Craving Her Rough Diamond Doc. Amalie Berlin

something people here would respond to—it was easy to respect bravery. “One month, unless you do something so terrible I can’t keep our arrangement. Behave, and don’t annoy my patients.”

      He was the cousin of her best friend, and they were close. Close-ish. Imogen wasn’t entirely certain what that entailed, but it didn’t matter. He might be kind of a jerk, but she had to believe he wouldn’t do something to ruin her life. Oh, sure, he might not hire her because she allowed herself to be talked into doing something illegal, but the chances were slim that he intended to jeopardize her license.

      Imogen wanted to say no, be as uncooperative as he’d been all day. She’d learned how to be stubborn the last time she’d held still for six months. But being flexible might actually get her what she wanted. Unless he tried to trick her again.

      She considered his expression, saw nothing but sincerity there and sighed. Like she had a choice. She wasn’t built to leave someone suffering if she could help them. Leaving him with an untreated injury just because he ticked her off…Couldn’t do it. And she couldn’t go halfway on her promise to Amanda—she made promises so infrequently already.

      “I suppose we should numb it. Where’s your pharmacy? And tell me what to give you.” If the stitches were crooked, loose or too far apart, it was his own bossy fault.

      He rattled off directions and sent her packing with his keys to a locked cabinet for drugs and a suture kit. Not even a flinch when she gave him the injection. He just started explaining how to work the needle and the kind of stitch he wanted.

      Imogen drew a deep breath and picked up the instruments. She’d seen this done a million times. She’d removed stitches a million times too. No problem. It was just like repairing a hole in her favorite dress. If her favorite dress happened to be made out of human flesh. Ugh. Amanda had better have booze at her house left over from her non-pregnant days.

      The first stitch seemed to take forever. Imogen realized she was wincing in tandem with Wyatt’s frowns. She tried to relax her forehead, a tension headache brewing between her eyes. “Looks straight.” A slight tug tested the give, and when it looked decent she allowed herself another deep breath, “One down. How many do I need to do?”

      After looking at the cut again, he asked, “How many do you think?”

      “Six? Seven?”

      “Sounds about right.” He smiled, a gentle but encouraging light in his eyes. The man didn’t trust her to haul logs but he trusted her to sew up his body. Very strange. “You’re doing great. Just do that a few more times.”

      She moved on to the second stitch, ignoring the warmth tickling her belly from his praise and his faith in her.

      If this was a glimpse into what the coming month had for her, she wouldn’t be bored.

      But she should probably invest in a big bottle of aspirin.

      Wyatt unlocked Amanda’s back door and stepped into the mud room between the back porch and the kitchen. Amanda and her mother, Jolene, had twin cottages two hills down from the mountain. It was normal business for him to invade and use the shower whenever he pleased. Normal enough he’d forgotten to mention it to Imogen after she’d stitched his arm last night.

      He didn’t want to be impressed with the way she’d handled his little test. She had skills and, more importantly, she had the touch. Soothing. And at odds with the chemistry that roused urges in him he should ignore.

      His thoughts had swung between irritated attraction and worry about how she would be with the patients. At best, she was someone they’d get used to and come to care about who’d quickly abandon them. Like all the times Josh had been passed from one transitory doctor to another. Sometimes they’d changed every visit. It kept things impersonal. A revolving door that left people not knowing who to trust. He didn’t want that for his patients.

      A few lights burned inside the cottage, enough that it looked like Imogen was awake, but when he knocked on the glass no one came. As tired as she’d been, there was a real chance she was still asleep, which would throw a wrench into their schedule. Wyatt waited another minute then let himself inside.

      A quick check of the bedrooms assured him she was awake. The eventual sound of the shower told him where she was. He backtracked to the sofa and sat, mental images of her in the shower turning his thoughts back where he’d been fighting them since yesterday.

      As pushy and stubborn as anyone he’d ever met, Wyatt couldn’t put his finger on precisely what kept her in his mind—other than her appearance. He’d only really ever dated stereotypical Southern women. Sweet, though sometimes he knew it to be an act. But not too challenging. Easy to understand, and because of that easy to be around. Easy on the eyes. Imogen may have that last bit, but there was nothing else easy about her. To be fair, she was a good nurse, so if she could handle the PR aspect of the position, she might be easy to work with.

      The bathroom door opened and she came out, wrapped in a towel and swathed in billowing steam. Wyatt stared.

      His presence caused her to gasp and clutch at the top of her towel, her hand folding over the place where one corner was tucked in, keeping it on. The action drew his gaze to her breasts, but the look on her face had him looking up again.

      “You’re here. What are you doing here?” She checked the front seam of her towel, making sure she was decently covered.

      “No shower on the mountain yet.”

      When she didn’t say anything else, he added, “I knocked. Then I used my key.”

      She frowned and nodded, turning toward the room she was sleeping in.

      “Done in there?” Wyatt called after her.

      “Yes.” She stopped and looked from the bathroom to him. “The water. There’s probably not much hot.”

      She hurt. He could tell by the way she moved, stiffly and slowly. She’d been trying to steam the soreness out of her body. It hadn’t been a shower for cleanliness. Her hair was mostly dry, and secured in a fancy braid. Not a trace of the pink remained in the pale tresses. The baby-fine tendrils forming a halo around her clean face were damp and curling. A hot flush colored her skin, from the shower or her attire, he couldn’t be sure. Not that he really cared. His body appreciated the result.

      Wyatt cleared his throat. “It’s fine. Be ready in half an hour.”

      He tried not to watch as she walked to the future nursery where she slept, wanting to see every inch on display and not wanting it at the same time. Guilt won and he dragged himself to the bathroom. She was in for a long day and it had already started on the wrong foot, sore from the logs he’d practically dared her to move.

      The cold shower, surprisingly timely and bracing, sluiced over him with a wave of painful shivers. Wyatt placed both hands against the wall of the shower and stayed still until he could stand no more.

      Any other day, he would’ve said the sight of an attractive woman wasn’t enough to send his thoughts spiraling out of control. Any other day, he would’ve believed himself in control of his body.

      It figured this would all happen on a week they were scheduled in towns with the dinkiest motels in history. He’d grown accustomed to sharing a double room with Amanda. It worked fine with cousins sharing; Amanda was as close as a sibling. As far as he could tell, the further along in her pregnancy she’d gotten, the more she liked having someone close by. But with Imogen…could that be a bad idea?

      Nah. Well, probably not. They were adults. And after her first day deep in the mountains Wyatt doubted either of them would be feeling particularly lustful. Sometimes he felt almost as sensitive to the behavior and opinions of non-locals as his patients were, and he already knew what they’d think of Imogen. If only he’d managed to get a temp hired yesterday. The option of firing her spectacularly, distasteful as it was, might be just what had to happen.

      “Imogen, we’re almost there.”

      The voice, a low, manly rumble,