Dr. Tempt Me - A Possessive Doctor Romance

“I’m not sure I can do this.” The words came out softer than I expected, and I felt tears in my eyes.

I couldn’t cry, not right now. I had to be strong if I was going to pull this off. If I cried, it would ruin everything, and I couldn’t afford to fail right now.

“If you need to back down—”

“You want something that I can’t ever give you, okay?”

He looked confused, head tilted. “I’m sorry, Fiona, I don’t know what you mean.”

“Come on.” I threw up my hands. “You saw the scar. You said you want a family. You want the truth about me?”

“Of course I do,” he said softly. “But I wasn’t going to press.”

“I can’t have children.”

I felt the words come out of my mouth like hot lava. I turned my back on him and paced to the window, heart racing, head dizzy. I stared outside and realized that I hadn’t told anyone about the accident or my condition in a very long time, and saying the words out loud was a bigger struggle than I had anticipated.

“Fiona,” he said softly, but I shook my head hard.

“It’s fine, okay? I’ve known for a long time, and now you know, too. I can’t have kids, which means I can’t ever give you a family. I’m sorry, but it’s the truth, and so we don’t have to keep playing this game.”

“I don’t care about that.” He stepped toward me and I turned to face him, so angry I could barely see straight.

“How can you even say that? You told me the other night you want a family, and now I’m telling you that’s not possible with me. Think about this for one second. Maybe you’re having fun with me right now, but what about five years from now? Ten years? I’ll never be able to give you children, no matter what we do. I’m broken, Dean.”

“You’re not broken.” His eyes were wide and I could tell he was struggling with what to say. I hated this, hated it so much. I felt disgusting and exposed, and I wrapped my arms around myself like I was trying to hug my guts back inside.

He’d say the right things, and in the end, it wouldn’t matter. This was why I never got involved with men, because in the end it never mattered, never changed a thing. I was broken, couldn’t have children, and never would, and I hated myself for it, and hated the world for making me this way. I didn’t want his pity, or his confusion or his anger, or anything at all.

I just wanted to be left alone.

“You don’t have to do anything, okay? We can be done. We’ll figure out the mafia thing, but after that—”

“We’re not done.” His tone was almost harsh, and it made me pause, at least for a moment. “We’re far from done. You think I want you for children? I don’t give a damn about children. You’re not broken, Fiona. I don’t want children, I want you, all of you, exactly the way you are. So what if you can’t have kids? That made you who are you today, and that’s the girl I want.”

I chewed my lip, heart racing, as he came closer again. That was the right thing to say, damn it, the exact right thing. I wanted to kiss him, to throw myself at him and let him have me, all of me, exactly the way I was: broken, shattered, partial.

But instead, I stepped away from him and went around, walking fast to the door. He turned and watched me go, confusion and sadness and hurt flickering through his expression. I pushed aside the privacy screen, its metal rings making a steel scrape along the ceiling bar, then lingered as I looked back.

“It’s not about you, okay?” I wanted him to understand, but I knew he couldn’t. “It’s about me, and what I am, and I just— I can’t get involved. The other night was fun, and I had a really good time, I just can’t go down that road.”

His face hardened then, his lips turning into a tense smile. “Whatever you say.”

“Good.” I slid open the door. “Thank you for that conversation, Dr. Coarse. We’ll talk later about your plan.”

He grunted as I stepped out and let the door slide shut behind me. I walked fast away from the room, but not back to the nurses’ station. I headed for a bathroom I knew would be empty, ducked inside, locked the door, sat on top of the toilet seat, and finally let myself cry.

I felt pathetic and weak. I hated myself for doing this, for ending things with a man I really liked, but also for crying about it, and for letting it get to this point. I was supposed to be better than that, able to rise above petty shit and stupid feelings, but clearly I wasn’t. Even after telling him I didn’t want to be involved, I still wanted him, still wanted him bad, and I didn’t know what to do about it.