He fisted his hands, knuckles up. “Kinda urgent. Ma’am.”
Ma’am. She hadn’t been called that in ages. It made her feel like she’d been bad, chastened—the way she’d felt the one and only time she’d gotten pulled over for speeding.
“I see.”
“Can we get started today? I’m on a bit of a deadline.”
She considered it, her feelings divided. On the one hand, she had the perfectly normal urge to make him better, to help. But on the other hand was this overwhelming whoosh of something…uncomfortable, disconcerting.
Attraction? Was that it? It had been so long since George had felt anything even remotely physical toward a man that she wouldn’t recognize it if it came in and bopped her on the head. Or punched her in the gut, more likely.
She shouldn’t bring this man into the back with her. Shouldn’t be able to picture him splayed across an examination table, shouldn’t feel the need to get a closer look, inviting intimacies with just the two of them here—all alone in the clinic with this beast of a man. Not only that, but once most patients found out how much it cost to get their ink removed, as opposed to put on, they got angry.
Would this man get angry? She narrowed her eyes at him, trying hard to picture that.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mr.—”
“Blane. Andrew Blane.”
“Mr. Blane, I’m alone here as you can see and—”
“Look, Ms.…”
“Doctor. It’s Dr. Hadley.”
“Right. Doctor. I’ll pay you. I’ll pay whatever it takes. I’ve just got to get these taken off. The sooner the better.”
“I understand it’s urgent, Mr. Blane, but tattoo removal is a long process. It’s never instantaneous. And, even so, I can’t guarantee that you’ll—”
“Please. Please, Doctor.” The words, even in that low, coffee-rich voice, reeked of desperation.
And George Hadley was a sucker for desperation.
She glanced again at his face and saw, besides the obvious, no real threat there. Yes, he was big, tattooed, and scarred, leaning on the counter, hands thick and capable-looking, but his vibe wasn’t threatening.
With a sigh, she stood up and, as much as she could with their disparate heights, spoke directly to him. “You’re an intimidating man, Mr. Blane. Forgive my hesitation.”
“I won’t hurt you.”
“Is that a promise?” she asked in a voice too low to be hers.
A corner of his mouth quirked up slightly, and George had to look away from a smile that was positively annihilating.
“Yes, Doctor. I promise you’re safe with me.”
“All right, then, Mr. Blane. Let’s get you taken care of. You can fill in the paperwork while I get things set up.”
In an effort to recoup some sense of professionalism, she grabbed a new client packet and pushed through the swinging door, holding it open for him and then going back at the last minute to grab her lab coat off Cindy’s chair.
* * *
Clay watched as the doctor moved around the room, setting things up quickly and efficiently. That was how she appeared—like someone who didn’t waste extraneous time on things. That hair, short and blond, looked easy to maintain rather than stylish, and her face was devoid of makeup. All business, which he kind of liked. And fresh in a way he didn’t think he’d ever seen in real life. Fresh like a shampoo commercial or toothpaste. Only real.
And the way she looked at him… When was the last time someone had looked at him like that? Like he was just a guy. A patient. A man. In the hospital, he’d been an agent, under heavy guard, riddled with bullets, fighting for his life. But even the nurses and docs who knew exactly why he was there gave him a wide berth. Because of how he looked.
Bullshit. It wasn’t his looks; it was his demeanor. No matter where you came from, spending every waking hour as a dirty-ass biker rubbed off on you eventually. But this woman—
With a loud crack, the doctor pulled one of those sheets of paper over the exam table and tore it, breaking through his thoughts, then washed her hands at a sink before settling onto a stool and rolling it over to his side.
