It's in His Touch

by Shelly Alexander

  Chapter Fifteen

  Angelique spent most of the drive home deep in thought about the clinic, the people who needed Blake, especially the kids. They pulled up in back of Angelique’s cabin. The back porch light cast a glow over the back side of the house.

  “I’ll walk you to the door.” Blake slid the gearshift into park and killed the engine.

  She grabbed his forearm and held him in place.

  “How is the clinic funded?” It was the first time she’d been able to speak since leaving the reservation. Completely overwhelmed by the selfless compassion Blake and his family showed to the children of a poor, obscure community long forgotten by . . . well, everyone, had rendered her speechless—a rare occurrence indeed. Angelique’s mind had raced at warp speed during the ride home, searching for words of praise, but everything seemed too shallow. And hypocritical.

  Blake sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “There’s no short answer.”

  “I want to know,” she murmured. “And now is the best time.” It’s your last chance to state your case before I make ground meat out of your lawyer tomorrow. And this might very well be the last night Blake would be willing to speak to her at all. Angelique found herself hoping Blake could change her mind. There was nothing she could do to stop the development company, even if she resigned from the case, but at least she wouldn’t have it on her conscience.

  Her gaze raked over the beautiful man behind the wheel. Maybe she’d have Blake Holloway.

  “Then I’m going to need a beer.” Blake gave her a half smile. “Would your parents mind?”

  “They went back to Albuquerque. Nona had a doctor’s appointment.” She reached for the door handle. “It’s my cabin, anyway. I don’t have to ask their permission.”

  They grabbed their bags of clothes from the backseat and let Sarge out. He shuffled outside, took care of business, and promptly trotted in carrying a stick between his teeth. Blake stood at the bar, and Sarge dropped the stick at his feet.

  “Sorry, buddy, no playing fetch in the house.” Blake bent to scratch Sarge’s head.

  Angelique retrieved two beer bottles from the fridge and shut it with a foot. “At least it’s not my—” She snapped her mouth shut, her cheeks burning. She found a bottle opener in a kitchen drawer and popped the tops.

  Coming around the bar, she headed into the den and turned on a lamp. Blake followed her, and she handed him a bottle. They sank into the plush leather sofa, both exhausted from the long night’s work at the clinic.

  “Cheers.” She held out her bottle, and Blake bumped longnecks with her before drawing on the icy contents.

  “Want a fire?” Blake asked. “I could build one.”

  Without a word, Angelique grabbed the remote off the side table, pointed it at the fireplace, and clicked a button. A gorgeous crackling fire instantly appeared.

  Blake threw his head back and laughed. “You’re such a city girl.”

  “Hey, I drive a four-wheel-drive SUV,” she said defensively, but really, she couldn’t disagree with him.

  He gave her a sidelong look. “It’s a Lexus.”

  “My firm wanted me to have convenience.” She shrugged.

  Blake looked around. “They must’ve wanted you to have luxury, too. This place isn’t your average weekend cabin. It’s a house that could be lived in year-round.”

  “So is yours.” She drew on her beer, the tension in her shoulders releasing a little more with each drink. “It’s just older than this one.”

  “It’s good for a bachelor like me, but when I have a family, it won’t be big enough.”

  She tensed. Stared at her bottle, mesmerized by the opaque brown glass. Of course he wanted a family. Kids. Something she could never give him.

  “Did I say something wrong?” He tilted his head, trying to get her to look at him.

  She shook her head, unable to force a smile. “No. Not at all.” No, wanting a family was perfectly understandable. The role of family man would fit him, and he’d probably slide right into it like a tailor-made suit once he found the right woman. A woman who wasn’t a walking health hazard with a malformed genetic code.

  He studied her for a moment. Pulled on his bottle of beer again and swallowed. “The clinic is funded by a federal grant.”

  Her head swiveled toward him.

  He lifted a shoulder. “You wanted to know, so I’m telling you. The meds and supplies are paid for by the grant. Most of the tribes are reclusive. They won’t travel too far off the reservation for help, so we bring help to them.”

