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D octor Evans was a bit of a strange person.

He wouldn’t look her in the eyes. And he kept asking her weird questions.

Ian, who had accompanied her to the hospital, was starting to get irritated as well.

After lying around in bed for most of yesterday day, Maggie hadn’t expected to sleep well last night.

To her shock, she’d slept the entire night without waking once. She hadn’t even had that dream where she thought someone was in her room, watching her.

And she’d had that most nights since she’d arrived.

So today, she’d woken up feeling better. Although Ian had tried to make her have oatmeal for breakfast.

What was he trying to do? Kill her?

“What does her sex life have to do with her hip?” Ian interrupted Dr. Evans as he was droning on about her previous and current sexual partners.

She was glad he’d interrupted, because she didn’t know whether to be horrified or amused.

The older doctor started spluttering. “I don’t think it’s necessary for you to be in here, Mr . . .”

“Blackstone. And I’m her bodyguard, so yes, it is.”

“She’s in no danger from me, I can assure you.”

“What if I’m one of her current sexual partners?” Ian asked. “Do you have some questions to ask me about STDs and birth control and whether I’m active with more than one person?”

“You’re not, are you?” she asked.

Then she smacked her hand against her forehead. God. Why did she ask that? What is wrong with her?

“No, Little Misfit. I’m not. And don’t hurt yourself.”

“You hurt yourself? How?” Doctor Evans asked.

“I don’t hurt myself.”

Liar.

She hadn’t pulled her hair in a day or two so maybe she was getting better.

“I’m confused,” he said. “Did you give yourself this current injury?”

“Are you for real right now?” Ian snapped.

Uh-oh.

Red alert.

“I got this injury five years ago in a car accident when I shattered my hip,” she told him coolly. “Sometimes it flares up and gives me problems when I walk on it too much or get really stressed and don’t take care of myself.”

“Right . . . right . . . well, I will examine it.”

She put up with his clammy gross fingers on her. He didn’t say much, at least. But he definitely gave her the creeps.

Maggie really wished Jameson was still her doctor. After an x-ray and ultrasound, she was feeling exhausted as she was wheeled toward another room by an orderly. Both Doctor Evans and Ian had insisted on the wheelchair. She got the feeling that if Ian hadn’t been on bodyguard duty, he would have carried her.

She wanted to go home and check on Uncle Willy. Jack had been sending updates to Ian. Apparently, they’d played a game of gin rummy, watched a dreadful reality TV show about hoarders, and now he was having a nap.

She was worried that they weren’t going to get the photos they needed done, even though Ian had reassured her that the princes and Pippa weren’t upset, she couldn’t help but worry.

“All right, we’re going to do an MRI now,” Doctor Evans said.

Panic gripped her.

“Nope. No, we’re not,” she said hastily, grabbing hold of the chair’s wheels as the orderly started pushing her into the room. “Back it up, buddy.”

Doctor Evans frowned down at her. “We need an MRI. If you’re worried about the cost, your insurance will cover it, I’m sure.”

“No. Nope. It doesn’t cover it. So I can’t have it. Let’s go, buddy!”

“Wait. Little Misfit, what’s wrong with having an MRI?” Ian crouched next to the wheelchair.

She bit her lip, looking over at Doctor Evans, then the orderly.

“I’m taking her into the room. You two stay out here,” Ian ordered.

“Excuse me.” Doctor Evans puffed up. “This is my hospital.”

“Good for you. Stay put.” Ian wheeled her into the room with the huge MRI scanner. She gulped nervously.

Thankfully, there was no one in the room. “I don’t want to go in there, Ian.”

Ian looked over at the machine. Understanding filled his face. “Jack said you got scared in the lift. Does that have something to do with not wanting an MRI?”

She nodded. “It moves and it’s noisy and you have to stay still. I’ve done it before. You go into the tunnel and it’s . . . it’s scary. I know I’m being a big wimp?—”

Ian placed his hand over her mouth. “Stop that. If you don’t want to do it, then you don’t do it.” He moved his hand when she touched it with hers.

“Really?” she asked, relief making her light-headed.

“Of course, Little girl. No one will make you do anything you don’t wish to do, and if they try, then you tell me. I’ll take care of them.”

She wished she could have Ian with her all the time.

