Read Online The Ghosts of Ravencrest (The Ravencrest Saga Book 1) by Tamara Thorne, Alistair Cross - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Tamara Thorne, Alistair Cross
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unzipped and peeled her black pants off. She stood in her panties feeling cold, though the temperature had nothing to do with it.
“All of it.” The nurse looked cruel and Belinda fought the urge to flee.
“Is there a gown or something I could wear?”
“Of course not, dear. Just take your underwear off.”
With a heavy sense of dread, she dropped her panties and stepped out of them.
“Stand against the wall and let’s get your height.”
She moved to the wall the woman had indicated and stood against it, covering herself as best she could.
“Move your hands,” said the nurse. “I need to get you straight for an accurate measure.” From a pocket in her white tunic, the woman produced a measuring tape. As she held it up, Belinda got a glimpse at the nurse’s nametag. It read: V. Massengil, RN.
Belinda let go of her breasts, felt her face burn scarlet, and pressed herself against the wall.
“Just over five foot two,” said Massengil as she wound the tape back up. “Five foot two and one hundred and eighteen pounds,” she said as she wrote on Belinda’s chart. “Healthy.”
“Thanks,” said Belinda, sounding like an idiot even to herself.
“Hold your arms out.”
Belinda blinked at her.
The nurse grabbed her arm, and yanked it up. “Like an airplane,” she said. “Both of them.” When the pose had been struck, the nurse wrapped the measuring tape around her torso. It felt cold against her nipples. “Thirty-five inches. Not too hefty up top,” she said. “But perky. That’s good. Healthy.”
Belinda’s cheeks were on fire now.
After writing on the chart, Nurse Massengil measured her waist, said twenty-four inches was great, then hunkered down, winding the tape around Belinda’s hips, nose practically in her business. She grunted as she stood. “Good. Good child bearing hips. Healthy.” She wrote down more numbers. “Now, sit on the exam table and let’s get your pulse and blood pressure.”
“Can I put my clothes back on?”
“Nope.”
Belinda positioned herself at the edge of the table, hating the crinkling feel of paper under her bare buttocks.
The nurse took her pulse and blood pressure, her only comments being, ‘good, good,’ and ‘Nice. Healthy.’ When that was finished, the R.N. took her temperature with an ear thermometer then said, “The doctor will be in soon.” Then, as bland-faced and unenthused as ever, V. Massengil was gone.
Waiting naked on the exam table, Belinda took a deep breath and glanced with longing toward her clothes. Grant had told her it was a quick, minor exam, so why was she sitting here naked? On TV shows, doctors always gave their patients gowns or towels or even robes. But I’m naked. Panic rose and she took a deep breath to calm herself. She shut her eyes and exhaled, then repeated the process. It wasn’t helping. She tried looking around the little exam room at the sink and counter and the organized line of bottles filled with cotton balls, tongue depressors, and Q-Tips. A wall shelf above held other sorts of jars and bottles and she tried to read the labels, but they were too tiny.
Two quick knocks on the door made her jump and wrap her arms tighter around herself. The door opened and in walked the doctor, his face buried in a chart. He looked up and smiled at her. “Miss Moorland?” His green eyes danced over every inch of her and his dark auburn hair, just a little longer than average, waved around his powerful features; high cheekbones, long lively eyebrows that lifted when he smiled, and full lips. He looked more like a movie star than a doctor. Belinda flushed, her whole body turning pink.
“Miss Moorland?” he asked again.
Her cheeks were on fire. “Yes, uh, that’s me.”
“May I call you Belinda?”
“Um, okay.”
He smiled, the skin at the corner of his eyes crinkling up in the best possible way. “You’re sure?”
She nodded, afraid to speak.
“I’m Dr. Akin. Richard Akin.” He extended his
“All of it.” The nurse looked cruel and Belinda fought the urge to flee.
“Is there a gown or something I could wear?”
“Of course not, dear. Just take your underwear off.”
With a heavy sense of dread, she dropped her panties and stepped out of them.
“Stand against the wall and let’s get your height.”
She moved to the wall the woman had indicated and stood against it, covering herself as best she could.
“Move your hands,” said the nurse. “I need to get you straight for an accurate measure.” From a pocket in her white tunic, the woman produced a measuring tape. As she held it up, Belinda got a glimpse at the nurse’s nametag. It read: V. Massengil, RN.
Belinda let go of her breasts, felt her face burn scarlet, and pressed herself against the wall.
“Just over five foot two,” said Massengil as she wound the tape back up. “Five foot two and one hundred and eighteen pounds,” she said as she wrote on Belinda’s chart. “Healthy.”
“Thanks,” said Belinda, sounding like an idiot even to herself.
“Hold your arms out.”
Belinda blinked at her.
The nurse grabbed her arm, and yanked it up. “Like an airplane,” she said. “Both of them.” When the pose had been struck, the nurse wrapped the measuring tape around her torso. It felt cold against her nipples. “Thirty-five inches. Not too hefty up top,” she said. “But perky. That’s good. Healthy.”
Belinda’s cheeks were on fire now.
After writing on the chart, Nurse Massengil measured her waist, said twenty-four inches was great, then hunkered down, winding the tape around Belinda’s hips, nose practically in her business. She grunted as she stood. “Good. Good child bearing hips. Healthy.” She wrote down more numbers. “Now, sit on the exam table and let’s get your pulse and blood pressure.”
“Can I put my clothes back on?”
“Nope.”
Belinda positioned herself at the edge of the table, hating the crinkling feel of paper under her bare buttocks.
The nurse took her pulse and blood pressure, her only comments being, ‘good, good,’ and ‘Nice. Healthy.’ When that was finished, the R.N. took her temperature with an ear thermometer then said, “The doctor will be in soon.” Then, as bland-faced and unenthused as ever, V. Massengil was gone.
Waiting naked on the exam table, Belinda took a deep breath and glanced with longing toward her clothes. Grant had told her it was a quick, minor exam, so why was she sitting here naked? On TV shows, doctors always gave their patients gowns or towels or even robes. But I’m naked. Panic rose and she took a deep breath to calm herself. She shut her eyes and exhaled, then repeated the process. It wasn’t helping. She tried looking around the little exam room at the sink and counter and the organized line of bottles filled with cotton balls, tongue depressors, and Q-Tips. A wall shelf above held other sorts of jars and bottles and she tried to read the labels, but they were too tiny.
Two quick knocks on the door made her jump and wrap her arms tighter around herself. The door opened and in walked the doctor, his face buried in a chart. He looked up and smiled at her. “Miss Moorland?” His green eyes danced over every inch of her and his dark auburn hair, just a little longer than average, waved around his powerful features; high cheekbones, long lively eyebrows that lifted when he smiled, and full lips. He looked more like a movie star than a doctor. Belinda flushed, her whole body turning pink.
“Miss Moorland?” he asked again.
Her cheeks were on fire. “Yes, uh, that’s me.”
“May I call you Belinda?”
“Um, okay.”
He smiled, the skin at the corner of his eyes crinkling up in the best possible way. “You’re sure?”
She nodded, afraid to speak.
“I’m Dr. Akin. Richard Akin.” He extended his
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