by Amie Knight
“Jesus. You’re fucking gorgeous, you know that?” He ran a large hand from the spot right in the middle of my shoulder blades past the small of my back before landing on my ass where he squeezed hard enough to make me giggle.
“Less talking, more petting, Doctor,” I said through laughter.
“Not a doctor. Yet.” His voice was cocky, and it made me hot. “Still a ways to go before that happens.”
I could hear the smile in his voice even though I couldn’t see his face. I was lying on my stomach on top of his white plush down comforter naked as the day I was born. And not shy about it at all. He’d just laid his mouth, his tongue, his hands over every inch of this body several times and he’d seemed to enjoy every second of it.
I looked out the small window next to his bed while he was propped up on one hand beside me and using the other to rub every available surface of skin on my body he could find. It was phenomenal. I wanted to purr like a damn cat, but instead I stretched out further along his bed.
“I can’t believe you came home with me tonight,” he husked out.
I couldn’t believe it either. I wasn’t the type of girl who did one-night stands. I didn’t really have boyfriends, either. I was married to the music. Anthony Jackson wasn’t even really my type per se. I liked moody guys with tattoos and piercings. Boys with darker eyes and even darker souls. I was a walking cliché, but I liked the tortured musician types. After all, we were kindred spirits. Me and my hard, banging drums, them with their soft guitar riffs and raspy lyrical voices.
I rolled to my back and gazed up at Anthony. He waggled an eyebrow at me, and I bit my lip to hide my smile. He may not have been my type, but I was positive there wasn’t a girl out there who’d turn him down. Vivid and inquisitive green eyes stared down at me and God, I wanted him all over again.
And I’d had him plenty that night. We’d met at the club only hours ago. I was visiting my friend Ainsley in Columbia, South Carolina, and we’d run into Anthony and his college friends at a nightclub. Ainsley introduced him as an old friend. He’d come on strong. I’d come on even stronger. Hardly any alcohol in my system and yet I’d let him drag me back to his small apartment, between my legs aching with want. We’d barely made it through the door when he picked me up and placed me on the entry table and pushed his massive body between my thighs. Slick skin, hot hands, wet mouths. And the rest was history. Or maybe not.
No, Anthony Jackson wasn’t my type. He was every girl’s type.
Chiseled to perfection face.
Wide smile complete with full pink lips and deep dimples.
Square jaw that somehow managed to be both soft and hard.
Blond hair that was so thick and shiny I wanted to ask him what shampoo he used.
Not a tattoo or piercing marred the bronzed skin of his muscular body.
For fuck’s sake, even the man’s cock was pure perfection. Thick and long and cut just as beautifully as the rest of him.
He was surprised I’d come home with him. I couldn’t believe it, either. I realized in that moment, him over me. Me under him. The sweat still glistening on our bodies. His ruggedly handsome good looks beaming down at me like the sun on a bright day. For the first time in my life, I’d had a man. An actual real man. Not boys playing men. No, Anthony was all fucking masculine beauty and he’d picked me at the bar. I was one lucky girl.
I ran a finger down the middle of his chest, and when I reached his abs I felt them jump under my hand.
“Well, are you gonna feed me, Doc, or are you going to sex me to death?” I breathed out. I could feel the pink on my cheeks, but this man made me feel bold. Beautiful and wildly sexy.
Leaning over, he pressed a kiss right between my breasts and whispered against my skin, “Can’t I do both?”
“Mmmhmm.” I stretched again. “But first you have to feed me.”
And before I knew it, I was up and off the bed and being carried wedding style to the little kitchenette that sat in the corner of the apartment. Anthony sat me gently down on the counter, bare bottom and all, and I startled at the cold against my ass.
Pushing his body between my thighs, he pressed his lips to mine. “What do you want?”
“Now, that’s a loaded question,” I said, my grinning lips pressed to his. Because it was. A girl could learn to want a lot from a guy like Anthony.
