Page 8 of Stalked By the Doctor

"You seem distracted today," he observes. "Is everything alright?"

I nod mutely, biting my tongue to avoid blurting out what's really on my mind.I want you so bad I dream bad things about you.

"I worry about you, Britney," he continues, misinterpreting my silence. "You've been through so much, and I just want you to know I'm here for you if there's anything you need to get off your chest."

His concern makes my stomach turn. He's so good, so kind. He'd probably run for the hills if he knew the sick thoughts I have about him. How I want him to possess me, to control me.

I swallow and nod, unable to speak.

When he leans down to listen to my heartbeat, his breath feathers across my neck, and I stiffen. His scent envelops me, and desire moistens my panties.

He pulls back to study me, and I avoid meeting his gaze, afraid he'll see the truth reflected there. But then his fingers curl under my chin, forcing my eyes to his.

"You know I'm here for you, don't you?"

"Yes, Dr. Jameson," I make myself whisper. "I'm just tired."

He looks like he might say more, but then he simply nods and takes his leave.

And I'm left alone with my aching pussy and lustful thoughts.

Maybe I am a whore, just like my stepdad always said I would be.

CHAPTERFOUR

Paul

The summons arrivesduring my morning rounds. A clipped note in Dr. Thomas's precise hand instructs me to report to his office immediately.

My heart sinks. Whatever this is about, it won't be good. Dr. Thomas tolerates no infractions, no missteps. Perfection is the only acceptable standard.

I finish with my last patient and head to the executive wing, a twisting serpent of corridors lined with antique oak panels and oil portraits of venerable hospital patrons. The scent of lemon polish and money lingers here, a world away from the chemical cacophony of the wards.

At last I reach the double doors of Dr. Thomas's office, steeling myself before entering. He looks up from a stack of papers, pale eyes peering at me over the rim of his glasses.

"Dr. Jameson. Thank you for coming." His tone is cordial, but there's an edge to it. A razor-sharp warning. "Please, have a seat."

I sink into one of the leather chairs facing his massive oak desk, pulse racing.Stay calm. You've done nothing wrong.

I almost snort at myself. I know exactly what I've been doing. Lusting after my young patient. I'm a sick bastard.

"I've noticed you've been making a number of house calls recently." Dr. Thomas leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "Far more than usual. Might I ask what's prompted this change in your routine?"

"Just following up with a few patients to monitor their recovery." Even to my own ears, the excuse sounds weak.

"Really." He arches an eyebrow. "Because from what I can tell, you seem to be making frequent visits to only one patient. A Miss Britney Bailey, if I'm not mistaken."

My mouth goes dry. He knows.

"I'm waiting for an explanation, Dr. Jameson." His eyes gleam behind those wire-rimmed spectacles, a predator circling his prey. "And it had better be good."

I grasp for words, coming up empty. There is no explanation, no excuse that can justify my actions. Nothing but the truth—that I've thrown away my ethics and risked my career for my sick obsession.

Dr. Thomas's lips thin into a disapproving line. "As I suspected. I'm disappointed, Paul. Fraternizing with patients is unacceptable. You know that."

"I know," I say weakly.

"Yet here we are." He shakes his head. "You're a talented doctor, but you seem determined to sabotage yourself at every turn. This obsession of yours has clouded your judgment and compromised your integrity as a physician."

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