“What did I tell you about starting without me?”

  “Not to do it without medical supervision. But I’ve got Dr. Rose, so we’re okay.”

  “I didn’t approve it either,” said Dylan. Charlie shot her a wounded look, but she just smirked. After the morning she’d had—thanks to Charlie—it felt good to take her turn throwing him under the bus. If she’d really felt spiteful, she could’ve walked out right then, but professional interest won out over spite. Professional interest, and a rather less professional spark of hope. She hadn’t seen much to suggest Charlie would soon be back on the field, but maybe he’d surprise her. Patients did, sometimes.

  At first, Charlie played to her, putting on a show. But as the session continued, he buckled down to his task.

  Dylan tried to watch his workout with a professional reserve, but soon she found her gaze lingering on the heaving mountains of his shoulder blades, the tectonic shifts of his back muscles at work. Injury or no injury, Charlie Wild was in breathtaking physical shape, built unlike any patient she’d treated before. Anyone who got paid what he did could spend their time bulking up in various areas and packing on the muscle, but Charlie’s incredible height made him unique to behold, a giant of a man in every way.

  She watched the way he powered through his therapist’s rigorous regime, clenching his jaw with the effort, and sometimes with pain. Even when he gasped and grunted, he kept up a steady pace and didn’t give up. The sweat practically rolled off him, sliding down into the valley of his back and trickling from his temples.

  She was transported, suddenly, into a reckless fantasy—one that overtook her before she could throw up any defense against it. She imagined herself beneath Charlie while he did his push-ups, her legs wrapped around his surging waist. Her dark hair was free and fanned about her on the mat. The facility lights were off, and there was no one in the gym except for Charlie and her—no one to hear her cries of ecstasy as he took her, sheathing his cock in her all the way to the hilt, stretching her open to the brink of her endurance…

  “Pistol?” Charlie asked her.

  Dylan blinked. “I’m sorry. What?” She glanced at Charlie’s therapist, but he was frowning at his tablet.

  “Pistol squats,” Charlie repeated. He was back on his feet now, sweat running down his face. “I was asking if you thought I could do fifty of them.”

  “Fifty is a lot,” she said. She glanced at her watch, but she was still on her lunch break. Mainly she was looking for an excuse to take her eyes off him. She cleared her throat and fidgeted with her collar. When had she gotten so sweaty? She had barely moved since she sat down.

  “I don’t have you up to fifty until next week,” said the therapist, setting his tablet aside. “Besides, we’re done here. You should go hit the showers.”

  “I’ll make a bet with you,” said Charlie, his gaze fixed on Dylan. She shook her head, not liking where this was going.

  “A bet,” she repeated. “This isn’t a game.”

  “And I’m not playing.” Charlie turned to his therapist. “I can do thirty, right?”

  “If you want, but we’re—”

  “Great.” He grinned wide. “I do thirty right here, right now, and you’re my date to the fundraiser. And I get to choose the dress you wear.”

  Dylan’s brows drew together. “You’ll back off immediately if you feel any strain?”

  “Cross my heart.” Charlie winked. A small crowd had gathered around the mat. Dylan sighed in exasperation and settled back to watch. Trust Charlie Wild to turn his own physical therapy session into a spectacle.

  “Halfway down,” she instructed. “If I see you go any further, then the bet’s off.”

  “Done.”

  “And if I win?” she challenged him.

  Charlie snorted as he dropped into his first pistol. “Not going to happen,” he grunted as he hopped up again. “Might as well save your breath.”

  Dylan scoffed at his arrogance, and the crowd of patients emitted a collective “Oooh.”

  “Need directions to the burn center, Dr. Rose?” one of the younger men called over to her. She couldn’t help laughing with the rest of them—and holding her forehead in disbelief as Charlie continued his reps. She had already lost count. Thankfully, he had a crowd there to count aloud for him.

  Eighteen…nineteen…twenty…

  “I’m thinking green,” Charlie said between exerted pants. “It would go with your eyes.”

  “I look terrible in green.”

  “I don’t believe that,” he countered as he dipped down again.

