“I know you wanted to finish on time, but there’s a patient who needed an emergency appointment.”

Bee Patel was Keren’s receptionist, a slender woman who had a great manner with patients, especially those who were nervous at seeing a dentist. However, she had a huge issue with saying no anyone who said it was an emergency, which meant that Keren’s days were often extended. Not that she had much to rush home to.

“Just the one emergency tonight?” Keren raised a brow. On one occasion there had been three, so one wasn’t too bad.

“Just one. Broken tooth. I think he’s in some pain though,” Bee gave her a big smile, one with perfect teeth. “You want me to hang around to sort payment after you’ve done?”

Keren shook her head. There was no point both of them being late home. Between her and Kiefer - her dental nurse - they could manage. “You shoot. Isn’t it your son’s football match tonight?”

Bee nodded. “It is. And he’ll be wanting his lucky meal.” She rolled her eyes. “Ten-year-old boys. Who’d have them?”

I would, thought Keren. But now was not the time to dwell on what she didn’t have. Instead she needed to think about what she did have, which was a patient in some discomfort in the waiting room. “Send him through. And wish Rak good luck from me.”

Sixty seconds later a familiar and unwelcome figure wandered through the door into her room.

Scott Maynard.

Six foot three of obnoxious, brooding muscle. His expression was pained and his eyes told her that he most definitely did not want to be here, for more than one reason.

He hated here.

To the point of where he couldn’t actually manage to be civil in public and would argue with her over anything, Scott Maynard hated her and had done since she was eighteen and he was twenty-one. And she hadn’t a fucking clue why.

“Take a seat and tell me what the problem is,” she said, pulling every ounce of professional resolve into her demeanour. She would not be sarcastic; she would not be rude. She would be his dentist and ease whatever pain he was in. And she really wouldn’t try to cause him more discomfort even if it killed her.

He sat down, looking tense and uncomfortable. “I’ve broken a tooth. A molar.”

That was all she needed. No other communication would be necessary and as soon as she got his mouth open and her instruments in there, she wouldn’t have to listen to him speak.

“Open up and I’ll see what I can do.”

He did exactly what she’d asked, which she was pretty sure was a first for fourteen years. Keren leaned into him, inhaling the musky scent that she’d always associated with him. God help a man she had a relationship with who wore the same: he’d have to change it.

She shone the small torch into his mouth and saw the problem straight away. Broken molar. Split straight down the middle and it needed extracting and he needed pain relief because right now, it would be hurting like a fucker.

“How brave are you?” she said, removing her instruments. “Are you fucking joking?” he growled. She shook her head. “Scott, you do not need to fuck with me right

now. You’re my patient and not the person I go to war with at least two nights a week. My job is to stop the pain and treat what’s happened. Got that?”

He glared at her, total dislike oozing from his eyeballs in her direc‐ tion. “Got it.”

“Okay. You know your tooth’s broken. Looking at state of it, I’d guess you’ve been having toothache for a while.”

“I thought it would get better on its own,” he said. “I hate dentists.” His words were loaded. He didn’t just hate dentists, she knew. He hated this particular one. Her.

She took a cleansing breath. “Pain in your mouth doesn’t get better on its own. And I get you probably didn’t want to see me, but then you need to change dentists. Oral health is really important.”

“Save the lecture, princess. How can you fix it?” His words tore through the otherwise quiet air.

Her patience began to wear. She’d had a long day. She had another long day tomorrow. And the day after that and what was worse, is that the only thing she had to look forward to was a night out in Severton, probably at Scott’s bar, and her book. Maybe with a bath bomb and a soak.

“I can’t. That tooth is beyond repair. It’s going to need to come out. It’s infected. I’ll prescribe you antibiotics and when the infection’s gone, we’ll discuss whether you’re having a bridge or a dental implant,” she said, totally beyond speaking to him kindly.

“What’s the difference and how do you know I have an infection?” he said.

She noticed that he did look apprehensive and she hadn’t told him the worst. He was going to hurt like a bitch for the next few days. “I’ll give you some information on the differences. And I can pretty much see the infection. I need to get the tooth out and clean it up.”

He gave her a brief nod. She wasn’t sure whether the pain was making it difficult for him to speak or whether he wasn’t speaking because it was her. And right now, she didn’t care.

“I’ll get you prepped.” She threw her gloves in the bin and left him in the room to find Kiefer and give him the good news that they had the world’s grumpiest patient in for at least the next forty minutes.