Jamison (Beautiful Mine #3) by Gia DeLuca Page A

he had to scrub in for his first surgery of the day.
    “How’re you feeling?” he asked, peering over the nurse’s shoulder and reading my vitals on the computer screen.
    “Good,” I said groggily. The oxygen they’d had me on during surgery had dried my lips and made my throat scratchy. “Thirsty.”
    He smiled, reaching down and warming my hand with his. His concerned eyes washed over me and his body seemed to relax ever so slightly.
    “Everything went well,” he said. “They’ll bring you in for monitoring. There’s a slight risk of re-bleeding with this procedure, but we’ll keep a close eye on you.”
    By “they,” he meant other doctors on his team. I cleared my throat. “When do I get to go home?”
    “Not for another day,” he said. “Dr. Bledsoe will monitor you for the time being, after Dr. Fowler leaves.”
    “Sweetie, you didn’t put down any emergency contacts,” the nurse said, interrupting us. “Do you have any family?”
    I felt Jamison’s eyes on me, and I swallowed the lump in my dry throat. “No.”
    The nurse hesitated, taken aback, but didn’t push it.
    “Can I see Dr. Fowler again?” I asked Jamison. “I want to thank him for flying in to do this surgery. It was really nice of him.”
    Pain flashed across his face. “I’ll see what I can do.”
    He slipped out the room, leaving the door half open. The soft trail of two men talking floated into my room and I strained to make out the words.
    A moment later a white-coated Dr. Fowler stepped in, Jamison behind him. I’d seen him earlier, just before the surgery, but my mind had been too preoccupied to process everything that was going on. The nurses had been prepping me and Dr. Fowler had been explaining the procedure, but at the time, all I could do was look across the room at Jamison, taking refuge in the comfort of his pale blue eyes.
    Standing side by side, the resemblance was uncanny. Dr. Fowler was an older, darker-eyed version of Jamison with gray in his temples and an air of upper crust arrogance that oozed from every pore of his smug face.
    “Thank you, Dr. Fowler,” I said, offering an appreciative smile. “I know you didn’t have to fly here to do this. I’ve heard you’re the best in the country, so it really means the world that you’d take time from your busy schedule to operate on me.”
    His face morphed into a warm smile, the arrogance dissipating as I praised his good deed. I’d recognize a man who loved a good ego-stroking anywhere. Men like him lived for that sort of thing.
    “How do you two know each other?” I asked, searching both their faces.
    They exchanged looks, each waiting for the other to speak before Jamison finally offered, “He’s my father.”
    “Oh,” I said as he confirmed what I already assumed. “I could see the resemblance. I just wasn’t sure.”
    Neither of them seemed too thrilled. A trace of a bittersweet smile crossed Jamison’s face, and I could see the pain in his eyes.
    “Jamison is the top neurosurgeon in the city,” I said to his father. “And the youngest. But you probably already knew that.”
    Dr. Fowler offered a tight-lipped smile, his hands crossed at his hips. “I did.”
    An awkward silence came between the three of us, interrupted only by the faint beeping of one of the monitors connected to me.
    “Well, I’ve got to head back to Mayo,” he said, directed at the both of us as if it were just a formality. For being Jamison’s father, he sure as hell didn’t act like it. A quick nod and a moment later, Dr. Fowler was gone from my room, taking all the strained tension with him.
    Jamison eyed the clock on the wall. “I have to scrub in for another surgery.” He gripped my hand as if he didn’t want to leave me. “I’ll check back on you later, okay?”
    I nodded.
    “We’ll be moving her to the eighth floor, Dr. Garner,” the nurse said to him. “They’re preparing her room right now.”
    “I’ll see you tonight,” he said, slipping out