“Heard you got a live one,” Chandra teased as Eira was looking over her charts.
“Yeah,” she mumbled absently, looking over the Wolf’s history.
He was a Werewolf too, that much was certain. Her own inner beast had scented him the second he’d been brought inside. It was the other tidbit of info her she-Wolf seemed insistent on that was bothering her. The silly animal thought the stranger was her mate.
“Well, be careful. I hear a storm’s brewing outside,” Chandra remarked, interrupting her thoughts.
Thank goodness.
Eira had to rein in her beast just to stop the she-Wolf from marching over to the man’s bed and marking him with her bite. The whole thing was preposterous, and she had hissed at her animal just to stay the beast.
“Storm? It was like sixty degrees out earlier,” Eira answered.
“That’s New Jersey in winter. One minute warm enough to be spring, the next we have an incoming Nor’easter,” Chandra replied, wrapping a long red scarf around her throat before waving goodbye.
“Crap,” Eira mumbled, walking over to the sliding doors.
Sure enough, fat white flakes of snow were coming down fast. They were already sticking, and she had another few hours to go before she could leave.
Her mother would not believe this, she thought, and shook her head. Werewolf or not, Eira hated driving in bad weather. The trip from the Jersey Shore town all the way up to Brooklyn would be treacherous if they had more than a few inches of accumulation.
“Doctor Sidak? Your patient is asking for you,” a nurse said, and she turned to follow.
Eira took a deep breath, exhaling slowly to clear her mind and rid herself of anything that might give her away. She had heard rumors of these things, of course, but the scientist in her had never really believed they were true. And yet, from the first second the EMTs had rolled Cannon Bartolf into her hospital, Eira knew he belonged to her.
Mine, her she-Wolf growled.
“Hello Doc,” his ridiculously attractive, husky voice greeted her as she walked into his room.
Because Macconwood Memorial catered primarily to Shifters, unbeknownst to the human world, the hospital admins were able to section off entire wings for treating supernaturals, otherwise there would be no real way to explain their incredibly fast healing abilities. Eira had her patient moved there for his comfort during recovery.
“Hello Mr. Bartolf,” she replied in her best professional voice.
“Thought I told you to call me Cannon,” he replied, a ready smile on his handsome face.
Eira ignored the remark, moving to his side, she took her penlight and examined him. It was hard enough touching him without sighing, but having to stare into his big, brown eyes without reacting was truly testing her reserve.
“You are healing well enough, but you’re still concussed.”
“You sure, Doc? Maybe I’m just seeing stars cause of you,” he said the corny line with no embarrassment whatsoever.
Eira bit back her grin. She would not dignify that remark or further inflate the man’s obvious sense of self, regardless of how adorable his puppy eyes were, or how hot she imagined his body was beneath the hospital gown he wore.
No, she did not sneak a peek. Eira was a doctor, for fuck’s sake! And this was not a male review.
“What’s got that frown on your face, Doc?” he asked, seeming to actually care about the answer.
“What? Nothing. Can I call someone for you? A wife or girlfriend, perhaps?”
“If you wanna know if I’m single, Doc, you only had to ask,” he said, grinning up at her for his relaxed position on the bed. “No girlfriend. No wife or ex. No baby mama. I have no close relatives either. It’s just me,” he finished, and she looked down to find he had hold of her hand and was running his thumb over her wrist in tiny little circles.
Eira cleared her throat and pulled her hand back discreetly.
“Well, there’s nothing more we can do for you here. Your Wolf should see you fully healed by morning. I can admit you, if you like,” she began, but he was already sitting up, and turning, sliding his long legs to the floor.
Damn. He had good legs. Rugby player legs with thick, muscular thighs and calves, and a smattering of hair that announced his masculinity without being overwhelming.
Eira knew the human body as well as any doctor, but the she-Wolf in her appreciated this male’s form as only another Shifter could. He was powerfully built. Clearly used to physical activity, despite the fact he smelled delicious. Like grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup, pumpkin pie with pecan ice cream, and her favorite glass of cabernet.
Yum.
“Stomach’s growling, Doc. When’s the last time you ate?”
“Huh? Oh, um, Mr. Bartolf, you really should sit down while we get your paperwork ready,” Eira said, backing up a step.
Big mistake. Warning bells went off in her head, but it was already too late. Her suddenly very energetic patient had her pinned to the far wall, away from prying eyes, and his nose was buried in the crook of her neck.
She had forgotten he was a predator. Like her.
Her body shivered in response to the heat radiating off him. The thin hospital gown hid nothing of the splendor of his rippling muscles, and the hardness between his legs that was currently bumping up against her soft belly.
Eira knew better than to retreat in front of a dominant Shifter. Hell, Eira had been raised with five of them! Six, if she counted Daddy, and it was almost always a mistake not to count her father.
“Mr. Barto—”
“Cannon,” he corrected, sucking in a gulp of her scent and tickling her skin with the sequential exhale.
“Fine, Cannon. You need to step back now,” she ordered, but without any real heat.
In fact, she’d sounded breathless, close to moaning as his nose and lips perused the skin beneath her ear.
“Smell so good,” he murmured. “Couldn’t get your scent before with all the hospital smells in the way.”
“You can’t,” she protested, knowing at once what he was about to do, but that intense gaze of his flicked upwards before returning to hers.
“There’s mistletoe, Doc. I kinda have to,” he explained.
Cannon’s nose brushed alongside hers, and he took her face between his large, warm hands. Eira had never felt so tiny and precious as she did with this enormous male pinning her to the wall. She was too much a feminist to admit how much she liked it, but the truth was, she did. A lot.
“We should stop—”
“Shhhhh,” he whispered.
Before she knew it, he was kissing her. The minty fresh flavor of his mouthwash and toothpaste did nothing to disguise his own Wolf’s essence. Simply put, the male was delicious. But he was her patient, and she knew better than this. With real reluctance, Eira pushed against his chest.
“Mr. Bartolf— Cannon, please. We must stop. You have a concussion, and this is highly inappropriate behavior for a patient and doctor. Please, return to your bed,” she said, and her eyes begged him to retreat.
“You’re right,” he said, kissing her hard and quick one more time before backing up to the edge of the bed.
“Um, how do you feel?”
“Me? Fantastic, how about you?” he asked, and grinned.
Eira shook her head. The man was completely incorrigible, but that was not why she was feeling slightly disappointed, was it? Nope. She was woman enough to admit, if only to herself, that she was kind of disappointed by how quickly he was able to stop.
For fuck’s sake, she thought, shaking her head slightly, and adopting her best doctor’s facade. Eira was not about to lose her head over a meaningless kiss. And that was all it was, despite what her she-Wolf thought.
Mine.
No.
Grrrrr.