One Week Later

“You’re looking good tonight, Doc.”

His voice stops me. I hold my head down and breathe out the moment of fear he caused in me. Then I pinch the bridge of my nose, between my eyes, and think again for the hundredth time…Why me?

“Mr. Kane, this is getting to be a habit,” I tell him, as I turn and lean on my car. He walks closer and doesn’t stop until he’s right in front of me. One of his hands rests on my car door, effectively boxing me in as he leans down and gives me a smile.

It should be illegal for a man to look this good. Dark mocha skin reminds me of another weakness I have: hot chocolate. So sinfully enticing that I want to lick every inch of him to see if he’s just as sweet. His dark eyes always seem to glow, and tonight, competes with the diamond stud he’s wearing in his right ear. His body is chiseled to perfection, and he’s a walking billboard-ad for Wrangler jeans. His head is shaved completely bald. I’ve shamefully imagined holding it while he works between my legs. He’s wearing a white t-shirt under his leather cut that proclaims him part of the Savage Brothers’ Motorcycle Club. There’s a patch under his nickname that says Enforcer, and that should be reason number nine hundred and ninety-nine why I should get in my car and run. Not have fantasies about him, like I have from day one. What kind of woman, let alone a professional woman—a doctor completing her residency—already with too much on her plate, daydreams and fantasizes about a man she diagnosed with the clap? A woman who needs therapy, sex, or possibly both. I should be searching for therapists and accepting Dr. Reynolds’ invites out to dinner.

Unfortunately, I’m not that smart. I haven’t been since I met him in the emergency room. Because, here I am, one week after diagnosing him with the clap, standing in a parking garage at the butt-crack of dawn, engaging in a conversation with my own personal stalker. Again, this is becoming a regular thing… every other day, just like clockwork, he’s here waiting for me, boxing me in against my car, talking to me. Flirting, invading my space, making me feel alive, making me get a little more addicted to his smile, his humor, and to his presence…that’s what he’s doing. I should run screaming, but instead, I find myself flirting back. Like I said, I’m not that smart.

“I told you to call me Bull,” he reminds me, letting a finger from his free hand twirl in one of the loose tendrils of my hair.

Once again, I shore up my defenses, which admittedly, are weak around him.

“I remember,” I tell him, turning away, and tucking under his arm so I can open the driver’s side door of my car.

He takes the door out of my hand and holds it. I look over my shoulder at him, already knowing I wouldn’t make my escape that easily.

“Then why do you keep calling me Mr. Kane?” he asks. In our previous meetings, he just says hi, tells me I’m pretty, flirts, and lets me go. Leaving me thinking about him and fantasizing—like an idiot. Apparently tonight, it’s not going to be that easy. This could be bad.

“Because, we’re not friends. I’m the doctor who gave you bad news, and you’re the man crazy enough to date a nurse I work with. A nurse I’m not real fond of and, therefore, I don’t think I should be calling her boyfriend by his first name. Or, you know, even talking to her boyfriend. So, if you’ll excuse me….”

“Sweetheart I don’t think I’ve ever been anyone’s boyfriend, and I sure as hell ain’t going to start in my thirties. I’m a man,” he says, like I have any doubt.

“Fine, dating. Whatever.”

“I told you I wasn’t dating Melissa. We were just fucking.”

“Yes well, that’s just reason number one thousand.”

“One thousand?” he asks, and I curse my big mouth for the slip. I’m too tired to be talking to this man.

“One of a thousand reasons I should call hospital security instead of humoring you. If you don’t mind Mr. Kane, I’m exhausted. I’m going to go home, kiss Matty and sleep,” I tell him, sliding behind the wheel of my car. I can’t close the door though, because the damn man won’t let go of it. I wonder if I started beating my head on the steering wheel, would he feel sorry for me and let me go home?

“Is Matty your old man?” he asks.

“If I say yes, will you leave me alone?”

“Depends on if you’re telling the truth,” he answers, watching me.

“He’s my son,” I sigh out my answer. “My very young son, who hasn’t seen his mom in over twenty-four hours now. It’d be great if you would move so I could close my door and go home. That’d be really good.”

“You got a kid?”

Why didn’t I think of this sooner? All men run when they find out you have a readymade family. Apparently, even man-whore semi-stalkers.

“Yes. So, you can see, you’re wasting your time with me.”

“I don’t think so. I like that you have a kid. In fact, Doc, I’m liking everything I learn about you.”

With that, I do bang my head against the steering wheel. Just once, but still…

“Did you learn the part where I don’t date men who would have anything to do with people like Nurse Allen? Or, who are so careless with their health that they get a venereal disease, and then can’t remember the names of the mountains of women with whom they’ve had sex within a very short, three-week period?”

“Cute, Doc. But, I didn’t ask you out on a date. I’m not really the dating type.”

“Oh yes, I forgot. You skip that part and go straight into sleeping with a woman.”

“Fucking. There was never any sleeping going on. Women get all weird you start letting them stay in your bed.”

“Unbelievable,” I mutter and start my car up. I’ll just drive off and drag him, until he lets go of the door if I have to.

“You know what you should be asking, Doc?”

“I’m afraid to ask.”

“Ask me how many women I’ve fucked since I met you.”

“Mr. Kane…”

“Not a damn one,” he says, interrupting me. “My dick wants you. And you, Doc? I think you’d be different. You I’d like to date. I think I’d even like sleeping with you.”

“That’s not going to happen,” I tell him, ignoring the small thrill that runs through me. I really need to start therapy soon. I must be close to breaking with reality. That can be the only explanation for this madness.

“Why? You can deny it all you want, Doc, but you’re attracted to me. Your nipples are so hard right now, they’re about to burst through your shirt.”

“That’s because it’s cold out here, and you’re not letting me close my dang car door!” I’m only partially lying, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Whatever you say, Doc.”

“Mr. Kane…”

“Tell me why you won’t go out with me, and I’ll let you go.”

“I think I’ve already made that clear, but since those other one thousand reasons haven’t penetrated, how about the fact that I got your toxicology reports back, and I know about the drugs that you have in your system? Or how about the fact that your eyes are dilated right now? So, even if I am…were attracted to you, you would never be someone I would date. I have my health, my career, and my son to think about. I can’t afford to make bad decisions, like dating someone who could potentially put my health, career, or child in jeopardy. You, Mr. Kane, are a walking poster boy for bad dating decisions. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going home to my son.”

He stands away from the door and a look moves over his face that I can’t quite figure out. I want to take my tirade back, because I think it hurt him. I won’t do that, however, and it doesn’t change the truth in what I said anyway. I take off, leaving Mr. Kane in my rearview mirror—exactly where he belongs.