Going Down_A Sexy Romantic Comedy

by Katy Connor

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  Acknowledgments

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 by Katy Connor. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact authorkatyconnor@gmail.com.

  Cover art from Wander Book Club

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition April 2018

  To sexy drummers everywhere…

  1

  HOLLY

  There are three things I need this morning. A hot shower, a warm bed, and twelve hours of solid sleep. But the universe, which takes frequent delight in thwarting me, isn’t playing ball.

  It delivers on the hot shower but I’m now freezing my ass off in my apartment because the heating refuses to bend to my will. That’s going to make the sleeping bit impossible. The blinding fuzz of white outside my window confirms there’s still a blizzard going on out there.

  I’ll be a freaking popsicle after a few hours.

  I bang the clunky old radiator with a wrench a few more times, hoping for some kind of miracle. That’s how tired I am.

  “I should have got a job in California,” I tell the freezing metal. “There aren’t any blizzards in California. There’s sun and sand. And drinks with little umbrellas. But no…I chose the Rocky Mountains.” I smash the wrench against the radiator again. “For the skiing.”

  God. I’m so tired. I’ve been working all night and I just want to crawl into my bed, burrow under the covers, and not reappear until the blizzard blows itself out. Or I’m back on shift again in three days. Whatever comes first.

  But now I’m going to have to go downstairs and throw myself at the mercy of my building manager. Ordinarily I wouldn’t have a problem with taking my lack of heating to Bob. He was manager of the apartment block well before I moved in two years ago. He’s a nice old guy who can fix anything. Nothing’s too much bother for Bob and it’s sweet how he likes to talk about his grandkids.

  But Bob’s off visiting his daughter in Canada for six months and we’re stuck with a temp who’s Bob’s cousin’s grandson who is conveniently—or not, from my perspective—between apartments. Apart from their supernatural ability to fix things, there’s absolutely no family resemblance between Bob and Danny Colton. Where Bob is paunchy and moon-faced, Danny is ripped with a face that’s as chiseled as the rest of him.

  He’s also irritatingly cocky.

  The guy only has to look at me and I feel like a stammering teenager again. The kind with braces and no breasts. And he knows it. He has that smug smile that tells me he’s used to women’s brains melting down as he walks by. Which is especially irritating for someone like me, who prides herself on her brains and her cool.

  I’m an ER doctor, for crying out loud. I’m pretty goddamn smart. And you wouldn’t believe some of the shit that goes down at work that never ruffles a feather. But one slight up tilt of Danny the drummer’s mouth and bang!

  I drop a hundred IQ points.

  Yeah. He’s a drummer. Of course. Plays in a rock band by night, hibernates during the day, in between call-outs for leaky taps, broken appliances, and collecting the rent. Except for when he’s practicing. Which always seems to be the days I’m trying to sleep after a night shift.

  Always.

  I don’t know how many times I’ve had to pound on his door to tell him to shut up. He always does, but not before he’s answered the door looking like God’s gift to vaginas in jeans and nothing else but those tats and that stupid, sexy smile. It keeps me awake for freaking hours afterwards.

  I’ve lost a lot of sleep since Danny Colton came to stay. And lack of sleep makes me cranky. I’ve been cranky for two damn months.

  I’m really freaking cranky now.

  Throwing the wrench on the ground, I dash to my bedroom, resigned to my fate. But I have to bundle up first. We’ll no doubt end up in the basement and it’ll be subzero down there. My long johns might be just right for bed, but I’m going to need more layers.

  I climb into sweatpants and thick socks, shoving my feet in my Uggs as I pull a long-sleeved Henley over my head and follow it with a turtleneck sweater, then my puffy, navy blue jacket. Reaching for my pink knit beanie with the pom-pom on top, I pull it down to my ears, haphazardly shoving strands of my hair underneath. It’s not very fashionable but my grandmother knitted it for me and it’s warm.