He backed away and opened the compact refrigerator a few feet away, and I took in the small apartment. It wasn’t dirty or old looking, just bare, like a bachelor lived there. Just a couch and a large TV with a comfy king-sized bed pushed up against the opposite wall. The small kitchen was along the back wall. A tiny studio apartment was all a college guy like him needed.
“Eggs?” He held up a gray carton and I nodded, but I wasn’t looking at the eggs. I was looking at his beautiful and still very much naked body. I guess we were doing some birthday suit cooking. It should have felt ridiculous, him standing there, naked in the fluorescent lights of the kitchen, but it didn’t. It just felt comfortable. Easy.
He had breakfast going at 3:00 a.m. and I had a lot of questions.
I pulled an apple out of a basket on the counter and asked, “How long have you known Ainsley?”
He was stirring the eggs, but his eyes looked distant like he was lost in a memory before he answered. “I guess most of my life. We grew up together.”
I smirked. “Did you date?”
He looked back at me, surprised. “No, she’s always had a thing for Adrian. As long as I can remember, anyhow. I was never on her radar.”
“But you wanted to?” I crunched into my apple.
A bark of laughter flew past his lips. “Maybe. At one time. She was always nice to everyone. I liked that about her. But when I realized she only had eyes for Adrian, I mostly just flirted with her to piss him off.”
“Why?”
“Because I was an asshole when I was a kid.”
“And now?”
He grinned charmingly at me while stirring the eggs. “I like to think I’ve toned down the asshole.”
I nodded. “So why a doctor?”
“You sure do have a lot of questions.”
“What can I say? I’m inquisitive.” I was, too. It drove my mother nuts when I was a kid. I was always the girl with a million questions. I still was.
Spooning eggs onto two plates, his face looked serious. “I’ve always wanted to make a difference.”
God, this guy. He was perfection.
“What kind of doctor?”
“I’m not sure yet. I’m thinking the heart.”
“A heart doctor.” I nodded, thinking on it. “Yeah, I could see that.”
“Grab some forks and meet me in bed.” He winked and took off toward the bed with our plates.
With two forks in hand, I climbed into bed beside him, his naked hip pressed to mine. We sat propped against the pillows, white duvet covering our laps, the plates on the bed between our legs. I passed him his fork and we dug in.
We were sitting in relative silence when he looked over at me and asked, “Why could you see it?”
My eyebrows furrowed as I looked over at him. “See what?”
“See me as a heart doctor?”
I smiled and looked away shyly before answering. “It would take somebody brave, bold, yet tender and caring to hold someone else’s heart in their hands. Someone special.” My face flushed hot before continuing. “I think you could be that person.” I felt my lips tip up at the thought of gorgeous, blond and beautiful, God-like Dr. Jackson going around saving people’s hearts. Like some kind of superhero in a white coat giving people second chances at life.
I shrugged, playing it cool. I’d known him only a few hours and already I was smitten. “Yeah, you’d make a great doctor, granting second chances all over the place. I can already see it.”
His smile fell and the laughter slipped out of his gaze. His face was too serious when he asked, “Second chances?”
Feeling my head tilt to the
side, I studied his grave face. “Yeah, Doc, I believe in second chances. Everyone deserves them. Even hearts.”
His facial expression was tight, his eyes too intense, so I looked away to the half-eaten plate of eggs in front of me.
“And what about you? Would you trust me with your heart?”
I smiled despite myself even as I blushed. I cleared my throat before answering. It was chock-full of feelings. “Yeah, I might,” I whispered.
He didn’t say anything, so I looked up, anxious and nervous. And out came his dimples in full force, almost knocking me clear off the bed with their perfect sweetness.
“You’re pretty smart for a drummer girl, you know that?”
I nudged my shoulder against his and glanced up at the starry green-eyed gaze I’d decided I’d never get enough of. “And you’re pretty cool for a smarty pants doctor.”
