Ignite Me, Ice Captain

Challenge Accepted

“Hi. Yes, I’m Dr. Avery Calloway. Excited to see you’ve finally found your way back to Earth away from the light.”

“Yep, the light was too bright to make me enjoy my sleep.” His eyes twinkled with amusement, as if he could tell she was silently accusing him of choosing to stay in coma when he could have woken up much, much sooner. “Had I known I had you waiting anxiously for me, I’d have made a far swifter return.”

A flirtatious, almost charming smile played at his lips. She refused to be drawn in, even though she’d be lying if she said that awake, she didn’t find him even more attractive, and his little play had absolutely no effect on her.

It wouldn’t be the first time a gorgeous walking imbecile —cocksure that God had gifted him with the ability to curl any woman around his fingers, and driven purely by the desire to add another tally to his scoreboard—had tried his luck with her. Just like the two men she’d left behind at the club, the lower half of such a swine functioned much better than their upper half. In fact, with their astronomically fat bank balances, men like Logan Pierce were often even stupider.

But she was getting a handle on dealing with them.

She gave him a smile in return, sticking to the professional, stiff stretch of the lips. The chart held above her, she could comfortably cut off his deep-set summer-blue gaze and read Dr. Davis’ notes from his evaluations after he woke up.

By all indications, the guy would be out of bed in a day or two, moving to rehab—a true miraculous recovery. Or, as she strongly suspected, a world-class faker who had been happily sleeping when he was perfectly alright, maybe even sneaking in some more muscle workouts than she was given him when no one was watching.

Every check and test conducted on him had a top-chart score.

Neurological function was excellent. Broken down into:

Glasgow Coma Scale? A whopping 14.

Pupil response? Normal.

Cognitive function? Clear.

Reflexes and coordination? Suspiciously good—she might have doubted the numbers if she hadn’t seen him in action herself.

Speech and communication? Perfect.

Smiles seductively, she added to the notes, purely out of spite. Not because it was medically necessary to have in the notes.

For his vital signs, everything was reported as stable:

Heart rate and blood pressure? Within range.

Breathing? No remarkable alarm signs.

Temperature regulation? Normal, with a note confirming the patient wasn’t feeling cold.

Muscle strength and mobility were solid.

Sensory response? No red flags. No confusion, no disorientation, no post-coma agitation. And, to top it off, his memory appeared fully intact—down to recalling the rink incident that had landed him where he was.

Even the lab results and MRI scans gave no cause for concern, considering the head trauma he’d suffered. The EEG monitoring his brain waves had also come back clean.

“As you can see, I’m all good. Can I go back to sleep now?”

“Haven’t you done enough of that already? There’s one exam that still needs to be done. I’d plead with you to stay up until then.”

She stepped back and observed his posture, noting whether he was leaning too far back on the bed or sitting comfortably. He appeared to be in excellent shape—at least in the areas untouched by the injury he suffered in the rink. That was the advantage of working with elite athletes; their powerful muscle tone provided a solid foundation for recovery.

“So, the test—when is it starting, or are you just mean enough to keep a tired man up as long as you like?” he drawled.

Avery’s gaze flew up to the digital clock above the door. Two minutes of observation was enough. She jotted down her findings at the foot of Davis’ notes and signed against them.

His lips twitched as he watched her. Everything he had imagined about this woman was right as rain—except for her looks, which were different from what he had pictured but not at all disappointing. He had correctly guessed she was hot.

She wasn’t doe-eyed, nor golden-haired, as he came to know before she ran off earlier—definitely nothing Disney-pure-and-princess-like about her. Instead, she looked like she could make Spring Studios proud on its runways, in spectacles, modelling in office wears.

He observed her quietly as she continued scribbling on his chart. Her honey-blond hair was now pulled back into a messy knot at the back of her head that was likely a last-minute fix before rushing in upon hearing he was conscious — just as rushly as she’d ditched the heels he vaguely remember hearing in his sleep.

Through the white coat, he caught glimpses of the skirt that looked no bigger than an oversized hairband and the selected-to-kill-mum blouse he’d seen her in earlier though. He allowed his gaze to run lazily up her exposed, endlessly long legs, dawdling on the teasing sliver of fabric around her hips that was her skirt, wondering what was beneath it, before he traveled upward to her face. Her almond-shaped eyes were a warm grey, kind and dream-like, could be an attraction for a lost little kid to run up to her when he couldn’t find his mummy. But, hey, were sexy as hell on that beautiful, sharp, and impossible to look away from face.

He decided it was her lips he loved most.

Not because they were begging to be kissed in their soft, full, poutiness, driving him with an insane need to taste just what they were offering, but because…

Scratch that.

He loved them solely because he couldn’t stop picturing them on him.

