Prince Pucking Charming

I lean forward, sinking my elbows into my thighs. “Yeah. So, what quack are you sending me to for the next few months?”

“The team uses Dr. Devine for cases like these. She’s far from a quack.” He slides a business card across the desk to me. “She’s expecting you tomorrow afternoon. Don’t hit on her,” he says in a firm tone. “You need Dr. Devine on your side if you want to come back. If she tells me this isn’t working out, you’ll be stuck with the second option. So, I would advise you to be on your best behavior.”

I narrow my eyes. “Why would I hit on my doctor?”

“Because I know your reputation with women.”

“It won’t be a problem.”

He tips his head. “Take a better look at her business card.”

I lift the card from the desk. Dr. Delilah Devine doesn’t look like any doctor I’ve ever met. Long blonde hair sits right above her large breasts, and wide blue eyes stare back at me. She’s gorgeous, her skin pale and freckled, with only a hint of makeup on her face.

I shove the card into my pocket and then look at Tom. He’s testing me to see if I can control myself.

He flashes a wicked grin. “Good luck, Duke.”

I’ll need it.

Chapter Four

Delilah

Sitting behind my desk, I flip through the report from the Flyers game. Duke Baldwin knocked both Dean Crawford and the linesman out cold, all in less than one minute. I missed this game. My daughter spent that night with her dad while Mommy caught up on some much-needed sleep. With my crazy schedule, I rarely get time to myself.

Over the years, I’ve watched Duke fight his way to another victory. My ex-husband is Duke’s biggest fan, which also makes him our daughter’s favorite player. Ted forced me to watch hundr

eds of hockey games with him while we were married. I never paid much attention. Not until Duke became the star of our home team.

As I read through Duke’s file, I stare at his picture. His short, dirty blond hair is messy as if he styled it that way on purpose. He looks like a sexy caveman, with broad shoulders that fill out every inch of his jersey, the fabric tight against his muscular chest. I wonder what it would feel like to kiss those full, perfect lips, how it would feel to have him handle me the way he does the players on the ice. His bright blue eyes stare back at me, the color so piercing I can’t wait to see them up close.

Duke is gorgeous, too good-looking to play hockey. The Baldwins have good genes. His father, Nick, was hot when he was younger, and for his age, he still looks good. Nick has the whole DILF thing going on. I bet Duke will too when he’s Nick’s age.

I scan the pages, looking for something that will help me make a connection with Duke. A patient must feel comfortable with their doctor. Trust is vital in this business.

With a history of violence and suspensions from the NHL, it’s no surprise that Duke’s records read more like a rap sheet than a list of accomplishments. I can see the pride on Duke’s face after Dean Crawford’s body hit the ice. In one picture, Duke has his arms raised above his head in victory with a smirk. His looks are somewhat distracting, though as I flip through the pictures, his apparent rage stirs something else inside me—curiosity.

Why is he so angry? There must be a source. Duke has some deep-seated issues he needs to address. Duke’s file included a full medical evaluation, complete with X-rays from torn ligaments and broken bones. In the six years since he entered the NHL, Duke has done some severe damage.

I mostly work with professional athletes. After helping the Redskins’ starting quarterback get over his drug dependency and subsequent divorce, word spread that I’m a miracle worker for the athletically gifted. That led to my ex-husband using his political connections to score me this gig with the Washington Capitals.

My practice is still in its infancy, and with the cost of rent in Washington D.C. and my school loans from Georgetown, I need all of the handouts from my ex I can get. Duke isn’t the first hockey player I have treated. Though, he is the first with serious anger issues.

Five minutes before my session with Duke begins, my secretary knocks on the door. She pokes her head into my office and then steps inside, giggling like a child. I assume she’s lost her mind until I spot the source of her laughter. Duke is behind Rose, looming over her as he grabs the doorframe and whispers something into her ear. Just great. Duke already has my secretary wrapped around his finger.

I have a strict no-fraternizing policy. As a doctor, I have ethical obligations to my patients, and I expect my employees to follow the same rules. My ex had to pull more than a few strings to get the contract with the Capitals, and I’m not about to have one of my employees mess it up for me.

“Dr. Devine,” Rose says with laughter in her voice. “Your three o’clock is here.”

“Thanks, Rose. You can leave us.”

We exchange a look, one that tells her to keep her distance from Duke. She knows the rules. Rose had to sign a handful of documents my lawyer prepared for her because of my affiliation with professional sports teams. I have fantasized about Duke plenty of times, but I would never cross that line with a patient. It takes years to build a reputation and five minutes to destroy it.

Rose nods in understanding and then exits my office, closing the door behind her. I press my palms to the refinished wood and step out from behind my desk. As I approach Duke, my tongue goes dry. Every nerve in my body is on fire. His stare is intimidating, and so is his massive frame. He towers over me, his shoulders and arms even thicker in person.

Duke extends his big hand to me with a cocky smirk plastered on his face. “Duke Baldwin.” His eyes travel from my face to my chest and back to my eyes.

I flash a warm smile and shake his hand that engulfs mine. “Nice to meet you. I’m Dr. Devine.”