When Staci Takes Charge (Leave Your Shoes On 2)

“Of course,” he quipped. Though his jaw clenched. Even casual flirtation sent the blood straight to his cock.

If this were an official exam—and damn, he ought to consider it one since she’d fallen on hospital property—he’d have a member of his staff look after her. Because Evan didn’t mess around with his business or his specialty.

And a mere glance Staci’s way told him he was doing both right now.

He honestly couldn’t escape the fact that she did crazy, wicked things to him. Things that he would never have imagined he’d encounter in the workplace.

Sure, he’d treated plenty of attractive women over the course of his career. But none he’d found so tempting. None he’d been so inexplicably drawn to—hell, none he’d wanted to strip bare and thrust into until she screamed his name in pleasure.

Again.

Christ. What was happening to him?

Focus, man.

He returned to the sofa and took the bottle from her, twisting off the cap. He overturned a freshly washed tumbler from the silver tray on the end table and poured some water into it. Then handed her the glass.

“That was quite gentlemanly,” she commented, sounding surprised. “In fact, carrying me in here was pretty gallant as well.”

“You thought I was some sort of ogre?”

“Not thought, as in past tense,” she pointedly said with a grin. “The jury’s still deliberating. But I suspect the scales just might tip in your favor. If you stop harassing me about my shoes.”

“But that’s my job,” he reminded her.

Staci sighed. “Fine. Examine me at will.”

Oh, God. Like he needed that sort of carte blanche with this woman!

He knelt before her and performed a very thorough exam of Staci’s sculpted ankles, her fine-boned feet, her perfectly manicured toes.

In his head, Evan did everything in his power to concentrate on all of the medical terminology, the nuances of a physical inspection, the importance of determining if there were any visible signs of stress fractures, skin discoloration, inflammation, or other trauma to her feet, not only from her fall, but due to her obvious love of wearing stilettos.

He also did everything in his power not to notice—or remember—how silky her skin was, how smooth. How femininely toned her muscles were. How desperately he wanted to sweep his hand up her calf to the back side of her knee and caress the sensitive erogenous zone. Just to elicit an erotic sound from her.

A small whimper. A throaty moan. A sexy sigh.

All of which had pushed him to the edge that night they’d spent together.

Evan’s cock twitched. He frowned.

“What?” Staci asked, a bit panicked. “Something wrong?”

“Not exactly.” He mentally shook his head, trying to dislodge all of the inappropriate thoughts flooding his mind.

What was it about this woman that had him careening so off course? Why did she inspire all of these lascivious thoughts that had never once popped into his head during an

exam?

Evan fought for a little more self-control. He was in his element here. This was what he did for a living. He was one hundred percent dedicated to his profession, an expert in his field—and he was damn fucking good at what he did. At the top of his game, and no one could dispute it.

So why was he so wrapped up in how Staci smelled, how soft her skin was, how she flinched just so when his fingers grazed the arch of her foot?

And there it is…

Her arch.

Now he was onto something.