“He’s also smart enough to know it was a mistake to let you go,” Blake said. “I’m a man. Trust me, I can read other men fairly well.” Blake slowed the truck and flipped up the blinker. The ticktock filled the cab as he turned onto a narrow, winding back road. “He still wants you, and if he can find a way to have you both, he’ll try.”
She wrinkled her nose and shivered at the repulsive thought. “I wouldn’t give him another chance even if the Cheerleader was out of his life for good.”
Blake laughed, deep and loud. “The Cheerleader?”
She couldn’t stop a satisfied grin from spreading across her face. “Kimberly came up with the nickname.” Angelique shrugged. “If the pom-poms fit.”
He smiled, broad and full and contagious in the last hint of daylight. That smile, so authentic and pure that it made Angelique’s insides dance the rumba, her heart thrum, and she smiled so wide it made her cheeks hurt.
“Your description of her proves my point. He still wants the best of both worlds—you and his new fiancée. She’s safe and doesn’t challenge his inflated ego, and you’re . . .” He glanced at her, lust blazing to life in his sapphire eyes. “Well, you’re you.”
Her whole body grew hot.
What she ever saw in a man as self-absorbed and inconsiderate as Gabriel was a mystery to her now that she’d met Blake Holloway, who thought of everyone first and put himself dead last.
She studied his profile.
The Cheerleader and Gabriel deserved each other. The only thing they possessed that Angelique envied was the fact that the Cheerleader would feel the kick of an unborn child in her stomach, the sensation of a baby nursing at her breast, and she probably wouldn’t appreciate it the way Angelique would have if that part of her life hadn’t been ripped away.
“As for your Rottweiler personality,” Blake said, “there are other ways to put it to good use, you know.”
The moment of basking in his shower of compliments gone, she glowered at him. Rottweiler? That was barely a step above bottom dweller. “Is there a compliment in there somewhere?” She folded both arms across her chest. “Please tell me there is.”
He chuckled. “Relax. It is a compliment.”
A few miles down the isolated road, a community of lights appeared in the distance. He pointed to them. “That’s where we’re going.”
Angelique looked into the distance at the twinkling streetlights. “Where are we?”
“The small reservation where my dad and stepmom live. They’re expecting us.”
Angelique drew in a sharp breath. “You’re taking me to meet your parents?” Her hands went to her hair to smooth it. “You could’ve warned me.” She adjusted the black sweater she’d pulled on with her favorite jeans and fawn-colored UGG boots.
“You look fine.”
He turned left at a sign marking the reservation land and entered a small community of shabby adobe houses, some mere shacks. Maneuvering through the potholed dirt roads, he parked at a building labeled “Infirmary.” An aging Chevy Suburban and a few cars were parked out front, and the windows of the infirmary glowed with fluorescent lighting. Pushing the gearshift into park, he killed the engine.
He leaned over the console and took her hand, caressing the back of it with the pad of his thumb. “You could do amazing things with your skills in an area like this, Angelique. It wouldn’t be very lucrative, but some things are far more rewarding.”
His earthy scent filled her mind . . . and her heart, and at that moment her resolve was ready to crumble like a house of cards in a windstorm.
“I . . . I’m . . .” She swallowed. “I’m damaged goods.” She had no idea why she was spilling her most intimate fears and secrets, but she couldn’t stop. Her throat started to close, and she pulled her hand from his grasp. “I’m no good to anyone. My career is all I have left.” And the only thing she could completely give herself to without risk. Her future health was too uncertain, a relationship too much of a gamble. And even if she found a man who would be loyal, a man like Blake, it wouldn’t be fair to put him through that. “I won’t let anything”—she glanced away—“or anybody take that away from me.”
Blake sighed. Didn’t move. Just studied her through the dark. Waiting. She wasn’t sure for what, but he obviously had the patience of a saint because he didn’t falter. He just sat quietly, looking in her direction. Waiting for . . . something.
