Page 17 of Healed By the Grumpy Elf

As I walk from the school all the way to the clinic, the burning feeling on my skin slowly subdues.

This isn’t what I think it is. It can’t be. I’m a reasonable man. I won’t fall victim to such things as finding my True Mate.

I step inside, walking right past the patient sitting in the waiting room, not glancing up as Mrs. Beckham waves a hand at me.

I'm only angry about having my medical expertise questioned.

I grab my white coat and pull it on. The effect on my mood is immediate and I suddenly feel much more in control.

The fiery skin, the tunnel vision. Those are just symptoms of physical attraction. It doesn’t mean anything.

It’s a lie—not even a good one and I know it. Still, I hold on to it as I adjust my tie and grab the medical file Mrs. Beckham left on my desk, flip it open, and start to read.

As I do, I certainly don’t think about the fiery nurse who shouted at me in front of the children. Or how her green eyes flashed with anger. Or how full and soft her breasts looked, trapped in that summer dress.

I don’t think about her at all.

And I absolutely don’t think about when I'll see her again.

Chapter 5

Maeve

Twodays.

It's been two full days since Dr. Reizenhart, aka Dr. Death, came to give his disastrous presentation, and I still can't get the incident out of my mind. More precisely, I can't gethimout of my mind.

And it makes me want to kick something. Or someone. Preferably that someone be the despicably handsome elf doctor.

Here we go again. I need to stop this.

I sink into my desk chair with a heavy sigh, clicking my pen repeatedly against the stack of medical forms. Therhythmic tapping echoes in my quiet office until I realize how annoying the sound is and abruptly stop.

I realize I've been picturing his face. Again.

My cheeks warm at the memory, and I shake my head, then reach up to tuck a wayward strand of hair back into my bun. It springs free again almost immediately. Stubborn, just like my thoughts about that infuriating man.

"Dr. Death," I mutter to myself, arranging the student immunization records into neat piles. "Who tells five-year-olds they're going to die if they don't eat vegetables?"

Even as I fume over his terrible presentation to the children, unwanted memories of Doctor Lorian Reizenhart flicker through my mind. He was impossibly tall, even for an elf, with silver-blond hair pulled back in a flawless ponytail that somehow managed to look both severe and elegant, exposing his long pointed ears. Those aristocratic cheekbones that could cut glass. And his perfectly fitted shirt and coat, so pristine he looked like he'd stepped off a movie set rather than a doctor's office. Those unnerving ice-blue eyes that seemed to look right inside my soul as he stared at me.

And boy, did he stare at me. I wiggle in my chair as I remember the way he looked at me. Like there was no other person in the entire world.

And that handshake. The way he held my hand. Something happened there, in that moment. I just can't put a name to it. It was butterflies and swirls of angry birds, churning inside my rib cage, all at once.

I'd never had such a reaction to a man before. I'm not sure it was even real, it was so strong.

But what I'm absolutely and completely sure is that I have to stop thinking about it!

I groan and drop my head onto my desk with a soft thud. What is wrong with me? The man has the personality of a cactus. An arrogant, condescending cactus.

"Focus, Maeve," I mutter to myself, straightening up and pulling the keyboard closer.

I turn determinedly to the stack of student medical records that need updating in the system. A simple, mindless task to occupy my hands while my brain logs off. I input vaccination dates for Gromm Stonefist, note Tommy Fangsworth's recent visit for his skinned knee, and update Zinnia Sparkletoes' emergency contact information.

Then I get to Dylan Reinhardt's, enter his latest vaccination record, and read over what I just wrote.

Ugh. I need to get a grip.