The moment I stepped into the training facility, I knew my life was about to get complicated.

Not because of the tight schedule or the demanding job—I’d handled worse. But because of him.

West Donovan.

Quarterback. Star athlete. Certified pain in my ass.

The man was legendary. Not because he was one of the most arrogant quarterbacks in the league. And definitely not because he was the kind of man women lost their heads over.

And for the next eight weeks, he was my responsibility.

I tightened my grip on the clipboard as I approached the therapy room, repeating the same mantra in my head: Professional. Detached. Focused.

I built my career in sports therapy by playing by the rules—by keeping my hands and heart strictly out of my work. I’d watched too many colleagues get caught up in the gravitational pull of powerful, arrogant athletes, only to have their credibility shattered.

That wouldn’t be me.

It was my responsibility to maintain professionalism, no matter how tempting this arrogant quarterback would be.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside. The sterile scent of disinfectant hit me as I walked in, my mind already focused on the task ahead. I mentally ran through the exercises we’d do today, determined to keep things professional despite the rumors about his cocky attitude.

Immediately, my eyes are locked onto the shirtless figure sprawled on the treatment table. West Donovan. The man who dominated headlines since his injury made national news. Cocky, with a smirk of a smile played on his lips.

He was more stunning in person than he was on the field or in magazine spreads. Broad shoulders tapered to a lean waist, powerful thighs, and chiseled abs that rippled with every inhale. But it was his face that truly took my breath away - strong jawline dusted with stubble, full lips quirked into a cocky smirk, and deep blue eyes that seem to look straight into my soul.

I was in trouble.

My stomach tightened. Good Lord, he was something hot, dangerous, and completely off-limits.

He propped himself up on his elbows. “About time you showed up, Doc.” His voice dripped with trouble. “Was starting to think I’d have to heal on my own.”

I squared my shoulders, determined not to let his flirtatious remark throw me off balance. “Mr. Donovan,” I greeted him and extended my hand in a professional handshake. “I’m Sloane-”

He took my hand but instead of shaking it, he lifted it up to his lips and pressed a lingered kiss to my knuckles. “West, please.” His voice against my skin was hot and his eyes never left me. “And trust me, Sloane, with you, I’d like to keep things very personal indeed.”

A shiver ran down my spine at his touch and I yanked my hand back, schooling my features into a neutral mask. “That’s Dr. Carter to you, Mr. Donovan,” I corrected, my voice steady despite the racing of my heart. “Now, let’s talk about your rehabilitation plan...”

As I launched into an explanation of the exercises and treatments he’d need to follow, I felt his eyes on me, tracking my every move. It was unnerving, exhilarating, and a challenge I wasn’t prepared for. But I couldn’t let him distract me from my duty. I was a professional, and he was just another patient.

Even if part of me wished, desperately, that he could be so much more...

“I’d like to get started.” I scanned his chart on my clipboard. Torn ACL, eight-week recovery timeline, daily physical therapy. Simple enough. If he followed my instructions.

As he continued his flirtatious barrage, I felt my composure slip and a bead of sweat trickled down the nape of my neck. His eyes bored into mine as if he saw right through the walls I carefully constructed around my heart.

I took a deep breath and steadied myself. I would not let him get to me.

The memory of my last relationship nearly cost me everything. The heartache and the humiliation shattered pieces of my professional reputation. I swore I’d never let it happen again.

And yet, here I was, tempted beyond measure by this arrogant, infuriatingly handsome quarterback who seemed determined to break down every defense I erected against him.

With effort, I focused on the rehabilitation plan laid out before me. “Mr. Donovan, I understand your eagerness to return to the field, but rushing your recovery could jeopardize your career permanently. We need to take this slowly.” Finally, I looked back at him. “I’m here to help you heal, nothing more. Any notion to the contrary is simply not an option. Surely a man of your caliber can appreciate the importance of following protocol?”

His lips curved into a smirk. “Alright, Doc.” He then let out a slow, easy chuckle. “I gotta say, when they said I was getting the best sports therapist in the state, I didn’t expect someone so...” His gaze raked over me appreciatively. “...mouthwatering.”