“Look,” Angelique said as she wrung her hands. “I owe you. A lot, actually, for playing along with my charade when Gabriel was in town. And for keeping my job a secret so the locals don’t make my time here difficult, and for my dog and the whole ridiculous panty thing, which you still haven’t given back to me, by the way. And . . . and . . .” And for the best sex I’ve ever had . . . will ever have. She rubbed her neck with the palm of her hand. “I don’t know why you brought me here.” Actually, she could make an educated guess, and it probably had something to do with playing her heartstrings like a violin. “But let’s just do this thing, and we’ll call it even, okay?”
The evening had grown completely dark, but the smile in Blake’s voice was clear as a sunny day in springtime. “I’ll give you your panties back, but it’s going to take a lot more than an evening drive to a poor village to make us even.”
She turned toward the door and reached for the handle.
“And, Angelique.” His voice had grown husky.
She turned back to him because, really, what woman in her right mind could resist the obvious desire that twined itself in every throaty syllable.
“You’re anything but damaged goods. I’m just not sure what else I can do to prove it to you except this.”
And just like that, he pulled her half across the console, scooped her into his arms, and laid the sweetest, dreamiest kiss on her lips.
Blake led Angelique into the decaying building he and his dad had converted into a clinic two years ago.
Angelique’s parents and Kimberly had unknowingly helped him initiate Operation Prod the Badass Attorney’s Conscience with enviable precision. Or maybe they did know because they seemed to do their best to push him and Angelique together. Even Sarge was making it difficult for Angelique to completely avoid Blake.
He circumvented the rudimentary front desk, Angelique following him into the treatment area.
“Hey, Dad.” Blake headed straight for his father.
His dad—early seventies, tall and slender like Blake, with gray wavy hair—was hunched at an old metal table, organizing vaccine syringes. His aging father turned affectionate eyes on him and stood to give Blake a hug. With a warm embrace, Blake gave him a slap on the back before releasing him.
“Thanks for coming, son. The measles outbreak has gotten worse, and a few cases of whooping cough showed up in a neighboring reservation. I’m trying to nip it before it spreads too far.”
“Anytime, you know that.” Blake stepped aside so Angelique wasn’t blocked from view. “Dad, this is Angelique Barbetta.”
She extended a hand with choppy movements, her steely self-confidence wavering.
“Nice to meet you, Dr. Holloway.”
The fluorescent overhead lights cast a yellow hue over the room, making it look even more dismal than it really was, but Angelique looked stunning. In any lighting, any clothing—even in creepy puppet slippers—or no clothing at all, Blake couldn’t get enough of her. She was like an addiction that had him totally hooked regardless of the consequences.
“Likewise,” said Blake’s quiet, introverted father as he clasped Angelique’s hand between his.
Ludy, his half-Hispanic, half-Native American stepmom, came out of the medical supply room and waved.
“Hey, Ludy.”
A little portly around the middle in her older age, Ludy shuffled over to hug Blake.
She looked at Angelique. “You brought new help this time.” Ludy patted him on the cheek. “Good boy.”
“Ludy, this is Angelique. She’s assisting me tonight.”
“Excellent,
I have a station set up for you back here.” She crooked a pudgy finger and led them to the back of the clinic.
Blake let Angelique go first, following close behind. Her intelligent eyes took in the desolate conditions as she scanned every inch of the clinic.
Bingo. A swell of satisfaction blossomed in his chest.
“The shuttle will be here with the first load of patients in a few minutes,” Ludy said over her shoulder. She led them into a makeshift exam station, one of several since the room was divided by mobile partitions instead of solid walls. A papered examination table sat catty-corner, ready for a new patient. A few chairs lined the walls, along with a desk, and a long table was already set up with boxes of vaccines and various medical supplies.
Blake withdrew his personal prescription pad from a pocket and tossed it on the desk.
“Each vaccine is in a different color box,” Ludy explained to Angelique, pointing to the portable cabinet pushed against one wall. Two rows of colorful boxes were lined up. Prefilled by the manufacturer, the syringes were tagged with the same color label as the box, so they were easily distinguishable.
Ludy walked to a row of cabinets across the room, grabbed two pairs of scrubs, and rejoined them at the station. “Here.” His stepmom handed one pair to Blake and one to Angelique.
