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Charlie Swan tasted blood and rain in his mouth and figured this was about as stupid as a man could get.
He’d driven out to the Quileute border for a quiet night of fishing, just him, a six-pack, and the river. One wrong step on the slick rocks and gravity had done the rest. Now his thigh was split open like a gutted fish, his wrist was swollen and useless, and he was shivering so hard his teeth rattled. The emergency room lights overhead felt too bright, the paper gown too damn thin, and the whole situation pissed him off more than it hurt.
Then the door opened.
A middle-aged nurse in blue scrubs slipped inside, chart in hand. She took one look at Charlie’s mangled thigh and sucked in a breath, but her eyes kept flicking toward the hallway like she was waiting for someone far more important.
“Dr. Cullen’s coming right in, Chief,” she said, voice a little too bright. Her fingers fumbled with the blood pressure cuff, nearly dropping it before she got it around his arm. A faint flush crept up her neck as she worked. She kept smoothing her scrubs unnecessarily, glancing at the door again.
Charlie had seen that look before. Half the women on staff got the same dazed, distracted expression whenever Dr. Cullen was on shift. Forks wasn’t exactly overflowing with men who looked like they’d stepped out of a magazine.
The nurse finished her notes in a hurry, muttering something about vitals, and practically backed out of the room just as the door opened again.
Dr. Carlisle Cullen stepped inside, and for a second everything else, the pain, the cold, the embarrassment, just stopped.
He was too pretty, too polished, too everything for a place like this. Golden hair, perfect features, that lean body moving with an easy grace that made Charlie’s blood run hotter than it had any right to. He looked like he’d break under the right pair of hands.
Charlie had seen him around town before, but never this close. Never while he was lying here half-naked and bleeding.
Cullen’s golden eyes flicked over him, calm and assessing, and Charlie felt the look like a physical touch.
“Chief Swan,” the doctor said, voice low and velvet-rough. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”
Charlie grunted as the doctor approached. Up close, the contrast hit hard. His own rough, calloused hands and flannel-and-denim bulk against Carlisle’s smooth, pale skin and elegant fingers. Country cop and whatever the hell this man was.
Carlisle peeled away the soaked fabric with careful precision. Cool fingers brushed Charlie’s fever-warm thigh, and the touch sent an unexpected jolt straight through him. He clenched his jaw.
“Deep gash,” Carlisle murmured, golden eyes focused. “But you’re tough. Most men would be making more noise.”
“Been through worse,” Charlie rasped, voice gravelly from the cold. His gaze kept drifting, the sharp line of Carlisle’s jaw, the way his blond hair fell across his forehead as he worked, the elegant curve of his neck disappearing into the collar of his shirt. He looked delicate. Breakable, almost. But there was strength there too, hidden under all that porcelain perfection.
Carlisle’s lips curved in the faintest smile as he cleaned the wound. “I can tell.”
The antiseptic stung, but Charlie barely felt it. All he could focus on was how close Carlisle was leaning, how those long, cool fingers moved with such deliberate care across his skin. Every brush of contact lingered a second too long. His cock was already half-hard against his thigh, thickening traitorously with every pass of those steady hands. He prayed the thin gown hid it.
He wasn’t supposed to notice shit like this. Not on another man. But lying here half-naked under these harsh lights, with Carlisle’s beautiful face inches from his injured thigh, something raw and hungry stirred low in his gut.
Carlisle glanced up. Their eyes locked. Golden meeting weary brown. The air thickened. Neither man looked away.
“You’re staring, Chief,” Carlisle said softly, almost teasing, but there was heat underneath it. Charlie’s voice came out rougher than intended. “Hard not to.” The words hung between them.
What the fuck is wrong with me? But he didn’t look away. Couldn’t.
This beautiful, otherworldly man was kneeling between his legs stitching him up like some kind of fallen angel, and Charlie felt the pull like a hook in his chest.
Masculine want, rough and honest, the kind that didn’t ask permission. The kind that could ruin a man if he let it.
“You could work anywhere,” Charlie said suddenly, needing to fill the silence. “Big city. Fancy hospital. Why here?”
Carlisle’s golden eyes flicked up again, holding his gaze longer this time. “Forks has… unexpected charms.” The way he said it made Charlie’s cock twitch under the thin gown.
He shifted uncomfortably, jaw tight. Carlisle noticed — of course he did — and something dark and hungry flashed across that perfect face for half a second before the professional mask slid back into place.
When the last stitch was tied and the bandage secured, Carlisle’s hand lingered on Charlie’s uninjured thigh. Cool palm against warm, hairy skin.
“You don’t have to be this thorough with every patient,” Charlie said, voice low and rough, eyes narrowed on the doctor’s face.
Carlisle didn’t pull away. His fingers stayed pressed lightly against Charlie’s thigh as golden eyes lifted slowly to meet his. A faint flush colored those perfect cheekbones, and his voice came out softer than before, velvet, almost reverent, with the smallest tremble underneath.
“You’re an important member of this community, Chief.”
Charlie’s breath caught.
He stared at Carlisle, jaw tight, fighting the urge to grab the back of that golden head and pull him down.
“Yeah?” Charlie rasped, voice gravelly. “That why you’re still touching me?”
Carlisle’s throat worked as he swallowed. He didn’t deny it. For a heartbeat his hand stayed exactly where it was. Then, as he started to pull back, his fingers accidentally brushed the rigid line of Charlie’s erection through the thin fabric.
The contact was brief. Barely there. But it sent a sharp jolt through both of them.
Carlisle froze, golden eyes widening for a split second. His breath hitched, soft, almost inaudible, but Charlie heard it. The doctor’s elegant fingers trembled once before he slowly, deliberately drew his hand away. Not fast. Not like he was disgusted. More like he was forcing himself to be professional when every instinct wanted to stay.
“I… apologize,” Carlisle murmured, voice lower and rougher than before, the flush on his cheeks deepening. His gaze flicked down to the obvious tent in the gown, then back up to Charlie’s face. There was heat there. Hunger. And something dangerously close to surrender.
Charlie’s heart slammed against his ribs. His good hand fisted the sheet. “Don’t.”
The single word hung heavy between them. Carlisle’s lips parted, like he wanted to say more, or do more, but the distant sound of voices in the hallway reminded them both where they were.
“You’ll need follow-up care,” Carlisle said, voice lower now. “I can make house calls. If you’d prefer.”
Charlie swallowed hard. His good hand flexed at his side, fighting the sudden urge to reach out and grab that slim wrist. Pull the man closer. See if that porcelain skin bruised as easily as it looked.
“Yeah,” he said gruffly. “I’d prefer that.”
Carlisle straightened slowly, but not before Charlie caught the slight tremble in his fingers. The doctor looked almost overwhelmed. Like he was the one who’d been unraveled.
As Carlisle headed for the door, Charlie’s eyes tracked him, that graceful back, narrow waist, the way the white coat hugged his frame. He let out a long, shaky breath.
Lucky he’s married, Charlie thought. The realization settled heavy and hot in his chest. Otherwise a man might do something stupid. Might drag him back here and find out exactly how that pretty mouth feels.
The door clicked shut.
Charlie stared at the ceiling, leg throbbing, body aching in more places than one. The storm kept raging outside, but inside him, something wild had just woken up.
And it had golden eyes.