by Cathryn Fox
Evan roared. “FUCK! Damn it.”
“Well,” Dylan said in disgust, “that’s a buzz kill.”
Lily glanced at Evan then Dylan and tried to smother a giggle.
His fury gone as quickly as her laugh, shaking his head, smiling, Evan stood to give her and Dylan a hand up.
Clearly reluctant to let her go, he wrapped her in her dressing gown and gave her a quick kiss.
“You’d better get going,” he said, before giving her a sharp swat on the butt to send her on her way.
She gave him a mock glare. “Why do you two always do that?”
“Because we like the feel of it,” Dylan answered, dressing quickly. “You’ve got a great ass.”
“Thank you,” she said, “I think.”
She gave them both a quick kiss back before they left Evan to change into his own clothes.
Dylan escorted her inside the building to her changing room, looking up at the magnificent façade of the new restaurant in satisfaction as they walked beneath it and through the broad bat-wing doors.
Behind them fans called her name.
Dylan knew she’d go outside to them when this was all over to sign autographs and pose for pictures as they hugged her while she smiled.
It was safe now he knew, but every time she did it, a part of him worried. He would always worry.
Once she was in the hands of makeup and wardrobe, he hurried off to get the show on the road, calling directions to his staff.
Watching on the monitor, Lily saw the camera close on the incredible lines of Evan’s face, the sheer beauty of it, his expression mischievous bordering on wicked as he smiled. Dressed as a riverboat gambler, the grin and the look suited him well, lending him a sexy piratical air.
“Welcome,” he said, “to a new venture for Cooking with Class. Our first restaurant in Las Vegas.”
With Taylor’s still under construction after the explosion had leveled it, they’d decided to move forward with another project, one that had been on the Evan’s back burner.
It took less time to renovate than rebuild so they’d bought a restaurant on the Strip.
His sweeping gesture took in the brass and the glass, the thick velvet draperies, the tassels, the flocked wallpaper and thick Victorian-style carpet, all reminiscent of a bygone era of the American West, with its gunfighters and gold rushes. That expansive gesture finished at the stair.
“Welcome,” Evan repeated as Lily appeared at the top on cue, wearing Victorian dress, but with her hair loose in deep styled waves, her lips painted a deep red, like an actress from that era.
The look suited her, as did the dress with its tight bodice pushing her breasts up, the narrow waist, the touch of a bustle.
She looked beautiful, elegant, incredible. There were times when Evan still couldn’t believe she was here, that she was his, his and Dylan’s.
Evan looked up and smiled. For a moment their eyes met. Her expression grew soft, her smile sweet and full of love.
In that moment he’d never loved her more.
He lifted his hand to her as she stepped gracefully down the stairs to take it.
“Welcome,” he said, “to Lily Cavanaugh’s.”
About the Author
As an old favorite author used to say “I’m five foot two, blonde-haired and blue eyed, the rest is subject to change without notice.” Currently Valerie is happily ensconced in the wilds of central Ohio farm country with two dogs, two cats and an African clawed frog for company as she writes. The frog doesn’t say much. You can contact her through her webpages:
http://www.valeriedouglasbooks.com
Other Novels by Valerie Douglas
The Coming Storm series:
The Coming Storm Elon of Aerilann, Elven advisor to the High King of Men, helped negotiate the treaty between his people, Dwarves and men. He suddenly finds that fragile truce threatened from without by an unknown enemy and from within by old hatreds and prejudice. With the aid of his true-friend Colath, the wizard Jareth, and the Elven archer Jalila, he searches for the source of the threat.
Ailith, Heir to the Kingdom of Riverford, fights her own silent battle. Her father has changed, but her quest to discover what changed him puts her life and very soul in danger, leaving her only one direction in which to turn. Elon.
To preserve the alliance, though, Elon will have to choose between duty and his Elven honor…
A Convocation of Kings – sequel to The Coming Storm. A shadow has fallen over the Kingdoms and once again Elon, Colath, Jareth and Jalila are called to answer it. One ally is lost, but another returns while a terrible tragedy nearly costs them a third. Now a member of the ruling Council, Elon of Aerilann and his companions, Colath, Jareth and Jalila are forced to fight for the Alliance they’ve given everything to preserve, even as a breath of hope is offered…
Not Magic Enough – For Delae, a lonely landholder on the edge of the Kingdoms, a frantic knock at the door on a stormy winter’s night brings more than a cry for help. After centuries of war Elves have little contact with the race of men, but Dorovan can’t bring himself to ride past those so obviously in need. One small act, with enormous consequences. Not Magic Enough is a tale of love and honor, duty and determination.
Setting Boundaries – After centuries of war an uneasy peace has finally been negotiated between Elves, Dwarves and Men, thanks to Elon of Aerilann, Elven councilor to the High King of Men. One final task yet remains, one final bone of contention – to set the boundaries between their lands. For journeyman wizard Jareth it’s the opportunity of a lifetime. What he doesn’t know is that the journey will test him to his limits and forge a friendship that will last for centuries.
