His Baby
Chapter 3
Melissa
Oh my god. Mace Jackson is fucking hot. About a hundred times hotter than anyone who’s stepped into my office before, and about a million times hotter than any man I’ve done an exam on. Because I was expecting some middle-aged dad with weary eyes and a body like a pile of pudding. But instead, the guy who walked in was a god, with the frame of an Adonis and a smile that makes me melt.
It shouldn’t be like this. Mr. Jackson’s my patient for crying out loud. He’s here revealing his medical history, not to mention any fears and insecurities he has relating to his health.
But still, he’s here, and there’s a job to be done. Man up, the voice in me scolds. Stop being such a princess. So you’re gonna do an exam on the most delicious guy you’ve ever seen before. But it’s still an exam, and besides, he doesn’t think that about you that way. You’re just Dr. Mel, MD.
I gulp, waiting outside the exam room. The voice is right. Mace Jackson is a god, but unfortunately, I’m no goddess. I’m the curvy girl with an extra handful here and there. I’m also the shy girl with her nose buried in a book watching under her lashes as the hot football quarterback walks by.
Because that was me, once upon a time. And it is still me, to tell the truth. I’ve always loved books, which is one reason why school was easier for me than others. It was simple to get lost in a story, whether English Lit, History, or even my medical textbooks sometimes. Many nights, I burned the midnight oil studying, but it didn’t feel like work because reading comprehension has always come easy.
But Mace Jackson is a different story. This is no chemistry textbook with its dry sentences and graphic diagrams. This is no dull narrative filled with obscure terms and medical lingo. This is a huge, handsome man in my little exam room, taking up all the space and making it hard to breathe. Not only that, but he even resembles the heroes on the romances that I secretly read when I’m at home. Oh yeah, there’s nothing like curling up with a cup of hot cocoa and the latest bodice ripper to keep me company. I especially like the ones that feature gorgeous Highlanders with bare chests and kilts. There’s something about the kilt that gets to me because it almost makes the guys look more manly, to be honest. It’s like the plaid short skirt highlights those heavy, tree trunk thighs poking out underneath.
So now the Scottish Highlander is in your office! The voice in my head says scornfully. He’s waiting, totally nude, for you to do your business. But that doesn’t mean he’s thinking about you that way.
Oh god, oh god. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself because it’s true. Mace Jackson is probably impatient already, totally naked, that awesome body covered only in the flimsiest paper gown. I imagine what it’s going to be like to touch that smooth, bronzed skin. To feel heavy slabs of muscle beneath my fingertips in the most intimate manner as he grunts and gasps from the intrusion.
Because I’ve been with guys before of course. I’m twenty-seven and there was some time for dating even if medical school seemed like a long, drawn-out path of pain. But the thing is, the guys I went out were boys. They were nerdy, thin-as-a-whip dudes with overbites. I’m not saying they were dumb. Quite the opposite. These guys were super-smart, and could take a test like a Rhodes scholar. But they weren’t men, not the way my Scottish Highlander is a man. Ask them to ride a horse, and they’d probably fall off. No, even worse – ask them to change a lightbulb, and they’d have no idea how. In the sack? It was an absolute nightmare.
Take my last date, Stephen. He’s a proctologist from the same hospital as me, and I’d joked that maybe we could refer patients to one another. But Stephen was all business, even though we were seeing each other on a semi-romantic level.
“Don’t say that,” he sniffed. “You know better than anyone the difference between proctologists and urologists.”
Wow, talk about sexy conversation. But I tried to brush off the implied insult.
“No, I’m just saying,” was my light laugh. “You know, you treat them for colorectal problems, but if they have other issues down there, you hand them off to me and vice versa.”
Stephen merely sniffed again, his weak jaw wobbling.
“You know that could be fraud,” he said in a high-pitched voice. “And I don’t like being associated with criminals.”
What the hell? I hadn’t been suggesting any criminal activity. I’d merely suggested a referral system, which is hardly a crime. Doctors do it all the time. So what was up with this guy? Why was he acting like I’d just broken a cardinal rule and deserved to be thrown into jail?