and focus on her. As I set her down on the edge of the bed, she looks up at me with her big blue eyes.

“I need to change,” she whispers.

Fucking hell.

I look at the clothes draped over the chair in the corner of the room. “Right. Where are your pajamas?”

She points to the dresser. “Second drawer.”

I cross the room, ignoring the way my heart is racing. This is fine… I can handle this. I’m a doctor. I’ve seen plenty of women undress before.

But when I turn back with a soft cotton nightgown in my hands, she’s already pulling her sweatshirt over her head.

My mouth goes dry.

Her satin bra does absolutely nothing to hide the large swell of her breasts. My fingers twist on the fabric in my hands as she reaches for the waistband of her sweatpants.

“Need help?” I shouldn’t be offering when I feel so turned on, but I focus on being the doctor she needs.

She nods, her eyes locked on mine. “Please.”

I drop the nightgown on the bed and then kneel in front of her, my hands shaking slightly as I lower the sweats. Her breathing is loud and shallow. I hate the thought that she’s struggling just as much as I am. This isn’t one-sided, that she’s right here with me, falling apart at the same time.