I never expected my minor knee surgery to turn into this.It was supposed to be a quick arthroscopic procedure — in and out the same day. But Dr. Nathaniel Voss, the city’s most arrogant and talented orthopedic surgeon, had other plans.At 41, Dr. Voss was sinfully hot: tall, broad-shouldered, with piercing green eyes, a chiseled jaw, and that commanding presence that made nurses whisper and patients blush. He had a reputation for being strict, demanding… and impossibly skilled with his hands.The hospital was quiet at 11 PM when he walked into my private recovery room. The lights were dimmed, and I was still in the thin hospital gown, lying on the adjustable bed with my operated leg elevated.“Miss Carter,” he said, voice deep and smooth as he closed the door and locked it. “How’s the pain?”“Manageable, Doctor,” I replied, suddenly nervous under his intense gaze.He checked my chart, then pulled up a stool beside the bed. “Good. But I like to do a very thorough post-op check myself.
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