High Risk: A Steamy Secret Lovers Medical Romance

He left his old life and regrets behind... but his new one will be put on the line for the thing he never saw coming—her.

Thirty-four is way too old to be in school. After years in high stakes finance, Michael Harper is a medical student and two short years from becoming a doctor. MetroGen hospital is even more cut-throat than Wall Street, and the brutal hours are wearing away at his soul.

The universe granted him the gift of the curvy, blushing Angela Perkins. A newly graduated teacher, she's the perfect diversion. He probably should have spent less time thinking about the sounds she made against his mouth, and more time reading the fine print. Angela isn't a teacher - she is the teacher as a doctor at MetroGen.

The truth is going to come out . . . at what price?

WARNING: This forbidden love steamy romance starts as a slow burn and will cause shrieking by the end. You should only read if you wish Grey's Anatomy and Chicago Fire had more medical students who knew how to put on private post-call strip shows. Just SAYING!

Dr. Angela Perkins chased the ball across the path when—bam—something hit her from behind.

“I am so sorry,” the man who’d been jogging stammered. He was a well-built guy, older than her, in a pair of running shorts and a T-shirt. She estimated him to be a shade over six-feet tall and relatively muscular. Running muscular—not bodybuilder who needs to have their cholesterol checked muscular. He probably had an excellent ejection fraction. This man was the perfect combination of genes that gave him tight black curls, breathtaking cheekbones, and amazing copper skin.

If she were interested in that kind of thing, which she wasn’t. Getting out of one relationship this year was enough. Besides, he’d almost certainly find her boring.

“It’s okay,” Angela said. Anything she planned on saying ended because her dog, Taussig, jumped all over her with the ball. Taussig did not understand Angela was on the ground, thus not throwing the ball; an existential failure—if dogs suffered such things.

Angela tossed the ball away so she could have some time to compose herself. Silently, she started running through her internal checklist for injuries.

Arms okay. Back okay. Heart okay. Lungs okay. Mental status boring as usual.

“It’s not. I should have been paying more attention. I shouldn’t have run over a beautiful woman,” the man said the last line with a hopeful note.

She rolled her eyes. “Beautiful woman, huh? Why? Do you see one?” Part of her immediately regretted her sarcasm. He was a guy trying to flirt with her. She didn’t need to respond waspishly to a simple compliment.

Maybe she was so uninteresting that she didn’t have the creativity to do more.

He didn’t seem offended. “Just because you can’t see yourself. Need a hand up?”

“No, I’m fine,” she started, then winced. Oh crap. Her left ankle. Pain—two on a scale of ten. Not bad enough to be a sprain, so she most likely rolled it again.

Sexy-Cheekbones-Guy got on his knees and immediately took off her shoe to palpate her ankle. His hands were warm and large. He had no clue how to do it, but he tried, which was cute. “Does it hurt?”

“Not too much.” Taussig brought the ball back, and Angela threw it again. Experience had taught her she couldn’t convince the dog when it wasn’t a good time.

He continued to rub her ankle, testing its range of motion. “I’m Michael, by the way.”

“Angela.” He was still trying to check her ankle, showing a surprising amount of thoroughness because he started examining her toes. Medically speaking, it was unlikely her toes were injured. It was a good thing too, because he forgot to palpate her heel. At least he was making the effort because most guys would have merely said they were sorry and continued their run.

“Probably not broken Might be sprained,” Michael advised.

“Or rolled?” Angela suggested, putting her shoe and sock on again. Her ortho friends had told her to do regular ankle strengthening physical therapy; she’d been slacking. However, she’d skip telling him since being schooled on medical issues made men feel inadequate.
“Time for Taussig and I to call it a day and head home.”

“Can I help you to your car?”

“We walked.”

Still, he reached out a hand and helped pull her to her feet. She immediately flinched, stepping gingerly on that leg.

“Sorry again,” he said, watching her take a few experimental steps. “Let me help. This is my fault.”

With her permission, Michael put her arm over his shoulder and put a steady hand around her waist. He seemed genuinely sorry and willing to help her, rather than some ham-handed attempt to maul her.

And whoever Michael/Cheekbones was, he smelled amazing. Not that she was interested.

She wasn’t.

“The dog’s named Taussig?” Michael supported her weight while she directed them toward her row-house, and Taussig barked after them.

“Yep, she’s an Irish setter.” Angela opted not to explain the origin of the name being a world-famous cardiologist.

“And she’s always like this?” Taussig circled them with the ball, trying to convince one of them to throw it again.

“Every hour of every day.” Angela got the ball, braced herself against Michael, and threw it again.

“That’s a lot of energy. I bet a nice jog would help her out. Do you run?”

“I’ve never been into running,” she said. “I like to take walks with her, and I jump rope here and there.”

Now wasn’t the time to explain that jumping rope was the perfect cardiac exercise. Usually when fed a medical tidbit, guys found an excuse to disappear.

It was practically magic.

“Jump rope sounds like excellent exercise if you’re behind a desk a lot.”

“What do you do? Desk jockey?” Angela couldn’t help flirting back a teensy bit.

“I have a degree in Finance and Resource Management,” he answered. “You?”

In her next words, Angela didn’t precisely lie. “I work in education.”

“Oh, teacher?”

“Yeah. I teach.”

As in ‘I am a doctor and teach medical students.’

A little white lie wouldn't hurty anyone...