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“Dr. Graham, how good of you to come,” he says with only the faintest hint of a Russian accent. “It’s good medicine, seeing your smiling face.” Though he’d suffered from blunt head trauma, an open tib-fib fracture, and some internal bleeding, he was well on his way to recovering. His face was still a canvas of purples and yellow from the bruising, but at least the swelling had gone down. Every day, his handsome face became more and more visible.
I pull up a chair next to his bed, careful not to knock over the fresh arrangement of flowers. I drop into the chair exhausted. “So, how’s my favorite patient doing today?”
He frowns a little. “Better than you, I think. Has it been a rough day?”
I chuckle. “I know, I know, I must look dreadful.”
“Quite the contrary, Dr. Graham,” Sebastian smiles, but he winces as if the mere effort is painful. “Like I said, it’s good medicine to see the lovely face of the angel who saved me.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t wipe the smile off my face. “Brian deserves just as much credit.”
“But he’s not nearly as pretty as you.”
“Ah,” I wave a finger at him, “that charm won’t knock a dime off your hospital bill.”
He chuckles and winces.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t make you laugh.”
“Sometimes a little pain is good, no?” he says with a devilish wink.
“I’m in the business of relieving pain, not causing it.”
“You wish to relieve my pain?”
That’s a loaded question if I ever heard one. “I haven’t spent four years in medical school for nothing.”
“When I get out of here,” he says slyly, “and they say it’s in a couple of days, will you please have dinner with me?”
Despite my exhaustion, my heart leaps in my chest. This guy, as charming and as handsome as his pictures indicate is still, in all probability, the crown prince of the Russian mafia. This littlethingwe seem to have during the recovery period must end the second he’s discharged from the hospital. I’m not going to allow this little Florence Nightingale syndrome we’ve got going go beyond the confines of these hospital walls.
He sets those mesmerizing sapphire eyes upon me, they’re compelling me, dragging compliance forth from me. I have to break free of his gaze lest he take me under.
“Sebastian, I don’t think that’d be the best course of action.”
“Why won’t you have dinner with me? Tell me, Dr. Graham,” he asks, his voice low, demanding my attention.
“I--” I clear my throat. “As much as I’ve been enjoying your company, I simply don’t have the time to see you outside this place. As a fourth-year medical student, I have zero social life.”
He frowns. “No social life at all?”
“Not really and it’s only going to get worse,” I attempt to explain unable to hold his gaze. “I’m fairly confident I’m going to get the surgical residency at Presbyterian Hospital, the cardiothoracic training program to be specific. At which time, I’ll have no life to speak of. So, there’s really no point in pretending I will.”
The knee-buckling smirk is back, making me grateful that I’m sitting. “It’s just one dinner, Madison. You name the place and time, I’ll be there.” The smile stretches wider, and he points to his face. “In a couple of weeks, the bruises will heal, and I won’t be so hard to look at.”
A bark of laughter escapes me. Even with the bruises, this man is not hard on the eyes, and he knows it. “That’s definitely not the problem. Besides, you don’t owe me any thanks. I was just doing my job.”
“Coming here to see me every day,” he replies and holds me captive with those eyes, “Was that also part of the job?”
Did the room temperature just shoot up ten degrees? “Well, I work here. I pass by your room every day,” I force a laugh in an attempt to deflect his insinuation. “It would’ve been rude of me not to pop in to say hello.”
His expression falls, though his gaze doesn’t falter. “What do I have to do to see you again? Wrap my car around another tree? I will if that’s what it takes.”
“Don’t you dare,” I laugh nervously. “You were very lucky last time.”
“Then agree to have dinner with me, Madison,” he gives me a lopsided grin. “To prevent me from doing something rash.” His voice drops an octave. “It’s just one dinner. Say you’ll join me.”
I peer at him, study him like a problem that I need to solve. His gaze doesn’t waver, not for one second. Why does this feel like it’s the first of many battles of wills we shall have?
