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I’m just having fun.

And I didn’t realize how badly I needed that until now.

The music is loud enough that I feel it in my ribs, the bass matching the rhythm of my heartbeat. Roxy and I are laughing, moving together, sweat and lights and noise blending into something reckless and freeing.

Then I feel it.

Warmth at my back. Solid. Male.

A voice drops low near my ear.

“Damn, Doc, you look hot.”

My breath stutters before I can stop it.

I know that voice.

I know it too well.

The compliment hits me right in the chest. Unwanted and intoxicating all at once, and my first instinct is to pull away. Instead, I spin around, the hem of my dress flaring just enough to remind me I’m not wearing my usual armor tonight.

“Wilder,” I say, trying and failing to sound unaffected. “I see you have time to go out.”

His eyes flick over me, slow and unapologetic, before he lifts his beer and takes a long pull. When he grins, it’s lazy. Dangerous.

“Come on, Doc,” he says. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” I ask, though I already know.

I’ve stopped dancing now. Roxy is closer to my side, her presence grounding but watchful, like she senses the shift.

“Slip right back into thinking we’re sitting in a stuffy office,” he says. “We’re out having fun.” His grin widens. “You do know what fun is, don’t you?”

He laughs, and something in me bristles.

Part embarrassment.

Part irritation.

I straighten, lifting my chin. “Of course I do.”

“Good,” he murmurs.

He steps too close and suddenly I’m acutely aware of everything. The heat of his body. The faint scent of beer and something distinctly him. Clean. Warm. Familiar in a way it shouldn’t be.

“Dance with me, Doc,” he whispers.

His hands settle on my hips before I can stop him.

It’s wrong.

So wrong.

Every ethical line I’ve ever been taught is flashing red in my head. This is my patient. A man I’m supposed to help. Not want. Not crave. Not let touch me like this.

But it’s been so long since I’ve felt strong, steady, certain hands like these. Hands that make the rest of the world blur at the edges.

I hate myself for it, but my body betrays me.