Chapter 4

Damon

 

 

I can’t wipe the smile off my face by the time I make my way back home. Saving anyone’s life is always one for the win column, but Samantha ...well. That girl is special.

 

Too damn young for me, but I'm still pretty smitten. I know I’m offering help because a part of me just wants to keep her around for a bit longer. And thanks to pure happenstance, I know that she wants to keep me around as well.

 

The funny part is I know she is quite interested, but I have doubts about taking advantage of that knowledge. I’m not supposed to know she’s interested—that information slipped out while she was drugged. She got very ...chatty ...while sedated. Of course, she won't remember it now.

 

“Oh, wow, you're so hot! Are you single? Do you want to go out with me now that I'm not gonna die?”

 

It was absolutely adorable. The nurses and my colleague, Dr. Pinoy, all giggled, and I grinned and acted embarrassed and awkward—all the while hoping no one noticed that I was hard as hell. And my expression made my staff giggle more.

 

But I didn't say no—only that I would think about it. And I am thinking about it as I drive home ...a lot.

 

Being a doctor, I see a lot more of my patients than members of pretty much any other profession. Not just their guts or the insides of their veins, but more skin than most people would prefer—including me, sometimes. And tending to Samantha, I saw quite a bit.

 

A perfect breast that I had to ignore, the curve of her inner thigh as I inserted the catheter, and the smooth slope of her belly as the nurses adjusted her draping. Her obvious sex appeal was a distraction, but I fought it off and did the work to save her life, without looking at or touching her inappropriately.

 

At any other time, the sight of the flawless, silk-skinned globe of her breast would have driven me to at least try flirting with her. There was no ring on her finger. There was no worried boyfriend in the lobby, and she had even asked me out.

 

Only problem is, I’m her doctor. I can end up before the medical board on ethics charges if I’m fucking her and treating her at the same time. Even once I’m done treating her—which will be in a week—it could cost me my position. If it gets out, anyway.

 

I have an excuse to see her, but not an excuse to sleep with her. Just the thought of sleeping with her drives me a bit crazy. Last time I felt this turned on by a woman was years ago, with Molly back in London—in fact, Samantha heats me up even more.

 

Not going to do a thing about it unless she’s vocal about being into it, though. Sometimes what a lady is open to trying when she’s drunk on some inebriant is not what she’s ready for when she’s sober. I may be a rogue and a bastard, but not when it comes to women—or my patients.

 

There’s something bleak about driving back home during the morning commute hours. I’ve done it many times over the years, usually because I was in on an ER consult or emergency surgery. And before that, there was all the times with my crew back home in London.

 

I check the clock on the dash: it's 8 AM. “Damn my luck, none of the pubs are open.” I hate coming home with my cock hard and my stomach empty.

 

I could have used a hot meal and a pint or two at Monk’s, but I’ll have to settle for ordering something up. At least a lot of delivery places in Chicago do morning hours. I am, and have always been, a disaster in the kitchen.

 

I get back to the penthouse and start looking up pizza places. Chicago-style pizza is, without doubt, the best in the world. I order a large, all-meat, extra cheese—the sort I’d nag my patients about if it wasn’t usually their sedentary lifestyle that was fucking them up anyway. I’ll burn off that beast of a pizza in the gym between today and tomorrow, which is about how long it will take me to finish it.

 

I pour brandy into my tea, throw a dollop of honey into it, and settle into an overstuffed, brown, velvet chair in my living room to await my delivery. I’ve already told the doorman to receive the pie and how much to tip. I’ll save my bottle of IPA to drink with my pizza.

 

My schedule’s off and I could use a nap, but I’m lucky to have nothing else going with work today until this evening. The only possible reason they'll call me in is if they need another emergency heart consult or fix, and that doesn't happen every night. I’m not needed for the average heart attack or gunshot wound.

 

The pizza place is six blocks off, and they know how much I tip, so I get my pie in well under half an hour. I’m setting it on the table and opening the box lid for that first whiff of scented steam when my phone goes off.

