Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 19358 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 97(@200wpm)___ 77(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19358 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 97(@200wpm)___ 77(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
I don’t do impulsive.
I do order and structure. I do airtight arguments and depositions that make egotistical surgeons sweat. Protecting the families of Hobie, Texas, is my job—and I’m damn good at it.
Which is why dragging Dr. Xavier Rhodes into a dark, empty hospital room is… wildly off-brand for me.
Xavier is everything I avoid. Arrogant. Smugly gorgeous. Infuriating at every turn. And unfortunately? A brilliant surgeon with hands capable of things I absolutely should not be thinking about.
Our “one-time” lapse becomes a habit—hot, stolen moments between two men who don’t have time for anything real. It’s messy. It’s addictive. And it’s the most alive I’ve felt in years.
But when a life-or-death emergency throws us together, the truth hits
I can keep the careful life I built…
or risk everything for the complicated man I can’t walk away from.
*This book was previously part of a promotional giveaway in January 2026. No new content has been added
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
HONOVI
“Are you aware the patient’s consent was obtained under sedation?” I asked for the third time in as many hours.
The surgeon’s nostrils flared. “Once again, I’m aware the patient had been stabbed and was at risk of death. I didn’t think stopping to let him sober up was worth his life. Still don’t, in fact. No matter how many times you want to ask me the question.”
Dr. Xavier Rhodes was a beautiful man. There was no doubt about that. Everyone in Hobie, Texas, was aware of it. In fact, I’d overheard Doc Wilde say something about how the man was “too perfect.”
He also came off like a textbook ego-driven surgeon who thought he was a god, which was going to be a problem on the stand if this civil suit went to trial.
Hell, it was already a problem for me.
He was handsome, yes—maybe even ridiculously, unfairly handsome—but I could hardly stand to look at the man since every time I tried to question him, he turned into an automaton hell-bent on ruining this case or crushing my spirit, whichever came first.
I took a breath and held it for four beats, five. Seven. “Be that as it may, the patient is contesting the procedure, and you and the hospital are on the hook for it.”
He leaned forward and jabbed the table with one long, elegant finger to make his point. “This is a complete waste of time. Ask any surgeon in any hospital in the country and they’ll tell you they would have done the same thing. The man needed his appendix out, so I gave him an appendectomy.”
“You were treating him for a stab wound,” I pointed out calmly. In order to keep from adding another stab wound to this case.
He took a breath and repeated his earlier explanation as if he was pressing Rewind and Play on a boring and disgusting med school lecture. “During the procedure to repair the penetrating abdominal trauma, I identified necrotic tissue and purulent fluid consistent with early necrotizing peritonitis. At that point, I extended the incision and proceeded with an open appendectomy and lavage to avoid sepsis. Standard procedure. Had I not made the call, sepsis would have led to septic shock, where blood pressure collapses, organs fail, and mortality exceeds 50 to 60 percent, even with aggressive ICU intervention. Yes, he came in for a stab wound, but that stab wound actually saved his life.”
“Says you,” I murmured as I made a few more notes.
His square jaw somehow managed to get square-er. “Mr. Baptiste, with all due respect, there’s no doubt in my mind that this will be resolved in the courtroom once we get medical experts on the stand.”
I tried not to stare at his hands as he tapped his fingers impatiently on the table.
In the few months Xavier Rhodes had been back in Hobie, those capable hands of his had earned a hell of a reputation among his patients. Superhuman, they said.
Which was completely irrelevant right now.
Focus, Hon.
“I believe your defense attorney’s goal is not to get anyone on the stand,” I explained, glad I wasn’t his actual attorney, only assisting the guy with information-gathering and trial prep as a favor. “It’s to gather enough evidence to make them go away. And so far, your combativeness and refusal to cooperate hasn’t helped us get anywhere near that goal.”
Dr. Rhodes pushed back from the conference table with those same damnable fingers and stood, shooting the cuffs of his expensive dress shirt and smoothing his baby blue tie down to his shiny silver-buckled belt. “I have kept my cool for over three hours of repetitive, inconsequential questions about a simple medical decision, Mr. Baptiste. And I’ve reached my limit. A patient and his ambulance-chasing attorney are looking for an easy payday. I hope this hospital’s legal team is good enough not to give him one. If you have more questions for me, you’ll have to schedule them for another day. Good afternoon.”
With that, I watched his tight, rounded ass, pristinely draped in expensive suit pants, walk out of the conference room and into the hospital corridor.
“Fuck,” I muttered.
My paralegal tilted her head and pursed her lips. “To be fair, he stayed way longer than anyone expected.”
I gave Gracie a weak laugh. “Not nearly long enough. You and I both know we didn’t need any of that information. We needed to know how he’d handle being under pressure with repeated questions. And the answer is, ‘Not particularly well.’”
One of the hospital administrators I’d forgotten was in the room sighed as she stood up. “The poor man. Dr. Rhodes has been slammed ever since Dr. Khidhri retired. I don’t know when he sleeps. One of the nurses says he’s practically living in the doctors’ lounge.”
My eyes snapped to hers. “Could his overwork and possible sleep deprivation be used against the hospital in this case?”