Reluctantly, she reached for the worn blue hospital scrubs and shot a doubtful look at Blake. He gave her a slight nod and a reassuring blink of his eyes.
She took the scrubs.
“Thanks, Ludy.” Blake motioned for Angelique to follow him. “We’ll go change and be right back.”
Blake took Angelique’s elbow and led her down the hall to a back office. He closed and locked the door. Pulling his shirt over his head, he said, “The scrubs are sterile, and in case there’s a spill or a bleeder, your clothes won’t get ruined.” He tossed his shirt to the side and unbuttoned his pants. When he glanced at Angelique, her face had gone pale.
“What’s wrong?” He sat down on a chair to untie his hiking boots.
“There might be blood?” She swallowed hard.
He chuckled. “We’re just administering vaccines, not performing thoracic surgery. The blood will be miniscule, but it can get on your clothes if you’re not careful.”
With both boots off, he stood and unzipped his jeans. Angelique’s gaze followed their journey downward, and heat blazed to life in Blake’s chest. And his groin. He stopped the descent of his pants before revealing the incriminating evidence.
He motioned to the scrubs in her hand. “You have to change, too.”
“I . . . I’m not sure if I can help you with this.” She was still looking at his crotch.
“I’m pretty sure you can completely cure the problem I’ve got at the moment.”
Her gaze flew to his.
“But now isn’t the time.”
“I mean the vaccines!” Her face glowed a deep neon pink.
Sweet. Nope, pink definitely wasn’t tacky.
“I’m not a nurse.”
Blake shook his head. “You’re just going to hand me cotton swabs and alcohol and dispose of the used syringes when I’m done. That’s it. Nothing that requires a license.” He slid his jeans all the way off and laid them across a chair. Her eyes caressed over him and grew even darker, cloudier, as though she liked what she saw.
He pulled on the scrub bottoms and sat to put his boots back on, but she still just stood there. With both boots tied, he rested his elbows on his knees and frowned at her.
“What’s wrong?”
“I can’t change in front of you.”
He chuckled. And frankly, seeing her so vulnerable, so out of her element, so unable to control the unfamiliar situation was potent and heady. “I’ve seen every inch of you already, babe.”
Her hand went to her chest. “We were in the dark, so you really didn’t see me.” She twirled her index finger in a circle, indicating for him to turn around.
He sighed. “All right.” He stood, grabbed the scrub top, and turned to face the wall.
“Thanks. And don’t call me babe.”
“Why not?”
She hesitated. “Because I find it . . .”
A turn on?
“. . . disturbing.”
He blew out a laugh. After cinching the drawstring at his waist, he pulled the scrub top over his head and listened to the rustling of fabric against skin as Angelique undressed and pulled on the scrubs.
“Okay, I’m ready,” she said, and Blake turned around.
From her onyx eyes, shimmering with uncertainty, to her black silky hair, all the way to her red polished toenails, Blake had never seen another living soul make a pair of worn-out old scrubs look so unbelievably stunning.
“All I have is UGG boots.” She rolled one bare foot onto its side and sucked her bottom lip between her teeth.
“I’m sure Ludy has something you can borrow.” He jerked the door open and charged through it to start the night’s work. It was either that or kiss her senseless right there in the back room of his dad’s clinic.
The bolt of yearning lodged in Angelique’s chest somewhere in the vicinity of her thumping heart grew larger with each little patient. Ludy led a young mother and her small boy into the exam cubicle and handed a file to Blake. The two-year-old’s arms clasped around his mother’s neck, he held on for dear life.
Angelique would never have a child of her own, clinging to her for security. The sting of loneliness smoldering inside her rose a notch as the parade of needy children continued through the evening.
Angelique showed the mom where to sit, and the boy’s eyes rounded. He snuggled into his mother’s embrace as Blake read his file.