  Finally, I yank the duvet off the bed and throw it around my shoulders like some kind of kick-ass cape. It’s down so it’ll keep me warm in the basement. Plus it totally hides my body which is a win/win as far as I’m concerned. I need some kind of shield against the way Danny looks at me.

  Like he wants to play doctor with me. The kind of doctor that would get me deregistered.

  Shutting my eyes against the temptation of that image, I stalk out of the bedroom. As I sweep past the coffee table, the bulk of the duvet brushes against the stack of study papers I have waiting for me when I wake. They fall to the floor.

  “Fabulous,” I mutter but keep walking. If the room was warmer I’d probably give a shit. I will later tonight when I have to get them all back into order again. But they are so not my priority at the moment.

  Getting this place warm is. And for that, I need Danny Colton. Damn it.

  As it always does, the number sixty-nine confronts me as I shuffle to Danny’s door. I guess it’s not his fault—this is Bob’s place, after all—and somebody has to be apartment sixty-nine. But it figures the guy who looks like he knows all the sexual positions in the Kama Sutra, and probably a few that aren’t, would end up here.

  Muffled music leaks around the door and for some reason it pisses me off. I’m tired and freezing my ass off, and he’s having a…house party. The thought he might be entertaining someone in there makes me even more irritated.

  I never get the chance to entertain. At twenty-seven, I have several years to go before I become an attending. I work eighty-hour weeks and study most of the rest of the time. I barely have time to eat and sleep, let alone anything remotely recreational.

  I can’t remember the last time I had sex.

  Hell, I can’t even remember the last time I was in the mood for sex. I’m bankrupt on time and drowning in student loan debt—there’s nothing groovy-sexy-times about that.

  My crankiness dials up another notch.

  Slipping my hand out from under all my layers, I knock on the door. The cool kiss of air on my fingers makes me grateful for the snugness of the duvet. The tip of my nose is cold, and I don’t have to look at it to know it’s red. The door remains stubbornly closed, and I grit my teeth and pound my fist against the wood.

  A beat passes. Then another. The door opens on a waft of warm air and Bruce Springsteen, and I’m looking up into eyes as warm and blue as tropical waters. Suddenly my vagina—yeah, I call body parts by their proper names, it’s a doctor thing—remembers exactly how long it’s been since it’s seen any action.

  Seven months, twenty-two days.

  And it hadn’t been very good. I remember I came home after to finish the job. The guy—a travelling medical rep—really could have done with reading an anatomy textbook or two.

  Danny’s laugh interrupts my walk down bad-sex lane. Deep dimples bracket either side of his mouth as his eyes ta
ke a tour of my Rudolph-nosed, Yeti-like appearance. I hunch into the duvet a little more, feeling about as attractive as the dirty slush being churned up outside by the snow ploughs.

  He, on the other hand, glows with warmth and vitality and sex appeal, stretching the shoulder seams of his t-shirt, soft denim hugging low on his hips and cupping every single thing south. His dirty blond hair is a little on the shaggy side, as is his beard. He has an earring and two studs in the right side of his nose which adds to his casual air. He looks so damn relaxed. He’s a tropical mirage, and I want to reach out and touch him just to see if he really does exist.

  His tour of my bulky form complete, he shoves his shoulder against the doorjamb and lazily raises an eyebrow. If the man was any more laid back, he’d be horizontal.

  “Doctor Vincent.”

  Danny says doctor the way most men say baby. It’s hot enough to make every single thing I have on at the moment mentally fall off my body in anticipation. I can only imagine how many groupies he must have. I bet my medical degree the man never has to go home and finish the job.

  My crankiness is fast approaching DEFCON level one.

  “My heat isn’t working.”

  His gaze flicks up and down my body again. His mouth quirks sexily for a second. “I figured.”

  I blink. Is that it? He figured? Did he think I was standing here dressed like the Abominable Snowman just to inform him of my current heating situation? Or lack of heating, as the case may be. A nerve jumps under my left eye, and I quell the urge to still it with my finger.