Kelly Potter. I still couldn’t quite believe it. It shouldn’t surprise me how she’d shown up today. It was so her. She’d moved across that parking lot toward me like a gentle storm. Her now long hair slipping out of her hair tie and blowing around her face. Her gait slow at first but her steps firm in her resolve to knock me over with her presence. I hadn’t seen her coming—just like ten years ago. Fuck, I couldn’t believe she was here, and it made me think of that night we’d had together so long ago. The best night of my existence. The worst morning of my life.
She’d looked good today. Better than good really. Even without trying. Her fresh face had glowed in the light of the morning. Her hair was longer and thrown haphazardly into a ponytail at the nape of her neck, but I could still see how dark and shiny it was as the loose strands whipped about her face. Her blue eyes shone in the sunlight and rendered me speechless. Yes, drummer girl Kelly Potter at twenty-two had rocked my world, but the woman who stood in front of me this morning captivated me. She was fucking stunning. Yes, I’d thought of her over the years, but nothing, and I mean nothing, compared to the real thing.
I pushed the elevator button for the sixth floor of my office building and thought of her messy hair, her makeup-free face, her disheveled clothes. I should have known something was wrong right away, but all I could think of seeing her standing there was that night, and I tried my damnedest not to think about her or that night or how it ended. Because it made me bleed emotionally. It made me feel weak and flawed and vulnerable, and I fucking hated it.
She thought I didn’t remember her. The truth was, I couldn’t forget her.
I stepped into the elevator, thankful I was alone so I could stew. Stew and think because I was an idiot. She’d come for help, and I’d been cold. Cold because I was good at it. I had ten years of practice. No friends. No attachments besides family. Work. Work was life.
My shock had made me a bumbling idiot barely capable of words. But then she’d laid that delicate hand of hers to her stomach, and I’d seen the soft curve of Mother Nature’s greatest gift and I’d immediately known what she needed. After all, I’d seen the panic etched in the features too many times on the faces of too many women seated across from me in this damn building.
I’d been shocked. And stupid. So incredibly dumb. My stomach had dropped at the innocent gesture of her rubbing her stomach. A slight ache had taken up residence in my chest. Just a pinch. And that had surprised me, too. That feeling. I damn sure didn’t like it. It hadn’t been me. No, I wasn’t the father. I’d let that ship sail. I’d been too entrenched in my grief to think of anyone other than myself when I’d had my chance.
Where was he? The father? Why wouldn’t he be here with her? I’d never abandon her, I told myself. Only I had, hadn’t I? Why was she here alone? The longer I stood there listening to her, the angrier I became. She was alone, penniless it seemed, and scared to death for her baby. I’d probably been too harsh, but someone had to take care of her, damn it.
I realized as I walked into the office that I was a fucking mess. Kelly had managed to completely throw me off my game. I got up early every day, worked out, made my coffee and toast, and got out of the house in record time. Every second away from my little people felt detrimental to their health and sometimes it was.
I tried to breeze past the reception office quickly. I didn’t want to deal with questions when I still had so many myself, but I should have known I wouldn’t be so lucky.
Lucille was like a pit bull with a bone. She never gave up.
“Anthony,” she called out, exiting the small reception area up front and practically chasing me to my office in the back of the space.
I picked up speed, hoping to close the door and lock it before she made it there. I was just about to push it shut when the front of one pointy black stiletto kept the godforsaken door open.
She slid in between the door and the jamb, and I sat at the desk, unloading my bag and trying to pretend like hell she wasn’t there.
She humphed before taking a seat across from my desk, but I didn’t look up. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.
“Anthony,” she tried again.
“Dr. Jackson,” I corrected her.
I could feel her eye roll, and I felt myself smirk.
“Will you talk to me if I call you Dr. Jackson?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re being a damn snoop.”
She brought her hand to her chest on a heavy inhale and this time I rolled my eyes.
“You wound me.”
“Bullshit.”
“Watch your mouth, young man.” She leaned forward. “Who was the girl?”
“I’m not doing this, Lucille. I’m working.” I stood up and gently grabbed her arm, pulling her out of the chair with one hand and opening the door with the other. “And you’re leaving.”
