Challenge (11 page)

“Fuck, Indie!” he exclaims as he grabs hold of my wrist and yanks me toward him and out of the water.

It’s then that I find myself unceremoniously draped over a completely naked and completely rock-hard professional footballer. “You’re naked,” I croak, pushing myself off his wet chest. I’m childishly grateful that his legs are bent enough to conceal his manhood so I’m not completely scandalised.

“One usually is inside the shower.” His wet face has the nerve to look confused as he squints at me through the steam. Realising I’m staring, I quickly stand up and turn my back to him, but it wasn’t until after I caught sight of his…well, to give it the technical term…penis.

“Are you all right?” I ask with a shaky voice.

“Yes. Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You were unresponsive!” I reply in challenge.

He sighs heavily. Clearly agitated, he asks, “What are you doing in here, Indie?”

“I came in to check on you and found you passed out in the shower!” I gesticulate wildly as I find his face in the reflection of the mirror. He’s scowling at me while his eyes trail down my back. Why do I have to explain myself? He’s the one who shoved me into the water. “I thought you were having a seizure or something.”

“I was fine. I was just sleeping.” His voice drips with annoyance.

“You were sleeping in the shower?” I stare ahead in disbelief.

“Yeah, I’ve done it before. It’s not that hard. And after having my family up my arse all day, I’m exhausted.”

“Oh,” I say in an exhale as reality tumbles in around me. He was sleeping. Not in the most conventional of places, but still. He’s a grown man and I just swooped in and…God, I’m an arse. And now I’m also drenched.

My eyes flicker down over my shoulder to find his are still lingering on my backside. Despite his annoyed tone, his expression is one of amusement.

“If you laugh, I’m kicking you in your bad knee,” I snap, grabbing a hand towel and wiping down my glasses before putting them back on my face.

He chuckles and says, “Oh God, don’t. I’m not sure how I’m going to stand up from here as it is.”

I roll my eyes and turn to cut the shower off without looking down at him. I toss a towel over my shoulder. “Come on now, let me help.” I turn and hold my hand out to him. “And I hope you feel properly emasculated after this.”

He grips the towel against his abs to conceal himself and slips his other hand in mine. Using me for balance more than strength, he stands up, putting all his weight on his good leg. His towel slips off as he steadies himself against the wall.

My eyes shoot up to the ceiling, but now that we’re standing only inches apart, I can feel him watching me. “Mind grabbing that for me and finding out just how emasculated I am?”

My face screws up in disgust. “Your sister is right. You are a pig.” I grab him a fresh towel from the non-penis-level towel bar before getting one for myself. I begin dabbing at my soaked clothes and hair. “This is useless. I’m soaked all the way through.”

“Best just take them off.” He squints at me while tightening his towel around his waist. Seriously. Washboard abs are a real thing apparently. “Are you wearing white under there?” he asks. “White and wet are almost as fun of a combination as oil and water.”

I roll my eyes at his blatant come-on. “I can’t leave here like this. I’m not even supposed to be working right now. My shift is over. This looks so bad.”

“Just wrap yourself in this towel and I’ll find you something to wear.” He pierces me with a blatant challenge as he holds a towel out to me. “Or are you too shy?”

His expression is knowing, as if he’s certain there’s no way I’ll strip down in front of him. Because of that, some dark place inside of me wakes up. I want to wipe that smirk off his face and prove I’m not some innocent, naïve little girl he can predict.

I tuck his towel under my arm, turn on my heel, and sludge my soggy feet across his room. Then I click the lock on his door. When I turn back, he’s limping into the room toward his bed. He quirks a brow at the sound of the lock.

Without hesitating, I peel my scrub top off over my head. His eyes drift down to my wet, white cotton bra, and the flicker in his gaze makes my insides clench. It feels so wrong but so right at the same time. He licks his lips as I take my time wrapping the towel around my chest, enjoying the feel of his heated eyes on me. The lust crackling in the air between us is intense and—

Oh my God, it’s turning me on!

Even knowing this, I still don’t want to stop. I can’t stop. Some dormant inner sex kitten has awakened inside of me and completely taken over my body. I’m now being commanded by my vagina and that duplicitous brain of mine is on a holiday in Yorkshire for all I know. Maybe it’s this room. It doesn’t even feel like the hospital. It feels like a hotel room. A hotel room where very bad things can happen.

When I conceal myself under the towel, I hear a growl of frustration come from somewhere in his throat. Satisfied, I skillfully kick out of my shoes and shimmy out of my pants, underwear, and finally, my bra.

We stand facing each other in matching towels, completely bare underneath. The only thing separating us is ten feet and a single piece of fabric. The realisation of that fact causes our breaths to come heavier than before. I can’t stop appreciating the full fleshy sight of him in nothing but a towel. Good God, he really is nothing short of male, human anatomy perfection.

“Impressive,” he states deadpan.

I don’t know if he’s referring to my body or my skilled act of getting naked under a towel. Either way, my voice is shaky when I reply, “Can you get me those clothes now, please?”

I fear if he doesn’t get me clothes, I will do something even more stupid than this moment right now, which is already catastrophically senseless.

He remains frozen in place.

“Please, Camden?” I ask again and cross my arms over my chest. “Your night nurse might be coming any minute.”

He glances at the clock. “Actually, we have a whole hour.”

“Are you sure?” My nakedness doesn’t feel as empowering as it did initially.

“Positive,” he murmurs as he grabs his brace up off the bed and deftly secures it over his injured knee. He finishes and stands up straight, mirroring my pose by folding his arms over his chest. His biceps widen and flex, and my eyes take note of the veins running the length of his forearms.