Heart of the Gods – When archaeologist Ky Farrar starts in search of the ancient Tomb, he awakens its lethal, and lovely, guardian. Both quickly discover Ky isn’t the only one in search of the tomb and the danger to the world that lies within it. The key to which is the Heart of the Gods.
Servant of the Gods – A child of prophecy, she would bear many names. Born a peasant, she became a mercenary, was captured and enslaved, but rose to become a Priestess of Isis. As High Priestess she would face her greatest challenge yet and find a love that would last beyond time.
Song of the Fairy Queen – It’s said of Fairy that if you’re in dire need and you call their name they’ll come. With his castle under siege and young son in his arms, High King Oryan couldn’t be in more dire need. With only his High Marshal, Morgan, and a handful of Morgan’s men at his back, he has only one direction left to run…up. And only one ally to whom he can turn. Kyriay, the Queen of the Fairy.
Romance:
The Millersburg Quartet
Irish Fling – Ali was the smart one, but brains didn’t stop her from crashing and burning. A desire to connect with her roots takes her to Ireland and a chance meeting with internet mogul Aidan O’Connell. Even brilliant Ali with her nearly photographic memory doesn’t realize the danger lurking when she sees the wrong thing.
Dirty Politics – Returning to her hometown, practical Cam Kenyon discovers that teenage crush Noah Denton is running for D.A. When she discovers that his opponent is going to indulge in dirty politics, she throws her support to him, accidentally resurrecting an old enemy.
Director’s Cut – When bad-boy director Jack Tyler comes to town to rediscover his passion with the local community theater group, teacher and theater geek Molly has to decide whether to take a chance on him. When his past catches up with him and he seems to be returning to his old bad habits, she has to decide whether to fight his demons alongside him.
Two Up – Sculptor and welder Jesse was always the wild child, her only real family her three friends. A chance meeting with novelist Mitch Donovan gives her a chance to make a new life. For Mitch meeting Jesse gives him new inspiration, but that inspiration comes at a terrifying price.
Lucky Charm – When private investigator Matt Morrison’s best friend Bill is murdered, all evidence seems to point at his compan
y, but Matt’s every attempt at entry is thwarted. Violently. When pretty Ariel O’Donnell comes unexpectedly to his rescue, he resolves to keep her out of what is clearly a dangerous situation. Unfortunately, it seems that Ariel is already involved and the forces set in motion by Bill’s death are closing around her.
As V. J. Devereaux
Blood Bound
Magic Bound
Demon’s Kiss
Demon’s Embrace
Drake Restrained
S. E. Lund
Copyright © 2014 S. E. LUND
Dedication
Dedicated to Suzanne, my first editor and the first other writer to consider my writing seriously and offer an honest constructive critique. Without your critical eye and supportive words, I would never have seen both the potential in my work and where it needed improvement. You gave me the courage to continue writing despite difficulties in the early years. You will be missed.
R. I. P.
Acknowledgments
Thanks to my family and friends who supported me during the long hours when I would lock myself into my office with my computer jammed in my face, writing. Without your tolerance, my books would never have been written or finished, but my house would have been a lot cleaner! Many thanks to my editor Michelle Saunders for all her hard work – any remaining mistakes are all mine!
Chapter One
There are three things you should understand about neurosurgeons.
Huge balls. Laser-like focus. Hero Complex.
Cutting into the human skull to operate on the brain required nothing less.
I stood at the sinks in the anteroom outside the operating theater at New York Presbyterian, cleaning my knuckles with a scrub brush. My new neurosurgery resident, Stuart, stood beside me, the plain blue cap and scrubs, safety glasses and binoculars giving away little about his personality, but he was a neurosurgeon and that pretty much said it all.
This was our first real surgery together since he started and I was interested in watching him perform. He would do all the grunt work – the incision, sawing the bone to remove a piece of the skull, then sewing up after. I’d do the parts requiring greater finesse – mapping the location in the brain using the CT scanner, threading the electrode into the brain and adjusting the voltage, ensuring we had it in exactly the right place. I’d oversee it all to ensure he did it properly.
I turned to him and watched as he scrubbed in.
“My nurses tell me you’re one of the youngest neurosurgery residents at NYP.”
“Besides you, you mean?” he said and gave me a smile, which was visible only as a narrowing of his eyes over his surgical mask. “You were even younger than me when you did your residency.”
I nodded. “I graduated high school early and finished my undergrad in two and a half years.”
“You were one of the youngest medical students at Columbia ever. Even more ambitious than me.”
I laughed. “From the looks of your CV, you’re no slouch.”
I felt Stuart’s eyes on me. “You know the nurses call you Dr. D.”
I raised my eyebrows. After being at NYP for only a few days, Stuart felt secure enough in his status to bring up the OR nursing staff’s pet name for me.
“Dr. Delish, right?” I said, grinning. “I’ve heard it all.”
“Dr. Dangerous.”
I laughed at that. “I’m surprised its not Dr. Demon. You must have been talking to my ex-wife’s friends. They hate me.”
