“And the doctor did all those tests, and there’s nothing wrong with me,” my patient says impatiently.
That’s good to know. I take a covert glance at the name band on his wrist as I sort the plastic-wrapped dressings. Reid Maddox. He has tattoos of skulls, fire, wings, and columns that run all the way down his arm, and the bullet wound goes right through a snake’s body.
“Not being medical professionals, we didn’t know that, and for thirty seconds you weren’t able to tell us you were fine, and we were worried. Also ‘fine’ apart from the new piercing in your arm, Sir.”
“You’re funny.” Reid Maddox rolls his eyes, and then shifts to regard me.
I snap on gloves and then murmur, “Sorry,” before I move his arm to give me better access. From the way the younger man sucks in a nervous breath, I half expect my patient to smack me, but he just watches me from under dark brows, giving me a curt nod when our gazes meet.
He’s muscled. Strong. And I notice other scars amongst the stark tattoos on his skin. I have the totally insane urge to stroke his arm like he’s a terrifying big-cat as I clean up the excess blood further away from the wound. I don’t though, focusing on the parts that the doctor ignored, presumably because it was beneath them.
“This might hurt a bit,” I say as I have to scrub some dried blood. If it’s left there, the dressing won’t stick properly, and I have no desire for Reid Maddox or any of his associates to come after me.
He barks a laugh and looks at me. But his eyes have changed. Softened around the edges.
“What’s your name?” His tone has lost the abrasive edge.
“Callie.” I point at my badge and don’t mention that I’ve already told him.
“Callie Flowers,” he reads, and a warm shiver goes down my back.
“I’m Reid Maddox. It’s good to meet you.”
I think I’m probably supposed to recognise his name, but I’m too busy with my job as a nurse, and I prefer baking and reading to gossip magazines about the London mafia bosses.
I give him a genuine smile, and if my heart skips a beat when his gaze lingers on my mouth? Well. That’s not my fault. Being close to a man like this, even injured, would make any woman’s pulse flutter. And it’s not as though I have lots of experience to give me immunity to his charm.
Even a very gruff sort like Reid’s.
He watches me carefully as I finish up the extra cleaning, put a bit of packing into the wound, then place the dressing. I focus and spend a moment angling everything so the skin can’t get caught, and it won’t shift when he moves his arm.
It takes a few minutes longer than other nurses would take, but I like to do a good job, and with Reid’s blue eyes intent on me, I’m maybe a bit more diligent than I usually would be.
“Thank you.”
I look up at his face, and he’s turned his head, so our lips are only a matter of inches apart. And my stomach does an inconvenient flip at how attractive he is. That beard. I wonder how it would feel on my cheek. Under my fingertips. On my inner thighs.
I flush red hot at the inappropriate thought.
He is a patient. I am a professional. This isn’t the sort of thought I indulge.
I stand, perhaps a bit too fast, and sway as the blood whooshes from my head.
“Easy,” Reid says with a hint of amusement, reaching out and bolstering me with his uninjured arm.
“Sorry,” I mutter, even more embarrassed. “Nearly took you out. Come to the hospital, end up squashed by a nurse.”
“Callie.”
His voice is so commanding that I freeze without my own volition.
“Stop it. It’s okay.”
I nod, because I don’t trust my voice to emerge sounding normal.
“Good girl.”
Oh… my… I can’t breathe. My eyes are as big as the Atlantic. He just called me a good girl? I thought that was something you said to golden doodles who brought back their ball, but it’s shocking how nice that small bit of praise feels as it washes over me.
