“Miranda Tate. How may I help you?” It was hard to inject her usual warmth and enthusiasm into her voice because she wanted to go back to daydreaming about Luke Archer.

“Hey, it’s Luke Archer.”

Miranda gasped and sat bolt upright on the bench seat. “H-hello.”

“Look, I’m sorry to bother you when you’re with your family, but I have a problem that I think you might be able to solve for me.”

He was laying the Texas drawl on thick and slow, which made her want to fix everything that was wrong in his life. Not that there could be much that needed fixing. “I’ll do all I can to help,” she said with total sincerity.

“I got hit at the end of the game, and my overanxious trainer thinks I might have a cracked rib.” She heard a squawk of protest in the background before Luke continued. “I need to get an X-ray on the QT. Since discretion is your middle name, I’m hoping you can help me with that.” His voice held a smile, and she could easily picture the dimple that went with it.

Luckily, this was an easy assignment. Clients often needed to keep health issues confidential, so she had a trustworthy concierge doctor on call at all times. He had an office outfitted with the latest in medical technology, charged astronomical prices, and kept his mouth firmly shut. “Not a problem. Dr. Cavill’s office is in the city.”

There was a short silence. “I just want to be one hundred percent clear on this. Dr. Cavill will not tell anyone, not even his wife, that he saw me.” Steel laced his words.

“The doctor has a clear understanding of privacy issues. He expects payment commensurate with that.”

When Luke spoke, there was admiration in his voice. “Where do you keep your magic wand?”

Pleasure washed through Miranda. She’d impressed a man who had people waving magic wands for him all the time. “In my purse. It’s safer than in my pocket, where it sometimes would go off accidentally and burn a hole in my clothes.”

He gave a low, rumbling chuckle that made tingles of delight dance over her skin. “Give me two hours to get to Cavill’s office.”

“I’ll confirm with the doctor and call you back.”

She disconnected and hit Cavill’s speed dial, arranging the meeting and stressing the need for secrecy. The doctor whistled when he heard who his visitor was. He had many wealthy, prominent patients, but Luke Archer’s name impressed even him.

When Miranda dialed Luke back, he answered on the first ring. “Can Cavill do an MRI, too? My worrywart trainer wants to be sure there’s no danger of further damage.”

“He has a fully equipped office, and he’s a very skilled doctor. He’ll take excellent care of you.”

“If you recommend him, I have no doubt of that.” His tone turned serious. “I owe you, Miranda.”

She thought of how she’d like to collect on that debt before she pushed away her fantasy of Luke’s bare chest under her hands. “No, you don’t. You’re a resident of the Pinnacle, and the concierge service comes with the building. Frankly, this was easy.”

“You have an interesting job,” he said with a dry note in his voice.

“Interesting doesn’t begin to describe it,” she said with equal dryness. “But it has its perks, like introducing my nephew to the football player he idolizes.”

“He’s a cute kid. Nice manners, too.” A pause. “The young fans are my favorites. They don’t critique my on-field decisions.” The smile was back in his voice, evoking a heart-fluttering vision of the dimple.

The train entered a tunnel with a whoosh of changing air pressure, and regret thickened in Miranda’s chest. She was flattered that Luke seemed to want to prolong their conversation. “My train is about to pull into the station, so I’d better go.”

“And I have to get to the doc. See you at the Pinnacle.”

Since she’d only caught brief glimpses of him before the meeting with Orin, that seemed unlikely. However, a girl could dream.

“You can put your shirt on,” the doctor said, stepping back from the examining table where Luke sat. Cavill had run three different kinds of imaging machines over and around Luke’s torso, as well as doing a manual examination that had the quarterback clenching his jaw in order not to groan. The man was nothing if not thorough.

“The good news is that no ribs are cracked. The bad news is that you have inflammation of the cartilage, as well as periosteal and intramuscular bruising. It’s going to hurt like hell for a week or so, and that’s if you rest it. Which I understand may not be an option.” The doctor’s eyes held a hint of ironic humor. “So it’s going to be pain meds and ice for you.”

“How deep’s the bruising, Doc?” Stan’s forehead was creased with concern.

“Deep. What hit you? A Mack truck?”

“Rodney D’Olaway, which is about the same thing,” Luke said, wincing as he gingerly slid his left arm into the shirtsleeve. He was stiffening up. “I guess you don’t watch football.”

The doctor shook his head. “All I can think about is the damage being done to the bodies on the field, which makes it unpleasant.” He walked over to a standing desk and started typing on the computer there. “I’m going to give you a prescription for the pain, instructions on icing, and a thorough write-up on your condition with all the medical jargon. I will also recommend that you stay away from the field for ten days, but I imagine you will ignore that.”