“I’ll get you some clothes, but I’ve got a bone to pick with you first and it has nothing to do with the one you’re slicing into tomorrow.” His familiar challenging eye twinkle is back and it’s actually kind of comforting.

“We’re not slicing into your bone tomorrow, Camden.” I roll my eyes.

“Semantics,” he grumbles. His damp chest rises with a deep breath before he continues, “You seemed awful keen on avoiding me today.”

I frown, shocked by his accusation that I never saw coming. “I had somewhere to be,” I retort, marching closer to him to state my case. I’m stunned to see a flicker of hurt in his eyes, but he quickly conceals it. My voice softens, “And it’s a good thing I left when I did or Dr. Prichard might have caught me in here.”

His blue eyes narrow further, his lashes covering the colour almost entirely. “Why didn’t you want to take me for my MRI? I’ve heard you’ve been around. My family have all talked to you. That intern. But despite the fact that you are
my
doctor, not theirs, you avoided me like I had a bad case of herpes, which I know is fully cleared up right now.”

“You have herpes?” I screech and slap my hand over my mouth, afraid of drawing his nurse’s attention outside.

“Fuck no, Indie. It’s a bloody joke.”

“Why would you joke about a lifelong STD?”

He scoffs and drops his hands to his hips. “You have my damn medical chart. You’d know if I had herpes.”

He’s right. For a moment I forgot I am his doctor.

“Would it disappoint you if I had herpes?” he asks, his tone far too serious.

“Yes! What the hell are you going on about?”

“Why would it bother you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why would you care if I had an STD?”

“Because it’s herpes. It’d be weird if I wasn’t bothered. And…” I falter.

“And what?” he volleys.

“And I’m…”

“And what?” he snaps.

“And I’m interested in you!”

His brows lift. “Are you? Because as far as I can tell, you’re just a bird who fell asleep in a chair and buggered off without another word. Our bodies have barely touched.”

“Oh, sod off. It was more than that.” The words feel stroppy in my mouth.

“You left without a word. That was a bloke move and I didn’t like it.” His arms flex and my eyes fall to that perfect V-line peeking out from his towel. How is it that all footballers seem to have that V? How is it that I’m still ogling his half naked body right now?

“Camden, I’m your doctor. You are my patient.” I exhale, trying to get a hold of myself. “This whole thing is an ethical disaster that I can’t seem to get away from. Bloody hell, what did you expect this morning? Breakfast in bed and a goodbye snog?” I grumble.

Is this real life? Is Camden Harris seriously insecure over me? I can’t even comprehend this logic. He’s one of the hottest footballers in London. But looking at his face, I’d venture to say he’s hurt and that my sharp tongue isn’t helping matters.

“Christ, I’m sorry, all right?” I add.

His brows lift in shock, as if he’s impressed that after all that I apologised.

“Are you herpes sorry?” His hard eyes hide a playful twinkle.

“I don’t even know what that means,” I groan.

A soft laugh shakes his shoulders. “Fine, let’s get back to that goodbye kiss you mentioned.” He begins moving toward me with slow, tender steps. I could laugh at how easy it is for him to change course, but even with an injury, Camden Harris moving toward me is no joking matter. Those intense eyes make me forget all about why I tried to avoid him all day.

“What about a goodbye kiss?” I ask, the pitch of my voice suddenly deeper. My treacherous gaze moves to his bare chest and curves over to his half-sleeved arm. I never knew I liked tattoos until I saw his.

“The way I see it, that kiss we had in the ICU seems like a long time ago. All day, I’ve been trying to determine if it was as good as I remember, or if it was just the adrenaline from my injury. Let’s see if those sparks are still there. Then we’ll know if these risks are worth the rewards.”

I’m pretty sure I should be offended by his last remark, but I’m too busy staring at his lips as he comes within inches of my face. His warm breath is mixing with mine and it’s an intoxicating combination. It invigorates a completely different part of my brain—the part that acts on raw feelings and emotion. Primitive in nature.

But the right side of my brain knows that what we’re doing could get me into serious trouble and maybe even cost me my job. But his scent. His face. His body. His
being
is so overwhelming and exciting, I can’t think straight. My hormones have completely taken my body hostage.

How can one person seem so very wrong but so very right all at the same time?

“I like the red specs,” he murmurs before his arms snake around my waist and pull me to him. My hands land on his bare chest. The sensation of his skin against mine and the wrongness of it all are exactly what urge me on.

“I’m going to kiss you again.” His lips flutter so close to mine it already feels as if we’re kissing.

“Are you sure we—” My weak response is cut off by the unapologetic fervor of his mouth on mine. I squeeze out a surprised moan as he smothers me with his hard body and slides his tongue forcefully into my mouth. Reflexively, my eyes roll to the back of my head as my limbs desperately grope every square inch of his upper body, searching, pleading, grasping for some sense of sanity. Some sense of awareness of my surroundings. Some lifeline to pull me out of this danger.

But I don’t find it. I only find mounds of hard, roped, and incredibly smooth muscle. God, does it feel good. And bad. And oh, so right. He’s consuming me as if I’m Christmas dinner and he hasn’t eaten in months. I nearly squeal with excitement when his right hand drops to my towel-covered arse and palms it decadently.

He pulls me snuggly against his crotch.

Against his erection.

It’s in that one pump of his hips that I realise with a thunderous thud of my heart that the playboy flirt who kissed me when he came into Patch Alley yesterday is gone.

Instead, he is replaced by a sinfully arousing and totally mind-blowing conqueror that is Camden Harris.

And I am screwed.