 

Annoyed, I scoop it up and see from the screen that it’s Dr. Campbell’s office. “Oh, hell,” I growl, already annoyed with the man, and especially so for his popping up now. Taking a deep breath, I force myself back into my doctor’s demeanor and answer the call.

 

“This is Dr. Chase. May I help you?”

 

“Dr. Chase.” Campbell has one of those dull, nasal, whiny voices that never seem to change pitch much. “I understand that you have taken over the care of one of my patients.”

 

I can tell he’s annoyed, even past his bland demeanor. It’s all I can do not to grin. Yeah, I did, and she’s going to sue your sad ass, and I’m fucking well going to help her. “I’m sorry, could you be a bit more specific?”

 

The truth is—and he damn well knows it—that I am on-call at the ER four nights a week because I spend so much time cleaning up Campbell’s messes. His poor suturing, inability to properly direct nurses, and corner-cutting have often left me fighting for the lives of his patients.

 

I have even lost a few, which I despise him for, because all but one could have been saved if Campbell had done his job.

 

“Her name is Samantha North. Age nineteen, height five-foot-seven, red hair. You performed an ablation on her this morning at six.”

 

Funny how the fucker can rattle off details about her with no problem when he’s feeling territorial, but he barely did a thing to help her when she needed it. “Oh yeah, the college girl who turned up with Wolff-Parkinson-White.”

 

There is a long pause. “I did not make that diagnosis.”

 

“Right, well, that’s because there was no electrophysiology study done on her. Otherwise, I’m presuming that you wouldn't have had her on the Verapamil, since it’s contraindicated for her condition.” I am smiling a hard, predatory smile that makes my cheeks hurt.

 

Fucker. You and I both know you're incompetent and don't care to improve. I came up out of the gutters of London a complete miscreant, and I care about your patients more than you do … all right, especially if they're hot. I'm not anywhere near perfect, and I know it.

 

He pauses again. I almost wish I could see his face. Finally, he coughs. “I see. So the ablation was done on an emergency basis?”

 

“That was what they summoned me to the ER for, yes.” It’s like he doesn’t even realize how much of a fool he is currently making of himself. I wonder in a fit of charity if he’s had his coffee yet.

 

“You realize that you are not in the system for her student insurance, so why did your assistant schedule her for the follow-up consult?”

 

I wince. I hate how much the damn nurses gossip and how far and fast that gossip spreads. I’m sure it’s one of his receptionists funneling the information to him, as no one else can stand him.

 

“Nora scheduled her because I’m finishing what I started. I’ll be taking her on pro bono. You’ll no longer have to worry about anything to do with her.” My voice is warm, friendly, and reassuring. I don't want him suspecting that I'm going to be helping Samantha bring down a load of karma on him.

 

"Oh! Well, fine. If you feel like taking one of my charity cases off of my hands, I'm not going to complain."

 

Charity case? That pisses me off for some reason, and I bite back a response. Forcing myself to calm down, I smile again and keep my tone so sweetly pleasant that he'll miss the bald-faced lie. "Yes, this should be the last you hear about her heart issues, except for a note for your files."

 

"Thank you for the reassurance," he says obliviously and hangs up.

 

"That and the fat fucking lawsuit you'll be facing once I help that girl get everything together," I swear as I set my phone back down. I can't wait to see his face when we nail him on this together.

 

I'm good and angry when I go back to my tea, which has cooled too much. I take a few tepid swallows and scowl, thinking hard about what I will need to do to help Samantha build a case. But before I can grab myself some pizza, I catch a glint of light out of the corner of my eye.

 

My head swivels on instinct and my eyes fix on the high-rise parking structure across the street. Its top floor is level with my penthouse, giving me an easy, if distant, view of it. There's a man standing at the front edge of the parking structure, up against the railing, facing me.

 

All I can tell about him is that he's big, even taller than me, and dressed in dark colors. I catch that gleam from him again, but before I can go for my telescope or the binoculars hanging over the mantel, he turns and starts walking away. He walks with a slight limp, and I'm left wondering if it was just coincidence or something else.