Chapter 5

After getting Luke's text about his address, I head over once my shift is done.

It's been a long day, and I'm ready to get off my feet, so the idea of tending to another patient is truly annoying…at least it would be if it wasn't him.

I haven't been able to stop thinking about Luke Shaw—my patient and the guy who's apparently paying me three hundred dollars an hour to help him with his injury.

What the hell are you doing, Clara? There's still time to call this off. Just turn around and send a text to?—

But my thoughts are cut short when I pull up to the exceptionally tall building, at least as far as Hildale Port goes.

I've seen it from the highway before, but actually pulling up to the thing is a different matter.

It's sleek and modern, with no expense spared in its creation. Immaculate grounds and exterior amenities cover the place.

Manicured lawns? A statue of a mermaid? Really?

A security booth sits at the parking entrance, so I drive to the window and wait for the guard to acknowledge me.

When he comes to the window, I roll my window down and offer a polite smile.

"Hello, ma'am. Your business, please."

"I'm here to see Luke Shaw. I'm his, um, doctor."

The guy just nods, looking down at a clipboard. "Name?"

"Oh, uh, Clara Stewart."

Recognition lights up behind his eyes, and he addresses me with a grin. "Great. Thank you, Dr. Stewart. Please use the guest stalls for parking in the garage. Mr. Shaw is on floor twelve."

He offers me a guest badge, and I raise my brows, asking, "I wasn't given an apartment number. Which one is he in?"

The security guard laughs as chatter comes over the radio on his shoulder. "Just floor twelve, miss."

"Oh, okay."

Confusion still swirls, but I pull forward and find a place to park. As I tuck the visitor badge onto my dashboard, I double-check my face in the rearview mirror.

I look tired. Because of course, I am, but it's not exactly the presentation I want to give a guy well into the upper tax brackets.

Or one so good-looking.

I shake that thought out of my head and focus on smoothing down my scrubs as I walk to the elevator.

The parking garage is pristine, which is odd, honestly, and the inside of the elevator is just as nice.

I fidget with my lanyard the entire ride up, playing with the ID badge as I clip and unclip it from the holder.

It's fine. He's attractive, yes. Rich? Yes. But you got this. Just help him out, get paid the money to help with Beth's surgery, and move on with your life.

The elevator dings, and when the doors open, I see a single door at the far end of a short hall.

I go over, ringing the bell, and wait for Luke to answer.

"Mr. Shaw. He's just Mr. freaking Shaw."

Suddenly, the door cracks open wide, and I'm face-to-face with all those good looks again.

Luke's hair is slightly damp, his blond locks ruffled, and he's wearing a tee and sweatpants.

"I usually say Mr. fucking Shaw, but okay."

A strangled laugh escapes me, and I have to blink several times to refocus.

"Hi. Hello." I raise my brows, utterly failing to seem casual. "Um, so how's the injury?"

You. Are. A. Moron.

Luke grins, and my knees actually wobble a little.

It should be a crime how damn dazzling he is. How it's even possible is beyond me.

He's got to be from some other planet, one populated with sex gods. No human is this good-looking.

"It's still torn, how 'bout that? Life's a bitch, huh." He steps back, holding the door open for me. "Come on in, Clara."

The way my name leaves his lips makes my skin tingle, and I swallow hard as I step past him and inside the apartment.

Which is apparently the entire floor. A penthouse. Naturally.

Opening wide and stretching both left and right, the living room of Luke's place is massive.

There are deep slate floors in subtle crisscrossing patterns and a floor-to-ceiling window directly across from the door.

It rained all through the night and most of the day, and the water-darkened patio outside the window still has a few drops clinging to it.

There's also a small bar tucked into the corner by that sliding door, and to the other side is a section of wall with a built-in fireplace.

It's the only thing separating the open living room from the hall that must go to Luke's bedroom and bathroom.

"Wow. This place is…"

My words drift off again as I'm distracted by the incredible view. Luke's furniture is all low to allow as much of the window visible as possible.

The modern gray sectional is bare aside from a lighter gray throw blanket, and a solid black circular coffee table sits before it.

"Eh, it's all right."

