‘Like I said, I’m not going anywhere.’ It was a voice that rumbled straight through her. Again.
Doing things to her. Again.
Something ached in Kat’s chest. And lower, if she was going to be absolutely honest. My God, she had never, never responded to a patient this way.
She had never responded to anyone this way. Not even Kirk.
She cleared her throat, consulting the notes on her tablet and ignoring the odd tumbling, swooping sensation in her chest.
‘And, like I said, I can’t assess you in the middle of a corridor.’
He didn’t answer. He barely even shifted. Yet this man—this stranger—somehow made the corridor seem brighter, and bigger and yet simultaneously he seemed to...fill it.
She pressed on.
‘It’s hospital policy.’
He didn’t even blink. His eyes merely roamed her body, leaving her feeling as exposed as if she’d been naked.
And a helluva lot hotter.
She swallowed—hard—and struggled to refocus.
‘I really ought to ensure there’s no delayed injury that only becomes obvious once its already severe. Your own health is just as important as that of the man in that room.’
She didn’t know what made her eyes slide over that chest and those folded arms to see a wedding band.
The feeling of disappointment that plummeted through her was illogical. Yet undeniable.
She thrust it aside.
‘There must be people who care for you.’ She glanced down at his hand, told herself that it was only professional interest that made her notice the lack of a wedding band. ‘Someone to whom your welfare is more important than anything?’
It was like a switch flicked on again for a fraction of a second. Kat watched, mesmerised as a fierce kind of expression swam over his features, changing them for a moment. A love so intense—an emotion she suspected he usually kept well buried—swirled tumultuously in his eyes, buffeting her, and then it was gone.
A tight fist punched inside Kat’s chest.
For a moment she wondered what it must feel like to be the woman who could elicit that kind of all-consuming reaction from a man like this one. Or indeed from any man. And then she shot down that line of thought because, for her, only grief lay down that particular road.
‘Good,’ she managed curtly. ‘So now that’s established, this way, please.’
He dipped his head curtly and, with a final check of the door of the private room, he followed her down the corridor to another treatment room as Kat heaved a relieved sigh—at least it would keep her on the right side of Ayanna Franklin, the hospital’s head of PR. But then, as the door closed behind them and Kat swung back only to find Logan watching her, she realised her relief was short-lived. Because she felt his gaze everywhere, heating her in places she had forgotten even existed.
Enough.
Hadn’t she just established that he had someone in his life who he cared for? And who cared for him? So what was she playing at, imagining he was looking at her?
Furious with herself, Kat straightened up, as though the action could somehow shake off the alien sensations.
No matter what happened, she wasn’t going to go off lusting after some unavailable male. It was time to stop talking, get her head down, and concentrate on the task she was supposed to be doing—tending to her patient.
‘Can you tell me what happened?’ she asked.
The information in her notes was quite good medically, if a little scant in parts which might have revealed unnecessary information pertaining to the identity of his group. But that was no surprise given that Seattle General was renowned for maintaining the privacy of its highest-profile celebrity clients. Even a B-lister with a sprained wrist from a minor vehicular incident could have the media splashing the story over the front pages on a slow news day.
‘I’m not after any information relating to your...companions,’ she said carefully. ‘I just want to hear your recollection of events.’
Knowing how much Logan recalled would give her some idea of whether he might have sustained any unreported head injuries. Although there were no evident signs of anything on his skull. No bleeding from his ears. No indication of disorientation.