His Naughty Patient I
ON the crisp white sheets of the examination bed, Diana shivered. It was a tremor unrelated to the cool air, pulling the thin paper gown tighter around her. Her heart hammered against her ribs, and she could hear it soundly
Dr. Jordan Rhodes entered, his presence filling the space. His white coat, impeccably pressed, stretched across broad shoulders. Dark hair, a shade deeper than midnight, fell across his forehead. A faint, almost imperceptible scar traced the line of his left jaw, hinting at a past ruggedness that the professional facade couldn't quite conceal.
“Diana, thank you for coming in,” Jordan’s voice, a low rumble, cut through the silence. He carried a clipboard, “We just need to complete your routine assessment.” He offered a small, reassuring smile,