I snap my attention back to Luke, who stands there smirking. I blink through a head shake and let out a light chuckle.

"You must be doing quite well for yourself, Mr. Shaw, if you live in a place like this."

He steps forward, following me into the center of the living area. His steps don't stop until he's right next to me, and my pulse skyrockets.

"I do okay, owning my own firm and all. And—" his fingers suddenly touch my shoulder as he takes my bag strap and starts guiding it down my arm "—it's still Luke."

My mouth dries, and I can feel heat gathering in my cheeks.

Then Luke steps back, setting my bag on the floor by the couch, and I let out a shallow breath when I finally feel like I have room to breathe.

Focus, dammit. You're only here to treat his injury.

I clear my throat.

"That's right. You're a CEO. Well—" I gesture to the couch for Luke to sit "—think I can take a look? I want to see how it's doing."

"Sure thing, doc."

Luke perches on the edge of the couch with that damn grin plastered on his face, and I go to one knee in front of him so I can get a good look at his side.

Leaning over to pull my bag of supplies closer, I get stuff ready to change his bandage and ensure it's clean.

When I look back up, Luke is staring down at me, his gaze lidded.

"Um, can you…take off your shirt?"

Flames, pure flames, dance in my cheeks. Which is stupid. You ask people to do this shit all the time. You're just a doctor, for heaven's sake.

He chuckles, and I hold back the swoon. "Already asking me to take my clothes off? Damn, you just got here. I'm impressed."

I nervously scoff, snapping on my gloves, before I glance up and see Luke struggling to get the shirt over his head.

It's clear that it's uncomfortable, so I reach for the hem to help him.

He stills for a moment as my knuckles brush his side, and I work with him to get the tee off.

"Sorry, did I bump it? I thought I was being careful."

Luke shakes his head. "Nah, darlin', you're fine."

Do not. Do not even think about it. It's just a word. Come on.

"Good." I exhale shakily, sinking back to my knees. "Okay, I'm going to cut the old bandage away. The scissors might be cold."

The need for concentration helps get me out of my head, and I take the scissors from my sterilized pack and slide them beneath the bandage.

"Oh," he grumbles. "Yes, they are really cold."

His skin ripples with goose bumps, and a part of me is desperate to take these gloves off so I can feel his skin properly.

Still, the binding cuts clean, and I pull it free from the smaller bandage taped down over the fresh sutures.

"There's no excess drainage or discoloration. And it's not inflamed or seeping, so that's good."

Luke adjusts, his knee bumping against my arm as I hover over his midsection.

"No signs of infection. Swell, doc."

He uses the old term as a joke, but I'm a little struck by his awareness of what I'm looking for.

"No, none that I can see right now. Fever, excess pain? Anything like that?"

"Nope. I'm solid." He smiles, and our stares hold for too long.

Blinking away, I go back to the pad on his side. I want to change that, too.

"Okay, this might pull."

Working the bandage free, I remove it and lay it with the other wrappings to be tossed out.

His sutures look good. Of course, the area is a bit angry—slashed and poked as it was—but it's healing over nicely.

"No pus or anything. Good scabbing. These look great."

"Gee, doc, you certainly know how to make a guy feel attractive. No pus, huh?" Luke is all teasing smirk when I look up at him from beneath my lashes.

I laugh. Luke is such a jokester. It's so unlike me. I smell his body wash on his skin, putting together that he must've just showered.

"Um, can you lift your arm? I want to see how the wound stretches."

Luke sucks in a breath, like he knows this will be uncomfortable, and slowly raises his arm.

I watch the injury pull a bit, and then Luke stops, clearly hitting his limit. It's good he has a decent range of motion.

But then my eyes fall to the ridged curves of his abs, and my mouth goes dry. He is ripped. Like, who has muscles like this?

Snapping my gaze back to my supplies, I grab a fresh bandage, tear open the package, and lay it across the sutures.

When he lowers his arm, it hits me that I'm sandwiched between his legs, right near his crotch. Oh no. No. Not good. Pull up!

"Okay." I stand up like I've been zapped with a cattle prod. "You're doing great. Um, let's, um…see how you can move."

Smooth, Clara. Real smooth.