Can't Touch This (Can't Touch This #1)

My heart raced. I didn’t know if it was from a threatened lawsuit or the sexual awareness fizzing my blood. “How am I annoying you? I do everything you ask. I drop my other patients when you show up. I give you discounts on supplements—”

“Only because I bulk order and give you a small fortune.”

Well yes, but that’s beside the point.

“That doesn’t mean—”

“That you’re obligated to go out with me?”

I nodded.

“But it does mean that I’ve been nice to you—the perfect customer. All I wanted was safety and consideration when using your practice. What would the jury have to say if I told them you tried to impale your face on my very delicate goods?”

I couldn’t do this. “You’re insane.”

“I’ve been called that before. Doesn’t stop me getting what I want.”

Don’t ask.

Don’t be that stupid.

My mouth didn’t get the memo. “And what do you want?”

His smile turned into a shark. “You, of course.” Taking my hand that was firmly planted on Pikachu’s shoulders to prevent any more jumping mishaps, he curled his fingers around mine. “I accept your offer of a date. After all, that’s what your face on my cock meant, right? In some barbarian language, sniffing my man goods is code for ‘take me out, you stud?’”

I groaned. “Oh my God, did you just call yourself ‘man goods’ and ‘stud’ in the same sentence?”

He smirked. “Yep. And I’ve plenty more self-compliments to come. At dinner.”

“No dinner.”

“Yes, dinner.”

“I work late.”

“So unwork.”

I rolled my eyes. “This is my business. I can’t just play hooky.”

“Hooky is fun, now and again.” Moving back to his side of the table, the intensity faded and the crazy innuendoes vanished as if they’d never existed. He rolled his shoulders, sighing heavily. “Look, forget it. You know I’m joking. Just having a bit of fun.”

The sudden switch left me high and dry.

I knew it was a joke.

Didn’t I?

But that was the problem. He made me hate being so damn serious all the time. With him I could be stupid and say juvenile things. He offered a break from adulting and that was far too tempting.

“Okay, fine.” Forcing myself to focus on being a professional, I murmured, “Let’s just finish this.”

Ryder obeyed (for the first time ever) and our attention landed on the shivering wiener. I grabbed a sterilised syringe and drew blood while Ryder kept him calm with soft words and petting.

Medical terms and recommended treatments filled my head rather than images of riding this intoxicating man reverse cowgirl in my office.

Once the dog’s blood had been gathered and labelled for lab work, I said, “You’ll need to feed him four times a day but in small amounts so his stomach doesn’t explode.”

“Hear that, buddy?” He scratched the mutt under his chin. “Don’t want an exploding tummy now, do we?”