  Twenty-seven…twenty-eight…twenty-nine…

  “Red,” Dylan said.

  “Done,” Charlie replied as the crowd’s count hit thirty. A muted cheer went up as the quarterback hopped to his feet and turned to the spectators, waving and bowing in the wake of their adulation. There were exactly six of them.

  Dylan dropped her face into her hand, mainly to hide the breadth of her smile. When Charlie came over to the bench to collect his sweat towel, she held her other hand out. He dropped her a low-five. Whatever the nature of the competition, they were still on the same team—and his achievement was nothing short of extraordinary.

  “That was impressive,” she said. The bench sagged under his weight as he sat down beside her. “But you’ve got to remember, more isn’t always better. Stick with the regime you’re given, and—”

  “Yeah, yeah.” He nudged her with his shoulder. “I bet you look sexy as hell in red.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.” Dylan pulled out her pen just to have something to play with. She clicked the nib rapid-fire, an easy distraction.

  “It’s what I do,” Charlie reminded her. “Although, you know…I could still go farther.”

  “Like I said, don’t push it. I think we’ve done enough for today,” Dylan said firmly. He wanted to have a parallel conversation, but she was determined to stick to discussing his physical therapy. She tucked her pen away and got to her feet. “Considering the…additional aggravations you’ve had this past week, I’d say we’re doing pretty good. More than good. You’ve exceeded my expectations, Mr. Wild.”

  “Right back at you, Doc.”

  Their gazes met as he retrieved his crutches. The angular symmetry of Charlie’s face was still for once. Expectant. His eyes locked with hers, and he seemed to see something in her expression that pleased him. A slow grin lit up his face, and he pulled his topknot out and shook his hair loose. He puffed himself up and swaggered off toward the showers.

  He knows exactly how he looks, she thought. I’m in so much trouble.

  6

  CHARLIE

  The hospital fundraiser was upon them. The Sports Medicine department’s cafeteria had been transformed seemingly overnight: turquoise and navy ribbons festooned the rafters, reflecting the Teamsters’ colors, and a revolving disco ball twinkled in every corner. The perimeter of the room was choked with well-dressed people: parents, doctors, donors, and coveted high rollers. They were all chatting animatedly, apparently enjoying themselves.

  Two weeks hadn’t seemed like enough time to pull off such a function, but Dylan and the rest of the hospital had assembled the team to make it happen. Charlie would have taken longer to absorb it all if his hand wasn’t so busy flying through the motions of his signature.

  “Not bad,” Smitty said around a toothpick loaded down with cheese cubes. “For a small town, I mean. The lights look great. Just wish they would have taken my suggestion and gotten a real DJ from Austin.”

  Charlie ignored him and bent to his task, signing autograph after autograph in his looping, hasty scrawl. He’d almost forgotten about Smitty until he prodded him in the ribs.

  “Smitty, I swear to God…” He clenched his aching hand around the Sharpie almost hard enough to burst it. “If you put one more pile of photos in front of me I’m going to need rehab for my…”

  “I think you’re gonna want to see this, big guy.”

  Charlie glanced up in annoyance, but what he saw nearly knocked the wind out of him. Dylan, tall and leggy in the first pair of heels he’d ever seen her wearing, looked as sinfully delicious as any model—no, scratch that. She shone like a goddess descended from the heavens. The crimson dress he had ordered from Austin clung to her curves, showing everyone just what it was Dr. Rose had been keeping under wraps. Her dark hair was pinned up in an elegant twist, and her naturally lovely face was expertly made up. The overhead lights glittered on the sequins scattered across her chest, and the DJ—perhaps inspired by the appearance of a new muse—started playing “When the Stars Go Blue.”

  She was the most breathtaking creature Charlie had ever seen.

  She paused just past the entrance to the room and surveyed the scene casually, either unaware of the eyes on her or choosing to ignore them. Cinderella couldn’t have made a bigger splash arriving at the ball. When she turned her head toward him, her earrings shimmering against the elegant curve of her neck; it was like a physical punch to his gut. There was no mistaking the change that came over her expression—first recognition, then unguarded joy, and then her mask was back to that professional chill. Dylan left her purse at the coat check and strolled toward him, her smile polite, but several degrees from friendly.