I ignored him. “You’ll need to do resistance stretches—”

“Whoa, no warm-up? What if I pull something?” His smirk deepened. “You could at least buy me dinner first.”

West fucking Donovan.

“But, whatever you say, Doc. I’m all yours.”

I exhaled slowly, willing myself to ignore the heat that crept up my neck. This was going to be a long eight weeks.

I set my clipboard down a little harder than necessary. “I didn’t expect my patient to have a mouth that needed just as much rehab as his knee.”

His grin widened. “Damn. Feisty. I like that.”

I kept my face neutral. Do not engage. Do not react.

“Let’s get something straight, Mr. Donovan.”

“West. Please.”

I folded my arms across my chest. “West, I’m here to do a job. I don’t give a damn about your reputation, your charm, or whatever game you think you’re playing. The only thing that matters to me is getting you back on the field.”

His expression shifted, just for a second. A flicker of something darker—more calculating—before his usual cocky demeanor returned.

“Got it, Doc,” he replied. “Just business.”

Damn right.

“Let’s take a look at that ACL.” I stepped closer and my hands trembled slightly as I reached for his leg. I tried to ignore the electric charge that seemed to crackle between us and I gripped his thigh firmly, repositioning him on the table. I reminded myself of my ironclad rule against getting involved with athletes.

I had to ignore the dryness in my throat as I moved his injured leg. His ACL tear benched him for the season, and if he didn’t recover properly, his career would be over. He needed me, and I needed this assignment to go smoothly.

He inhaled sharply and my gaze snapped up to his face. For the first time, his mask slipped.

“You’re a tough one, aren’t you, Doc?” he remarked, his voice laced with amusement. “I like that.”

Now, I’m irritated. This was supposed to be a professional setting, for crying out loud.

I spoke. “West, if you’re not here to focus on your rehabilitation, perhaps we should reschedule this appointment.”

“Aw, come on Doc. No need to be so serious all the time. I thought we could have a little fun while we work.”

He felt this too.

I should have stepped away. I should’ve backed out of the job. Instead, I pressed my fingers more firmly into his muscle. “This is going to hurt.”

West’s gaze darkened. “I don’t know, Doc. You touching me like that? Feels pretty damn good.”

Something flickered in my chest—a sharp, unexpected pulse of heat.

I swallowed, forcing myself back into my professional mindset. “Focus.”

West chuckled, low, and rough. “Oh, I am.”

I rolled my eyes and kept working, ignoring the way his body responded under my touch. His muscles tensed, his skin warmed beneath my fingers. Every shift of his leg brought him closer, and I hated that I was suddenly too aware of how hard he tried not to react.

I was used to athletes making suggestive comments, testing boundaries. But West? He just didn’t push. He waited and watched.

He wasn’t playing around.

And that was a problem.

Because if I wasn’t careful, I’d start playing, too.

As I worked, I was acutely aware of our proximity, the heat emanating from his body, the clean, masculine scent of him. It distracted me and insisted on my attention, but I forced myself to concentrate on the task at hand. This was what I trained for, I reminded myself. It was why I was there.

Still, I couldn’t help but notice the play of muscles beneath his smooth skin and the way his broad shoulders tapered to a narrow waist.

Tension coiled between us like a live wire.

“So tell me, Doc, do you treat all your patients this...personally? Are you always this hands-on?”

This time, a small smile played on the corners of my lips. “Only the ones who need it most and right now, that’s you.”

“Touche, Doc. Touche.”

I returned my focus to his injury. The mounting tension between us had little to do with why I was there and everything to do with the attraction which simmered beneath the surface. I continued fighting to maintain my professionalism.

“There’s some swelling and stiffness,” I said, “but overall, the initial prognosis looks good. With the right treatment plan and plenty of hard work, you should make a full recovery.”

His face lit up at my words. “I knew you’d say that, Doc. Looks like I’m in good hands.”

I allowed myself a small, satisfied smile in return. “You are indeed, Mr. Donovan. You are indeed.” I cleared my throat. “Your ACL tear is severe, but with proper rehabilitation, I believe you should regain full mobility within a month or so.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “Guess that means I’ll be seeing a lot of you.” His breathing was heavier than before, his jaw clenched just slightly, and I realized—for the first time—he wasn’t just teasing.

