Page 140 of Wrong Number Right Doctor

Another sound follows. A drawer opening. Something metallic scraping against something else. Then a muttered curse, low and male.

My heart jumps into my throat. There’s someone in my apartment.

I sit up carefully, clutching the sheet to my chest. The bedroom door is half-open. My dress is on the floor. Dalton’s sweater is also on the floor, which is annoying because it makes my panic less dignified. I grab it anyway and pull it on, then look around for a weapon.

My options are a lamp, a shoe, and my pharmacology textbook.

I choose the textbook. It’s heavy, expensive, and has already ruined my life once, so honestly, it deserves to be used for violence.

I creep toward the kitchen with it hugged against my chest, moving as quietly as possible. Which means I immediately step on a loose board near the hallway and produce the loudest creak known to mankind.

The sounds in the kitchen stop.

I freeze.

A second later, Dalton appears in the doorway. Barefoot. Shirtless. Holding a spatula.

For a moment, neither of us says anything.

His eyes move from my face to the textbook in my hands. Then back to my face.

“Were you going to hit me with pharmacology?”

I lower the book very slowly. “I thought you were a thief.”

He looks genuinely confused. “Why was that your first instinct?”

“Because there was a strange man making noise in my kitchen.”

“I’m not a strange man.”

“You’re in my kitchen at dawn holding a spatula like a weapon.”

“It’s not dawn.”

“That’s not the defense you think it is.”

His mouth moves, just slightly. Almost a smile. “You thought I left.”

I hate that he catches it that quickly.

I tuck the textbook against my chest like it still has legal authority. “You’re usually very early-hospital-energy.”

“I have an early case.”

“See?” I flourish my hands as if I’ve made my point.

“I haven’t left yet.”

I look past him toward the kitchen. “Are you robbing me or making breakfast?”

“Breakfast.”

“With what skills?”

His gaze drops to the textbook again. “You’re very confident for a woman armed with a book she probably hasn’t finished.”

“Ouch.”