Forbidden Touch: A Best Friends To Lovers Romance

by Iona Rose

  Through the rushing of my own blood that I can hear in my ears, I think I can hear something else. A siren. And it is getting closer. Please let it be real. Please don’t let it be a hallucination.

  My suspicion about the siren is confirmed when Jeremy curses and lets go of my throat. It is just in time. Large black globules have begun to float in front of my eyes and I think another ten seconds and I would have lost consciousness. Another thirty seconds or so and I might have been dead.

  I bend double, rubbing my hands over my throbbing neck and coughing and choking as I try to breathe through my agonising, bruised throat. Each breath brings blessed relief and at the same time, angry hot agony. It’s an odd mixture, one I don’t much care for, but the relief wins over the agony and I keep gasping.

  “You called the fucking cops on me?” Jeremy asks.

  Even in my current state I can’t help but notice that he sounds not only surprised but a little bit hurt too, like I am somehow the bad guy here. I shake my head quickly, ignoring the pain in my throat, and trying to keep the judgemental tone I want to use out of my voice.

  “You would have seen me on the phone if I’d called anyone,” I say.

  My voice is a little raspy but it doesn’t sound too bad. It is hard to believe that just seconds ago, I had really thought I was going to die. That Jeremy was going to crush my windpipe until I was dead.

  “It must be one of your neighbors. Nosey bastards never could mind their own businesses,” Jeremy says, again sounding like he is the victim here, being persecuted by my mean neighbors for no reason.

  The sirens are so close now that the police can only be a block or two away at most. Jeremy is going to have to make the choice between staying and tormenting me and then being arrested, or leaving while he still has a shot at getting away.

  Unfortunately for me, there is a third option for Jeremy. One I hadn’t thought of. His fist flies out, catching me unaware. It catches me square in my cheekbone, a stinging blow that makes me take a step back. My foot catches on something and I stumble. I feel myself going down, my arms pin wheeling, looking for something to grab but finding nothing.

  Jeremy has already turned and walked away from me, heading for the front door. I don’t see whether he gets away or not, because as I fall, my head collides with the broken coffee table and everything goes black.

  Chapter Two

  Aidan

  The ward seems to be particularly loud today as I make my rounds, checking on patient’s charts and making sure all of their vital statistics are good, prescribing medications and writing a few discharge notes. I have just finished up the last bed when a nurse came towards me.

  “Dr Miller, we have a new intake in room three. Would you mind taking a look at her?” she says.

  “Sure,” I agree. “What’s her story?”

  The nurse, Julie, looks down at a piece of paper she is carrying as we walk back down the corridor towards the private rooms at the end of the ward.

  “Female, estimated to be in her early to mid thirties. She came in through the emergency room. She’s unconscious but Dr Lowe from the emergency room is confident there is no skull fracture present after taking several x-rays. She has a bruise on her cheek bone and bruises around her neck consistent with being choked. An elderly neighbor heard commotion coming from her place so he called the police and when they arrived, they found the woman unconscious and her house trashed. The police called for an ambulance and she was brought here. The neighbor has told the police her name is Erika Hart and that’s all we know at this time. The police are on standby and we’re to call them when she wakes up and is up to being questioned about what happened to her,” Julie says.

  I blow out a low whistle.

  “It sounds like she’s been lucky to survive this. The police must have showed up at just the right moment to scare her attacker away,” I comment. “Either that or they thought they had finished the job and left her for dead.”

  Julie nods her head.

  “Yeah. Judging by the woman’s neck, whoever did this to her meant business,” she agrees.

  We reach the room and I knock, just a habit really as I know the woman is unconscious. I open the door a crack and I hear a shrill alarm ringing out from the direction of the nurse’s station. Julie glances down the corridor at the flashing red light indicating a patient is calling for assistance and then she glances at me.

  “Go,” I say to her. “I’ve got this.”

  She flashes me a grateful smile and hurries off to attend to whoever needs her. I push the door to the patient’s room open a little further and step in. I move towards the bed as the door slowly closes behind me. I pick up the patient’s chart and glance over it. It confirms everything Julie has just told me and nothing more. I didn’t doubt that would be the case. Julie has been a nurse for a long time, and I swear she knows more about medicine than I do and she would never leave out an important detail on a patient’s background when they’re a new admission.

