Page 55 of Doctor’s Forbidden Match

When I have everything, he steps in and scoops up the clothes from the bed before I can protest. I try not to focus on the fact that he’s touching my matching blue satin set that I chose to wear under my sweats.

And definitely don’t think about the way his hands look holding my intimate things, or the flush that’s creeping up my chest at the domesticity of it all.

“Hey…” I call out, then realize I actually don’t know what to call him. Dr. Sterling feels too formal now, but I don’t know if I have permission for anything else.

“Zac,” he says as he rounds the corner, coming to stand in the doorway of my bedroom.

The name hangs between us.

Nice name. It suits him. Strong, simple, unpretentious.

He dips his chin and strides out, and I can breathe again once he’s gone.

Chapter 21

Zac

The sound of the shower running filters from the bathroom, and I stand in the middle of her Airbnb, hunched over the kitchen island, taking a shuddering breath. I’m so confused by her. We’re so opposite. She looked so good in the scrubs that it threw me completely off balance.

I can’t help but think how there’s just something between us I can’t pinpoint. Being surrounded by her everywhere—her things, her scent, her chaos—it’s fucking with my head.

My gaze sweeps across the space; the dark ring of a mug stain marking the white countertop. Her bed’s unmade, sheets twisted and tangled. The stack of dishes piled up in the sink, plates crusted with dried food. God, the mess.

She’s been on crutches, so getting from one room to the next must have been a challenge, and she’s had nobody to help her. I get to cleaning because it’s the only thing that’s going to calm me down. As I wait for her to finish showering, I’m listening, straining to hear in case she calls out for me. But God, I hope she doesn’t. Don’t need any more problems with her, especially if she’s without clothes.

I wash the mugs, the dishes, my hands moving on autopilot. Dry them and put them away. Then I wipe down the counter, scrubbing at the stubborn ring until it disappears. The bathroom door opens, the click of the handle loud in the quiet space.

I’m quick to turn, and there she is, standing in the hallway in gray sweats that hang low on her hips, her hair wet and dripping onto her shoulders, no makeup. She’s breathtaking. I stand frozen for a split second, just taking her in. A droplet clings to her lashes, catching the light. But her skin is awfully pale.

“Zac,” she says, and the way my name sits on her lips is like a warm hug wrapping around my chest.

But then she pales even more, the color draining from her face. “I don’t feel so good.”

I watch her sway. My body reacts before my brain catches up. She faints right in front of me. I catch her against my chest, my arms wrapping around her waist as her crutches clatter to the floor with a harsh bang.

Heart pounding in my ears, I ignore them and sweep her up into my arms, one hand under her knees, the other supporting her back as I carry her to bed. It doesn’t take long; the place is small, and she’s already waking up anyway, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks before I even lay her down.

I lower her head to the pillow carefully, easing her body onto the mattress. I don’t even know which side of the bed is hers, but right now, I just go for whatever’s closest to the entry. I gently place her down, immediately checking her over.

My hands move to cup her face, turning her head as I lean in closer. “Hey,” I say softly, watching for a response. Her eyes blink open slowly, pupils equal and reactive, tracking my face as I move my finger from side to side. No signs of a concussion. I press two fingers to the pulse point at her throat, counting silently. Strong and steady, maybe a little fast, but that’s normal after fainting.

A lazy smile spreads across her face.

I don’t know what she’s fucking smiling at. This girl is one of the most frustrating people I’ve ever met. How can she be like this?

“Thanks for saving me again,” she murmurs. “I guess.”

Color fills her face, flooding back into her cheeks. At this point, I’m hovering over her, my hands planted on either side of her head, my face inches from hers. My eyes drop to her lips before I can stop myself, and I’m suddenly acutely aware of how close we are.

I pull back quickly, but her hand claws at my forearm, her fingers wrapping around my wrist and holding me still. The touch sends heat racing up my arm.

I take in her face… eyes still hazy, her lips parted slightly, and I just want to kiss her. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I need to get out of here. But she’s sick.

Fucking hell.

“Do you want something to drink?” I ask, trying to find my voice, forcing the words out. “Some water?”

An excuse to leave this room for a minute, to get my shit together.