HALLIE

D ear God. This man. I’m burning up.

I’m not sure how I’m supposed to concentrate when he’s this distracting. Not just to look at. But he’s funny as hell.

And for some reason, my damn brain-to-mouth filter is not working around him.

This is my job. I need to be professional.

“Maybe. If you stay still.”

I offer him a sweet smile and get to work, stitching the wound back up.

I’m acutely aware of his stare in the side of my head.

Doing my best to keep this as neat as possible, by the time I get to the final stitch, I blow out a breath.

“You’ll need to rest for a few days. Keep it clean. The stitches will dissolve over time. Although, if it starts bleeding or looks infected, just pop back in. Or speak to Finn.”

As he goes to sit up, I hold up my finger and his eyes widen.

“I’m not quite done. I need to cover it.”

“Okay, Nurse Hallie.” He salutes me and lays back down.

I hold back my laughter. I can’t believe I called him a good boy.

Nor can I believe he was kinda into it. A man of many secrets, I bet, just like Finn.

I finish up bandaging the wound and bite back a grin as I look into his deep green eyes.

“Good boy. You’re all done.”

I swear he growls under his breath, and I squeeze my thighs.

He’s so handsome. The tattoos give him a scary edge, but there’s a spark in his eyes that gives him away.

A lightness. I bet many people fear him, but to me, he relaxes me yet has me burning up inside.

Grabbing his pants from the floor, I hold them out to him, and he smiles as he takes them out of my hand.

“I’ll. Um.” I clear my throat. “I’ll go wait outside for you.” I point to the door and awkwardly step back.

“Why? I’m not taking my boxers off. You’ve just stared at it for the last hour. I don’t need privacy at this point.”

I stay rooted in the spot as he slides on his pants and yanks them up. As he does, his shirt rises, and I get a view of his six-pack. And of course, more ink.

I wonder if every inch of him is tattooed.

He even has a star under his eye.

Maybe each one is a story.

“You okay there, Hallie?” he asks.

My eyes meet his, and my mouth falls open.

“Yeah, just looking at your ink. You’ve got a ton of it.”

“I must like pain.” He flashed me a cheeky grin.

“Physical is sometimes better than mental.”

A somber look flashes across his face before he replaces it with a smile.

“Yeah, you can say that again. Fighting, tattoos, fucking, and cars. They’re my distraction.”

I chew on my lip as he takes a hobbled step towards me.

Jesus, he towers over me, looking down at me.

“Sounds like a good combination there,” I tell him.

“Do you need a lift home?” I ask, checking the time on my watch.

“To my garage, please. You got time?”

He scratches at his stubble; it’s slightly darker than his dirty brown hair.

“Shift doesn’t start for another hour. I came in early for you.”

He stares into my soul for what feels like a lifetime. I’m holding my breath until he clears his throat.

“Thank you for patching me up. Can I have your phone?”

I blink at him. “Why?”

He flashes me a menacing grin.

“I wanna add my number to your contacts. If you ever need anything, I owe you one favor. You call me, I’ll do whatever you need.”

I frown and shake my head.

“Being a nurse is literally my job, Conan. I don’t need favors, honestly.”

His face becomes stern. This darkness flashes across it that makes me shiver as he opens his palm and holds it out.

“This is how I work, trouble. You scratch my back, I’ll one day scratch yours. You never know when you’ll need me to fix something for ya.”

Letting out a huff, I slide my phone out of my white coat pocket, unlock it, and place it in his ginormous palm.

Did he just call me trouble?

He’s busy tapping away and I just stare around the room, waiting.

“Done. I’m saved as Beast.”

I laugh, looking at his name on my screen and hit edit, then type ‘ie’ at the end.

“Beastie sounds better.”

Grabbing my keys from the side, Conan opens the door for me. As I walk through, his hand grazes along my lower back as he guides me back to my car.

“Need any pain meds?” I ask as we get to the reception area.

“Nah. A whiskey will sort it later.”