Free Adams, Cara - Calling Doctor Wolf [Shape-Shifter Clinic 1] by Cara Adams

should frame them up first. Hmm. He needed to check the windows. The ones with the best views should be where the living room was set.
    But he kept looking down at Ambrielle. She was starting to wake up and was snuffling a little bit into the pillow, wiggling her butt on the sheets. He hoped her ass wasn’t too sore. It’d burn a little from last night, but he didn’t like the thought she might be in pain. But she wasn’t whimpering or anything. They were just waking-up noises, he thought.
    She was so beautiful. Even with her hair all tangled on the pillow, and her body buried under the quilt, she was dead sexy. And he wanted her. Again. Still. Always.
    Almost in an instant she was awake and sitting up. “Oh my God, what’s the time?”
    “It’s Saturday, not a workday,” said Danny soothingly.
    “Oh, that’s right.”
    Oscar rolled over and faced them both. “Shall we go downstairs and have breakfast in the restaurant?”
    “Not in that dress. Everyone will think I’m a hooker.”
    “I hadn’t thought of that. And I guess you won’t want to go through the drive-though and get takeout in case you spill sauce on it.”
    “Exactly.”
    “Room service!” said Danny.
    “I’ll hide in the bathroom while they deliver it,” Ambrielle said.
    “And we can all eat naked, so if anything gets spilled it doesn’t matter,” added Oscar.
    Danny laughed and was still laughing an hour later as they ate and joked and made fun of each other, sitting naked on the bed, using their bath towels as a tablecloth and to protect their bodies from any spilled hot food.
    They were still laughing as they escorted Ambrielle to her front door and watched her go inside.
    I think I love her. No, I know I love her.

    * * * *

    Last night had been the best night of his life. Oscar wanted to relax in an armchair and just remember every tiny detail about their time with Ambrielle. But unfortunately life wasn’t like that. Saturday was just another day in a clinic. People got sick, physiotherapy and rehabilitation programs didn’t take weekends off, patients still needed to be fed, and rooms cleaned. Dammit.
    After another shower and changing into regular clothes, Oscar visited with each of his patients, talking them through their progress and checking them for signs of overtiredness or infection. Shape-shifters were stronger than humans and healed faster. But, just like people, some of them tended to try to do too much too quickly, and needed to be warned to slow down or they’d go backward health-wise instead of getting better.
    Then he picked up the pile of mail which someone had put on Ambrielle’s desk and took it through into his office. A lot of it would go straight back into her in-tray—accounts to be paid, patients’ paperwork to be entered on the computer or placed in their files—but there were some things he liked to deal with himself. He read every potential patient’s letter himself, deciding if their health issues were the kind of thing he could help with.
    Oscar focused on letting shape-shifters heal at their own speed. Given the right amount of nutritious food and the opportunity for carefully monitored exercise, broken bones mended quickly, injured soft tissues healed and could be strengthened. But in a regular clinic shape-shifters were often forced to slow themselves down to fit in with regular programming timelines, or else they signed themselves out of clinic and went home where they promptly tried to do too much exercise too fast and ended up with more damage instead of less.
    Transforming into their shifter was a case in point. The act of transforming could speed up healing. But if the patient then went for a long, fast run, all the good work could be undone by the time they returned. Transform, yes. Run very far, no.
    Oscar settled into his chair, tilting it back until his head rested against the wall and his crossed ankles were on the edge of his desk. Then he opened the mail, glancing through it and