He knew he’d sworn to stay off women after his last dreadful breakup nearly dragged him into a scandal and further solidified his father’s resolve to axe him off the family tree. But maybe—before he took that sabbatical from dating until he was ready to settle down for good, he could allow himself one last indulgence. A quick tumble with the irresistible elf standing in front of him.

“You still signed on with the Titans?”

“Does that present a problem?”

Oh, so she was well aware of the ice-cold, blood-boiling rivalry between the two teams. Then why the hell had she let him through her clinic doors? Wasn’t there some clause in her contract with the Titans that explicitly read ‘Say no to Blizzard Beasts’? He knew Henri, the Beast’ owner, made a point of including it in every third-party agreement.

“Between the two of us, no,” he murmured, letting his gaze linger on her face a moment longer than was necessary.

He shifted, propping himself up a little higher. “Does this test involve taking off the gown and you’re just struggling to find the words to ask?”

Her eyes flicked up from the chart, one brow arching in that infuriating, silent dare that made him want to say it again — slower this time, adding silkily. “I’ll help you.”

It was an ordeal pulling the gown from under with his stiff knee, and over his head, but he managed, finding the strength to do it.

She didn’t even blink. No flush of color in her cheeks. Not even a subtle swallow to hint that she was the slightest bit affected. She simply cast him a reproachful look and returned to her writing, leaving him feeling a little… juvenile.

He chuckled softly to himself. He’d never been with a woman in the medical field before, never considered that their seriousness could be such a turn-on. But Avery certainly made him ache to test that theory.

He so wanted to see that laughably stern expression crumble, to watch her come undone as an orgasm — she’d probably never had before—ripped her apart. He wanted, more than anything, to hear her scream as she surrendered completely to him.

She finally set the chart down and turned her full attention on him.

He smiled.

She returned it—polite, professional, and completely annoyingly unruffled.

He didn’t like that she was getting a full view of his body and still treating him like a patient. Girls usually lost their minds when his shirt was off. He was tempted to grab her just to check if she was a real or some kind of highly advanced, phony, AI hologram.

“For now, we’ll keep you on IV until tomorrow, when we’ll run a test to assess your swallowing function. Alright. Have a good night, Logan.”

She turned to leave.

He cleared his throat to call back her attention. “Aren’t you forgetting something, doc?”

She glanced back.

“How do I put my gown back on?”

“The same way you pulled it off,” she said with a sardonic smile.

“I’ll need assistance.”

“A nurse is on his way to attend to you.”

He laughed, thoroughly enjoying the little standoff. She wasn’t getting out of there without putting her hands on him—and she knew it.

“I want to go to bed now. As in right now. You’re here. Don’t inconvenience me by making me wait for someone else.”

She smiled, nodding. “Mr. Pierce, I have no intention of keeping you waiting. I paged someone to assist you the moment you took that gown because I knew you’d be needing help putting it back on.”

As if on cue, the door clicked open. “Dr. Calloway?”

“Ah, here he is.”

A boy so young he could have been an intern stepped in, walking straight up to him without waiting for an instruction.

His smirk faltered a bit.

“Well, Mr. Pierce, once again, have a goodnight,” she said smoothly. “Do us all a favour, your mum mostly, and ensure you don’t slip back into a coma while you sleep. She’s anxious to see you awake tomorrow.”

And with that, she was gone.

He ground his teeth in irritation. He had a sexy-ass elf who thought she was too smart for him.

The kid, despite looking clueless, was so annoyingly efficient he couldn’t find a thing to complain about him, or yell at him to get a more competent person, aka Dr. Calloway. He helped him into the gown with the ease of someone who had specialized in the task. He even fluffed his pillow, adjusted the cot to a position that made him well-settled in, then stepped back and asked if he needed anything else.

“Is Dr. Callaway dating anyone?”

The boy’s brows creased in a frown.

Yeah, a strange question to be asking about one’s doctor.

“Not that I know of,” he eventually responded, so guardedly that he knew prying information out of him would be about as easy as pulling a tooth from a tiger.

Wasn’t she a lucky one—surrounded by such competent, smart, and loyal staff.

Still, he went ahead and tested his luck, casually asking if he could get her number. You know, just in case he had an emergency after discharge and needed her immediate help.

That was met with a resounding, “Hell no, sir.”

“You can ask her for it directly—if you’re sure she wouldn’t mind,” the boy added, deadpan.

He doubted even a bribe could crack the kid’s resolve.

“Just get out of here,” he grumbled, waving him off.

But before the boy reached the door, he turned back around.

“Mr. Pierce, do you have any idea the family Dr. Callaway comes from? With that kind of family, you wouldn’t make the cut. And she doesn’t do casual relationships. My advice to you—don’t waste your time. Don’t even try. The number of guys who have tried and ended up looking like fools will shock you. I’ve been working with her for two years. I know.”

Logan felt the words like a gauntlet being thrown at his feet.

And you know the best thing about challenges? The absolute high of coming out on top.