Dr. Dangerous

Gathering up a load of towels in her arms, the shaving cream, razor and scissors tucked in her lab coat pocket, Brooke headed back into the kitchen. “I thought I’d throw a load of towels in—” She halted in midstride and midsentence when she came upon the doctor, sitting at the table, sans shirt.

Her gaze roamed over his bared chest covered by a spattering of golden hair. A well-defined road map to a prime physique. His belly was flat, revealing a nice six-pack of muscle, and she wondered how the heck he’d been lifting weights with one bad hand and a broken leg.

Of course, it probably came naturally for him, as it did for many men. Not that Brooke had seen all that many men who looked like Jared Granger. Not even close.

He seemed unaffected by Brooke’s perusal, and she prayed her mouth was shut. “Where’s the washer?” she asked, when what she really wanted to know was where her good sense had fled.

He pointed to a louvered door to his right. “In there.”

“Okay, then. Let’s see if I can figure this out.” Securing the pile of towels under her chin, she opened the door and stuffed the load into the washer. After tossing a scoop of detergent in, she stared at the knobs for a few minutes.

“Mind if I throw a few more things in with those?”

The hair on Brooke’s neck came to attention when she realized he was standing immediately behind her. She sensed his heat, smelled his cologne and finally got up the nerve to look at him over her shoulder. “What do you have in mind?”

He pointed to a laundry basket sitting atop the dryer. “My underwear and a few pair of socks.”

She surveyed the pile of briefs in the basket. Not surprising. He seemed like a brief kind of guy. “I have room for a few. Nothing worse than being down to your last pair.”

“I ran out two days ago.”

That thought conjured up all sorts of questions she didn’t dare ask. She didn’t have to.

“I’m going native,” he said. “That’s what we used to call it in college when we ran out of Jockey shorts. In case you’re wondering.”

She had been wondering, and going “native” seemed an appropriate description. Right now she was having some fairly primitive thoughts about the man behind her. “Do you want me to teach you how to use the washer?” Her voice came out highpitched and shaky.

“Nope. I can handle the washer. I manage fine with my left hand.”

Then why hadn’t he? Maybe he was playing on her sympathy, knowing she’d feel sorry for him and engage in some menial tasks. Then again, maybe he truly didn’t have the energy.

After tossing a few pair of underwear into the washer with the towels, Brooke turned to find Jared Granger seated at the table. He’d actually retrieved a basin and filled it with water while she’d been taking care of the laundry. So he wasn’t helpless after all. But he was gorgeous sitting there with his bare chiseled chest and tousled blond hair. A woman could sure get a thrill running her hands over all that sinewy muscle.

Brooke slapped the thoughts out of her brain. For goodness’ sake, it wasn’t like she hadn’t seen a half-naked man before. Just not any who had the kind of sensual aura that made women take a second look. A third look…

What was it about him that made her feel all soggy inside? Why did she respond to his questionable comments when she had learned long ago not to react to anything with sexual undercurrents where patients were concerned? Where any man was concerned, for that matter.

Right now she didn’t care to dissect her reaction to Jared Granger. Right now she only had to help the man shave. And Lord help her, she hoped she survived it.

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