I’ve treated a hundred men in this room. Strong men, scarred men, even desperate ones. But none of them ever looked at me like he did.
Luca Hart.
Ex-boxer. Thirty-one. Dislocated shoulder, torn tendon. Six feet of cocky attitude wrapped in muscle and mischief. The kind of patient that tests more than your professional patience—he tests your morals. My morals.
He was already seated on the therapy table when I walked in, shirt off, sweat on his collarbone, like he wanted to be trouble.
“You’re late, Doc,” he said, smirking as his eyes slid down my fitted scrubs like they had every right to.
I ignored the flutter in my stomach. “You’re early.”
“Can’t help it. You’re hard to resist.”
I rolled my eyes. “Lie down, Luca.”
He obeyed with a crooked grin, watching me through hooded eyes. I s
