Pretty Perfect Toy - Angel Payne Page 0,33

“Are you all right?”

“Of course.” I dip my head, rolling my forehead along hers. “Biggest dumb fuck on the planet, but all right—thanks to you.”

She draws a few inches away—and raised rebuking eyebrows. Since the “incident” happened while she stood a few feet outside the bathroom door, I didn’t even try to pass it off as an accident to her. The expectancy in her eyes—as well as my nurse friend’s cynical glance—convey that she’s not doubling down on my hand either. Shit. That means the gig is up with Doyle too.

“As long as you’re getting fun with the status report,” the nurse turns and declares, “You can add ‘lucky cool hand’ to the list.”

Ella frowns, confused. “Huh?”

I crack the hint of a smile. Might as well now, since it won’t be easy once the anesthetic, though just a local, has worn off. “I think she’s telling me to be grateful.”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling him.” The woman nods at Mishella. “He doesn’t have a millimeter of nerve damage—a miracle given where that hand has been tonight.”

“She doesn’t know the half of it.” I lick the curve of Ella’s ear after whispering into it, savoring her body’s little tremors of reply. Her nipples pucker too. At last, a positive to the idiot move I made. There was no time for her to put on a bra—which means there definitely wasn’t a moment for underwear…

As soon as my hand dips between her delectable ass cheeks, she steps away. Clears her throat. “Do—errmm—do we need to know about any follow-up?”

Acapella turns back, offering an easy smile and a stack of papers still warm from the printer in the corner. “Dr. Yago will be in to get you set with all that. He did a great job. The stitches are tight and clean. The pharmacy has already filled the prescriptions for pain meds and antibiotics, and the instruction sheets will explain how to take everything, as well as possible side effects. Mr. Court doesn’t have any drug allergies, so it should all be pretty straightforward.”

“Mr. Court is also sitting right here.”

My grumble doesn’t daunt either of them. Ella catches my hand on its journey back to her ass, beaming a big smile of her own. “Thank you for everything, Kristine.” Of course she already knows the woman by first name. “I mean that from the bottom of my heart. I know he can be an…interesting…patient.”

Kristine’s head falls back as her laugh breaks free. “I’ve certainly had worse.”

“All right, all right,” I bark, mostly just irked that my attention has been torn from her ass by the starlight of her own laughter. “When the hell can I get out of here?”

Kristine rolls her eyes again. “Behave, Butch Cassidy.”

Unbelievably, I do. This isn’t the Hail Mary pass I want to pin the game on. As final paperwork is distributed, Yago himself comes in, already puffed-up about being the doctor attending me tonight. I focus on being friendly but formal—and letting Mishella shine instead.

And hell, how she does.

“Merderim mahaleur, Dr. Yago,” she murmurs. “In my language, it means thank you very much. You have given a true gift with your time tonight.”

Yago, who must be close to my age but looks like a hipster psych major who’s just strolled in from a night of beat poetry in the Village, parts his dark beard with a smug smile. “The gift is all mine. How fortuitous the timing. I wasn’t supposed to be here, but hopped on the chance for the extra shift after plans fell through for a night in the Village with some friends.”

Well, hell.

I don’t dare look the man’s way now, despite feeling the expectant weight of his scrutiny. More accurately, of Ella. Oh, he’s assessing, all right—watching the signs, silently determining what Ella is to me. Go ahead, Hipster. Look your fill. If he doesn’t get the clue by watching my gaze, glued solidly to her, I’ll be ecstatic to provide a more blatant demonstration.

“Well, Kristine says the stitches look wonderful.” Ella uses the voice that first hypnotized me, in the halls of Palais Arcadia, filled with such sweet sincerity. Stupidly, I’d first written off the allure to being in a story book castle and breathing Mediterranean air—but here, surrounded by plain green walls and antiseptic odor, Yago is clearly, dangerously, close to falling for the same count. “Truly, doctor, we are grateful for a professional so good at his work.”

“Work he is well compensated for, armeau.” Shockingly, I get it out without growling.

To his