“What do you want to do?” he asked.

“Get dressed and go home.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do.” Ian grabbed the handles of her wheelchair and turned her toward the door.

But Doctor Evans walked in before they could leave. He was tapping on his phone and not looking at them. “Right, the technician is coming soon to set everything up. She’ll help you get ready.”

“I’m not having the MRI.”

“Yes, you are,” Doctor Evans said, looking up and putting his phone away.

“Could I go feet first?” she asked. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.

“No. You’ll be going head first. This is necessary to ensure that no substantial damage has been done to your hip.”

“No. Ian, I don’t want it.” Panic started to fill her again. She tugged at her hair, then realised the doctor was watching her closely. “Ian, I want to go home.”

Ian frowned but nodded, putting his phone away. “All right, Little Misfit.”

“This is against medical advice, you realize,” Doctor Evans said pompously.

“I don’t need the MRI. Ian.”

“Let’s go.” Ian pushed her out the door and back down to the area where she’d gotten changed. She couldn’t wait to get back into her clothes.

But before they made it there, she saw Jameson walking toward them.

“You texted him, didn’t you?” She glared over her shoulder at Ian.

“I just need to know we’re making the right choice. This is your health, Little girl.”

“I knew I should have brought Jack,” she muttered.

“Jack would have done the same.”

Hmm. She wasn’t so sure about that.

“Good morning, Ian. Maggie. How are you today?”

“I’m not doing the MRI scan,” she blurted out. “No one can make me. Ian promised.”

Ian sighed behind her.

“Why don’t we talk for a moment? Come with me.” Jameson led them into a consultation room.

Jameson grabbed a chair and turned it to face her. She picked at a thread in her horrible hospital gown.

“Maggie, can you look at me, please.”

Even though he said please and worded it like a question, it definitely was not.

“I don’t want you to do that Dom voodoo on me,” she muttered.

“Dom voodoo?” he asked, sounding amused.

“Yeah, where you make me look at you, and suddenly, I’m agreeing to do something I don’t want to do.”

“Please, Shortcake.”

She let out a deep breath and looked up into his kind eyes. Shoot.

“Still not doing it.”

“All right. Can you tell me why?” Jameson asked.

“There’s no point. Besides, my insurance might not cover it.”

“And if I said there is no charge because you’re here as a guest of the royal family and that the point is to rule out any damage to your hip . . . what would you say?”

“I’d tell you that it isn’t attractive to have an answer to everything.”

He just gave her a lighter version of the ‘the look.’

“Why don’t you want the MRI? And I want the truth this time.” Firm. Unyielding.

Monkeyballs.

That tone of voice made her want to confess everything. So that’s what she did.

“When my sister turned twelve, I licked some of the icing off her cake and smoothed it back over. And when my brother was kissing his date in the living room when he was supposed to be looking after me, I set off the smoke alarm.”

And was no one going to stop her talking?

“That’s all very interesting, sweetheart.” Jameson patted her hand. Was he fighting a smile? “But still not what we’re talking about. Why are you scared of the MRI?”

“I don’t like small spaces. Well, small spaces where I feel trapped. Especially if they move. I don’t like lifts. And MRI scanners are worse. I have to stay still and I’m trapped and it’s cold and I just won’t.” Her breath stuttered in and out of her lungs.

This is ridiculous, Maggie.

It’s just a freaking machine. It can’t hurt you.

After everything she’d been through . . . the pain, the recovery, you’d think this would be nothing.

“Jameson,” Ian growled, moving toward her. “We’re leaving.”

Relief filled her.

“Wait.” Jameson held up his hand to Ian. “Give me a moment.”

“Fix this, or I’m taking her out of here. Now.”

The big guy was pacing the room, looking upset.

“Maggie, I didn’t say you could look away from me,” Jameson said firmly.

Whoa. His voice packed a real punch.

“Shit. I see why you pulled back,” Ian muttered.

Huh?

“Be quiet, Ian. I need Maggie to focus on me.”

Her gaze went back to his.

“Well done, sweetheart.”

When he praised her, it made her want to curl up in his lap and give him anything he wanted.

It was dangerous. Decadent.

And she wanted more.

