Page 50 of Doctor’s Forbidden Match

Sexy Sterling is… something nice to look at, nothing more. He’s too broody and bossy. I don’t think that guy knows how to have fun. Well, how can you when you don’t talk much? I repeat this to myself, trying to make it stick.

She takes my blood pressure and other vitals, the cuff squeezing tight around my bicep before releasing.

“Is everything okay?” I ask, not wanting anything to stop me from getting out of here and back to set tomorrow.

“Yes. Perfect.” She unwraps the cuff.

I exhale. “Good.”

“It was lovely to meet you.” She bites her lower lip, hesitating. “You look stunning.”

“Thanks. I’d kill to change into scrubs, though. I’ve been wearing these clothes since yesterday.”

“Do you want some?” she offers immediately, her eyes brightening.

“I’d love some.”

She’s back in only a few minutes, slightly breathless. She hands me a neatly folded set of navy scrubs. “There you go.”

“Thank you. I’ll get them dropped off later.”

“No need. Keep them.”

“Thank you…” I trail off, wanting to know her name.

“Cyrall.”

“Thank you, Cyrall.”

She blushes and wanders out with a small wave over her shoulder.

I take off my top, pulling it up over my head. I’m in the middle of wrestling it off when there is another knock. The fabric is stuck around my neck, my arms tangled above me. I pause, frozen. I can’t remove it because I’ll just be in a bra, so I try to tug it down, my heart racing as the door opens.

“Are you rea—” Sterling starts to ask, cutting off abruptly.

He clears his throat, the sound rough and masculine in the quiet room. Color rushes to my cheeks. I don’t want him to know I’m embarrassed or stuck, so I keep pulling the shirt down with jerky movements, fighting with the twisted fabric. When he comes into view, the air leaves my lungs in a rush.

Once again, he’s not in uniform. His broad shoulders fill out a black Henley that clings to his chest in a way that makes my mouth go dry, and he’s wearing blue jeans that sit perfectly on his hips. Casual Dr. Sterling is sexy… Brooke’s words come to me and make me smile unwittingly.

“What are you smiling at?” His eyes are fixed on me with an intensity that makes my heart turn over in response.

“You have impeccable timing.” I finally yank the shirt down, smoothing it over my stomach with trembling hands.

“I’d say the worst…” he mumbles, but I catch it, and my heart drops. The warmth I felt moments ago evaporates.

Right. Because seeing me half-dressed is the worst thing that could happen to him.

“Turn around so I can change.” My tone is a mix of hurt and embarrassment.

He stares for a moment, the muscle in his jaw pulsing as if he wants to say something, but then he turns so he faces the door, his shoulders rigid. “Should I go?”

I have to get used to him. This is day one of however many days this arrangement lasts. Ripping off the top, I let it fall to the floor. “No, you can help me.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He sounds strained.

I put the scrub top on quickly, the fabric cool against my heated skin. “I’m not asking you to help me dress, but I need to go to the bathroom to change into the pants.”

He stays silent, and I see the tension in his back, the way his hands flex at his sides.