The Makeover Prescription. Christy Jeffries

      “Why would someone your age need such an extensive surgery?” she asked, and he could feel the warmth of her breath.

      Would she believe him if he said “car accident”? Probably not. Dr. Smarty-Pants was proving to be too damn intelligent for Kane’s own good. But right this second, with her finger still tracing his scar and sending shockwaves throughout his body, he really didn’t want to think about the pissed off player who’d charged the mound and attacked him with a Louisville Slugger. “Random baseball bat injury.”

      “Hmm.” His eyes were drawn to her mouth. She didn’t wear an ounce of makeup, not even lipstick, but the pink fullness of her upper lip was enhanced by the deep bow in the center. “That must have been quite a baseball bat. Still...”