“I want you to calm your breathing for me,” Jameson said in a low, commanding voice. “Take a deep breath and then I’m going to count as you let it out. In. Good. Now out, one, two, three, four, five. That’s it.”

“I’m not having a panic attack,” she told him.

At least, she didn’t think she was. She hadn’t gone all hot then cold. The room wasn’t spinning. Her breath wasn’t trapped in her lungs.

“You were on the verge of one,” he explained in that same calm voice.

“I’m still not going in that machine,” she said.

He narrowed his gaze and she glanced up at Ian for back-up.

“Uh-uh. No. Eyes back to me.” Jameson’s voice was adamant and had her immediately paying attention to him. “Good girl. You weren’t given permission to look away from me.”

“I don’t think I need permission to look away from you.” She wrinkled her nose, but didn’t look away.

“You do right now.”

“Jesus,” Ian muttered.

“Ian, you need to be quiet or leave.”

It was all too much. She loved the way Jameson was taking charge. His Dom voice. But she couldn’t give in.

So, instead of behaving and following his commands like she really wanted to, she put her hand up to the side of her mouth. “He’ll find that hard. Mr. Chatterbox, that one.”

“Maggie.”

That one word in that tone completely stole her sass. She bit her lip, glancing at Jameson worriedly.

“Everything is going to be all right, sweetheart,” he said soothingly. “But I want you to concentrate on me.” Jameson took her hands in his. “Your hands are freezing.” Getting up, he grabbed a blanket from a cupboard and placed it over her legs. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Oh, I didn’t notice.”

“You need some close watching.” Then he drew himself up straight, letting go of her.

And all she wanted was to beg him to touch her again.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes.” She bit off the Sir, even though the word lingered on her tongue.

“Are you claustrophobic?”

She nodded. “Sort of.”

“Sort of?” he asked.

“I like to hide in bathtubs,” she blurted out.

“Good to know,” he replied with a nod. “But I’m guessing that’s not the same feeling as being enclosed though since bathtubs don’t have a lid.”

Yeah, dumbass.

She dropped her gaze.

“Hey.” He grasped hold of her chin. “I didn’t say that to make you feel bad. I just want to understand what scares you. Okay?”

“Okay,” she whispered.

“Let’s see if we can work out a way to make you less nervous. Did you bring Ziggy with you?”

Her face lit up before she bit her lip. “Uh-huh. He’s in my handbag back with my clothes.”

“Why don’t we send Ian to get him so you can have him in the MRI with you?”

“Won’t people think I’m weird?” she asked.

“Who gives a fuck what people think,” Ian said. “If you need Ziggy, you’ll have him.”

She looked up at Ian like he hung the moon. Jameson couldn’t help but wish she’d look at him that way too.

“No one cares. I promise,” Jameson told her. “What about if you went feet first into the MRI machine?”

“That’s not what Doctor Evans said. He said I had to go head first.”

Jameson frowned.

“That Doc is a dick,” Ian muttered. “Asking her about past and current sexual partners. What’s that got to do with her hip?”

“Maybe he wants to make sure I’m not going home to have wild monkey sex with a harem of my own.”

She swallowed heavily at their looks. Jameson was the first to glance away. “I’ll have a word with him. But going feet first should be fine. I know it’s still loud and a bit scary, but we have some headphones and we’ll be able to speak to each other. Would that help?”

She twisted her fingers together. “I know I’m being a wimp.”

“Don’t you dare call yourself that,” Ian snapped.

Jameson waved him back and took hold of both of her hands again. “You are not a wimp. Everyone is afraid of something and we shouldn’t be made to feel bad about our fears.”

“Even you guys?”

“Yes,” Jameson said firmly.

“Jameson is afraid of com—” Ian broke off as Jameson sent him a look. “Comic books.”

“Comic books? That’s, um, okay . . .” she said. Weird, but hey, it wasn’t like she could say anything.

“Ian is joking,” Jameson said stiffly. “He’s afraid of that white packing stuff they use in boxes.”

She started giggling, thinking Jameson was joking. But Ian was scowling at him. “I’m not afraid of it, asshole. I just don’t like the feel of it. Or the way it squeaks.”

“Feeling better yet?” Jameson asked her, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah. I actually am.”

“Do you want to give this a go?”

She nodded. “Let’s do this.”