Gender, to her, was as inconsequential as the choice between patients—both simply required her care. Thus, when she found James swaddled in blankets like a newborn babe, with only his head peeking out, a wry smile tugged mercilessly at the corner of her mouth. “James, what's this? A healing session or a peep show prevention strategy?”
James raised a quizzical brow, wrapping the blankets even tighter around himself as his lips parted just enough to utter, “Decorum, dear lady, decorum.”
Mirabella rolled her eyes, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Honestly, you’re as undistinguishable as a boiled chicken to me right now.”
Pausing momentarily, she rolled up her sleeves and continued, “Man up, will you? It’s not as if—”
The intensity in James’ gaze sharpened. He was clearly amused, seeing this as a challenge to his manhood.
His grip loosened on the blanket. Mirabella’s words hung suspended in mid-air as she caught sight of the unveiled form before her—a perfect blend of strength and form, tinged with a rosy hue of vitality.
And the only shred of modesty was... Suddenly, Mirabella could feel her cheeks heating up and instinctively averted her gaze.
James noted her reaction with a smirk, stepping forward as his voice took on a teasing note, “Oh? Not as if what? Cat got your tongue?”
Mirabella’s fingers twitched, but she quickly faced him once more, her gaze boldly returning to James.
Why the devil should she feel awkward? She was a doctor, and doctors did not play favorites with gender!
“What should I say? That you’re not well-built?” Her voice carried a proud edge.
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