  Charlie rose to the challenge, ditching Smitty by the autograph table to meet her halfway.

  “Dylan.” His eyes swept over her again. “You look…” He shrugged helplessly, at a loss for words. Dylan’s lush, cherry-red lips curled into a smile. She knew how good she looked, and damn if that confidence wasn’t sexy. “Why don’t you look like this more often?” he asked finally.

  “Are you saying there’s something wrong with the way I look normally, Mr. Wild?”

  “God dammit, you know what I mean.” Trading banter with Dylan was always fun, but tonight, Charlie was in no mood for games. Tonight, just the sight of her had him horny as hell, and he knew she felt it too. He could see it in her eyes, in the way she was breathing. In the light sheen of sweat over the tops of her breasts. He took his time looking her up and down, making no effort to hide his interest. “You’ve been hiding how gorgeous you are, but don’t think I don’t see you. Don’t think I haven’t wanted you from the moment we met.”

  Dylan faltered a moment, then recovered herself. She stepped back and flashed him a dazzling smile. “Can I get you a drink?”

  “How about a dance?” He took her hand to lead her to the dance floor, but a nimble old lady stepped into their path.

  “Oh, Dr. Rose, nice to see you again!”

  “Mrs. Rutledge.” Dylan dropped Charlie’s hand to shake the old lady’s. “Have you met Mr. Wild yet? Charlie, this is Carol Rutledge, one of our most generous donors.”

  “A pleasure,” said Charlie, though it distinctly wasn’t. But if this was what it took to get smiles on those kids… “I’m new to all this,” he said. “I don’t know if I’m supposed to ask for money, or what. But Dr. Rose is fantastic, and her department deserves—”

  “Say no more.” Mrs. Rutledge smiled graciously. “I’ve already made my donation, and I think you’ll be pleased. Oh, here’s my husband. He’s a huge fan.”

  Charlie cringed inwardly as a knot of men descended, each with a photo or a Teamsters shirt. For every autograph he signed, the crowd seemed to grow, until he could hardly breathe through the cloud of cologne. Dylan had ditched him or been swept away, and he clenched his teeth to hold back his frustration.

  For Dylan, he reminded himself. And for those kids. Every autograph’s a teddy bear or an HD TV.

  By the time the crowd thinned, he was tense and sweating. He’d never been claustrophobic, but he needed some air. Charlie excused himself and made for the nearest exit, ducking his head to avoid drawing attention. Dylan caught up to him at the fire door.

  “Hey! Where are you going?”

  “Out for some air.” He pushed out into the parking lot, and Dylan jogged to catch up.

  “What happened back there? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” said Charlie, gulping fresh air. He turned to face her, and felt his chest go tight. The last of the sunset was caught in her hair, red and gold fire that blazed like a halo. An answering fire sparked up in his belly, and Charlie reached for Dylan and grasped both her hands tight. “I’m fine,” he repeated. “But I’m done playing games.”

  Dylan’s brows shot up. “Games? I don’t—”

  “No more hot and cold. No will they, won’t they. I want you, and I know you want me right back.”

  Dylan just stared at him. Charlie’s grip tightened.

  “Don’t leave me hanging, Doc. Admit you have feelings for me. We both know it’s true.”

  “What I feel isn’t…” Dylan trailed off as soft music drifted out the door. She cocked her head, listening, and Charlie saw his chance. He swept her into his arms and spun her around. For an instant, she stiffened, and then she relaxed. She laughed as he dipped her and then pulled her close, and Charlie laughed with her. There she was—his Dylan, the one from the ranch.

  She leaned into his arms and he felt her pulse race. He felt the heat of her body and the whisper of her breath, and his awareness narrowed to just her. Just Dylan, his Dylan, swaying in his arms, one hand resting softly on the back of his neck. Everything seemed suddenly, inexplicably clear to him, like an optometrist had turned the dial on his life and brought it all into new focus. He pulled Dylan more firmly against him. The move was decisive, intimate, leaving no room for misinterpretation. She gazed up at him with jade green eyes rimmed in smoky eyeliner, and Charlie knew she felt more than just the press of his physical need against her.

