The light shining through a gap in the curtains wakes me. I blink my eyes open. Kendra is a few inches away, lying on her side, facing me. Her hands are tucked beneath her cheek and a tendril of hair is lying across her forehead. I brush it off her face and she takes a deep breath, but doesn’t open her eyes.

I stare at her. I don’t think I’ve ever woken up next to a woman and felt anything but impatience for her to leave. Maybe regret for letting her spend the night. But this? Waking up with this gorgeous woman next to me, her scent on my sheets, her hair fanned out over my pillow? I could get used to this.

My dick stirs at the memory of last night. Fuck, she was incredible. I’m no stranger to good sex—even great sex—but being with Kendra was something else entirely. I was completely immersed in her—in the feel of her body, in her taste, her smell. I’ve never experienced anything like it. Maybe it was simply the build-up—the weeks of wanting her, even before I admitted it to myself.

But I think it’s something more. I actually care about her. And the list of people I can say that about is very short.

I’ve spent most of my adult life avoiding forming real relationships with anyone. I bet a shrink would have a field day with me. Dead mother. Emotionless asshole of a father. I’m sure they’d tell me I push people away before they can get close to me.

They’d be right.

I never thought I was missing anything. What more could I need? I had a reputable career. Plenty of money. I had no issues getting women and used casual sex to blow off steam. A relationship seemed like an unnecessary risk. Relationships end. People get hurt.

But now I’m watching Kendra sleep and the thought of waking up alone tomorrow—or the next day, or next week, or next month—fills me with dread. I want this—I want her—more than I’ve ever wanted anything before.

And it scares the shit out of me.

Kendra’s eyes drift open and meet mine. A slow smile spreads across her face, puckering the tiny dimple near her lips.

“Are you watching me sleep? Creeper.”

I smile at her. “I just like looking at you.”

She reaches out and traces a finger along my lips. “Careful, big guy. Don’t smile too much first thing in the morning. You might hurt yourself.”

I grab her wrist and pull her on top of me. She giggles and rests her head on my shoulder while I put my arms around her, holding her close.

“You sleep with me now,” I say, low into her ear. “I want you in my bed every night.”

She holds herself up and meets my gaze, her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Are you telling me what to do?”

“Yes.”

She laughs again and rests her forehead against mine. “You are very persuasive.”

I bring her mouth to mine for a kiss and her lips are like the oxygen I need to live. She shifts her hips, moving against my erection.

“Baby, I have to get to work.” I kiss her again. “I have surgery this morning.”

She groans with disappointment and nuzzles against my neck. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, but you’re making it really hard to give a fuck about the patient who’s going to be waiting for me.”

“Okay, I’ll let you go.” She slides off me and lies on her side, her head propped up on her hand.

I lean in to kiss her one last time before I get up, wishing I could spend the day in bed with her. “I’ll be back tonight.”

* * *

My surgery went well. I was worried about fatigue in my right hand, but so far I haven’t had any issues. I spent the rest of the afternoon seeing patients and catching up on charting.

I look over an email from our accountant. I asked her to break down some of the credit card expenses; the balance seems to be running high. Apparently I need to tell Ian to get his spending under control. He’s putting a lot of personal stuff on the practice’s credit card. It’s getting ridiculous.

My phone vibrates and I slide it across the desk to check. It’s a text from Kendra. One corner of my mouth lifts. It’s so weird how just seeing her name on the screen makes me smile.

Kendra: Hey you. When do you think you’ll be home?

Me: Not sure. Pretty swamped here. Need something?

Kendra: Hmm, I can think of a few things.

She ends her text with a winky face. Emojis are the stupidest invention. But I do like the implication here.

Me: I’ll hurry home, then. Wear your pajama pants. The striped ones.

My thumb hovers over the emoji button. Should I add a smiley face so she can see I’m teasing? God, when did I turn into a teenage girl? Screw this. I hit send.

Kendra: Oh. Okay.

Damn it. I should have used the fucking emoji. I’m terrible at this.

Me: Kidding, baby.

Kendra: LOL! I was going to say, you hate my pajama pants.

Me: I just hated not being able to rip them off you.

Kendra: In that case, I’ll find my ugliest ones so you’ll really enjoy taking them off.

I laugh. My girl is ridiculous.

My girl. I let out a long breath.

Fuck, I am turning into a teenage girl. I just sighed over a text message.

