Page 14 of Boyfriend of the Hour

I glanced down. Okay, my nippleswerestanding at attention, but he couldn’t know that probably wasn’t entirely because of the room temperature. Or maybe he did. I doubted this was the first time a patient had been hot for doctor.

Even so, my shameless cheeks heated. “I’m not cold.”

He was standing right next to the table, unable to quite meet my eyes. Close enough, however, that his scent of fresh water, soap, and a hint of coffee floated around me like a warm cloak. It smelled unbearably good.

“You aren’t wearing cologne,” I blurted out before I could stop myself.

God. Had I really just said that? Yes, I was impulsive, but I hadn’t word vomited in years. Not like I did when I was a kid.

The doctor’s brown eyes finally met mine again, clearly confused. “I—no, I’m not.”

“Why?” I wondered. Now that the question had occurred, I had to know. “All the men I know are freaking doused in the stuff. Every boy I knew in high school took a bath in body spray every morning before class.”

Dr. Hunt blinked, but to his credit, he didn’t look at me like I was speaking a foreign language. “A lot of patients are sensitive to fragrance, and I don’t care for synthetic scents anyway.”

“Me neither,” I agreed. “They smell fake. I have this perfume that I love that’s only made from the oil of?—”

“Gardenias,” he said as the tips of his ears turned pink. Then, in a huskier voice: “I can smell it. It’s…nice.”

We blinked at each other like owls, and only then did I remember that I was still topless in front of the gorgeous doctor,talking about how he smelled, and listening to him admit that he was smelling me too.

Dr. Hunt cleared his throat for what had to be the twentieth time. “So. The exam, just to make sure there isn’t anything irregular. Then we can go over your options and what would be best for your frame.”

I nodded quickly, trying not to notice how absurdly chiseled his jawline was, bearing just enough stubble to catch a reflection from the lights overhead. Or that his hair was brown, but it was about a thousand different shades.

Once again, I looked up, waiting.

Once again, absolutely nothing touched my breast.

I turned back. Dr. Hunt was staring at my breasts like he’d just seen a ghost.

Jesus, were theythatbad?

“Um…Dr. Hunt?” I ventured. “Nathan?”

Again, my voice seemed to disturb his trance. But this time, he whirled around as if he couldn’t bear to look at whatever monstrosity he’d observed, sat back on his stool with a thump, and scooted as far away from me as possible.

“Everything all right?” I asked.

Obviously, it wasn’t. Something was very, very wrong. Once again, he was looking at literally anything else in the room but me.

“I apologize, but I don’t think I’m the appropriate doctor for this consultation.”

“What?”

I looked down, wondering what the hell he saw that scared him so much. Nothing that I could see. Still the same preteen-sized-in-a-push-up-bra-if-I-was-lucky, mosquito-bite breasts I’d had since age twelve. Still completely inadequate for a job where half my tips came from customers who neededto think I was attractive. But not horror shows or anything. They were perfectly normal.

Dr. Hunt’s voice was gruff as he spoke. Curt, almost irritable. “I said, I don’t think I’m the appropriate?—”

“I know what you said.” I cut in, suddenly irritated. “I’m surprised, not deaf.”

What the fuck was this guy’s problem? I’d paid good money to be here and was planning to spend a whole lot more. The least he could do was take a look.

Dr. Hunt’s gaze finally met mine, thick with something that looked weirdly like pity but not. Regret, maybe. Or sorrow.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “It’s not going to work.”

I looked down at my breasts again, then back up to him. “What’s wrong with them?”