I removed my napkin from my lap, wiped my mouth one last time, and set it on the table beside me.

“Are you finished?” Daniel asked.

I nodded and signaled the server to bring our check. I’d been discreetly checking my phone under the table. The more wine I drank at dinner, the better idea it seemed to try to get home in time to see Cannon. And if we left now, I had twenty-three minutes before he left for his night shift at the hospital.

Daniel nabbed the check as soon as the server dropped it off. “I’ve got this. Thank you for joining me for dinner.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind splitting it,” I offered.

He nodded. “It’s my pleasure.”

I smiled at him. He really was a nice guy.

While he settled the bill, I used the restroom, checking my appearance in the mirror. Satisfied that my hair and makeup were still in place and I didn’t have any food stuck in my teeth, I met Daniel at the front of the restaurant.

He drove me home, talking to me yet again about his work as a financial analyst.

I held back a yawn. Surely two people could find more to talk about than spreadsheets and investments. But I didn’t care enough to try, so I nodded along.

“Thank you for tonight,” I said when he stopped at the curb in front of my house.

He put his car into park and hopped out, coming around to open my door. He was a little old-fashioned, insisting on picking me up, paying for dinner, and opening doors. But I kind of liked that in a man.

“I’ll walk you up to your door,” he suggested.

I nodded, following him up the stairs to my small porch, and plastered a polite smile onto my lips while he finished his story about last quarter’s earnings statements.

Come on! Cannon’s car was still parked out front, which meant he was still inside.

But then Daniel leaned in, his garlic breath fanning over my cheek, and I did the only thing I could think of. I brought my knee up swiftly, connecting with the spot between Daniel’s legs.

“Oompf!” He doubled over, his forehead crashing into my nose.

“Ow.” My nose stung where I’d been struck.

“Why the hell did you do that?” Daniel barked.

I had no answer. Panicked, I guessed. When I pinched the bridge of my nose, my hand came away red. Shit. My nose was bleeding and Daniel was still bent in half, clutching his crotch.

“I . . . I’m so sorry,” I stammered.

The door flew open and Cannon’s gaze raked over me, then Daniel, and back to me. Specifically, the blood running from my nose. His eyes turned murderous as he set his sights back on Daniel.

“What the fuck did you do to her?” he growled, stalking closer.

Grabbing Cannon’s firm bicep, I stepped between them. “It was just a misunderstanding. He didn’t hit me. We bumped heads.”

Cannon didn’t stop glaring daggers at Daniel.

I found it hard to blame Cannon for disbelieving an unbelievable situation. Who the hell fails so hard at kissing they come away with a bloody nose? God, I was a hot mess.

“Come on, Paige. Let’s go inside.” Cannon offered me his hand and I took it, letting him draw me away from the man on my porch.

“You can have her, buddy. Good fucking luck!” Daniel called, already stomping down the steps and back toward his car.

Once inside, Cannon turned on the light in the foyer, tilting my chin and inspecting me carefully.

“Christ,” he swore under his breath. I could see the tick in his jaw as he bit down, his gaze still tracing my form. “Does this hurt?” He pressed a spot on my forehead.

I shook my head, dislodging his hand. “No, really, I’m fine. It’s just a little bloody nose.”

“Come sit down.” Taking my hand, he led me into the living room and stood over me while I lowered myself onto the couch.

“Don’t you have to get to work?” I asked.

He was dressed in his scrubs, baby blue this time, and damn, the man even made drawstring pants look sexy. The cotton shirt had the slightest V-neck—just a notch, really—but the smooth, tanned skin and hollow of his throat visible in that notch was everything. That tiny peek, that tease of bare skin, was a million times sexier than all of Daniel’s bland flirting combined. I wanted to lick it, suck on it, sniff it . . .

Holy shit, Paige, calm down. I hadn’t felt so out of control since I was a teenager. I seriously needed to get a grip—and no, not on Cannon’s dick. But my hormones held me hostage. I couldn’t help but watch his butt flex as he retreated to the bathroom.

Seconds later, he returned with a box of tissues, withdrew several, and handed them to me. “Yes, but first I need to be sure you’re okay. I’m not leaving for the night when you could have a concussion.”

I snorted, holding a wad of tissue against my nose. “I don’t have a concussion. It was nothing. Clumsiness combined with wine and a dash of self-preservation.”

He sat down beside me, stroking my cheek softly. “Are you telling me the truth? You just bumped heads? He didn’t . . . ?”

I tried to nod and shake my head at the same time. “He tried to kiss me and I panicked.”

“Why did you panic?” Cannon’s gaze was hard and locked on mine.

His attention felt amazing, the rough pads of his fingertips, the worry in his eyes. I wanted to stay in this moment forever. My heart thumped steadily under his concerned gaze. If this was what it was like to be a patient of Dr. Cannon Roth, sign me the fuck up.