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“You know exactly why I made you stay overnight,” a warm, oddly familiar voice says.
It’s the same voice I’ve dreamed about every night for the last four weeks. The voice that whispered in my ear as its owner brought me to orgasm over and over and over again. I spin around and come face to face with the person who is unknowingly responsible for my move to Cunningham Falls, Montana.
“Drake?”
His piercing brown eyes widen as he steps into the room. He looks as happy to see me as I am him. A slow smile spreads across his face. “Abigail.”
“What are you doing here?” I laugh, stepping around the bedside table so I can get a better look at him.
“I could say the same to you.”
I point to myself. “I work here.”
“So do—”
“Yoo-hoo. Don’t forget about me, the patient who is ready to get the hell out of here. What’s it gonna take for you to sign those discharge papers, Dr. Merritt?” Mrs. Trager says, cutting him off.
Doctor?
My eyes finally leave Drake’s face, and I note the blue surgical scrubs and black stethoscope draped around his neck.
Oh. Hell. No.
This is not happening.
“Excuse us, Mrs. Trager.” I walk across the room and stop next to Drake. “Can I speak to you in the hall for a second, please?”
“Sure.” He nods before looking at the patient. “I’ll be right back, Genevieve, and then we’ll get you out of here.”
When I step toward the door, Drake follows me. And then he follows me around the corner and down the hall to a small break room, which is thankfully empty. The door shuts quietly behind us, and I whirl around.
“You lied to me.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes. I clearly remember asking if you were a doctor, and you said no.”
“No.” Drake dips his hands into the pockets of his scrub pants and shakes his head. “You asked if I was an OBGYN, and I’m not. I’m a surgeon.”
“That’s a technicality.” I bristle and clench my jaw. “You lied to me and then slept with me knowing I don’t date doctors.”
“But we’re not dating. Yet. And I’m not a doctor. I’m a surgeon.”
I point a finger and glare at him. “Don’t get cute with me.”
That makes him grin. His smile is big and bright and does things to me—delicious things that I most definitely should not be feeling. Especially when I’m mad at him.
“You think I’m cute?” he asks, closing the distance between us.
With each step he takes forward, I take one back, and when my back hits the wall, I growl. “You’re not playing fair.”
Drake’s smile slips, and he steps back from me. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want you to apologize.”
“What do you want?”
I want you not to work here.