  “I think I need a drink.” Her voice quavered.

  “I think I need you.”

  “Charlie!” Dylan laughed breathlessly as Charlie pulled her after him, along the back wall. “Charlie, where are we going?”

  “You’re the one who works here. You tell me,” he said. He led her back inside, into a quiet hall. Low lights burned in offices shut down for the night.

  “We shouldn’t be here,” said Dylan. “This is—”

  “Good enough,” Charlie said, and tugged her into a shadowed doorway.

  “Charlie!” she gasped. Her back hit the door, and Charlie swooped in. He cupped her face in his hands and leaned in close, stopping just short of his lips brushing hers.

  “If you really don’t want this, you can walk away.”

  Her hands came up between them to rest on his chest—not pushing back, but not giving way, either. “We shouldn’t,” she said. Her palms traced his pecs, her thumb grazing his nipple. Charlie gasped at the sudden burst of sensation.

  “I’m getting some, uh, some mixed signals here,” he muttered into her hairline.

  Dylan laughed despite herself, a soft puff of air against Charlie’s chest. “I’m saying we can’t,” she said, and tilted her head back. Her lips grazed his jawline, and a shudder ran through him. Heat pooled in his belly as he ran his hands up her arms.

  “This is the most confusing rejection I’ve experienced yet.”

  Dylan snorted. “As if you’ve been rejected by anyone, ever.”

  “It’s a foreign feeling,” he admitted. Dylan’s hand slid up to tangle in his hair. She tugged his bun loose and he groaned. “If you’re going to ditch me, you’d best do it soon. Or I might just die of bottled-up lust.”

  “You can’t die of that. I should know. I’m a doctor.”

  “I’m dying right now. See, feel my heart.” He took her free hand and held it fast to his chest. Dylan nipped at his earlobe, and he felt his pulse race.

  “That’s what you do to me. Tell me you feel it, too.” He pressed up against her, thrumming all over with pent-up desire. “Tell me you want me. Go on, use your words. I need to hear it from those sweet lips of yours.”

  “Oh, God.” Dylan moaned at his words, and Charlie’s restraint crumbled. He pressed her back to the door until it strained on its hinges. Dylan moaned in response and hooked her leg around him, and suddenly Charlie was supporting her weight. She was a tall woman, especially in heels, and his balance wobbled as he shifted off his bad knee.

  “Say you want me,” he growled, and set her back on her feet. “Or say you don’t, but—”

  “Charlie, I…”

  “You’re not my doctor tonight. I’m not your patient. It’s just you and me. What do you want?”

  Dylan stood there, lips parted, eyes all green fire. She took a quick breath, hitched in another, and nodded quickly. “You. I want you. But, Charlie, we—”

  Time to make an executive decision. Time to take the future—their future—into his own hands.

  Damn the rules. Damn the consequences. She wanted him.

  Charlie slowly, deliberately, lowered his mouth to hers, and took his taste of paradise.

  7

  DYLAN

  Charlie’s lips traced a hungry line down her throat. Dylan’s pulse leapt in response, goosebumps rising down the backs of her arms.

  “Charlie.” When had her voice faded to a husky whisper? It sounded too deep. Too sultry. This was her last chance to tell him no—her last chance to back off before her will crumbled. But what came out was a breathless “Don’t stop.”

  Charlie’s eager hand roved along the swell of her hip. The silk fabric of her dress rode up beneath his touch. She knew how easily he could tear it off her. A wild, lusty part of her almost wished he would.

  “This is wrong…” She murmured a faint protest as his lips teased her collarbone. “The power imbalance, I told you…”

  “Tell me again,” he whispered into her skin. “Explain it if you want. Everything dirty you’re making me do.”

  “Don’t say it like that.” She arched into his touch. She’d explained it already—she was a doctor, and he was her patient. She couldn’t do this, but God, he looked so good in his black suit, with his blond locks swept back from his thick neck in a tight bun.

  “I’m your doctor,” she managed.