Blake hadn’t just played her heartstrings like a violin. He’d conducted them like an entire orchestra. How could she possibly help take Blake away from the people who needed him so much? And to rob Blake of the sheer joy he so obviously gleaned from volunteering here would be almost criminal. There was no recognition, no accolades, no news cameras around to splash his selfless efforts across the tabloids like a philanthropic celebrity. As far as she could see, Blake didn’t ask for anything in return. Not one thing.
“This little guy needs the green one,” Blake said to Angelique, indicating which vaccine. “Green like a dinosaur.” He growled and waved two mock claws in the air, his elbows drawn into his body like a T-Rex. The two-year-old giggled while Angelique retrieved the syringe and a swab and handed both to Blake. His fingers closed around hers as he took them from her, and even through both of their latex gloves, a jolt of electricity shot up her arm, zinged through her chest, and tingled in the far reaches of her female anatomy.
Seated on a wheeled stool, he looked up at her, his own fevered reaction apparent in his eyes. Angelique turned back to the cabinet to grab a box of rubber finger puppets, the prize for each kid after the trauma of getting needled in their tiny arms and tushies. She cringed and nearly cried every time one of the tiny patients squalled from the stinging stick of a needle.
“Sorry, little guy, but this is going to pinch a little.” Blake swabbed the little cherub-faced boy’s arm and glanced at his mother. “Ready, Mom?”
The boy’s mother squeezed her son close and cooed into his ear. She nodded to Blake.
Capturing a fleshy part of the boy’s chubby arm, Blake administered the vaccine, and the toddler let out a squeal. “Sorry, buddy,” Blake said, rubbing the red mark on his arm with the swab. “It’s all over now. And you know what? I hope I have a little boy just like you someday.”
Angelique bristled because he’d said the same thing several times tonight. Each declaration of his desire for children had driven a nail deeper into Angelique’s heart.
Blake gave the mother a consoling smile. “He may get irritable for a few days. Give him lots of liquids and no sugar until he feels better.”
“Here you go, sweetie,” Angelique said, putting the box of finger puppets in front of him. “Why don’t you pick out two, since you’ve b
een our best patient.”
Of course she’d said that to every one of the kids who came into the clinic tonight. How could she not? Each one had been cuter than the last and softened her heart a little more every minute she’d spent at the clinic. Watching Blake shower each little patient with adoration had turned up the heat on the block of ice that used to be her heart. By the time the sixth busload of impoverished children had come and gone, so much love and compassion pumped through Angelique’s heart she thought it would burst.
Tears shimmering in the little boy’s eyes, he picked yellow and blue rubber toys and clutched them in his tiny hands like gold. His mother left with her son hiccupping over her shoulder.
“That was the last patient.” His stepmom came in from the waiting room. Ludy hadn’t slowed down the entire evening, and fatigue lines showed around her eyes. She set two bags on a chair. “Here are your clothes. Go on home. You’ve done enough for one night.”
“Are you sure you don’t need help cleaning up?” Blake asked, tossing the last used syringe into a red biohazard can.
Ludy shook her head decisively. “Your father and I can manage.”
Blake’s dad appeared in the doorway of the makeshift treatment station. “We’ll take care of it. I’ve disrupted enough of your evening.”
The elder Dr. Holloway slid a white doctor’s coat off, and Ludy took it from him, the two communicating with nearly imperceptible body language and able to anticipate the other’s thoughts and actions. A toasty sense of contentment slid through Angelique, making her long for the same thing with . . . her gaze swiveled to Blake, and her lungs locked.
“Thanks for your help,” said Ludy, placing lids on the boxes of leftover vaccines.
“Hopefully, this will contain the outbreak.” Dr. Holloway gave Blake a bear hug. “Dinner in a few weeks at our house?” He looked at Angelique. “Bring Angelique with you.”
“I . . . well . . .” Angelique looked from Dr. Holloway to Ludy, their expectant stares dealing the final blow to her thawing heart, and it puddled at her feet. “I’ll try. Thank you for the invitation.”
Blake’s face lit with pride, and a seed of hope sprang up from the depths of Angelique’s soul. A seed she knew would be choked by the bitter weeds that had already taken root there because of the things she could never have.
It's in His Touch Page 17