  “So your dad and Ludy survive on their retirement savings?”

  He nodded. “A modest retirement. Practicing in a small town like Red River is more of a calling than just a profession. It pays enough to live a decent life, maybe even provide for some extra luxury items. My dad put enough retirement away over the years to be moderately comfortable, but he’s by no means wealthy. That’s why I took out loans to pay my own way through med school.”

  Her eyes flew wide. Her parents had footed the bill for everything. She walked out of UNM law school without a single debt. That was a big part of the reason she worked so hard at her job, to show her parents some gratitude and not take their help for granted.

  “Dad offered to help with the costs, but I wouldn’t accept it.” He took another gulp of beer, set the bottle on the table, and slumped down into the posh leather to stare into the fire.

  “And if your current office . . . ceases to exist?”

  “The developers are offering us a fraction of what our businesses are worth. The amount won’t even cover the loan I took out to pay for the building and update the practice when I bought it. I won’t have the capital to open up somewhere else in town, plus I’ve still got student loans. I’ll be forced to move back to a big city where I can make some real money. I’ll be miserable, but at least I’ll be able to pay off my debts without declaring bankruptcy like most of the other business owners who are caught in the web. When the bank calls in their small business loans, most of Red River will fold. It was a brilliant plan by the developers, actually. And it’s working like a charm. The modicum of resistance we’ve been able to cultivate stands little chance against them. It’s a David and Goliath scenario.”

  “David won, remember?” She wasn’t sure why she said it, but it just slipped out, and Blake turned a surprised look on her.

  “And the clinic? How will all of this affect your dad’s free clinic?” Angelique dreaded the answer because she was pretty sure she already knew what would become of it. The tip of a very sharp invisible knife hovered at her chest.

  He drew in a heavy sigh and folded one arm behind his head, his free hand resting on a muscled thigh. “The grant was based on both Dad and I offering our medical services. Volunteers are hard to come by anyway, so with me gone, he’ll likely lose the grant.”

  The knife penetrated, sinking into her chest with a twist. “I’m . . . I’m sorry.”

  His head rolled to the side, and his blue eyes stared into hers. He reached for her cheek and caressed it. His tender touch sent a shiver racing over her as his skilled fingers traced down her neck to outline her collarbone.

  “Are you?” he murmured.

  His touch quickened her breath. And those eyes. Those eyes made her heart skitter and skip. She nodded as his thumb found her lips and traced them. “Yes, I really am.”

  And right in that moment, just this one last time, she wanted to be with him. Wanted him to transform her into a whole woman again with his sweet lovemaking. Just once more she wanted to feel him against her, in her, rocking her world.

  His thumb made another circle around her lips, then rested on the bottom. She pulled the tip into her mouth and suckled.

  A faint groan whispered through his lips. He laced a hand behind her neck and pulled her on top of him so she straddled his hips. His hardness pressed between her legs, and every bit of air squeezed from her lungs. Instinctively, she moved against him. Her insides liquefied as
the friction of their hips moving in unison built to a seething volcano at her core and wrung a desperate gasp from her.

  He pulled her mouth to his, but she pushed against his chest so their noses brushed.

  “This is a bad idea.” She swallowed, trying to convince herself more than him. “I’m crossing some unprofessional boundaries.”

  “Then let them get another attorney,” Blake whispered against her mouth.

  “It won’t matter. The next attorney will win, too.”

  “We’ll worry about that tomorrow.” He pulled Angelique into him and consumed her mouth with his.

  She opened for him, and his tongue stroked over hers. Soft like velvet, but strong enough to crush her willpower into dust. Her fingers laced into his hair and pulled his head back, exposing his neck. Her mouth left his probing tongue, and she feathered kisses across his jawline to his ear. A nibble and a suckle of his earlobe made a guttural sound escape just before he sucked in a sharp breath.