I put my phone in my pocket and grab my jacket. When I get out into the hall, I glance at Ian’s office. His door is closed. I wonder if he’s still here.

I knock on his door a few times.

“Yeah?”

“Do you have a minute?” I ask. “I’m on my way out.”

There’s muffled talking. Ian’s voice, and a woman’s. Who is he with behind a closed door? He doesn’t see patients in his office. Oh for fuck’s sake, he can’t be—

The door opens and Ginny, one of our nurses, slips through. She bites her lip and smiles at me, her face flushing. “Hi, Dr. Reid.”

I ignore her and push open the door to find Ian taking a seat behind his desk.

“What was that?” I sit across the desk from him. “Having an end of day meeting with one of the nurses?”

“None of your business.”

By the look on his face, I can tell exactly what was going on. “It’s absolutely my business. She’s an employee, Ian. You can’t mess around with the employees. Especially here.”

“It’s nothing,” he says. “Not a big deal, so stop worrying.”

“That makes her a walking lawsuit, asshole,” I say. “You have her blowing you in your office now, but what happens if we need to fire her? You’ll have a disgruntled little nurse on your hands with enough dirt on you to put your license in jeopardy.”

Ian waves a hand, is if he can clear my argument from the air. “I have it under control.”

“Like hell you do.”

“Did you come in here to bust my balls?” he asks. “Because I get plenty of that at home.”

I raise an eyebrow at him. “I can’t imagine why.”

He leans forward. “That is none of your fucking business.”

I put my hands up. “Nope. Never has been. You do whatever the fuck you want.”

“You’re one to judge,” he says. “You let some bitch get her claws into you, and now you get to have an opinion about my life?”

My nostrils flare and I clench my hands into fists. “Do not talk about her.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “This is rich. You, with a girlfriend?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t get it,” he says. “You had it made; you were doing everything right. No ties. No commitments. You got more ass than any man I’ve ever known, and there was nothing stopping you. Why ruin a perfectly good thing?”

“Ian—”

“And for that? Fuck, man, you’ve had women who were ten times hotter than her. At least get her to eat something. Maybe the weight will go to her tits.”

I stand up in a rush, leaning over with my fingers resting on his desk. “Don’t fucking talk about her.”

Ian raises his eyebrows. “Calm down. I didn’t mean anything.”

“The fuck you didn’t.”

He puts up his hands, as if admitting defeat. “Okay, suddenly you’re the protective type. Didn’t see that coming.” He closes his laptop. “I need to get out of here. Do you need something?”

“Yeah.” I sit down. I’d love to break a few of Ian’s teeth, but decide against it. For now. “I was looking at the credit card statements. Have you been going on vacations on the practice’s dime? There’s a shit ton of expenses on there.”

“Oh, right,” he says. “Yeah, sometimes I use the wrong card. I’ll reimburse the practice.”

“You use the wrong credit card?” I ask. “This is a business, not your personal bank account.”

“I realize that,” he says. “I understand how a business works.”

He better not pull his I started this practice when you were still chasing skirts in high school bit.

“Then you should understand that we agreed not to use the business account for personal expenses,” I say. “We aren’t exactly swimming in money here.”

“You don’t have to tell me things are tight,” he says. “But are you blaming me for that? Putting a few dinners on the company credit card isn’t going to bankrupt us.”

“It’s a lot more than a few dinners.”

He crosses his arms. “I’d say your bleeding-heart charity crap is having a bigger impact on our bottom line.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re good at keeping it quiet, but I know about your freebie surgeries,” he says. “You’re leaving tens of thousands of dollars on the table. Would you care to explain that?”

Fuck, I hate this guy. “I can choose to donate some of my time. That’s not costing the practice anything.”

“Like hell it isn’t,” he says. “Your time is worth money, Weston. A lot of money. Every time you scrub in for some pity case who isn’t paying, you’re costing the practice money.”

“They wouldn’t be patients at all if I didn’t do it for free.”

“No, but you could be operating on people who can fucking pay you what you’re worth,” he says.

“Maybe I want to be worth something more,” I say, my voice heated.

Ian stares at me for a long moment. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately. I’m concerned.”

“Concerned about what?” I ask. “That I’m not fucking random women every weekend? Or concerned that maybe I give a shit and want to do something more with my time?”

“Don’t pull that holier-than-thou bullshit on me,” he says.

“You can go fuck yourself.” I stand and head for his door. “Better than letting the nurses do it in your office.”

I don’t wait to see if he replies.