She paused in the doorway, looking up at me. “Just tell me you didn’t make a mistake. She showed up yesterday, soaking wet from the snow, looking plain pitiful. Just tell me you didn’t do that to that poor girl.” Her eyes were full of worry, and it finally occurred to me what she thought.
I barked out a laugh. “Jesus, no! Of course I didn’t do anything to her. She’s a friend. She needs help.”
And I was going to help her. Because it was what I did every day. Helping Ms. Potter wouldn’t be any different from helping the other countless moms who’d walked into my offices.
She let out a relieved sigh, and I gave her a death glare that should have sent her skittering to her desk at the front of the office.
“Don’t you have a nail to file? Or a gossip magazine to catch up on?” I asked, goading her.
She threw a red-tipped finger in my face. “Don’t you dare. I work hard for my measly wages. If I want to file my nails or read in between patients, that’s no concern of yours. I get the job done.”
“Oh, I think it is.”
“It isn’t,” she argued.
“It is. This is my office.”
“And you wouldn’t know what the hell was going on without me, Anthony. I’m the glue that holds this place together. Besides, let’s be honest, you may own this practice, but this office, it’s mine.”
I laughed at her dramatics, but she had me by the balls there. She did get her job done, even if she did spend too much time on the phone with friends and polishing her nails during work hours. The worst part? The patients adored her.
“Go to work. I have patients to see.” I pushed past her to get to exam room three, but she grabbed my arm.
“We aren’t done talking about this.”
“There’s really nothing to talk about. She’s a friend. Her baby has a problem, and she thinks I’m the man to help with it.”
She nodded. “Where is she staying? What can I do?”
“Tonight, she’s staying at my place. Tomorrow, I’ll have to find her another place.”
She gave me a hard stare.
“Don’t look at me like that, Lucille. I’m working an overnight at the hospital.”
“But you’re not scheduled to work tonight.”
<
br /> “I am now.” I breezed past her to make my way to exam room three and my first patient, in hopes she’d drop it.
I could spot another question on her lips as I skirted into the exam room and closed the door behind me, a smile already on my face for my coolest patient.
“Ian, my man!” I said loudly, holding my hand up for a high-five. The Filipino four-year-old smacked his hand against my own and grinned at me with all of the innocence of a child from the examination table.
“Sup, Doc Jackson?” Ian went in for a second round of handshakes that the kids referred to as dap that I’d learned long ago so I’d look the coolest. And I was. The kids loved me.
His mom sat in the corner, a small smile on her face as she rolled her eyes.
“Alright, buddy, let’s check you out.” Ian was two months past his third heart surgery with me and he was doing amazing.
“Let’s see those big muscles.”
His arms flexed at his attempt to make muscles. “Okay, guy, put those guns away before you have all the nurses in here checking you out.”
His mom giggled as I examined the rest of his body before finally getting to the nitty gritty. “Okay, show me your superhero badge.”
He pulled open the front of the gown to reveal the thick, long scar that ran the length of his chest.
“Looking good, my man.” I checked the healing wound and let his mother know that everything looked great before heading to my next patient and then my next, all the while trying to keep the image of a glowing, pregnant, blast from the past out of my mind. It didn’t work at all.
“I’m in his apartment,” I whispered to myself, standing in the small foyer right inside the door where I’d been standing for the last fifteen minutes. I was going to have a panic attack. My bag with all of my belongings still hung from my shoulder heavily, but for some reason I just couldn’t make myself move. I looked around the apartment, equal parts bewildered and awed. He’d come a long way from the small studio apartment I’d spent one night in with him long ago. I stared around at the lavish space. The nice leather furniture and expensive rugs, but still I didn’t move.
“Why am I in his apartment?” I still couldn’t believe it. Somehow, our conversation had gone from ‘please help me with my child’s failing heart’ to ‘go stay the night at my apartment’. Anthony and I didn’t keep in touch. We really weren’t old friends. We’d had one amazing night together that had ended so badly I’d tried to block it from my mind.
