And just like that, she’s being ushered out, Jamila at her elbow, the sound of their low conversation trailing in her wake. Something about how “this isn’t necessary,” with Wren protesting and Jamila soothing.
I can’t move. My hands are clenched into fists on my thighs, my body thrumming with everything I didn’t do. I sit there, trying to breathe, but my cock is hard as stone, straining against the fabric of my pants.
“Fuck,” I hiss under my breath, scrubbing a hand over my face.
I can’t walk out like this. Not yet. Not with half the damn clinic out there, not with her maybe glancing back over her shoulder.
I need a minute.
Becausefuck, no woman has ever gotten me this hard, this fast.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Simon
I’m finishingup with a patient when I catch sight of Becca hovering in the doorway. She’s not usually hesitant—she’s efficient, quick, one of the best nurse practitioners I’ve worked with—so the way she lingers there instantly puts me on edge.
I sign the last chart, offer a standard smile, and provide instructions to my patient, then gesture her in.
“What is it?” I ask.
She clears her throat, lowering her voice. “You’ve got another patient. Wren Aldridge.”
My pen stills mid-motion. My heart gives a sharp, traitorous jolt against my ribs. “What’s wrong?” I manage, keeping my tone as flat as I can.
Becca glances down at her clipboard, running through the notes. “Minor scrapes and bruising. A few abrasions. She could’ve just let me take care of it, but… she specifically asked for you.”
For a moment, I can’t breathe. My grip tightens around the pen until the plastic creaks.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath. I can’t see her here—not like this, not when my control is already hanging by threads.
Becca tilts her head. “Do you want me to?—”
“No,” I cut in, sharper than intended. I rub a hand over my face, forcing myself to breathe. “No, I’ll see her. I just… I’ll need a minute.”
She nods and slips out.
The instant the door clicks shut behind her, I press my back against the cool wall of the empty exam room. My pulse is racing, my skin too tight.
I dig into the top drawer of my desk until my fingers close around the small bottle of peppermint oil I keep there.
I uncap it, inhale deeply. The sting fills my sinuses, cuts through the fog.
My body steadies, but only just. Because underneath, a different kind of anticipation is crawling up my spine.
Her. Here.
I shove the bottle back into the drawer, roll my shoulders, and school my features into calm. Professional. Detached.
It lasts right up until I open the door and step into the exam bay where she’s waiting.
She’s sitting on the paper-lined table, swinging her bare legs slightly, and for a second, I forget how to walk.
The sundress she’s wearing is soft cotton, pale with tiny, embroidered flowers, the kind of thing that belongs on a summer postcard. It hugs her body in ways that make my throat go dry, and the neckline dips just enough to remind me of exactly how her skin tasted under my tongue.
Fuck.
She looks up when she hears me, and her mouth curves into a tiny smile. “Hey, Dr. Hale.”