I stepped back, placing distance between us. The heat of his skin lingered on my fingertips and once again, I refocused on the task at hand. “Based on what I’ve seen, I believe we can move forward with a conservative treatment plan. It will be intensive, requiring daily sessions and strict adherence to the protocols I set forth.”

“Sounds like you’re going to keep me in line, Doc.”

“It’s my job to ensure your recovery is as smooth and efficient as possible. That means following my instructions to the letter, no matter how tedious they may seem. Are you able to do that?”

“I’m a team player, Doc. I’ll do whatever it takes.” He smirked. “You always this strict, or just with me?”

I gave him a pointed look. “Especially with you.”

His eyes gleamed with something wicked. “Good. I like a challenge.”

“I give each patient exactly what they need,” I said to him. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

I turned to leave, needing space before I lost my composure, but his voice stopped me in my tracks.

“You know, you don’t have to fight it so hard.”

I froze. Slowly, I glanced back over my shoulder. “Excuse me?”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “This. Us.”

“There is no us.”

His grin was slow, lethal. “Not yet.”

A sharp pulse of something hot, dangerous, and completely off-limits shot through me. For a moment, I’m tempted to give in, to let myself explore the attraction but then I remembered the consequences of crossing that line. The heartache, the scandal, the damage to my career.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Donovan,” I replied. “Same time, same place. Don’t be late.” I turned and walked out.

I should have been thinking about treatment plans and recovery timelines. Instead, all I could hear was his voice.

Damn him.

In the quiet passageway, I leaned against the wall and squeezed my eyes shut, willing away the heat curling through my stomach.

West Donovan was everything I spent my career avoiding.

I couldn’t let him get under my skin.

I wouldn’t.

But even as I tried to convince myself, my body betrayed me.

Because the only thing I felt was the ghost of his heat lingering where his skin had brushed mine.

And the worst part?

I wanted more.

I built my life and my career on my ability to maintain control, to stay focused on the end goal no matter the distractions. And I wasn’t willing to let West Donovan derail me, no matter how much my heart yearned for it.

I exhaled and pressed my fingers against my temple.

This was going to be a long eight weeks.

I was prepared for West Donovan to be difficult.

I just hadn’t expected him to be this difficult.

It was exactly one day since our first session, and he was already testing me, seeing how far he could push before I snapped.

The following day he missed his scheduled start time by twenty minutes. No text, no apology.

I paced the length of my therapy room, my heels clicking against the polished wooden floor. The clock on the wall ticked away the seconds and each one felt like an eternity as I waited for him to arrive.

Eh. West Donovan. Superstar quarterback. Undeniably gorgeous, with a cocky grin that graced countless magazine covers and a reputation for being as charming off the field as he was talented on it. I’d seen his photo, of course - who hadn’t? But I refused to let his celebrity status or handsome features sway me from my job.

Again, I had to be professional and I kept telling myself this until I got tired of hearing the word. It was the cornerstone of my career, the bedrock upon which I built my reputation as one of the best therapists in the city. And I intended to maintain that status, no matter how tempting his rock hard body was.

Just as I was about to pick up the phone and give his assistant a piece of my mind, the door swung open.

“Miss Carter.”

It was the receptionist.

“Yes, Mary,” I replied.

“Your client called,” she replied. “He said for you to meet him at the gym.”

***

There was a reason I avoided doing any therapy in the gym downstairs.

First, it wasn’t a sufficient space for me to work with my clients.

Second, I didn’t remember the last time the area, including when the gym equipment was cleaned.

Third, seeing shirtless men exiting the shower was a distraction I didn’t want to face.

I marched across the gym, my heels muted against the gym mats as I searched for him.

It didn’t take long.

I saw him bent over a weight bench, shirtless, with sweat glistening on his muscular back as he curled a heavy barbell with ease. Again, his cocky grin played on his lips which made my blood boil. He was entirely too comfortable for a man who was supposed to be in rehab.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I demanded, storming up to him. “I thought I made myself clear about the rehab plan.”

He looked up at me through lowered lashes, unfazed by my tone. He finished the rep before he lowered the weights and sat up slowly.

