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I press my fingers into the soft skin of her legs, letting my thumbs slide along the inner seam of her pants. Rayne has the indecency to sigh. Moan, almost. Like she’s been waiting for this.
When she looks up at me, there is heat in her eyes. A raw desire that’s impossible to ignore.
Then her forehead creases and she jerks away from me. She slides back so far on the counter that her calves are barely hanging off.
“Well?” she snaps. “Where’s the first aid kit? Let’s get this over with.”
My cock is straining against my pants. And it’s no wonder. I haven’t had sex since I met this infuriating woman. There’s been opportunity—there always is—but no desire. Not for anyone but her.
My father always said that was one of my strengths: my dedication to a goal. The dogged way I strive towards an accomplishment with singular focus. And right now, that singular focus is on Rayne.
I force myself to step back. Then I bend down in front of her.
Rayne gasps. “What are you doing?”
I reach into the cabinet below where she’s sitting and pull out the small red box with the white cross on top. I wag it in the air. “First aid kit.”
She relaxes, her legs easing apart again. “Oh.”
“Did you have something else in mind?” She scowls, but I ignore her and beckon her forward with a finger. “Come here.”
“No,” she starts. “I’m fine here. Just leave the kit, and I’ll—”
I hook my arm around her waist and drag her to the edge of the counter.
“Would you stop throwing me around like that?” she hisses. Her palms are flat against my chest. “I’m not a child.”
“Believe me, I’m well aware.”
The meaning settles between us. Rayne draws her hands back quickly, folding them in her lap.
“Now, turn,” I command. “Let me see the back of your head.”
She rolls her eyes but listens. Finally. She shifts her hips, one leg dangling nearly to the floor. The other is tucked under her. She turns her neck, and I want to press my thumbs into the ridges above her collarbones. I want to grab a fistful of her hair and arch her beautiful neck back and make her rasp my name.
“Well?” she drawls. “Will I survive, Doc?”
I force my eyes away from her elegant outline to focus on the task at hand. Gently, I move her hair aside until I see the cut at the crown of her head.
“It’s a small scrape. It’s already stopped bleeding,” I inform her. “But you have a good-sized goose egg back here.”
“I’ll be filing for worker’s comp, obviously.”
“Understandable.” I grab her waist and twist her to face me. Again, her legs part, and again, I slide between them. I’m not sure there’s a universe where we don’t end up in this position again and again. “And I’m suggesting you enjoy some rigorous bed rest.”
Her cheeks are flushed and she’s breathing hard. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I caught her in the middle of a workout. “Rigorous bed rest? Bit of an oxymoron, isn’t it?”
“Not always.”
I let my hands slide down the curve of her waist to the swell of her hips. I massage my thumbs over her hip bones, dipping dangerously low.
Rayne gasps and grabs my wrists. “Be professional.”
“I am.”
“Thisis professional?” she gestures to the minimal space between our bodies.
“I’m professional with everyone else,” I clarify. “I’ve crossed a lot of lines in my life, but never this one. I’ve never touched someone who worked for me.”
