Page 17 of Accidentally on Purpose

“Harder? For what?”

“The bad stuff.”

“Why do you want to know the bad stuff?”And why couldn’t I keep my eyes off his flexing forearms?

The oars lifted out of the water, letting the canoe drift.

“Because if I’m supposed to be in love with you, then I need to know more than the perfect ER doctor facade. I need to know all the imperfections.”

I stared.Was he for real? Was it possible for a man to be this hot and generous and…sincere?Maybe he was a serial killer. The Ted Bundy of Jackson, Wyoming.

“I kill plants,” I blurted out and then shook my head. “Not on purpose. I mean, I’m just terrible at keeping them alive.”

He nodded slowly. “Plant murderer. Got it. Anything else? What about your family? Your dad…”

I answered quickly because there was nothing to tell, and I didn’t want him to think it was a touchy subject; it wasn’t.

“He’s never been in the picture. Left when my mom was pregnant. I’ve never met him and don’t care to.”

“So it’s always been you and your mom?”

“Yup.” I smiled. “She worked two, sometimes three, jobs when I was younger to support us. She did anything—everything—she had to to make sure I was taken care of. A real hero.”

I could save lives all day, every day, but I wasn’t sure if there’d ever come a time where I’d see all my hard work as the equivalent of the sacrifices Mom made for me. For us.

“Seems like it,” he said with a slow nod of admiration and agreed. “Must be where you get it from.”

I blushed instantly as though his words were an on switch for the vasodilation in my cheeks.When was the last time I’d let a compliment affect me?

I shook it off and redirected the conversation. “We should come up with a story about how we met.”

That was the next step in this, right? At least, it was in all those damn Hallmark movies.

Decker chuckled. “They say close to the truth is always the best, so did your car break down in the city, and I—”

“I don’t have a car in the city,” I interrupted. “No. How about you injured yourself while working on a car and came into the ER when I was working?”

“I asked you out?” He arched a brow. “I think you should’ve asked me out.”

“I wouldn’t do that because you’re a patient, and it’s inappropriate.”

“So I have to be the inappropriate one?” His brows lifted. “When you’re the one who asked me to be your fake boyfriend?”

I huffed and pursed my lips. “Right, but there is a hard line I’d never cross with a patient—”

“Oh, I have a way with words,” he assured me with a wink, and I had to look down and confirm there wasn’t any water in the boat because it was definitely wet between my thighs. “It was just a cut that needed a couple of stitches. You told me it would heal up nicely. I said I’d feel more comfortable if you checked on it in a day or two. Maybe over dinner.”

“Ah-ha,” I exclaimed and smiled. “So you were the one who asked me out.”Like it mattered in this fake scenario.

“And you ignored me—”

“Because I would never—”

“Let me finish,” he demanded, the sternness in his voice definitely a turn-on. Dirty and demanding. The combination made me shiver. As much as I embraced my independence—maybe to the point of detriment—the fantasy of being dominated was enticing.

“Okay,” I answered docilely, biting the inside of my cheek to curb the sensations tearing me up inside

He pulled both oars out of the water and rested them on the sides of the canoe so that we were floating. “You ignored my subtle suggestion while you stitched me up and when you were done, you told me I was all taken care of, and I asked who takes care of you?”

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