“My body, my call,” he replied. “Figured I’d mix things up a bit.” His deep blue eyes sparkled with arrogance. The weight bench creaked under his shifting bulk as he turned to face me.

I clenched my fists at my sides, fighting the urge to throttle him. “Mix things up? You could set back your recovery by weeks! This isn’t a game.” I stood my ground, refusing to be intimidated by his imposing frame or the sheer magnetism he exuded. This was my turf, and I wouldn’t let him steamroll me. “You may think you know your body better than anyone, but I’m the expert here, and if you can’t follow my instructions, then this rehabilitation isn’t going to work.”

“Is that so, Doc? Seems to me like you’re the one who needs a lesson in patience.”

I stepped closer. “You need to listen to me or you’ll never get back on that field.”

“Relax, Doc. I know what I’m doing.” His eyes raked over me appreciatively. “Though I gotta say, you’re looking pretty wound up. Maybe you need to let loose yourself.”

I straightened my spine. “I am perfectly relaxed. Now, are you going to follow the plan or not?”

He leaned back and draped his arms casually over the bench. “Tell you what. You let me have some fun with this routine, and maybe I’ll consider following your orders.” His smirk widened. “Think of it as a negotiation.”

Anger flared hot in my veins. The audacity of this man! Acting like he held all the cards when his career hung in the balance. I stepped closer, jabbing a finger into his solid chest.

“You arrogant prick. This isn’t a negotiation. It’s a matter of your physical well-being. And if you can’t take it seriously, then maybe you don’t belong here at all.”

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes, a hint of surprise at my vehemence. Then it was gone, replaced by his usual cocksure expression.

“Ouch, Doc,” he drawled, though there was no real bite to his words. “Didn’t realize you cared so much.”

“I don’t,” I snapped, realizing too late how defensive I sounded. I took a step back, trying to regain my composure. “Either you follow my lead, or we’re done here.”

He considered me for a long moment then he let out a slow breath and nodded. “Alright, alright. You win this round, Doc.” He swung his legs over the side of the bench, standing to face me fully. “I’ll play by your rules. For now.”

I couldn’t help but notice the way his muscles flexed while drenched in sweat.

I tilted my chin up. “Good. Because I don’t plan on losing.”

His smirk deepened, like I had just said something that entertained him.

“You’re cute when you’re bossy, Doc.”

I turned on my heel. “Let’s get started.”

***

The first thing I noticed as West settled onto the therapy table was the way his body language changed. Gone was the cocky swagger, replaced by a tense stillness as he laid back, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. It was as if he prepared himself for what was to come.

I approached him slowly, my heart pounding in my chest. This was the moment of truth, the point at which I either stuck to my gut or I fell for his cocky charms. There was no room for error, no margin for hesitation.

I reached out and took his leg in my hands, aware of every inch of space between us. The air felt charged, electric, as if the slightest spark would set it ablaze. I reminded myself to breathe.

My fingers brushed against his skin as I adjusted his leg. He was warm, solid, with a coiled strength that was impossible to ignore. For a moment, we froze, caught in the unexpected intensity of this connection.

Slowly, I worked. My hands moved with a surety born from years of practice. But even as I guided him through the exercises, I felt his eyes on me, tracking my every movement. He tried to read me, or so I thought. Perhaps he wanted to unravel any secrets I had hidden behind my professional façade.

I straightened my spine. “Mr. Donovan, you should’ve called.”

“You know, you can call me West,” he replied as his eyes continued to roam over me.

My cheeks flushed despite my best effort to remain unaffected. Damn him.

As the session continued, the tension rose. I saw the questions in his eyes, the curiosity, and the challenge. Yet, despite my best efforts, I couldn’t help but be drawn in, captivated by the man before me.

He inhaled deeply and then smiled. “You sure you aren’t enjoying this, Doc?”

I jerked my hand back as if burned. “You know better than to ask a question like that.” Again, I grew frustrated at his blatant disregard for boundaries. “This is a medical treatment, not some pickup line.” I ignored the heat creeping up my spine. It was a power play and I needed to shut it down. Fast. “Please be quiet and let me work.”

His gaze flickered down before it dragged back up to meet mine.