The Hardest Hit

by Jennifer Fusco

  Doctors were cautioned not to have relationships with patients outside the office. She was in a position of power over him. Anything that happened could be held against her. She could lose her license if things went bad. There was simply too much to risk. But imagine the reward.

  She shook her head, clearing the thoughts from her mind.

  “Does that shake of your head mean we don’t have a deal?”

  She lifted her hand to her mouth. “No. I mean, yes. We have a deal.”

  “Good.”

  He held her gaze, and for a moment she thought he was going to lean down and kiss her, but he didn’t. Trevor released his grip on her arms and let her go. He must’ve known, like she did, that they were going to have to separate their needs from their desires.

  He needed to get well. She needed to be the one to see that he got better. She had a vested interest in his progress. This kind of injury occurring in someone so young was rare. She knew that if he improved and she documented his treatments, his case would be the kind of information medical journals craved. She could do so much good for so many people, and advance the science that was on the fast track for learning more and more about head injuries.

  She took a step back from him. “I’ll deliver the news to Daniella. I’ll also let her know that you and I are going to be seeing a lot of each other.”

  “I don’t think she’ll mind.”

  Chelsea nodded. “I’ll be by your house later tonight. I need to check out your bedroom.”

  His eyes widened. “I like the sound of that.” Then, he flashed that killer grin.

  Air left her lungs. “You’re so funny. It’s not what you think. After a traumatic head injury eighty percent of patients report having difficulties with sleep. I want to ensure your bedroom is set up for the best sleep possible. Remove electronics. No bright video screens. Good sleep is the first step in proper healing.”

  “I’d get awesome sleep if you’d stay the night,” he responded in a low, sexy growl. “Who am I kidding, there’s no way we’d get any sleep.”

  She didn’t let down her guard. Remain professional, she told herself. One crack of a smile and he’d know how much she’d like to accept his offer. “Sleep, we’re talking about sleep. You. Alone. In bed for a full eight hours.”

  His smile broadened. “See. I’ve already got you talking me into bed.”

  She shook her head as he walked toward the door.

  “So, yeah, it’s a date. Eleven o’clock tonight. My bedroom. Clothing is optional, right?”

  She let out a sigh, and watched him leave the room. She had to give him credit. He had told her from the get-go and he was right. The man was never giving up.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chelsea stood on Trevor’s doorstep and checked her watch: eleven o’clock. She lifted her hand to knock and part of her felt a little foolish. While she knew she was here to assist a patient with his health and wellness, part of her couldn’t help but imagine what else her visit might look like; a late-night booty call.

  Knocking only once, Trevor answered. He pulled the door open and she swallowed hard. He stood in front of her, wearing Star Wars–themed pajama bottoms and no shirt. She allowed her eyes to drop to his chest and graze over each taut muscle. Good God, the man was in shape. He sported eight-pack abs and each so well defined that if she were someone else she’d long to touch them. With her tongue.

  She’d waited too long to say anything. Heavens! Could her infatuation with him be any more obvious?

  After another beat, Trevor said, “Come on in.”

  “Sorry I’m late,” she said, crossing the threshold. “Heavy traffic.” Sure it was. It was easy to blame the cars on I-15. Vegas highways were always crowded. She didn’t dare tell him the real truth behind her tardiness. She’d stood in front of her closet way longer than she should have, picking out the right outfit. Eventually, she’d chosen tight white jeans and a white baby doll–style top. She hoped the color association would keep things professional. Usually Trevor saw her wearing a white lab coat. Also, white was a virginal color. Not that she was one, but it sent a different kind of message than if she’d shown up wearing all black.

  “Nice place you have here,” she said, interrupting the silence, and she meant every word. Most guys, especially one as carefree as Trevor didn’t keep their bachelor pads as clean as he did his.

  “Thanks.” He directed her toward the sofa. “Care to sit down?”

  She smiled. “I’m good. We should probably make our way to the bedroom.”

  The grin spread wide across his face. “I like the sound of that.”

  She closed her eyes, just for a moment. Maintain composure, she told herself. Then she opened her eyes and followed him down a short hallway.

  Her eyes locked on his ass. His loose-fitting pajama bottoms hugged his ass just enough that she could tell his backside was as tight as his front. The man was in peak physical shape, at least where his muscles were concerned. And she knew if she were going to get through the night without winding up in his bed, she had to keep looking at him as a patient that needed her help instead of a man she wished she could fuck.

  Entering the room, he turned on the light. “Here it is. Is everything up to your standard, doc?”

  She felt her face squish up. “Mmm, not exactly.” Placing her hands on her hips, she took a moment and surveyed Trevor’s bedroom. “Would you say you get eight hours of solid sleep a night?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never really timed it. I get tired, I go to bed.”

  “Do you sleep through the night?”

  He looked at her with those sexy brown eyes. “Depends on who’s with me.”

  She giggled like a high schooler. “Seriously. Do you wake up at night and find it hard to go back to sleep?”

  He kept his gaze planted on her. “I find it hard.”