  I glance up at the patient. She’s laid on her back. A sheet is pulled up to her chest, her hands neatly folded on top of it. She’s wearing a pink hospital gown. Her eyes are closed, her long eyelashes laid on her cheeks. I am meant to be looking at her neck, but I can’t tear my eyes away from her face for a moment. This woman is gorgeous. Even the bruise on her cheekbone does nothing to diminish from her beauty. In fact, it makes her look vulnerable which somehow makes her even more attractive.

  Her skin is pale and her long wavy hair is a natural looking red colour. Other than the bruise on her cheekbone, her face is unblemished, perfect. When I finally manage to tear my eyes away from the woman’s face, I step closer and begin to look over her neck. The sight of the bruises there, obvious finger marks, make me feel sick. I am over whelmed with a feeling of protectiveness for her, and I know if her attacker was before me right now, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from punching him. I swallow down my anger and gently put my hands on either side of the woman’s neck, feeling for anything out of the ordinary. It all feels normal enough and I ignore the way her skin feels warm and delicious underneath my touch. I ignore the way it makes me feel like my hands are tingling. And I definitely ignore the way it makes my cock pulse with desire.

  The woman makes a low moaning sound and her face screws up slightly as I probe at her injured neck. I take some of the pressure off, but I don’t move my hands away fully; not yet. The woman’s eyes open and I find myself looking into emerald green eyes, eyes so bright and vibrant that I want to look into them forever. She smiles at me and her beautiful eyes sparkle as she looks back into my eyes. I return her smile and we just stay that way for a moment, looking at each other.

  “Who are you?” the woman whispers after a moment.

  Her voice, her words, pull me out of this stupor I have found myself in and I straighten up, taking my hands from the woman’s neck. Somehow, I miss the feel of her skin. I clear my throat, a little embarrassed that I have let myself act like this around a patient. At least her question didn’t sound like she is afraid of me. Instead, she sounded curious, relaxed, like maybe she knew she could trust me. I tell myself I’m being silly and I smile at the woman.

  “My name is Dr Miller,” I say. “You’re at Claremont Hospital. Do you remember what happened to you?”

  “I … No,” she says, screwing her face up slightly as she tries to remember.

  She starts to push herself into a sitting position and I put my hand on her shoulder, gently holding her in place. I feel sparks running through my hand and up my arm where I touch her. She makes a soft gasping sound at my touch and I dare to let myself think that maybe she felt it too.

  “Don’t try to sit up just yet,” I say with a smile, ignoring the sensation touching her gives me. “You were unconscious. I just need to check for a concussion.”

  I pull a little torch from the pocket of my white coat and shine it in each of her eyes in turn. The light picks up flecks of gold in the green and I feel my insides stirring
, desire flooding me. I force myself to ignore the feelings, concentrating on her pupils. They dilate normally and I smile at her, putting the torch away.

  “Your reaction times are fine,” I smile. “And I would say it’s unlikely you have a concussion, but we’ll keep you in for a while just to be on the safe side. If you start to feel sick or dizzy, let a nurse know immediately.”

  She nods her head and I sit down on a chair I pull up to the side of her bed.

  “What’s your name?” I ask.

  “Erika. Erika Hart,” she says.

  That’s a good sign. She knows who she is. I run through the address details, the date of birth, and the medical history the system had linked to the tentative ID we had been given and everything matches what is on the chart. It doesn’t seem like she’s any the worse for wear for the bang she’s taken on her head. The small cut she sustained has already been stitched and I’m confident that’s the only damage that’s been done to her head.

  I run through a few more questions. What year it is, who is the president of the United States. I ask her where she went on her last holiday and she smiles at me.

  “Greece. But how will you know if that’s correct or not?” she asks.

  “I don’t,” I confess. “But it’s a test to see if you can answer questions quickly or if you have to really think about the answers.”

  “So what’s the verdict? Am I broken?” she asks.

  “Nope. You’re as good as new,” I say.

  She blushes slightly and I feel my heart skip a beat. I can’t let myself be attracted to this woman. It’s unprofessional and she’s been through enough without me coming on to her. I stand up and smile at her.

  “One of the nurses will be along shortly to give you some pain meds for your neck. There doesn’t seem to be any real damage done, but it will be sore for a few days until the swelling goes down,” I say.

  I head for the door.

  “Dr Miller?” Erika says from behind me. She sounds unsure of herself suddenly and when I turn back to her, I see the fear on her face. “What happened to me? And why can’t I remember it?”

  I go back to the chair beside her bed. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to be the one to have this conversation with her. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to be the one to tell her that some monster had attacked her in her own home. But I can’t bring myself to walk away from that pleading tone, the scared looking eyes.

