His balls still throbbed. What if Laura had broken them? What if he was unable to have kids? Not that he wanted any—right now. But someday . . .

“Okay. Fine. You’re really a doctor?”

“I really am. So drop ’em and let’s take a look at the goods.”

He reached for the zipper of his pants. “If I had a dollar for every time a woman said that to me . . .”

She snickered, moved in closer, and he caught a light citrusy scent. He breathed it in, the best thing he’d smelled all night. It smelled like renewal, like starting over.

Which was ridiculous because he didn’t even know the doctor’s name. But if she fixed him, she’d be his savior.

She cradled his ball sac in her hand, then examined his dick. There was something about having a woman so close to his goods that should be exciting as hell. But he wasn’t getting hard. He hurt too damn bad.

“It’s inflamed, but she didn’t break your penis.”

“Well, hallelujah.”

She tilted her head to the side and gave him a wry smile. “Right? She hit you pretty hard, though. Your testicles are swollen and red.”

She took a step back. “You can pull your pants up now. You’ll be sore for a couple of days, but you’re going to be fine.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

He zipped up. “I hope your husband or boyfriend doesn’t mind you inspecting my stuff down here in the wine cellar.”

“No husband. No boyfriend. I’m a resident at Washington University here in St. Louis, and way too busy for that.”

“I see. So who are you here with?”

“Oh, my father is Clyde Ross. I’m Aubry.”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. The boss’s daughter. This night couldn’t get any worse.

“I didn’t know that. I mean, I knew he had a daughter in medical school or something. I don’t know why I didn’t make the connection.”

“No reason for you to. Nice to meet you, Tucker. I’ve seen you pitch. You’re pretty damn good.”

“So are you, Doc. Thanks for the once-over.”

“You’re welcome. I actually came down here to grab a bottle of wine for my dad.” She obviously knew what she wanted, because she made a direct beeline for a spot on the far wall and plucked a bottle from the rack before turning to face him. “Got it. Shall we go upstairs, or do you need more time to reflect on your evening?”

“No, I think I’ve spent enough time . . . reflecting down here.”

He led her toward the stairs, hoping like hell Aubry was discreet enough not to tell her father what had happened to him.

Still, he stopped and turned to face her. “One question.”

“Sure.”

“Did you make me drop trou because it was medically necessary, or because you wanted to get a good look at my dick?”

One side of her mouth curved up in a sexy-as-hell smile. “Tucker. I’m surprised you’d ask that question. I am a doctor, after all.”

She turned and headed up the stairs.

Which wasn’t an answer at all.

The night was starting to look up.

But his balls still hurt like hell. After the debacle with Laura, and given the fact that the doc was Clyde’s daughter, he should definitely avoid Aubry Ross.

Or . . . maybe not.

AFTER GRABBING A COLD BEER AND MAKING MINIMAL rounds at the party, Tucker determined that Laura was, in fact, gone.

He should have been ashamed to feel relief about that, but he wasn’t. Not after the episode in the wine cellar. As far as he was concerned, they were over. More than over. If he was lucky, he’d never hear from her again.

Now he needed to find somewhere out of the way to sit so he could nestle the beer in his crotch like an ice pack. It was too early to leave without a good explanation, and he sure as hell didn’t want to call attention to himself. Laura had done enough of that by getting drunk as hell within the first hour. He hoped he could lie low for a bit, then leave without anyone noticing.

He found a perfect spot outside in Clyde and Helen Ross’s backyard. Clyde’s property was expansive, and since the team party included family and friends, there was enough of a crowd that Tucker could disappear for a while without anyone noticing. He intended to get lost in one of the many winding garden areas¸ and he finally found a gazebo that was fortunately deserted. He laid his head back in one of the very comfortable cushioned chairs, nestling his beer between his thighs.

Hell of a night. He could enjoy this solitude for—