“Probably.”
But neither of us moved. His hands slid under my scrub top, rough palms against soft skin, and I gasped.
“I need you,” he growled. “I need to show you—”
A loud knock on the door made us both freeze.
“I hate to interrupt,” came Mandy’s voice through the door, way too loud and clearly not actually sorry at all. “You two might want to keep it down. Unless you want the whole clinic knowing what’s happening in exam room three.”
I buried my face in Tucker’s chest, mortified.
His chest shook with silent laughter.
“We’ll be out in a minute,” I called.
“Take your time,” Mandy singed-songed. “I’ll just turn up the music in the waiting room.”
Tucker’s laugh turned into a full rumble, and I felt it vibrate through his chest. When I pulled back to look at him, his eyes were warm. Soft. Happy.
“This is mortifying,” I muttered.
“This is perfect.” He kissed my forehead. “Welcome to small-town life.”
“Everyone’s going to know.”
“Good. Let them.” He tilted my chin up. “I want everyone to know you’re mine.”
My heart did a little flip. “Oh, really? Where did the reclusive, scary hermit go that I first met wearing nothing but a pair of black sweatpants?”
“You noticed them, did you? I thought you were too busy staring at my abs.”
“Absolutely not,” I smiled. “Much.”
He pulled me closer still, bending his head to nuzzle my neck. “Go lock the door.”
“What?”
“I said, go lock the door.” He began to unbutton the flannel shirt he wore. “I think I’m in need of some very hands on therapy.”
I bit my lip, clenching my thighs together. What we were about to do—what I was about to do—was highly unprofessional. I looked at him sitting there in nothing but his jeans, the scars on his chest calling to me. I wanted to lick them, kiss away the pain.
“Fuck it,” I murmured.
One dark eyebrow rose. “What’s that Nurse Emily?”
“You heard me. Now be a good patient and lie back.” I walked to the door and locked it. As I walked back to the exam table I tugged my scrub top over my head. “Now, tell me where it hurts.”
EPILOGUE
Tucker
Six Months Later…
The sound of her laughter drifted up from the porch, and I paused mid-swing with the axe, listening.
Emily was on the phone with her brother, probably giving Jesse hell about something. She did that a lot—the worrying, the checking in, making sure he was eating right and studying for his finals. Some habits died hard.
But she laughed more now. Smiled more. The worry lines between her brows had eased, and she’d stopped looking at me like I might disappear if she blinked.
