Her eyes widen slightly when she sees me.
“Um, good morning.”
“Morning, Love.”
“It’s Chiara.”
“Whatever you say, Chiara,” I reply, grinning despite myself.
She immediately folds her arms.
“You’re early, Mr.Walker.”
Oh, she did not just pull the formal card on me.
“I’ve always been an overachiever.”
She sighs like she already knows I’m going to be trouble.
“So, what is it?”she asks.“Your shoulder, right?”
“Yep.Took an elbow while going down.Messed me up good.”
She gestures toward the treatment table.
“Sit.”
Professional.
Calm.
Cool as ice.
Which somehow makes her even hotter.
And it makes me want her even more.
She moves closer, pressing along my shoulder joint with careful fingers.
“Does that hurt?”
“A little.”
“That’s inflammation,” she says.“You’ll need rehab work for a couple weeks.”
“Lucky me.”
She ignores that completely.
Typical.
And I try—really try—to behave myself.
But the thing is, I’ve never met anyone like her.
Chiara Giardino doesn’t flirt.
Doesn’t swoon.
