The Ruthless Billionaire's Perfect Human Cure

"Where exactly does it hurt?" Kaleigh Rojas asked, her eyes fixed on the blank medical chart on her desk. She clicked her pen, ready to take notes, barely registering the new patient who had just walked into her clinic room.

"The location of the pain is... a bit awkward, Doctor."

The voice was a low, rough rumble that vibrated straight down her spine.

The pen slipped from her fingers, clattering onto the desk. Kaleigh's head snapped up.

The air vanished from her lungs in a short, sharp gasp. Cade Vanderbilt. Two months ago... the dark, pulsating corner of a downtown bar. The taste of whiskey on a stranger's tongue, the searing heat of his hands gripping her waist, pulling her flush against a rock-hard body. She had bolted before morning, trying to scrub the memory of that intoxicating, reckless night from her mind.

Now, here he was. Taller than she remembered, filling the small space of the sterile room. A simple t-shirt stretched across a broad chest, and worn jeans hugged his powerful legs. His sharp blue eyes locked onto hers, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his lips. It wasn't a kind smile. It was a smile that said, I've found you.

Kaleigh's stomach clenched. She swallowed hard, forcing her professional mask into place, though her heart hammered against her ribs like a frantic, trapped bird.

"In medicine, nothing is too awkward, Mr. Vanderbilt," she managed to say, her tone impressively clipped and impersonal. She stood up, her chair scraping against the floor, and pulled on a pair of disposable latex gloves with a sharp snap. "Please have a seat on the examination table and take off your pants. I'll need to take a look at the affected area."

His eyes darkened, a flash of pure heat igniting in those blue depths. "Whatever you say, Doc."

He didn't break eye contact as his hands moved to his belt. The metallic clink of the buckle echoed in the deafening silence of the room. The zipper slid down with a slow rasp that made Kaleigh's mouth go entirely dry. He stepped out of his jeans with fluid, unashamed grace, settling onto the crinkly paper of the exam table.

Kaleigh approached, her clinical detachment hanging by a thread. He was a hunter watching his prey walk right into the trap. Left in only a pair of dark, tight boxer briefs, there was no hiding the heavy, thick outline of his arousal, resting just inches from where her hands needed to be. His thighs were thick trunks of raw, powerful muscle, lightly dusted with dark hair. It was a blatantly masculine display that made her breath hitch.

"It happened during some strenuous activity," he offered, his voice a velvety purr as she was forced to step between his parted knees. "Deep, repetitive motions."

The double meaning hit her like a physical blow. As she looked down at him, her mind violently flashed back to tangled sheets, the frantic, relentless rhythm of his hips, and the way he had completely owned her body that night. She could almost feel the phantom weight of him pressing her into the mattress.

She took a shallow breath, instantly inhaling his scent—clean, masculine, underscored by a faint, haunting trace of tobacco. It was the smell from her memory, making her dizzy all over again. Her hand trembled slightly as she reached for the inner muscle of his thigh.

The moment her gloved fingertips pressed into his heated skin, his breath hitched. A low, guttural groan vibrated deep in his chest. It wasn't a sound of pain. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

"You seem tense, Doctor," he whispered, his gaze dropping to her lips before meeting her eyes again. "Remembering something?"

Her skin flushed hot, her thoughts spinning into a chaotic mess of professional duty and visceral lust. She could feel the formidable heat radiating from his groin, the muscle jumping beneath her fingertips. He was doing this on purpose, torturing her with his proximity, with the undeniable, electric pull between them.

Her professional facade completely crumbled. She snatched her hand back as if she had touched an open flame.

"It's a grade-one groin strain," she said rapidly, her voice too quick, too high. She took a huge step back, putting much-needed distance between them. "Nothing serious. I'll prescribe a topical anti-inflammatory cream and recommend rest."

She practically ran back to her desk, scribbling on the prescription pad, her eyes fixed on the paper. She just needed him gone.

She heard him sit up, the rustle of his clothes as he pulled his jeans back on and adjusted them. Then, the soft tread of his boots on the linoleum floor. He stopped in front of her desk.

He didn't take the prescription. Instead, he tapped a finger on the desk's surface. Tap. Tap. The sound echoed in the silent room.

Forced, she looked up.

He leaned forward, planting his hands on either side of her, caging her in. His shadow fell over her, and his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.

"Dr. Rojas. I've been looking for you."

The words hit her like a physical blow. Looking for her? Why? A wave of nausea, mixed with a terrifying thrill, rolled through her.

She pushed the prescription toward him, her hand shaking. "Your prescription. If there's nothing else, you can leave."

He ignored it. From his pocket, he produced a simple, heavy-stock business card and placed it on top of the prescription. It held only a name and a phone number. No title. No company.

"That's my number," he said. "I'm hoping we can be more than just doctor and patient."

He straightened up, his blue eyes boring into hers for a long moment, an unreadable expression on his face. Then, he turned and walked out, closing the door softly behind him.

The moment he was gone, Kaleigh slumped back in her chair, gasping for air. Her heart felt like it was going to beat its way out of her chest.

Her eyes fell on the card. This man, this dangerous, unsettling man. What in God's name did he want from her?