Wait With Me (Wait With Me, #1)(87)

“You just called me Cam.” The twinkle in his eyes leaves me no choice but to smile back.

I laugh softly and punch some pointless buttons on his monitor to distract myself from his face. “Slip of the tongue, Mr. Harris. Don’t get all cocky on me now. You were doing so well.”

“I was thinking I could call you Specs for a nickname instead of baby or Red, but Indie is just too sexy of a name I’m afraid. It’s beaten everything I’ve been workshopping in my head.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “You’ve been workshopping pet names for me?” I chuckle, secretly chastising myself for loving the nickname Specs more than I should.

He shrugs and tweaks his eyebrows while eyeing my completely scrub-covered cleavage. Honestly, the way his eyes are staring, you’d think I am wearing a wet T-shirt.

“I’ve had a lot of time on my hands,” he says, his voice deep and husky. “And you’ve sort of been consuming all my thoughts since you buggered off so quickly before.”

I clear my throat nervously. “I had things to do.”

He growls with a speculative twinkle in his lash-framed eyes. “You thought she was my girlfriend, didn’t you?”

I remain silent. The discomfort I felt in those brief moments at the loss of opportunity a girlfriend would have presented is not something I care to revisit. Him having a girlfriend should have come as a relief to me. Instead, my stupid, tortured soul was more disappointed about the loss of Penis Number One.

“My sister is more like a mum at times,” he adds. “She’s great. You’d like her I’m sure. Everybody does.”

“She’s lovely,” I reply, my chest pounding with anxiety as that heated look in his gaze blossoms. “My shift is about over so I need to be going.”

All cockiness drains from his face. “You’re leaving?”

I shake my head. “Well, not technically. I sleep here. I only get six hours off, so I get more sleep if I stay in the on-call room.” Which is mostly true. He doesn’t need to know I don’t go home because it’s too lonely there.

“So can I have them page you in the middle of the night if I need a sponge bath?” he drawls sexily. The corner of his mouth tilts up with an impish grin.

“No,” I baulk.

“Why ever not?” He actually has the nerve to look offended.

“It doesn’t work like that, Cam—Mr. Harris. The resident on call is whom they’ll page. Plus, sponge baths aren’t resident jobs.” But, come to think of it, if anyone is touching him, I want it to be me.

“I don’t want just any medical person. I want you. They put me in the VIP wing. Don’t I get some say?”

“This isn’t appropriate,” I whisper, but even I can tell my voice sounds weak. I bite my lip and look around nervously, grateful to see his family oblivious to our current exchange.

“I’m not asking for anything major. Just a simple way to get ahold of you if I have questions about the surgery. I don’t do well with this…stuff.” His expression morphs from cocky player to pensive patient. My instinct tells me that it’s not an act, and my professional training wants to put his mind at ease. Not to mention, my heart lurches when someone looks at me the way he is, all wounded and scared, especially when I know I can make him better.

I shouldn’t do this. I shouldn’t do what I’m about to do. But a deep, quiet part of my mind says he needs this and this is my chance. This is where I take the plunge. This is where I stop letting my professional life trump my personal life.

I reach into my pocket for my yellow Post-it notes. With shaky hands, I scribble my mobile number down and hand it over to him. His fingertips brush against mine, but he continues to watch my face for the answer to what I’m handing him.

“Don’t make me regret this, Camden Harris.” I take a step back, watching the space between us shimmer with heat transference like the air above a campfire.

“Never.” His tone is dark and promising as he clutches my number in his fist.

Feeling as if my legs might give out as his stormy blue eyes lock onto mine, I break the trance I’m in and turn to shuffle out, grateful that the family is still deep in their own conversation and oblivious to us.

“Oh, and Indie?” he says quietly, forcing me to pause and look over my shoulder.

“Yes?”

“When I have two good knees again, you won’t be able to get away from me so easily.” His eyes spark with heated warning. It’s a warning that says to prepare myself for much more than a stolen kiss.

Feeling more like a woman than a doctor at this moment, I bite my lip and shrug. His gaze drops down to my pink tinted lips, which causes me to smile, spin on my heel, and haul arse out of there before my blush starts me on fire and totally gives me away.



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