Sarah watched his face, fascinated as his nostrils flared and his hazel eyes grew stormy and hostile. He didn’t look like he was in pain anymore—not physical pain, anyway. The look he was giving her was like he wanted to throttle her, or anyone else who kept him from doing exactly what he wanted to do.
Is this the same guy everyone wants me to help because they care about him?
Somehow, she couldn’t seem to reconcile the man standing in front of her with the guy everyone wanted to be healed. His jaw was scruffy, like he hadn’t shaved in a few days, and he didn’t look like he wanted a damn thing except to be left alone.
“Masochist and ignorant?” Sarah murmured aloud, wondering if he was ever going to say anything.
“You broke into my house. And I told Grady I didn’t need a fucking babysitter,” Dante finally replied, his voice rough and graveled. “Leave.”
Sarah crossed her arms in front of her. “Grady didn’t send me. And I didn’t break into your house. The door wasn’t locked.”
“I don’t care who sent you. Just get the hell out of my house.”
“I can’t. I’m not a babysitter,” Sarah replied calmly. “I’m here to take care of you.”
“In that case . . . strip and bend over,” he replied, deadpan. “I haven’t gotten off in a while, and that’s the only kind of help I need from you.”
He doesn’t mean a word of what he’s saying. He’s trying to shock me to make me go away.
“Sex is another activity you shouldn’t indulge in for at least a few weeks,” Sarah answered, not letting him get any satisfaction from his salacious comments. “You need to move around, but nothing strenuous.” She was used to lewd comments from male patients, but the men uttering them were usually over the age of eighty, with dementia. “Do you need help upstairs?”
Sarah waited as she watched his expression go from hostile and angry to confused and irritated. It wasn’t much, but it was something, and it told her exactly what she needed to know. She was beginning to realize that this Dante, the angry man in front of her, was a facade. He’d lost his best friend—his partner—and almost his own life. Part of him wished he would have died in his partner’s place, and he was going to make himself suffer because he didn’t die, even though the incident wasn’t his fault. It was part of her job to make sure he got through this stage of his recovery without hurting himself. He’d been through enough, and her indignation faded away as compassion took its place. She was still angry that he was doing something so stupid, but she sort of understood why.
“I don’t need anybody’s help,” he denied in a surly voice, moving forward with a limp to climb slowly up the stairs.
Sarah followed in his wake, unable to entirely ignore a backside that was so incredibly tight any woman would have a hard time not wanting to cop a feel. Admonishing herself for staring at his incredible glutes, she watched his big body painfully make its way upstairs. He wobbled a few times, but he made it without incident.
He faced her in the kitchen. “You need to go. I don’t want anybody here.”
He wants to lick his wounds in private. Sarah got that, but it wasn’t happening. She had a job to do, and he had injuries that needed to be checked.
She countered, “You need a shower. Not only do you stink, but you need to keep your wounds clean.”
“Are you planning on assisting me with that?” he questioned flatly, no teasing in his tone.
“No. If you were able to make it up the stairs, I assume you can clean yourself up.”
“You’re already wet,” Dante answered hoarsely, reaching out a hand to finger a lock of her damp hair. “You might as well make yourself useful and help me.”
Batting his hand away, she retorted, “In case you haven’t noticed, it’s storming, which is why I went ahead and came in. Like I said, your door was unlocked. Look, if you really do need help, I’ll help you. I can do my exam at the same time.” It made sense. He might be a little unstable, and she was going to have to check out the surgical wound on his thigh.
I’m a doctor, for God’s sake. It isn’t like I haven’t seen naked men before.
Although, she had to admit, she’d probably never seen a naked man formed quite as well as Dante Sinclair. But she could still manage to be professional. This whole home care thing was throwing her off-kilter. Her office was safer, a place where there were definite lines drawn as to what her duties were. Here, she felt out of place. With the money the Sinclair family had, she’d expected to see him have an aide of some kind. Obviously he’d refused.
“Exam?” Dante shot her a dubious look. “Who the hell sent you here?”
Sarah took a deep breath before replying. “Dr. Blair in Los Angeles. He turned your care over to me. I was selected to be your physician here in Amesport, and Dr. Blair’s office sent me all of your medical records, and I’ve talked to him on the phone to get a report on your condition.”
“Are you screwing with me? Are you even legal drinking age?” Dante scoffed. “Dr. Blair said he’d turn me over to a doctor here in Amesport. I’m going to need to be signed off to go back to work. Not that I want to deal with doctors anymore, but it’s a requirement of my department.”
“I’m twenty-seven years old, Detective Sinclair. My name is Sarah Baxter, Dr. Sarah Baxter, and I am your doctor.”
His sharp hazel eyes assessed her, and Sarah cringed just a little. With her makeup gone and her hair drenched, she probably did look even younger than she really was, and she was still very young to be a physician.