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I could see her debating whether it was worth it to give me another chance. She paused in front of the door.
“I’ll check it this once, and then I’m handing you off to Dr. Evans. And you should know he’s very old and has a really huge mustache,” she huffed.
I laughed. “That’s fair.”
She rolled her eyes. “And he has bad breath.” As if that jab would put me in my place.
I watched as she gently pulled back the bandage and looked at my hand. It was set in a foam mold so that my fingers were aligned an equal distance apart. She tilted her head from side to side, examining each finger. A curl of hair slipped from behind her ear.
“I think for a post-surgery hand, it looks exactly like it should.” She stood back, holding the clipboard tightly to her chest.
“That’s good news.”
“It is. I’ll let Dr. Evans know what to look for during your recovery. And I understand your team trainers want to be involved.”
“They always are.”
I didn’t want her to hand me over to some old, decaying bastard. I wanted her to be my doctor. I wanted her leaning over my body. Her inspecting my skin. Her advice on how to recover.
“Look, Doc, I’m sorry about earlier. That was out of line. I shouldn’t have assumed you were a stripper.”
r /> Her lips twitched. “It was a first. Most people come out of surgery groggy and just think I’m their mom or something.”
I shook my head. “Can we chalk it up to me still being under the influence of whatever drugs you gave me?”
“You seem pretty alert, Mr. Blakefield.”
“Come on, give me another chance. I’ll be a model patient. I’ll even pretend I didn’t look down your dress.” I flashed a wicked smile.
She blushed, pulling her white coat closer to her chest, knocking her stethoscope to the side. I liked that I was affecting her somehow. It was a distraction from the beeping and the lines running into my arm. She was the sexiest distraction I could have wished for.
“I’ll check in on you in the morning.” She walked toward the door, looking over her shoulder. “Have a good night.”
“Hey, Doc, before you leave…”
“Yes?”
“Do you have a first name?”
She paused. “It’s Lennon. But my patients call me Dr. Ashworth.”
“So does that mean I should call you Dr. Ashworth or Lennon?” I taunted. I liked her name. I’d never heard it before. It seemed to fit her—strong and beautiful. She wore brains and sex appeal well.
I grinned as I watched her leave. I should have been feeling a whole lot worse than I was, but something about Dr. Ashworth was like a dose of good medicine.
4
Lennon
I held on to the counter at the nurses’ station, knowing my knees were knocking together and my legs were barely holding me up. I was furious. Livid. I’d never been so insulted in my professional life in such a degrading way. What was more messed up was that I was so turned on by that asshole, I could barely hold myself together. He had managed to insult me and flirt with me at the same time. He was infuriating.
I hadn’t bothered to look at his face during surgery. Most of it had been covered with a cap, and I was so rushed to get in and repair his hand quickly that I never thought to see what he looked like.
Most of my patients came out of surgery looking pale and listless. They didn’t react well to the anesthesia. Some could barely talk, let alone string together coherent sentences. But not this man.
Wes Blakefield was the definition of perfection. His jaw was set in straight, solid lines. His skin was tan, and he had the greenest eyes this side of Ireland. Not to mention he was well over six feet tall and had broad shoulders and arms to match. On top of that, he had one hell of a dick. I covered my mouth. I wasn’t supposed to look at him like that. He was a patient. Not a demi-god. Not a male model that could melt the panties off every nurse in this hospital. No, he was a patient. My patient.
“Dr. Ashworth? Dr. Ashworth?” I jumped, startled to hear my name intrude my lewd thoughts about what Wes wanted me to do with his erection. Was he serious?
