He’s her patient. She’s his doctor. They shouldn’t. But God, do they want to.
Camden Harris, the famously hot, hulk of a footballer is laid up in a London hospital. But his busted knee doesn’t stop him from running his well-practiced game on Indie Porter—his redheaded spitfire of a doctor. She’s not his type, not even close. But she could be the perfect distraction from the soul-crushing damage this injury could cost him.
Indie’s tired of her naivety putting a target on her back. As a gifted child, she’s let her education take the front seat her whole life. But a fling with a footballer like Camden might be just what she needs to grab life by the balls.
And he could be the perfect guy for the plan she’s been sitting on for over two years.
But when feelings make a final play, there’s no amount of medicine that can heal the damage to their hearts.
Camden Harris, the famously hot, hulk of a footballer is laid up in a London hospital. But his busted knee doesn’t stop him from running his well-practiced game on Indie Porter—his redheaded spitfire of a doctor. She’s not his type, not even close. But she could be the perfect distraction from the soul-crushing damage this injury could cost him.
Indie’s tired of her naivety putting a target on her back. As a gifted child, she’s let her education take the front seat her whole life. But a fling with a footballer like Camden might be just what she needs to grab life by the balls.
And he could be the perfect guy for the plan she’s been sitting on for over two years.
But when feelings make a final play, there’s no amount of medicine that can heal the damage to their hearts.
We arrive at my building and take the lift up to my fourth floor flat. As I’m unlocking the front door, she asks, “Are you a good dancer, Camden?”
This question is odd, even for her. “Why do you ask?”
She sighs and leans against the wall just as I open the door. “I envisioned you were tonight when I was dancing with some bloke.”
My jaw clenches. “I don’t need to hear about you dancing with other guys.”
She smirks. “But I was thinking about you so it shouldn’t count.”
“It counts.”
“I think I like this jealous side of you. I might have to use it to my—”
Her snarky comment is cut off by a satisfying yelp as I wrap my arms around her waist and throw her over my shoulder.
“What are you doing?” she squeals as I savour the feel of her bare legs in my hands.
I turn and walk her inside, kicking the door closed with my foot. “Do you think you’re smart, talking to me like that?” I ask, completely unable to hide the smile on my face.
Her hair tickles my back as she giggles. “I am quite smart, actually. I skipped three whole grades in primary school. Did you know that?”
“I didn’t know that. Tell me then, what did they do to punish clever girls with smart mouths in boarding school?”
“Oh, naughty, naughty things.” She giggles again and I have a momentary desire to put her down just so I can see her face when she does it.
“I might need a demonstration.” I walk down the hallway and straight to my room, forgoing the polite flat tour, the offering of drinks, and the inane small talk. Our arrangement is for sex and sex alone.
“I might be inclined to oblige.” Her voice is breathy when we reach the quiet darkness of my room.
Amy Daws lives in South Dakota with her husband, and miracle daughter, Lorelei. The long-awaited birth of Lorelei is what inspired Amy's first book, Chasing Hope, and her passion for writing. Amy is a lover of all things British and her award-nominated contemporary romance series, The London Lovers Series, is centered around Americans in London. It's emotional and self-deprecating with lots of humor sprinkled in.
On most nights, you can find Amy and her family dancing to Strawberry Shortcake's theme song or stuffing themselves inside children's-sized playhouses because there is nothing they wouldn't do for their little miracle.
