Prologue
Ashley Casey shifted uncomfortably on the tissue-covered fake leather bed in the dermatologist’s office. An ugly rash marred her torso, arms, and legs. She not only itched like a dog with fleas, but she looked awful too. She was coordinating a wedding tomorrow night. A wedding she’d been working on for six months. She couldn’t go to the elite event covered with hives—or whatever these nasty bumps were.
She pulled the flimsy robe tighter around her legs, tucking it under her thighs to try to minimize the exposure of her backside. The nurse had allowed her to keep her bra and underwear on, but that was it, so the doctor could see how severe the rash was. She’d been to this dermatologist before and the doctor was a classy, fifty-something lady who exuded kindness and knowledge. At least it wasn’t some hot young doctor coming in to examine Ashley in her underwear. How awkward would that be?
There was a rap at the door, and she called, “Come in.”
The door swung wide and her heart faltered. A dark-haired man in a white medical coat holding a laptop paused in the doorway. His blue eyes swept over her, coming to rest on her face, and the most incredible smile split his too-handsome face. A well-trimmed beard highlighted lips that were full and ultra-appealing.
“Dr. Hamilton?” a female voice questioned behind him.
“Oh, excuse me, Mary.” He strode confidently into the room with a nurse, apparently Mary, following. Extending a hand to Ashley, he said, “Dr. Chase Hamilton. Pleasure to meet you, Miss Casey.”
Ashley registered the pressure of his warm, firm, manly hand surrounding hers, but she couldn’t register that this was Dr. Hamilton. He released her, still giving her that incredible smile as he waited for her to respond.
“Uh … wait … who are you?” she stuttered in disbelief.
“Dr. Hamilton.” His smile didn’t falter, but his gaze went to her neck and then her arms. “Hmm. That is a nasty rash. And it’s all over your body?” He stepped in closer as if he’d take her robe off and check all her body parts covered in angry red bumps.
Ashley gasped, pushed her hands down on the robe barely covering the top of her thighs and said, “You’re not my Dr. Hamilton.”
He paused and met her gaze again. Dang, his eyes were a fabulous shade of true blue. Why couldn’t she have met this guy at one of her events? She’d be all dolled up in a fancy dress and in her element. He’d be impressed and interested in her. They’d talk. They’d flirt. As the event ended, she’d walk out to her Atlas and he’d follow her.
No! She needed a mental face slap. No way could she fall for another man. Seven fiancés was plenty on her record.
“Oh.” He chuckled and she loved the melodious sound. “You’re one of my mom’s patients.”
“Yes, I am. I would like to see my Dr. Hamilton, please.” She looked past his handsome face and—dang, he was tall and nicely-formed as well—to the nurse who was giving her a bored look. “Where is the female Dr. Hamilton?”
“Let me think,” Dr. Hamilton, the wrong one, answered before the nurse could, setting the laptop on the counter. “I think Costa Rica at the moment. As soon as I finished my active-duty commitments with the Army in October and agreed to take over her practice, she got it in her head to travel the world. She left a couple weeks ago and I don’t know when she’s coming back.” He winked at her.
Ashley recognized the wink was friendly, not flirtatious, but dang if it didn’t give her heart palpitations. What kind of doctor looked like a movie star and casually winked at his patients? This man was comfortable in his own skin and off-the-charts appealing to her. It made her even more aware that, at the moment, she was in this thin hospital gown and her skin was a horrific mess.
“Now…” Dr. Hamilton gave her another heart-stopping smile and moved in again. She caught a whiff of a manly, musky cologne that messed with her brain waves. “Are you comfortable with me seeing your rash and recommending treatment?”
“No!” she said much too sharply.
“No?” He drew back. His smile disappeared and a furrow appeared between his brows. “I apologize, Miss Casey, but my mother is currently out of the country. The receptionist should have informed you of the switch.”
“She didn’t.”
He nodded and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Again, I apologize. But I can also assure you I am a competent dermatologist, graduated with my doctorate and specialty from Yale, have worked as a dermatologist for the Army for four years, and am more than qualified to diagnose your rash.”
“I’m sure you’re very competent.” She couldn’t resist looking him over and thinking he indeed seemed more than competent. “But you have to understand that I was expecting a kind, classy lady doctor. Your mother, who I’m comfortable seeing me in my tighty-whiteys and then you—" she gestured to him— “walk in all handsome and smelling good and …”
His brows arched up.
“I just made this awkward,” she finished miserably.
“Not at all.” He was obviously trying not to laugh. “I promise to be professional about seeing you in your ‘tighty-whiteys.’”
She pushed the robe down under her legs tighter. “Oh, no you won’t, because it is not happening.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Are you refusing treatment because I’m a … man?”
She gave him an imperious glare. “Don’t you dare try to make me feel bad for the big, strong, handsome military doctor.”
Dr. Hamilton stared at Ashley, pinning her in place. If there was ever a look so beautiful and appealing that made her want to fling herself into some handsome doctor’s arms, this was it. Was she in an exam room or a sauna? She was hot all over. She’d been engaged seven times and couldn’t recall feeling this level of attraction. Dang, she was a hot mess.
“Are you refusing treatment?” he asked quietly.
She was thrust back to the reality of her situation. She was sitting half-naked on an exam table, covered with a nasty rash. Almost on cue, she felt a horrific itch start on her abdomen. She fought to ignore the need to scratch. She needed help, and his mom wasn’t here. She’d have to give the good-looking doctor a chance to treat her.
“I’m not refusing treatment,” she said just as quietly. “Can you please recommend something for my rash?”
“I can.” His confidence radiated from his smooth skin. He stepped in close, his firm abdomen brushed the outside of her leg, and his palm touched her arm. The warmth of his fingers penetrated her skin and soothed her rash. She wanted to beg him to touch her again and again. His gaze darted to hers and she was lost in a sea of blue. His fingers gently explored the skin of her forearm. He looked down and seemed to be studying it as he continued to run his fingers over the skin.
His gaze met hers again as he lifted both hands to the back of her neck, and then he started to untie the strings holding her gown on.
“What are you doing?” she shrieked, batting his hands away and holding the gown together.
His eyes registered confusion. “You gave me permission to examine your rash. I’ve just looked at it on your forearm, but your chart says it covers your chest, abdomen, and back.”