  She swallowed the lump that built in her throat. “Okay, then. The first thing we need to do is set your bedroom up so that the only thing happening in here is sleep and sex.”

  “Great.” He smiled. “I vote for the latter.”

  She shook her head, started to walk toward his dresser, and pointed to the television sitting on top. “This has to go.”

  “My T.V.?” Lines of confusion marred his face. He looked like she’d slipped one past him and hit him below the belt.

  “Yes. You have to limit your screen time. Experts recommend no television or computers at least two hours before bed for optimal sleep, and no television in the bedroom.”

  His face took on the expression of a scolded child, and his shoulders slumped. “Okay.”

  She glanced around the room. “Is it normally this stuffy in here?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never noticed.”

  “It’s Vegas. The desert nights can be cooler, but on the nights where the temps are too high to open a window, I recommend getting a small fan to circulate the air. Plus, the low hum of noise can lull you into sleep.”

  He gave an agreeable nod. “Or you could come over every night and tuck me in.”

  “Very funny.” She inspected the rest of the room, even going so far as to place her hand on his bed and run her fingers over the sheets. “Nice. Comfortable. What’s this?”

  “A sheet,” he answered, confused.

  She laughed. “No silly, what kind of sheet? This is awesome.”

  “Oh,” he said, presumably catching on. “Bamboo.”

  “Wow. Soft.” She allowed her fingers to brush against the fabric longer than she should have.

  His gaze focused on the spot where she touched the sheet. “Just another reason for you to stay over.”

  She let go. “Maybe you can tell me where you bought them and I can get my own set?”

  He playfully shook his head. “Nope. If you want the sheets, you have to stay here. And
I guarantee, what you’ll find between the sheets is just as nice.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” She bit her lip and exited the room. This was a bad idea. Coming here was like walking into a lion’s den, only she didn’t feel trapped and she didn’t want to leave.

  “Don’t go,” he called after her. “I’m sorry. I’m making you uncomfortable. I’ll stop.”

  Once they were back in the living room, a sense of ease washed through her. The man definitely kept her off balance.

  “Have a seat.” He gestured toward the sofa. “Please stay.”

  She rolled her wrist and checked her watch. “I should really go.”

  A look of disappointment flashed across his face. God, he was handsome. Strong jawline. Killer smile. Shit. When he smiled just enough she saw dimples in his cheeks. Ugh. How in the world did she think she could not want to sleep with him? But with all guys there had to be more than the physical, and wasn’t that where her relationship with Ben had died? Once they’d gotten past the sex, they were really two different people with nothing in common other than they were both doctors. Certainly with a guy like Trevor who lived in a totally different world than she did, this had to be the case. Or maybe not.

  With a lift of her shoulder she said, “I guess I could stay for a bit.”

  His face brightened, but she didn’t let the look affect her. She moved around to the sofa and sat.

  Trevor met her on the couch and sat beside her but kept his distance.

  She glanced at the pile of stuff sitting atop his coffee table. “I see you’ve been shopping.”

  There it was. All the things she’d recommended a week earlier. The stuff he’d laughed at. A book of crossword puzzles, trivia, and memory games.

  “I said I’d do whatever you asked, and I meant it. Well, everything except the coloring book. I have a reputation to uphold.”

  She laughed. “Hey, tough guys color.”

  “Sure they do.”

  Still giggling, she relaxed and eased into her seat. “There’s something else that has to change, too.”

  His eyebrows hiked up his forehead. “My refrigerator is there for your inspection, but I can guarantee Daniella’s already gone through it. My diet is under her control.”

  “It’s not about your fridge. It’s about the flirting,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  Air left his lungs in a rush. “I told you that I’m . . .”

  She lifted a hand, stopping him. “I want to be totally honest with you.”

  He looked terrified, as if he’d unintentionally offended her.

  “I find you extremely hard to resist,” she said.

  “I knew it!” He smiled.

  She gave a distinctive eye roll and continued. “Having a relationship of a sexual nature while you’re my patient, well, a situation like that is something that can cause me to lose my medical license. And I’m not going to lie to you. I can’t sit here and pretend I’m not attracted to you; I am. But my job is standing in the way.”

  He frowned. “Then, release me. Let’s see where this thing goes.”

  She shook her head. “No. I know where it will go. It’ll go the way they all go. Hot, sweaty, and sexy at first until the newness wears off and we discover we have nothing in common. Nothing to talk about and then it’s over. Maybe we’ll part as friends, maybe we won’t. But you’ll lose the opportunity of having one of the best physicians in Las Vegas get you back into the ring, and I’ll lose the chance to help you and advance the science of healing head trauma.”

  His frown deepened. “So, I’m just a case to you. Something you can publish in a fancy medical journal.”

  She stretched out her arm, and covered his hand with hers. “No. Don’t think like that. We’re a team. All I’ve ever wanted to do was help people.”

  Trevor removed his hand out from under hers and kicked back in his seat. “So, where do we go from here?”

  “We put our combined focus on your getting well, and if we’re lucky, we’ll wind up getting you back in the ring earlier than anticipated.” She stretched out her hand to him. “Deal?”