  One of his hands slid under her scrub top, kneading up her spine. The other cupped her butt and pulled her tighter against his hardness. They both let out a startled gasp.

  Mouth open, breath ragged, she stared down at him.

  “That’s what you do to me.” His words came out as a low growl. “Every time I see you, I want to take your clothes off and make love to you so hard and so long that you’ll never want another man but me.”

  She wanted to say that there was no other man for her except him, but then his mouth was on hers again, his tongue commanding hers, his hands owning her body. His mouth dropped to her neck, and she wrapped both arms around him. Clutched him to her so the moment would be etched into her memory. So the feel of him would be imprinted on her mind forever. He covered her pebbled flesh with hot, wet kisses until she gave in to the power of his touch and let out a hushed sob of pleasure. He smiled against the sensitive skin where her neck met her shoulder.

  Grabbing for his scrub top, she tried to pull it over his head. Impatient and desperate to touch him, she reached for the drawstring around his waist. He laughed and held her hand still.

  “We need to shower first.”

  Her brow furrowed, her breathing heavy with desire.

  “We’ve been seeing patients. It’s more hygienic if we wash off.” Grabbing her by the hips, he stood her on both feet and took her hand. “Where’s your room?”

  She pointed to the loft. “I . . . You go first.”

  With a shake of his head, he pulled her against him. “I was hoping we could shower together.”

  Resting her head against his shoulder, she stared into the fire. “Can the lights be off?” Her voice cracked, and her words sounded meek. She hated meek. It was just a more polite way of saying weak.

  He stroked her hair and placed a gentle kiss into it. “If you want, but I’ve got a better idea.”

  She listened to the strum of his heartbeat under her ear. It soothed and steadied her.

  “Do you trust me?” he murmured.

  She did. Her head bobbed up and down. “I shouldn’t. Not after the way you’ve used my panties against me, but I do.”

  “Then let’s go upstairs.”

  Blake took off his scrub shirt and laid it on a chair by the fireplace in Angelique’s room. Her master suite consumed the entire loft. A large seating area in front of a gas log fireplace—he stifled an eye roll—gigantic king-size bed, and a bathroom almost as big as his den.

  Steam and the scent of vanilla began to filter from the bathroom, where he’d instructed Angelique to get in the shower and turn toward the wall before he got in. He blew out a breath. She was so beautiful. So damn beautiful that it hurt to look at her sometimes, especially when he couldn’t touch her. That she was still so self-conscious about her body made his chest ache.

  A few of Blake’s patients had gone through breast cancer. They’d dealt with the fear that it would reoccur, the self-image doubts it created in a woman’s psyche. Some suffered problems with intimacy afterward, most struggled in some way or another for a time. A small percentage never recovered emotionally. It had to be all the more difficult for a young, beautiful woman like Angelique who still had so much life left to experience.

  Sitting on the loveseat, he tugged off his boots and socks, then stood to pull off the rest of his clothes.

  Her ex had probably made the mental battle even harder by screwing a girl who was barely legal while Angelique was sick. Blake raked a hand over his face. Gabriel was the rubber boob, not Angelique. Blake’s stomach knotted every time he thought of her going back to Albuquerque to work for a guy who had treated her worse than the dirt he wiped off his expensive Italian shoes.

  She was young, smart, the toughest woman he’d ever met, and the most beautiful. And the only woman he’d ever wanted to beg to stay with him. He just had to get her to see how special she was.

  He walked to the fireplace and flicked the switch next to it. Voilà, a picturesque fire instantly appeared behind the glass. He chuckled and headed into the bathroom.

  Flickering candles were scattered around the bathroom in asymmetrical groups, yet each seemed in its perfect place—talent only creative women and gay men possessed. The overhead lights were turned off, but the candles cast a warm glow through the bathroom and shadows danced on the tiled walls. A corner tub with jets looked as though it’d never been used. That would be remedied soon, if he had anything to say about it.

  Two plush brown bath towels sat on an ornate brass stool next to the shower door, perfectly folded. He stepped over to the shower and placed a handful of gold squares on top of the towels.

