Dr. Tempt Me - A Possessive Doctor Romance

I sighed and knew I couldn’t get out of this. “I told you my father wanted me to be a marine, right?”

“You mentioned something like that. He was disappointed you became a doctor.”

“The guy put me through training.” I paused for a second, trying to figure out how I could word it so that it didn’t sound absolutely insane. I remembered my father standing over me in the back yard as I did pushups, barking orders, hitting me with a piece of wood to toughen me up, but really it was torture, pure and simple, hours long torture. “He had me doing martial arts from a young age.”

“You’re joking. Like, karate?”

I shook my head then grimaced. “No, not karate. Muay Thai, boxing, jujitsu, real fighting. He took me to a gym once a week from when I was eleven to when I refused to go anymore at fifteen and made me fight someone there. Not like, a street fight, but mixed martial arts stuff, you know, the octagon and all that.”

“That’s insane.” She leaned back, eyes wide. “They let kids that young do that stuff?”

“Not really. I mean, not officially, but we lived on military bases, so.” I shrugged a little, like that explained anything. “Not all guys in the military are assholes obviously, but some are, some really, really are, and you put them in a culture that sort of encourages macho behavior, well, it makes them worse.”

“God, I’m sorry. I can’t imagine.”

“Yeah, well, that’s why I stood up to them. I figured if they wanted to kill me, they would have, and if they wanted to stab me, they would have. Since they came unarmed, I knew I had a chance.”

“And did you win?” She tilted her head.

I smirked and shrugged. “Fought them off.”

“Got a head wound for your trouble.” She sighed, but her expression relaxed, if only slightly. “You still should have run.”

“You’re right. It’s just, I was angry.”

She took the syringe and pressed the needle into my forehead. I clenched my jaw as it stung, and she shot some of the numbing solution into the skin. She did it a few more times, covering the area around the gash, until the skin there was completely dead to feeling. She put the needle away, nodded at her work, poked it a couple times to be sure, then began stitching.

I could feel the skin pull with each swipe of the thread, but otherwise, I felt nothing.

“What were you so angry about?” she asked softly.

“They came into your place. They threatened you, threatened both of us. And Maria thinks this is some kind of game, like those mafioso guys aren’t going to try to kill one of us sooner or later.”

“You say that like they didn’t already try with you.”

“They didn’t.” She tugged the thread and looked at me. “They didn’t,” I said again, completely sure of it. “They wanted to hurt me and scare me, but not kill me. Not yet.”

“How are you so damn sure all the time?”

“If they wanted me dead, they could have killed me. The second I walked out of my place, they could’ve put a bullet in my head and been done with it.”

“Maybe you’re right.” She did another stitch and tied it off. I admired how steady her hands were, and her technique was very good. I figured I’d have a scar, but she was being gentle, and careful, and precise, so it wouldn’t be too bad. “But I still don’t want you fighting them.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

She gave me a look, but continued to work in silence. It took six stitches to close the wound up, which wasn’t many, thankfully. When she finished, and tied off the last, she added a bit of medical glue to ensure it stayed shut, then placed a bandage over top of it all and sat back.

“You’re going to have to explain this,” she said, cleaning up.

“I ran into a kitchen cabinet. Very clumsy. Oh, dear.”

She rolled her eyes and smiled a little. “I doubt anyone will believe it.”

“Sure they will. What else would they think? I’m getting into street fights with violent thugs?”

“Good point. Mary’s going to think I did it.”

I laughed and helped pack the bag back up. I stood, feeling bruised and battered, but not as bad as I expected. Those thugs had wanted to hurt me, but I probably got them much worse—the taller one for sure, at least. I underestimated the smaller guy, but I wouldn’t make that same mistake twice.

Fiona lingered in the kitchen and watched as I got some water and gulped it down. I grimaced slightly and prodded my ribs. They weren’t broken, but I’d definitely be bruised to hell. I turned and she stepped toward me, something on the tip of her tongue, but she shook her head and swallowed whatever she wanted to say.