  He placed his hand in hers. “Deal.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The next day Trevor’s cell phone rang. It was Chelsea’s nurse scheduling him for an appointment that afternoon. The nurse said, “The doctor would like to fit you in today.”

  Panic gripped his chest. Chelsea wanted to see him. Why? If she was asking her office to work him in, it probably meant she didn’t have good news.

  “You tell me what time and I’ll be there. I’ll wait as long as it takes,” he told the nurse.

  Her silence crushed him. He died a little bit each time she’d told him that, “Nope, that won’t work,” as she milled through Chelsea’s schedule. He hoped the news wasn’t career-ending. Without boxing, he’d have nothing.

  “Her last appointment of the day is six o’clock. I’m guessing she can see you around seven. She’s already running fifteen minutes late.”

  “I’ll be there,” he told her, and ended the call.

  The rest of the day dragged on. He tried putting the appointment out of his mind by rationalizing nearly everything about the call. If it was career-ending news, she’d have brought him in instantly, right? Chelsea wouldn’t have made him wait. The nurse hasn’t sounded concerned. Maybe it was just routine news, but due to Chelsea’s demanding schedule she couldn’t find the time to deliver it? Just to move on. Check the box, as they say.

  He pondered all the possibilities, but the truth was the six hours that needed to pass before he saw Chelsea again were excruciating. And, if the head injury didn’t end him, the waiting just might.

  ***

  Hours later he sat in the waiting room, flipping through an outdated copy of People magazine to kill time. Chelsea opened the door to reception at seven fifteen.

  “Come on back,” she said, holding a file . “We need to talk.”

  Those four words changed his outlook on their whole meeting. His shoulders slumped, releasing a twinge of hope that maybe she’d called him because she wanted to see him, spend time with him. We need to talk, told him he was a patient just like any other.

  He followed her back to a small room, and the lights automatically turned on when she entered. The examination room looked like any other, clean and clinical.

  “You ready for me to get naked now?” he joked. He had to have a little fun since the frown on her face hadn’t changed since he saw her.

  “Not exactly. Roll up your sleeve.”

  Trevor had worn his sweats to the gym. He lifted the hem of his sweatshirt and peeled it over his head. Underneath he donned a T-shirt that bore the Stamina logo. “What’s all this about?”

  “I came across a medical journal article focusing on blood pressure in head injury patients. It looked at the rise and fall of blood pressure and its effect on intracranial pressure.”

  Somehow he had to make plain English out of this. “Are you saying that my body’s blood pressure can affect the pressure inside my head?”

  “That’s right.” She gave a decisive nod. “In a nutshell, pressure readings can trend higher because of a head injury. I noticed we hadn’t taken your blood pressure since you’d left the hospital. It’s something we should monitor.”

  He didn’t see what the big deal was. Wasn’t fretting over blood pressure something old people did? He held out his arm. “Have at it, Doc.”

  She wrapped the cuff around his arm and pumped the bulb at the end of the tube. Even something as innocent as putting on a blood pressure cuff sent his pulse racing. He wanted to tell her that if she wanted accurate readings she wasn’t going to get them when she was around.

  Standing next to her did something to him, something primal, urgent. There was a diagnosis for what he had, but she’d never find it, no matter how many articles she
read. He had a bad case of infatuation that bordered on stronger feelings, ones he hadn’t felt in a long time.

  “Hmm.” Chelsea’s face squished up. She rattled off some numbers and he didn’t know if they were good or bad.

  He gave her a pleading look.

  “Elevated,” she said as she removed the cuff. “What are you doing for relaxation? Yoga, meditation, taking long walks?”

  He shook his head. “Relax? I’m restricted from training. Dion Nash is going to find another contender if I don’t get well, and I spend more of my time thinking about what will happen if I can’t fight. What if I can’t get back in the ring? What then?”

  “Shh.” She placed her hand on his arm. “You’re going to have to think of something you can do to relax your mind and your body.”

  Well, he’d never had a problem relaxing after a hot, sweaty night of heating up his bedsheets with a beautiful woman, if she’d like to give that a go. But he refrained. He’d promised her he’d cool his jets with the flirting.

  Instead, he shrugged. “What do you do?”

  A tiny laugh emitted from her throat. “I haven’t had a day off in . . .” She lifted her eyes to the ceiling as if trying to recall a date she couldn’t name. Then, she shrugged.

  “Then, I guess we both need the same treatment,” he said. “How about a day of R&R?”

  A smile broke out across her face. “I wish I could but I have patients. My rounds at the hospital start early.”

  “Your rounds have to end sometime, right?” he pressed. “Tomorrow is Saturday. You don’t see patients in your office on Saturdays, do you?” He took her hand in his. “A guy like me needs oversight, right? I mean, I’m your patient. We can spend the day together and technically you’d still be working.”

  She sunk her teeth into her lip. “Sounds tempting, but . . .”

  He squeezed her hand. “Come on. You, me, a little surf and sand. Let’s do it. Nothing’s more relaxing than the beach.”

  Her blue eyes widened. “Beach? This is Vegas. Where are we going to find a beach?”