  “Can I come in?”

  “Yes,” she said in a small voice, but it still echoed off the shower walls.

  He pulled the frosted glass door open, and the sight took his breath away. Her back to him, she washed the last shampoo suds from her long black hair. Water cascaded over a defined yet feminine back that angled into a slender waist, dimples appearing just above her shapely bottom. The remnants of suds mingled with water cascaded down long, graceful legs. A thin gold chain adorned one ankle, and he wanted to lick the water droplets from every inch of her body. From the red tips of her flushed ears, all the way down to her polished toes.

  He pulled in a jagged breath and stepped into the shower.

  His broad shoulders blocked the steamy water, and a shiver raced over her, her skin pebbling.

  “Come here.” He laced one arm around her waist, the other around her collarbone to caress the opposite shoulder, and pulled her back against him.

  “Oh!” She sucked in a breath when the evidence of his arousal nudged her from behind.

  He smiled against her ear.

  He angled their bodies so the water reached over his shoulder and cascaded down her front, and she warmed against him yet still quivered. Anticipation mingled with uncertainty flowed off her in pulsing waves.

  He held her close, stroking her shoulder and the flesh just below her belly button. Coaxed her body into following his in a gentle, rhythmic sway as the water heated their skin and soothed their senses. Finally, the tension in her body slacked, and she relaxed into him.

  “You’re so sweet, Blake.” Her voice shook, and he peeked around to find a tear trekking down her already wet cheek.

  “Hey, what’s wrong?” He nuzzled the side of her neck. “I may not have sexual superpowers, but I’ve never brought a woman to tears either.”

  She didn’t laugh. “Be serious.” This time a small sob escaped. “I don’t cry.” She sniffed. “I’m not a crier.”

  “Uh-huh, so you’re not crying, but tell me what’s making you not cry. We’re standing in the shower naked together—I think it’s okay to share.”

  She took in a deep, ragged breath, both her hands covering his. “After the mastectomies, Gabriel couldn’t stomach . . . intimacy with me. He avoided me at bedtime, left the room when I got undressed, never came into the bathroom when I showered. When I was feeling better and was done with most of the r
econstruction, I tried to . . . entice him. He . . .” Her voice cracked.

  “Shh, babe,” Blake whispered into her hair. “He’s not worth it.”

  “No, you wanted to hear this. And it’s not really about him. I mean it is, but it’s not. Shit.” She swiped under her eyes.

  Blake kept the gentle sway of their bodies going, one arm still draped around her collarbone, the other around her abdomen. “I’m listening,” he said. A gentle sob rippled through her, and she trembled against him.

  He wished the hot water could wash away every bit of damage the illness and the idiot ex had inflicted on her mind and body. Unfortunately, he knew healing that kind of wound wasn’t so simple. Now she was finally talking, opening up about the hurt and pain of her circumstances, and he wanted her to pour out her fears, her worries, so he could help carry them. Then he planned to make love to her half of the night, and spend the other half with her wrapped in his arms.

  “When he touched me that night, he looked like he might be sick. He couldn’t even get it . . . well, you know, he couldn’t perform.”

  Blake tightened his hold around her.

  “The next week I went back to work. One night I forgot some files and stopped by the office late at night. I walked in on him and the Cheerleader. Trust me when I say he had no problems getting it up with her. It was just me who he found repulsive.”

  Blake’s stomach pitched at how much that must’ve hurt. How it must’ve shattered her already fragile self-image and been a setback to the emotional recovery a person goes through after a tragic illness.

  His fingers caressed down her belly and stopped just above the curls. “There’s not an ounce of repulsiveness in your beautiful Italian body. You’re a knockout.” He pulled her against his swollen member. “He didn’t deserve you.”

  Instinct took over, and Angelique’s bottom rubbed against him. He groaned, his erection throbbing against her backside. The curve of her ear flushed as he showered it with wet, suckling kisses, and her fevered skin burned his lips.