“Oh, take my word for it – these nurses did not seem to hate you. Not at all,” Stuart said, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “They seemed to see the dangerous moniker as a definite plus. There was a lot of snickering going on.” Stuart shook his head. “The ladies do love a bad boy.”
I shook my head. “That they do. But you know, bad boys are just really really good at making women feel a little wild.”
“Your dad was a legendary bad boy,” Stuart said as he ran clear water over his soapy arms. “Flying planes, playing in a band, parachuting. Shock-trauma surgeon at U of Maryland. You’re a lot like your father. The acorn really doesn’t fall far from the tree…”
“I’m not like my father,” I said, a bit too firmly. “And I’m not a bad boy. I’m a very good boy. Trust me. That’s just their very active imaginations.” I gave him a grin, holding up my hands and backing through the doors into the operating theatre.
Once inside, I was pleased that my favorite circulating nurse, Ellen, had my sixties music mix playing over the sound system. The nurses and technicians were moving their heads to the backbeat, which was such an important part of the British Invasion era music.
“On top of things, as usual,” I said to Ellen and saw her brown eyes widen behind her surgical mask.
“Was there ever any doubt?” She handed me a sterile towel. “You have me well trained.”
“There was never any doubt,” I replied. “And it’s the other way around, Ellen. You have me well trained.”
She laughed at that. “Whatever you say, Dr. D…”
Dr. D…
I was used to the friendly ribbing from the OR nurses I worked with on a regular basis. I never knew which moniker they meant by it. I hoped it was Delish. She winked at me, obviously having overheard Stuart and not Demon, but you never knew.
Inside the OR and in the halls of NYP, I was Dr. D, but outside, I was someone else entirely. Master D, to those who knew my secret life, a Dominant in Manhattan’s BDSM community, specializing in B&D – bondage and dominance. I made the mistake of becoming involved in a BDSM relationship with a nurse when I first entered the lifestyle five years earlier, and that had almost ended in disaster.
Never again.
From then on, I kept my two personas separate, never letting them meet. My career in neurosurgery at NYP relied on it.
A few selections from the Rolling Stones played over the speakers. I developed a love of all things 60s from my father, who was perhaps the biggest influence on my life despite the fact he did everything he could to avoid being a father. He died as he lived – fast and loose, his private plane crashing in the wilds of Africa while on a trip to Somalia doing work with Doctors Without Borders.
Everything I was I attributed to my father’s influence. No matter how I tried to escape him, I wasn’t successful but for one exception. My father thrived in chaos – first in a battlefield ER and then in a shock trauma ward back home. In contrast, I needed – demanded – complete calm and total control.
That need for control extended to all aspects of my life – my work, my home and sex. The only place I allowed less than perfect control was my choice of music, which was always loose and wild. Psychedelic rock. Jazz. Vintage Punk. Grunge Metal. Everything else in my life had to be precise, planned, laid out in writing and in triplicate, if possible.
Control was my thing. Dominance during sex was my kink.
My bondage closet would fascinate a shrink.
While Under My Thumb by the Stones played over the speakers, I considered Richard Graham, my patient with Parkinson’s Disease. My team and I would implant electrodes deep in his brain that sent out pulses of electricity to very specific structures responsible for motor control. The operation would require total concentration on my part and that of my team of surgeons and nurses, but it was that control and focus that I loved.
With Jagger singing in the background, my scrub nurse helped me gown and glove up. Once Stuart finished with his portion of the surgery, I approached the patient, examining the incisions before placing the electrodes.
“How are you, Mr. Graham?” I said, keeping my voice firm but warm to reassure him. He was sedated, semi-reclining, but conscious and responsive so we could make sure we didn’t damage any key areas of his brain.
“Great tunes,” Mr. Graham said. “You came through with the Stones.”
“Music relaxes patients. We do what we can to make this as stress-free as possible, considering that we have to keep you awake during the procedure.”
When I stimulated the section of the brain where the electrode has been placed, Mr. Graham’s hand stopped shaking completely. His head was imprisoned in a metal cage designed to keep him still, so he could barely see his hand, but he could feel it and his response was why I did my job.
“Holy Mary,” he said, his voice filled with awe. “Would you look at that…”
I smiled to myself, but didn’t allow too much time for celebration. One moment where I lost focus and Mr. Graham could bleed or lose function. The success of the procedure was all down to how much skill I had guiding the electrode into the very specific part of Mr. Graham’s brain that was responsible for motor movement. Even given my skill, there were still risks.
Fortunately, my concentration was above average and the electrode was in proper place. The pulses of electricity would stop the errant movement in Mr. Graham’s limbs. He’d be able to hold his own cup of coffee again, use his own spoon, fork and knife.
When Mr. Graham’s surgery was finished, I bent down to look him in the eye.
“Everything went really well,” I said, squeezing his shoulder. “As we discussed, you’ll still have the tremor until your surgical wound has healed, but once it has, you’ll come back in and we’ll activate the electrodes. You should be completely free of your tremor.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Mr. Graham said, tears in his eyes. “Thank you.”
I left the OR, removed my mask and gown and went directly to the waiting room to tell his wife and children about his surgery.
