Page 4 of Heart of a Fighter

It’s no wonder he attracts women like flies. He’s a charmer without even trying. The way his simple grin can turn my insides to mush is a sure sign his recurring visits to the medical office spell nothing but trouble.

“You can’t be left alone for two seconds without medical intervention, can you?” I point to a seat and grab an ice pack from the freezer. I take a seat on the wheeled stool and scoot close enough to examine the swelling.

Mistake number one.

“Depends on who’s doing the doctoring.” His thick, low voice wafts through me, curling around my insides and gently squeezing my heart in a bear hug.

I gather a deep breath. Mistake number two. He smells of sweat and musk with a hint of cinnamon and citrus–masculine and rugged–catnip to my delirious, impetuous brain. I take another breath, deeper this time, savoring his scent and allowing it to seep into my lungs.

I take his hand to assess the bruising. Mistake number three. When I touch him, adrenaline rushes through my fingertips and splinters up my arm. The sensation reaches my chest and spiders to my nipples, causing them to pinch and pucker. I shift uncomfortably, suddenly too hot for my cotton scrubs, and desperately hoping my sports bra offers plenty of protection to save my dignity.

“Guess you don’t know your own strength.” I slide one hand under his and place the ice pack over the swollen skin, which is already coloring a soft shade of purple. “Wanna tell me why you put your fist into the boards?”

Granger curls his fingers around mine, warming my hand–a stark contrast to the freezing cold ice. He reaches for me with his free hand and tucks a stray piece of hair behind my ear. He lingers with his finger, tracing the shell of my ear. The unexpected, intimate gesture sends my pulse racing. A surge of heat and desire speed to every nerve ending in my body. My knees brush the inside of his powerful, thick thighs, and my body ignites with blistering heat. When our eyes lock, the connection intensifies, making it difficult to focus on anything but him.

A shiver skitters up my spine as heat rises in my cheeks. I suddenly feel more exposed than before. Clattering echoes in the hallway cause me to jump. I jerk away from Granger as Dr. Evans enters the room. He cocks an eyebrow as I reposition the ice on Granger’s knuckles and wheel my stool away from him to a more professional distance.

“That should reduce the swelling. Try to take it easy on the boards.” My voice rattles nervously, like I’ve been caught red-handed with my hand in the cookie jar. I turn to address the doctor, hoping he doesn’t notice the sheen of sweat creeping around my temples. “Almost finished with inventory,” I say as innocently as my guilty conscience allows.

Granger slips out of the room, the silence and strained relationship between the two men strikingly obvious.

By the end of my first week on the job, Granger visited the medical office every day. Each time, we were alone. It’s as if he waited for the perfect opportunity to drop in on me. I’ve come to expect him, anticipating his arrival as the highlight of my day.

Today’s no different from previous days. Granger appears in the doorway minutes after the rest of the team leaves for lunch.

“Felt a twinge during a drill,” he says, placing his hand across his chest as he rolls his shoulder. “Mind taking a look?”

Hell, no. I don’t mind taking a look, even though it’s a bad idea–very bad.

“Maybe Dr. Evans or one of the physical therapists would be better?” Muscular pulls and strains aren’t my specialty, though technically, increasing my skill set is what I’m doing here.

He reaches behind his back and slowly closes the door. “You’re not afraid of muscular contractions, are you?” He flashes his million-dollar, panty-melting grin and lowers his gaze, perusing my curves like he’s taking inventory or a leisurely stroll. It’s possessive, illicit and sensual.

I'm overwhelmed with twinges and all for it.

He reaches for the bottom of his shirt and drags it upward, exposing his perfectly sculpted abs. My mouth temporarily dries up as every ounce of moisture in my body travels downward in a dizzying spiral to my core.

Those twinges from moments ago enter the realm of fluttering spasms of the most unprofessional kind.

“Nope,” my voice scratches. I indulge in a quick tongue-wagging ogle as his head dips beneath the fabric, then pull it together when his messy head of hair pops back into view.

Our eyes lock, and the connection between us is electric. The overhead lights buzz and my brain follows suit. There’s no mistaking the undercurrent between us, and I’m about to get swept to sea.

“Have a seat.” My voice hitches, higher pitched than usual, my nerves exposed and vibrating along with my heart.

Granger pulls a chair away from the wall, spins it around, and then straddles it with his chest facing the chair’s back. Thank goodness for the barrier it creates. At this point, I’m likely to attempt lap dancing for the first time in my life.

“Where was the twinge, exactly?” I ask, rounding the chair to his side. I know exactly where I’m feeling a twinge–that part isn't difficult to guess. I hover over his shoulder and back so closely that the heat from his body penetrates my scrubs. If I jutted my hips forward, I could rub against him like a cat.

He tilts his chin, giving me a side glance, then does the unexpected. He takes my hand, dwarfing it with his big mitt of a hand. If his hand is this big, then he must be ginormous elsewhere. My insides quiver at the thought.

“About here.” He guides my hand to his shoulder and presses lightly. I swallow the knot creeping into my throat, but the damned pounding in my chest keeps knocking it upward.

“I got it,” I say, my breath shallow.

I trace his muscles with my fingertips, losing myself in the sensation of his skin on mine. He works his jaw, stretching and flexing his neck while holding me captive with his intense gaze.

The air feels like a steamy sauna, each touch ratcheting up the tension that’s been coiling in my system for days. The crush I’ve kept hidden for years seems like child’s play compared to this. What would it feel like to let go, even for only a moment?

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