stadium fell into a hush as both teams stood at attention—waiting for the verdict.
“All right, Chris.” Ali grabbed her run bag and pulled out some wipes. “Let’s see what price you’ve paid for victory.”
Spitting out his mouth guard, the athlete tried to grin up at her. A good sign.
“I’ll be back on the field in no time, Doc. Just put a plaster or something on me and I’ll be good to go.” Chris couldn’t stop the flinch crossing his broad face as he tried to lift his head.
“No, you don’t!” Ali pressed him back down to the ground. “You’re not going anywhere until I check you out. What happened to your goggles?”
She smiled down at him, admiring his determination to finish the game. The North Stars were grittily committed to being at the fore of the infamous North against South showdown in just over three months’ time. The last day of her contract. Losing a player to an injury was the last thing they needed.
She began sponging the blood off his forehead to see how big a gash they were dealing with. Head injuries were big bleeders, and with all the sprawling around in the muck these guys did infection was easy to come by.
“Goggles popped off when I landed on my face—or someone’s foot knocked them. Can’t remember.”
“Can’t remember or can’t think straight?” a male voice asked from behind her.
Ali froze. She knew that voice. It had whispered deliciously naughty intentions into her ear not so very long ago.
Her eyes moved along the ground from where she knelt with Chris, her breath caught tight in her chest. Blood began to thunder between her ears as a pair of leather shoes came into view and walked to the opposite side of Chris. It was all she could do not to cry out as the owner of the shoes came into view as he kneeled across from her. Oh, she knew him, all right. She knew him intimately. And she didn’t know him at all.
As their eyes met Ali physically felt the breath being sucked out of her body.
The Suit.
Images flickered past her mind’s eye, of their bodies tangled together in a series of sexual acrobatics she’d never believed possible. A wash of pleasure rippled through her and it was all she could do to keep her jaw clamped firmly shut.
She’d never asked him his real name. Nor had he of her. That had been their deal. One night only.
Someone needed to pinch her. And fast.
“Take me through it.”
He was speaking to her, but looking at Chris. What was he doing here?
“I want to find my goggles.” Chris tried to push up from the ground again.
“No, you don’t!”
“No, you don’t!”
Ali could barely suppress a surprised smile as she and The Suit each pressed on a shoulder, keeping Chris on the ground.
“Not until we know what else you’ve done to yourself. How does the socket around your eye feel?” Ali pressed him down again, this time with her hands covered in purple nitrile gloves, before she gently palpated the area.
“Fine—it’s just the cut, Doc. Honestly. Dr. Tate—tell her.”
For a second time Ali felt her chest constrict.
“You’re Aidan Tate?”
Dr. Aidan Tate? The award-winning sports medicine expert whose articles on non-surgical sports injuries she’d devoured like chocolate? The North Stars’ Chief Medical Officer? And … wait for it … her new boss?
Well. This was a bit of a pickle.
The biggest freaking pickle in the whole entire universe!
Her tummy pirouetted and heated as she stared at him—only just managing to suppress a smile. A short, sharp shake shifted the X-rated images from her mind and she rapidly went back to swabbing away the blood from Chris’s forehead.
“Earth to Lockhart! Harty? What gives? Am I getting back into play or what? Where are my goggles?” he shouted to the other players, who leapt into action.
Ali looked up and caught the eyes of her new boss. His face was unreadable. Hmm … This was nothing short of awkward.
“Got ’em!” One of the Southern Cross players jogged over and handed the protective eyewear to Chris, complete with blood and a tuft of muddy grass. He plopped them on the front of his blood-smeared face and gave Ali a See? I’m Fine grin.
“Nice look, Chris.” Ali guffawed at the gruesomely comic sight, then looked across at Aidan Tate with a mortified expression. He was her new boss. Never mind that she’d seen him naked. He’d hired her to be a doctor, not to snicker at the players’ made-for-Halloween gruesome faces.
Way to make an impression, Lockhart.
She was surprised to see Aidan smirk his approval at her reaction to Chris. She guessed he wanted to make sure the new girly doc could play gross with the rest of the boys.
She glanced at Aidan again, and he nodded for her to proceed. She couldn’t help but feel whatever she said was going to be under microscopic examination. Which was fair enough. If she’d found out the man she’d had a sizzling one-night stand with was her shiny new employee she would probably have held him to a higher standard.
“The cut doesn’t look too deep. Let’s do the spine and concussion drills and then get you to the sidelines for a couple of stitches.” Then for good measure she added, “And maybe give your specs a bit of a bath.”
Ali trained her eyes on Chris and deftly carried out a thorough inspection of his neck and upper spine to make sure it was safe to move him.
“Any tingling sensations in your arms? Burning? Stinging?” She rattled through the checklist, all too aware of Aidan’s eyes on her.
“Nah,” Chris answered.
“Shortness of breath?” She tapped along his lungs. A pneumothorax would be an unwelcome complication.
Chris heaved in a deep breath of air and exhaled with a lion noise. His lungs were fine. “Nope.”
“Guess you’ve kept everything intact except your brain-box—lucky boy. Wiggle your toes.”
“I’m fine, Harty! We’re a breed apart from all your fluffy ballerinas. Made of tougher stuff, we are.”
“Oh, really? And here was me thinking you were only human.” She signaled to the stretcher lads. He was safe to move off the field for a more thorough consultation.
“No way!” Chris pushed himself up. “I’m walking off on my own two feet, thank you very much.”
He stood up between them—weaving ever so slightly—then raised his arms in a victory move and swaggered off the field to the roar of the crowd.
Which left her face-to-face with Dr. Aidan Tate.
Her stomach gave a life-affirming heave and she almost lost her balance, which—considering she was still kneeling—was quite a feat. The man took her breath away. There was no getting away from that. Salt and pepper hair she’d run her fingers through on their way to naughtier climes, coffee-black eyes and a perfect set of cheekbones. Oh—and had she mentioned his lips? They were very, very nice lips.
“Go on.” He pointed toward the sidelines, pushing up to a standing position. “You’ve got work to do.”
She rose and looked into his eyes—hoping for some answers to the thousands of questions whirling round her head, well aware that every part of her body was responding to seeing him again. Hearing him. Being close enough to touch him.
“You need to leave the pitch so all that