  “Call me Aidan,” I say, something I always tell my patients. Dr Miller sounds so formal and patients are much more likely to open up to me in a less formal setting. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

  She thinks for a minute and then she nods slowly.

  “I was meant to be going out on Saturday night. It is still Saturday right?” she says.

  I nod my head.

  “Yeah. Six o’clock Saturday night,” I say.

  “Right. I was meant to be going out with my best friend. I think it was about four, but I decided to start getting ready. More to pass the time than anything else really. I remember someone knocking on my door. And the next thing I remember is this,” she says. “Was Jennifer early? Did we go out somewhere and have an accident? Is she ok Dr Mill … Aidan?”

  Erika’s voice is starting to sound panic filled and I shush her before she can work herself up into a frenzy.

  “Your friend wasn’t with you,” I say quickly. “We don’t know who was at your door, but one of your neighbors called the police because he heard a commotion coming from your place. When the police got there, they found you unconscious and the room around you trashed.”

  “Someone did this to me?” Erika says, her eyes opening wider.

  “Yes. I’m sorry,” I say.

  “Who? Why?” she asks.

  I wish I could take the fear out of her and make her feel like everything is going to be ok. Instead, I have to settle on the truth.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “But the police want to come and talk to you and I’m sure they’ll get to the bottom of it all.”

  I wasn’t sure of that at all. How could they have any hope of finding out the truth about who had attacked her when Erika had no memory of what had happened?

  “I definitely want to talk to them,” Erika says. “But I don’t know what I’ll be able to tell them. They probably know more about this whole thing than I do.”

  “Maybe something they say will trigger something,” I say, not really believing it but wanting to. Whoever did this to Erika needs to be caught and locked away.

  “Why don’t I remember the attack?” she asks.

  “It could be one of two things,” I say. “Either your mind has blanked out whatever happened because it’s too traumatising to remember. Or it could be a short term memory loss brought on by your head wound.”

  “But the memory will come back right?” Erika says.

  “It could,” I say. “But there’s no guarantee it will. The odds are around fifty fifty.”

  “Ok. Thank you,” she says with a smile.

  I know she’s not really thanking me. I haven’t told her what she wanted to hear at all. But it’s the thing most patients say to doctors at some point, even when they’re getting bad news. I smile and stand up again.

  “If you’re sure you’re feeling up to it, I’ll call the police and tell them you’re ready for them,” I say.

  Erika smiles and nods.

  “Will you call Jennifer too please? My best friend? She’ll be so worried if she gets to my place and sees the mess and I’m not there,” Erika adds.

  “Of course,” I say. I hand her a notepad out of my pocket and give her my pen. “Just write her number down on there.”

  Erika takes the pen and paper and flashes me a quick smile and then she scribbles down Jennifer’s number.

  “Has anyone called my parents do you know?” she asks.

  I shake my head. Presumably we do not have any contact info given that we had little ID on her. If they had, it would have been in her chart.

  “We like to get a positive ID from the police on people in these circumstances before we call their next of kin. Your neighbor told the police your name and they matched it to the address you were collected from, but we would have needed to be certain before we called anyone. I see we don’t have a number contact for any family yet. If you want to jot the number down I’ll call them now for you,” I say.

  “No,” she says quickly. She smiles again. “Ok, that made it sound like we have some deep, dirty family history didn’t it?”

  “A little,” I laugh.

  “My parents live in Argentina. And that call would do nothing but worry them. They’d insist on flying out here and no amount of me telling them I was fine would stop them. I’m thirty four, not twelve, and while I appreciate that they would only be doing it because they care, there’s nothing they could do really and I’m ok,” Erika explains.

  She’s thirty four. Her date of birth told me that much of course, but looking at her face, I find it hard to believe all the same. There are no fine lines, no crinkles around her eyes or mouth. If I had had to guess her age, I would have said she was no older than twenty seven.

  “Well at thirty four, I’d say you’re old enough to make that decision for yourself. Let me just make a note in your chart so no one else notices they haven’t been called yet and wants to make the call.”

  I hold my hand out and she looks at me, confused for a moment, and then she realizes she still has my pen. She gives me it along with Jennifer’s number and her fingers brush mine as she does. Her cheeks flush slightly and she looks away from me quickly. She’s definitely feeling the same spark I am feeling, but it doesn’t matter. She’s my patient.

  Nothing can happen between us.

  * * *

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