Chapter 7 Mikhail #2
“Not here.” I stood, abruptly getting in her space. Without actually touching her, I damn near brushed against her chest. Her generous breasts heaved quickly as her breath hitched.
I’d caught her off guard. I surprised her. But with her instant step back, putting too much space between us, she shook her head and cleared her throat. I was getting there. If I had more time, I could crack her professional shell.
I didn’t have the time, though. I had to check in with my men, see if my daughter was all right, and if we could determine who’d dare to attack us at my home.
“Mister—”
“Orlov,” I finished for her as I stepped aside.
Spotting a folded pile of clothes that Andre or Roman had no doubt brought for me, or one of the guards, I planned to change and get the hell out of here.
“Mikhail Orlov,” I told the doctor, already clued in to how na?ve and ignorant she had to be.
If she had any clue who I was, what kind of a criminal boss I was famed as, she wouldn’t have tried to assert any ounce of authority over me.
“Mr. Orlov,” she said. “Please understand the importance of staying and resting after your injuries. I cannot stress it enough that if you don’t give your body a chance to heal, you risk further injury and long-term obstacles to your health.”
I shook my head, grabbing the pile of clothes on the counter. The sedative made me sleepy, but I was up. The ache on my thigh would fade, and I was barely limping. This hit on my shoulder would bother me for a while yet, but I was mobile. I was alive. And I was ready to go.
“Mr. Orlov, your care isn’t complete here. Without a medical history or any other information—” She followed me toward the side of the room.
“Forget it. I’m not in the mood to share my personal information here.”
“I’m not fishing for information about you for my sake, but to better analyze a proper plan of care.”
I shrugged my uninjured shoulder. “I’ll figure it out.”
“You need medical assistance and a solid recovery treatment plan—”
“Then write one down for me.” I dropped the gown.
Her gaze plummeted again, zeroing in on my dick. Her lips opened in a sexy O of shock, and just like that, my mind went there. Without any effort, I envisioned her lips wrapped around my dick like that, stretched wide and wet.
Fuck. She’s messing with my head.
Squeaking in alarm, she raised her hand to shield her eyes from looking. Staring anywhere but at me, she furrowed her brow and stammered, trying to string together something more than sounds and um reactions.
I smiled, not too worried about modesty. She could look her fill all she wanted. Fuck, I wanted her to look, to be shocked and scandalized. Now that she was bordering on red, not pink, in her cheeks, I wondered just how young she was to be this shocked.
“My personal physician is no longer practicing,” I said calmly as I started to step into the pants.
Grimacing at the pain of moving my wounded arm and leg, I breathed through the agony of hurrying.
She was right. I probably should’ve been resting, but I’d do it at home, with my guards, where I wouldn’t be exposed here.
Too many cameras were in here. So many people could be eavesdropping.
Hell, some of those Popovs and Giovannis could be here from that bombing last week.
“Your personal—”
Yeah, you really have no clue who I am. Everyone in this city knew I was a member of the wealthy elite, the club of influential people who could hire their own staff for any need.
“My personal physician is no longer practicing,” I repeated.
It wasn’t my fault I had to shoot him dead for trying to sell information about me and then trying to drug me for the Popovs a few years ago.
Some of the men had been trained to handle minor wounds and broken bones, but it seemed that Andre and Roman had thought it better to have me seen here.
Perhaps they were right. I had been bleeding out and drugged.
I tugged my pants on and reached for the shirt. “But you are welcome to take his place.”
“Me?” She spluttered, lowering her hand from her shielded pose over her eyes.
“You, Dr. Donovon, are welcome to address any concerns about my recovery plan.”
“Mr. Orlov,” she protested as I slid my feet into a pair of shoes. “I don’t know who you are, who you think you are, but I strongly advise you not to leave this place! You need to be monitored.”
“I need to not be so exposed here.” I glanced around, wondering if this damn room could be bugged. I wasn’t paranoid. I’d merely survived three decades of being targeted by ruthless rivals to know better than to ever assume safety was possible in any given situation.
“You are not exposed. You are my patient, and I’ll be damned if anyone interferes.”
“That’s sweet.” I paused in buttoning my shirt, hiding the winces that felt natural with moving my arm too much. “But I guarantee my ride will be impatient to leave. As am I.” Reaching toward her, I grabbed a small notepad out of her pocket.
Once more, she flinched and jumped back a step, not expecting me to be so forward. And once more, she gasped in that sexy sound of surprise.
After I scribbled my personal number for her and handed her the notepad, I said, “You come to me. My follow-up appointments can happen on my terms, Dr. Donovon.”
She snatched the pad out of my hand, glaring at me like I was a fool. Like she didn’t want to suffer fools but was quickly realizing that she wasn’t winning this round. “Mr. Orlov. I strongly advise you to stay for a while.”
Dammit. She’d be exactly the kind of spitfire who’d interest me into wanting something more than a few moments of an argument. I shook my head. “No.” Not now. Maybe not ever.
Keeping women out of my life had served me well for this long. With Anya home, that strategy was already busted. But letting this gorgeous doctor try to coerce me into staying where I doubted I could be safe? That just wasn’t happening.
“But thank you…” I glanced at her badge again, seeing the fuller script of her name. “Claire.”
With that final, last word and the taste of her name on my lips, I strode right past her and exited the room.