“This is…um…Torment.” My cheeks burn and I glare at Torment, willing him to reveal his real name and save me from the perils of bad manners. His eyes glimmer with barely repressed amusement, but his sensual lips stay firmly closed.

Dr. Drake gives me a quizzical look. “Torment? Is that a last name? Or perhaps an affliction?”

“I believe it’s a ring name.” I try to block out the muffled sound of Charlie’s snort of laughter. “He’s an MMA fighter.”

“Ah.” Dr. Drake rests his hand on my shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. I stiffen at the unexpected touch. Torment’s eyes narrow and focus like laser beams on Dr. Drake’s hand.

“A sweet girl like you shouldn’t be associating with these rough, fight types,” Dr. Drake says in the gentle tone usually reserved for wayward children and small animals. “They are violent men who think nothing of flaunting the law or exposing innocent girls to the more uncivilized elements of our society.”

How can he talk like that with Torment standing right in front of him? Aside from being impolite, it’s dangerous. I try to pry his hand off my shoulder. “I think you might be overreacting.”

Dr. Drake slides his thumb under my hair in a gesture that is disconcertingly soothing. “So compassionate. I sensed that quality in you during your interview. But don’t let your empathy obscure who these men really are and what they can do. Come to the ER one Friday or Saturday night and see for yourself the effects of uncontrolled violence.” His thumb rubs up and down, gently massaging my neck. My back arches involuntarily and I inhale a sharp breath.

Torment growls—a deep, barely audible, entirely thrilling sound. He leans across the desk, grabs Dr. Drake’s hand, and rips it off my shoulder.

“She’s coming with me. Now.” He whips off his jacket, tossing it on the chair beside his pack, and folds his arms over his chest, his biceps tensed like he is about to punch someone.

Dr. Drake snorts his derision and his eyes flick to me instead of staying focused on the deadly threat in front of him. “Exactly as I said. Uncivilized.”

Torment sucks in a breath and takes a step closer to my desk.

I reach over and rest a soothing hand on Torment’s corded forearm. Electricity darts through me the second I make contact. My heart almost goes into cardiac arrest. Not good. Given his reaction to Dr. Drake’s unexpected neck stroking, how would Torment react if Dr. Drake had to perform CPR and rub my chest? I jerk my hand away.

“I forgot we were going for lunch today.” I give Dr. Drake my best fake smile as the lie slides off my tongue with a healthy dose of drool. “I’ll have to take a rain check on your kind invitation.”

Dr. Drake’s eyes soften. “I’m free on Monday. I’ll arrange for IT to look at your computer while you’re away from your desk.” He gives Torment a dismissive glance before weaving his way through the crowded waiting room, seemingly unaware of the sighs and flushed cheeks he leaves in his wake.

“What the hell was that?” I yank open my desk drawer and grab my purse. “You almost got me fired.”

Torment scowls. “He won’t fire you. He wants you too much. He probably wouldn’t even accept your resignation if you tried to leave.”

“Are you crazy?” I round my desk and pull up in front of him. “He’s never paid any attention to me until today.”

“You just haven’t seen him. I know his type.” He pauses and his voice takes on a deeper, cutting edge. “Are you going to have lunch with him on Monday?”

“None of your business.” I am righteous in my indignation. “And what’s this about lunch today? Usually, if you want to have lunch with someone, you call and ask if it’s convenient. I only have half an hour. It’s barely enough time to go to the cafeteria.”

“You left so quickly I didn’t get a chance to ask for your number. I have your paycheck, a picnic, and a proposition for you.” He squares his shoulders and raises my hand to his lips. “If it is convenient, would you care to join me for lunch, Makayla Delaney?”

This is just like the movies. Entranced, I just stare and smile, like the vacant fool I am.

Torment chuckles. “Makayla?

I shake my head. “Um. Yes. Lunch. Good. Picnic area. Outside. For staff.”

Oh God. Someone, please put me out of my misery, or at least cover my mouth with surgical tape.

“Lead the way.” Torment picks up his pack and jacket, and I lead him through the hospital to a grassy outdoor quadrangle dotted with picnic tables, flower beds, and leafy trees.

“What’s the proposition?” I glance over at the feast of testosterone walking beside me. Really, who needs lunch?

“I desperately need a medical professional to cover our underground events. Two more guys had to go to the hospital last week, and I’m concerned someone is going to rat us out to the CSAC. We’ve heard rumors on the underground circuit that if an event is restricted to club members and a doctor is present, they’ll look the other way provided the fighters are not given any compensation. We’re okay on the compensation side. I’ve always given the money we collect at the door to charity. But we can’t find a ring doctor, and I haven’t been able to find anyone with first aid experience willing to commit to being at every match. We usually have events once or twice a week on the weekend.”

“Oh.” My heart thuds into my stomach. He just wants me to work. Not that I don’t need the work with Sergio now in the picture, but it would have been nice to be wanted for something else.