suppose you had better come on back, then,” the younger one said. “I’m Junior. The dentist.”
#
Junior shook her head. He was a mess. Crack in his tooth wide enough to go fishing in, and infected to boot. Most folks in his condition would have reached their pain threshold long ago, but he sat stolidly as she examined him, barely flinching.
Stubborn man. She knew the type. Would rather cut off an arm than go to the doctor.
Actually, Junior knew her way around men like this one fairly well. Way too well, in fact. Smooth. Confident. A little edgy, not too pretty, though you’d never convince them of that. Or the women who inevitably flocked to them.
Definitely not one to try too hard. That was usually the point with these guys—the ones who didn’t have to try at all.
Trouble in capital letters, but even as Junior gave a firmer poke than necessary into the fissure, she could feel that old weak-in-the-knees thing.
Thank heavens she had her hands in his mouth— her turf. She was in charge in here, and there was no chance of him pulling anything that would cloud her judgment any further.
“You’re going under. Rosie, see if you can get a hold of that tank,” she added, raising her voice. Though she was fairly sure her aunt was probably listening on the other side of the door.
“Tank? You do your own anesthesia?”
“Relax.” Junior gave her patient a bemused look. “I’m fully certified. No kiddin’. Besides, I’ve been told I have an exceptionally light touch.”
Griff narrowed his eyelids at her.
“And it’s not like I’m putting you all the way under anyway. This is just a little something to put you in the right frame of mind. I’ll give you a local. You won’t feel anything. Lots of folks even go to sleep.”
Junior ignored his skeptical gaze as she and Rosie went about their business. But it was difficult to ignore his presence entirely. Ordinarily she stopped thinking of her patients as people while she was working—they were just a mouth full of teeth, a problem to be approached and considered and solved. A challenge to relish and tackle and conquer.
This man was another matter. That snaking lovely warmth hadn’t left her gut. She snuck a glance or two at his legs, splayed tensely on the chair, and couldn’t resist allowing her eyes to travel upward…
“Comfortable?” Her voice was a little raspy when everything was set and she took her place to get started, hands poised to begin.
“Mmmmph.” Indeed, Griff was comfortable, suddenly. Much as he usually hated the spreading numbness of local anesthesia, whatever it was she’d given him had driven annoyance right out of his mind. In fact, he felt good, unaccountably good, as though his body had relaxed and melted into the curved form of the chair. She’d put some sort of weird warbling flute music on, but he didn’t mind. A nap might be nice, after all. But before he allowed his eyes to drift shut he let them linger on the face above his.
Freckles. Every last inch of her face was sprinkled with dots, thousands of them. As the cozy feeling made its way out to the tips of his fingers and toes, he focused on her lips and noticed, with great fascination, that even there were freckles. Those lips. Full and pink and flecked in the most amazing cinnamon-colored spots, like nothing he’d ever seen before.
Wonder what it would be like, he thought lazily, to kiss those lips. He had a vague notion that the urge wasn’t entirely appropriate and smiled, or thought he smiled, as his eyelids slid half-shut seemingly of their own volition.
Junior watched him and relaxed. A sleeper—definitely a sleeper. She could always tell. Besides, it was generally the ones who were the most tense that ended up enjoying their little sortie into altered consciousness. Without thinking she rested her fingers lightly on his forehead, easing away the tension lines with a few strokes as the drugs did their work.
“Okay, I think we’re set,” she
#
Junior shook her head. He was a mess. Crack in his tooth wide enough to go fishing in, and infected to boot. Most folks in his condition would have reached their pain threshold long ago, but he sat stolidly as she examined him, barely flinching.
Stubborn man. She knew the type. Would rather cut off an arm than go to the doctor.
Actually, Junior knew her way around men like this one fairly well. Way too well, in fact. Smooth. Confident. A little edgy, not too pretty, though you’d never convince them of that. Or the women who inevitably flocked to them.
Definitely not one to try too hard. That was usually the point with these guys—the ones who didn’t have to try at all.
Trouble in capital letters, but even as Junior gave a firmer poke than necessary into the fissure, she could feel that old weak-in-the-knees thing.
Thank heavens she had her hands in his mouth— her turf. She was in charge in here, and there was no chance of him pulling anything that would cloud her judgment any further.
“You’re going under. Rosie, see if you can get a hold of that tank,” she added, raising her voice. Though she was fairly sure her aunt was probably listening on the other side of the door.
“Tank? You do your own anesthesia?”
“Relax.” Junior gave her patient a bemused look. “I’m fully certified. No kiddin’. Besides, I’ve been told I have an exceptionally light touch.”
Griff narrowed his eyelids at her.
“And it’s not like I’m putting you all the way under anyway. This is just a little something to put you in the right frame of mind. I’ll give you a local. You won’t feel anything. Lots of folks even go to sleep.”
Junior ignored his skeptical gaze as she and Rosie went about their business. But it was difficult to ignore his presence entirely. Ordinarily she stopped thinking of her patients as people while she was working—they were just a mouth full of teeth, a problem to be approached and considered and solved. A challenge to relish and tackle and conquer.
This man was another matter. That snaking lovely warmth hadn’t left her gut. She snuck a glance or two at his legs, splayed tensely on the chair, and couldn’t resist allowing her eyes to travel upward…
“Comfortable?” Her voice was a little raspy when everything was set and she took her place to get started, hands poised to begin.
“Mmmmph.” Indeed, Griff was comfortable, suddenly. Much as he usually hated the spreading numbness of local anesthesia, whatever it was she’d given him had driven annoyance right out of his mind. In fact, he felt good, unaccountably good, as though his body had relaxed and melted into the curved form of the chair. She’d put some sort of weird warbling flute music on, but he didn’t mind. A nap might be nice, after all. But before he allowed his eyes to drift shut he let them linger on the face above his.
Freckles. Every last inch of her face was sprinkled with dots, thousands of them. As the cozy feeling made its way out to the tips of his fingers and toes, he focused on her lips and noticed, with great fascination, that even there were freckles. Those lips. Full and pink and flecked in the most amazing cinnamon-colored spots, like nothing he’d ever seen before.
Wonder what it would be like, he thought lazily, to kiss those lips. He had a vague notion that the urge wasn’t entirely appropriate and smiled, or thought he smiled, as his eyelids slid half-shut seemingly of their own volition.
Junior watched him and relaxed. A sleeper—definitely a sleeper. She could always tell. Besides, it was generally the ones who were the most tense that ended up enjoying their little sortie into altered consciousness. Without thinking she rested her fingers lightly on his forehead, easing away the tension lines with a few strokes as the drugs did their work.
“Okay, I think we’re set,” she
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