Page 47 of Dr. Intern

Claire giggles, though nothing I said was funny. “Always so serious, Dr. Buffington.”

Why the fuck is it so hot when she says my name like that?

“You need some help over there?” I ask, growing slightly concerned as she wobbles with the effort of removing her boot. The last thing I need is to have to explain to her brother why we ended up in the ER tonight.

Claire exhales dramatically, peering up at me through the dark locks that have fallen in front of her face. “I’m an independent woman. I don’t want a man to help me do anything.”

I stifle a grin as I get up from the couch. “I didn’t say you did. But an independent woman also knows when she needs someone.”

“Fine.” She straightens and perches herself on the bar stool, kicking out her leg toward me. “I need someone.”

“See,” I say, taking her leg in my hand as my other reaches for the zipper of the boot. “Doesn’t it feel good to admit that you’re wrong?”

“I’m never wrong,” she declares with a theatrical sigh as she throws her head back.

Fuck—I’ve got to look away, or I’m going to lose all control here. All I can think about is running my tongue along her neck and feeling her pulse escalate beneath my touch.

I refocus on the task at hand, gently removing the first boot.

“You Winters kids are just so stubborn,” I chuckle as I place the boot on the ground and tap her leg, indicating that she should switch feet.

Claire’s head snaps up and she smirks, kicking her other leg into my hands. “But I’m the most stubborn.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re right. I should have added competitive to that. Stubborn and competitive.”

“Speaking of competition,” she muses, watching me pull the second boot from her leg. “Does Frosty still love me more, or did you pull out your stupid southern charm to win him over?”

Surprisingly, the little kitten knew to leave me alone to brood tonight. He lounged in the swivel armchair across from the sectional, content to roll around and play with the mouse toy that the shelter gave us. While it pains me to admit it, it was truthfully kind of nice to have a companion. I’m still not a cat guy, but we definitely made progress tonight.

“What charm?” I drawl, keeping my eyes glued to hers. I’m afraid if I look any lower I’ll accidentally see the color of her panties.

Claire laughs as she points her toes in my hand. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” I tease, rubbing my thumb along the instep of her foot.

She closes her eyes and groans, the sweet sound sending all of my blood to my crotch.

“Sure you don’t,” she sighs, tugging free from my grasp before stumbling off the stool.

I quickly reach out to steady her, my hands gripping her hips a bit more firmly than I intend. “Easy there,” I say softly. “Let’s get you to your bed.”

The scent of alcohol on her breath is strong as I guide her through the kitchen. After only a few steps, she pulls away from me, lunging towards the guest bathroom halfway between the kitchen and her bedroom.

Claire barely makes it in time, her body heaving over the sink as the night’s indulgences come back up. I hesitate at the doorway, torn between the urge to help and wanting to respect her privacy.

After a moment, Claire steadies herself and rinses out her mouth. “Sorry,” she mumbles. “Not my finest moment.”

I step closer, prepared to hold her hair back in case she gets sick again. “Hey, it happens to the best of us. You okay?”

She nods and splashes water on her face before meeting my eyes in the mirror with a sheepish smile. “Yeah, you know what they say. Give me five margaritas . . .”

My brow furrows in confusion. I have no idea what she’s talking about. “Think you can make it to bed? Or do we need to sleep on the couch tonight?”

Claire turns, leaning heavily against the countertop, her eyes reflecting a mix of gratitude and something else I can’t quite decipher. “I’m fine on my own. You don’t have to stay with me.”

“It would make me feel better,” I admit, snaking my arm around her waist. “Plus, your brother would kill me if you died in your sleep because of my negligence.”

By the time we reach her bedroom, Claire stumbles, a hand flying to her mouth. I can tell she’s going to be sick again. Instinctively, I guide her toward her ensuite bathroom.

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