Part of that plan required that he make the most of the attraction she had for him. Even if she didn't want to admit it to herself, he knew it was there, and damned if he didn't really like those moments when her breath quickened and her lips parted.
"Do you want me…"
"What? I don't want you," she squeaked out.
"I meant, do you want me to take my shirt off?" he asked, standing up from his chair and stepping closer to her.
"Oh, um, yes, that would be best, sorry."
He yanked off his tee shirt and she looked away from him just as he started to jump onto the examining table. And he couldn't help but wish that he were taking off a piece of her clothing in return.
"You're going to have trouble examining me from all the way over there, aren't you, Doc?" he asked with a low voice, trying to overcome his own desire that was threatening to throw his whole plan off course.
She turned and laughed with a soft hint of embarrassment that brought back that stupid, tight feeling in his chest as she walked over to him — close enough that he caught the scent of her hair. It smelled like fresh air and that first moment when you see your home come into view after being gone for far too long.
It was nice.
Snap out of it, you idiot! he mentally shouted to himself.
Wyatt tried to bring himself back under control of the situation. These moments of kindness from her, and her sharp eye for his game were no excuse for him to forget why he was there. It didn't matter that the sharp eye in question was part of a set of the prettiest blue ones he'd ever seen.
Oh, why didn't I tell him to leave his shirt on? Maybe I could've had him put on more clothes before I had to touch him. I can't just keep looking at his naked chest and stroking it — I might fry my brain… Jenna thought worriedly to herself.
She was putting all her energy into keeping calm and focusing on performing a relatively simple examination she'd done numerous times before. Yet nothing about Wyatt was simple for her. In fact, she felt like she deserved a medal — or at least a participation trophy — for her efforts in keeping some kind of cool with this man. Regardless of whatever personal issues she had with dating an athlete, her stepping in to perform a consult on him meant that he was, for all intents and purposes, her patient, at least until the assignment was complete, meaning, she needed to be completely professional with him.
That ethical "out" was almost a relief to her confused emotions — forcing her to stick to her guns and avoid this man on a sexual level. Unfortunately though, when he took off his tee shirt, revealing his smooth, olive skin and muscles developed over a lifetime of rigorous physical conditioning, Jenna became sincerely worried she may have swallowed her tongue and would need to find someone to extract it out of her throat for her.
Her only solution was to commit herself to focus on his shoulder and its marked reduction in range of motion. His chart was concerning enough, but at every stage of the examination, it was becoming clear to her the trauma to his shoulder was far worse than she had hoped.
"You definitely have inflammation in this joint. In fact, it's warm to the touch — which is a good sign of inflammatory activity, though that's not terribly surprising based on the MRI images in your chart. Is this tender?" she asked him as she pressed lightly against his shoulder joint.
He turned his face toward hers at the question and said, "A little tender, but not too bad. You have a gentle touch, Doc. I like it. I hope you don't show the same attention with all your patients. I may get jealous."
"Mr. McCoy, please focus," she answered, but his teasing was getting to her and part of her couldn't help but want to giggle a little bit — if only to release the tension building in her stomach.
"I'm very focused. I'm still trying to process all the great input you gave me on my release and throwing technique. I'm so impressed, I
"Do you want me…"
"What? I don't want you," she squeaked out.
"I meant, do you want me to take my shirt off?" he asked, standing up from his chair and stepping closer to her.
"Oh, um, yes, that would be best, sorry."
He yanked off his tee shirt and she looked away from him just as he started to jump onto the examining table. And he couldn't help but wish that he were taking off a piece of her clothing in return.
"You're going to have trouble examining me from all the way over there, aren't you, Doc?" he asked with a low voice, trying to overcome his own desire that was threatening to throw his whole plan off course.
She turned and laughed with a soft hint of embarrassment that brought back that stupid, tight feeling in his chest as she walked over to him — close enough that he caught the scent of her hair. It smelled like fresh air and that first moment when you see your home come into view after being gone for far too long.
It was nice.
Snap out of it, you idiot! he mentally shouted to himself.
Wyatt tried to bring himself back under control of the situation. These moments of kindness from her, and her sharp eye for his game were no excuse for him to forget why he was there. It didn't matter that the sharp eye in question was part of a set of the prettiest blue ones he'd ever seen.
Oh, why didn't I tell him to leave his shirt on? Maybe I could've had him put on more clothes before I had to touch him. I can't just keep looking at his naked chest and stroking it — I might fry my brain… Jenna thought worriedly to herself.
She was putting all her energy into keeping calm and focusing on performing a relatively simple examination she'd done numerous times before. Yet nothing about Wyatt was simple for her. In fact, she felt like she deserved a medal — or at least a participation trophy — for her efforts in keeping some kind of cool with this man. Regardless of whatever personal issues she had with dating an athlete, her stepping in to perform a consult on him meant that he was, for all intents and purposes, her patient, at least until the assignment was complete, meaning, she needed to be completely professional with him.
That ethical "out" was almost a relief to her confused emotions — forcing her to stick to her guns and avoid this man on a sexual level. Unfortunately though, when he took off his tee shirt, revealing his smooth, olive skin and muscles developed over a lifetime of rigorous physical conditioning, Jenna became sincerely worried she may have swallowed her tongue and would need to find someone to extract it out of her throat for her.
Her only solution was to commit herself to focus on his shoulder and its marked reduction in range of motion. His chart was concerning enough, but at every stage of the examination, it was becoming clear to her the trauma to his shoulder was far worse than she had hoped.
"You definitely have inflammation in this joint. In fact, it's warm to the touch — which is a good sign of inflammatory activity, though that's not terribly surprising based on the MRI images in your chart. Is this tender?" she asked him as she pressed lightly against his shoulder joint.
He turned his face toward hers at the question and said, "A little tender, but not too bad. You have a gentle touch, Doc. I like it. I hope you don't show the same attention with all your patients. I may get jealous."
"Mr. McCoy, please focus," she answered, but his teasing was getting to her and part of her couldn't help but want to giggle a little bit — if only to release the tension building in her stomach.
"I'm very focused. I'm still trying to process all the great input you gave me on my release and throwing technique. I'm so impressed, I
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