God help her.
She was supposed to be checking his wound, not… doing whatever it was Jason was trying to.
“Doctor-patient privilege or… you know what, never mind. Sleeve.”
He rolled his sleeve higher, slow and deliberate, eyes on her. “This okay?” His voice was low.
But the way he sat—straight-backed, legs open just enough, eyes tracking her every movement—told her he wasn’t nearly as harmless as the question made him sound.
The closer she got, the smaller the room felt. The air seemed to thicken, laced with antiseptic and the faint trace of his cologne.
His arm rested on his thigh, muscles flexing beneath the rolled-up sleeve, veins shifting like a slow tease.
She leaned in, carefully peeling the old dressing from the edge to avoid tugging at the stitches.
Then, she inspecte
