“I need to take your temperature, McCall.”

Pulling a plastic thermometer from a package, she slipped it under his tongue without meeting his eyes. As a matter of fact, she hadn’t looked at him at all since she walked into the room.

She took his hand in hers and wrapped a blood pressure monitor around his wrist. Her flesh felt like soft butter against his skin, her nearness throwing his healthy libido into acceleration mode. Watching the machine monitor his pulse and blood pressure, she kept her face averted, while he sat with the damned thermometer under his tongue.

Why was she giving him the cold shoulder? He’d rescued her from Cyrus’s clones and had carried her – carried her – across crushed glass so she wouldn’t cut her feet. He wouldn’t think about how her fingers in his hair sent goose bumps across his nape.

Taking the thermometer from his mouth, she looked at it before showing it to him, her gaze back on the monitor.

“Ninety-eight point four,” she said.

Squinting, he studied her stoic profile. She had the smallest nose he’d ever seen on a woman.

“Yeah, so?”

The monitor powered down before she turned the display toward him. His vitals were perfect.

“I know you don’t trust me, McCall. I don’t want you accusing me of falsifying your test results.”

Walking back to the computer, she entered the information, her fingers flying over the keys. That rounded backside of hers was damned near mouthwatering. How could a doctor who sat in a lab all day have an ass that pert?

“I have every right to be suspicious,” he said. “Wouldn’t you feel that way, under the circumstances?”

“What I would feel is irrelevant, Agent McCall.” Opening a cabinet above her head, she pulled down some medical supplies.

He hated logical women. They made too much sense. The erratic, fly-off-the-handle type he could handle. He could dismantle their arguments with little effort. With smart women, he had to work at it.

Walking over to the bed, she tore open a package and set a vial beside his hip. “Lay back.”

He refused to move until she looked at him. “No.”

Her gaze met his, disbelief lining her silver eyes. She stood less than a foot away, her mouth parted in surprise. Her top lip curved like the back end of a bow, her bottom lip plump and juicy.

“Do you want these tests, McCall? Or, would you rather have someone else do them?” The smell of peppermint on her breath drew him closer. “Why have you been avoiding eye contact? Do you have something to hide?”

Her brows furrowed, her gaze dropping to his bare chest before looking back at the package in her hand.

“See what I mean?” he said.

Glancing up, she said, “What do you want from me?” She leaned in even closer, their noses nearly touching. “Is that better?”

His body stirred in his shorts, his lungs stuffed with down feathers. Behind those glasses blazed eyes like quicksilver, luminous and filled with ire.

Gripping the edge of the bed, he itched to grab her around that narrow waist and pull her between his legs. Something told him Dr. Teague Hamilton wouldn’t disappoint in the bedroom.

Damn, he should not feel aroused around this woman. Yet, for some stupid reason, her evasion freaking turned him on.

“You need to work on your bedside manner, Doctor.” He flashed her a cocky grin. A slow smile blossomed on her face, a pink blush coloring her cheeks. “Would you just shut it and lay back?”

“I rest my case.” He lay back on the bed and propped his arms behind his head. His Johnson sat at semi-erect attention, hoping she’d pay it a little notice. Of course, she looked anywhere but there.

“I need an arm – unless you want me to take it straight from your jugular.” She cocked a dark, arched eyebrow.

“All of my blood flow is in my shorts at the moment. Any chance you want to help me divert it?”

The ire in her eyes turned to silver fire, her voice going husky. “Sounds… tempting, but I wouldn’t want you to lower your standards for a criminal.” “I’m into bad girls… just FYI.”

“And, I’m into bad boys. Too bad you’re one of the good guys.”