Page 40 of Wounded King

I pull the cart up next to him while he takes his shirt off. No matter how many times I've seen his naked torso, I'm still not used to it. His muscles are hard, roped, and chiseled. My fingers itch to run over his pecs. What would it feel like lying under a man like him? Images of the sheet tent return to me, igniting a small pulse in my clit.Great. Now I'm turned on again. Very professional, Vi.

My body automatically remembers what to do: take bandages off, clean wounds, and scrutinize them. "The stitches look good."

No sign of infection. Healing ointment, new bandages. All that is done on autopilot, while my mind won't stop torturing me with scenarios of this man—mypatient—fucking me senseless. And he would. I'm sure of it. He is a man used to control and power.

I'm suddenly aware that he's staring at me and realize he said something, but for the life of me, I can't figure out what.

"I'm sorry, I missed that."

"Yeah, you looked a million miles away," he says curiously, studying me with his piercing gray eyes—eyes I could simply get lost in. They are the exact shade of an overcast summer sky, right before the storm.

"You're doing it again," he chuckles.

"I'm so sorry. I do feel a bit scatterbrained today." I'll admit that much. There's no reason to tell him that wherever I went in my head, he was there with me. Front and center. Shirtless. Smirking. Dangerous.

"I said, that's what Doc Brown said, too."

"He did?" Before I make a double-take. "Who is Doctor Brown?" I don't remember a doctor by that name on any of the staff lists.

"My doctor," he fills me in.

"He's not working for St. Raphael's."

He shakes his head. "No, he works for me."

Great. Just great.I arch a brow. "Let me get this straight. You now have a personal doctoranda nurse." I gesture to myself dramatically."Both of whom you'll fire if they disagree with you?"

His smile spreads. That annoyingly gorgeous, devil-may-care smile that should come with a health warning. God, he's lethal. "Now you're catching on."

"Unbelievable." I shake my head, but my lips are twitching.

I put my hands on my hips. "Well, I'm still going to tell you that you should be in bed."

"That's not what the doctor said," he challenges.

My fists tighten on my hips. "Oh really? And what exactly did this doctor of yours prescribe?"

His dimples flash, and God help me, because both my body and mind are ready to abandon me. "Movement. Activity. Maybe a walk in the garden. Supervised, of course. Preferably by someone with hazel eyes and a sharp tongue."

I roll my eyes so hard they almost get stuck. "You really are impossible."

"I've been called worse." He goes for nonchalant, which is absolutely deadly.

I sigh, defeated. "And yet somehow, I keep showing up. I must be more masochistic than I knew."

"That, or you like me." Another challenge drifts toward me.

My mouth opens. Then closes. Damn him. I tilt my head, giving him my best unimpressed nurse stare. "Likeyou? Don't flatter yourself, Mr. Orsi."

"Marcello," he corrects smoothly. "Say it like you mean it."

I ignore the flutter that sparks in my chest. "I'm just here to keep you from doing something stupid. Like walking into a gunfight with a concussion and a stitched-up leg."

He grins, and it's unfair how good that looks on him. "So you admit you care."

"I admit I'm paid to care." I grab the chart and make a show of checking it, mostly so I don't have to look at his smug face another second. But even as I turn, I can feel his eyes on me. Burning and knowing. And I hate how much I don't hate it.

Two days later…