  “Look…I’m tired. I’ve worked all night and I’d like to go to sleep now but, in case you haven’t noticed, there’s a blizzard happening out there and my apartment is freezing, and I have no desire to die of hypothermia in my sleep.”

  He grins, flashing those dimples one more time. He actually grins. “You doctors.” He shakes his head and makes a tisking sound. “Always with the big words.”

  My nipples love that tisking sound. They’re under a billion layers of clothing and bedding yet still, they perk right on up as if his lips have tisked directly against them.

  Traitors.

  Annoyed at this development, I cross my arms. Not that Danny can possibly see their reaction to his teasing, but I haven’t entirely ruled out the possibility that the man has been gifted with x-ray vision along with his many other attributes.

  Either way, my erect nipples are none of his business.

  I smile sweetly. “I’ll try and keep my words to one syllable in future.”

  Not remotely insulted, the smile hovers on his lips. “It’ll probably be an easy fix.” He pushes off the doorjamb. “Come in.”

  Ordinarily, I would have stayed on his doorstep. A smart woman like me knows to keep the hell away from temptation, and Danny Colton is temptation wrapped up in glittery paper and tied in a big, red bow. But it’s warm in there and the corridor is cold, and I’m too tired to fight biology.

  I take a step into his apartment. It’s toasty, but I barely register it, bracing myself instead for the urge to strip off my clothes and demand that Danny do me—which in all honesty is my main concern about crossing his threshold. When it doesn’t happen, I relax. When I realize he’s disappeared somewhere, I relax a little more.

  Of course my nipples are still misbehaving. I tweak them under all those layers in an effort to settle them down. It doesn’t help. If anything, they get stiffer, and things stir high and deep between my legs like I’ve somehow just tweaked my own G spot.

  Great—I’m turning myself on. In the lair of a sex god. I must be really tired.

  “You stay here.”

  I startle as Danny reappears suddenly and pull my hands off my breasts in case he can see what’s happening beneath the duvet. He’s put on a hoodie, which he’s zipped up, and he’s carrying a large rectangular leather tool bag in one hand, which I know belongs to Bob.

  “I won’t be long,” he continues, oblivious to my turmoil. Or at least I hope he is.

  “Oh no.” I shake my head. “I’m coming with you.”

  “Doc.”

  My breath hitches. He hasn’t called me that before and man…it does funny things to my equilibrium. It shouldn’t. It’s not like I don’t get called it about a hundred times a shift, but it sounds like a cute nickname on his lips. And that’s all kinds of titillating.

  “I have to go to the basement.” He says it slowly, like maybe I’m the one out of us that needs small syllables. “It’ll be cold as a witch’s tit down there.”

  I blink at his profanity. I don’t use those kinds of words, myself. Usually. And it doesn’t offend me when it comes from others. Lord knows, I’ve been sworn at by patients too many times to count. It’s just that my mom always told me cussing was for people who had poor vocabularies.

  A shame she never told me what a huge turn-on it could be.

  “I know. Hence…” I look down my body to indicate the reason why I’m dressed as if I’m wearing every article of clothing in my closet is because of the basement. “If it’s a quick fix, then you can teach me how to do it. That way I won’t need to belt on your door every time my heating decides to go hinky.”

  No way do I want to rely on Danny freaking Colton any more than I have to. And why should I bother Bob in future if it’s something simple?

  “You want to get busy with my tools?”

  He’s laughing at me, but I refuse to rise to the bait. I have no doubt he can flummox me with sexual banter, especially given how tired I am, but he can’t if I don’t engage. “I’ve operated on people’s brains and hearts with highly complex surgical instruments.” I might be in the ER now, but I’ve done my surgical rotations. “I’m pretty sure I can handle a screwdriver.”

  He smiles bigger emphasizing the two flat studs in his nose. “Well, this I gotta see.”

  He indicates for me to precede him, and I sweep out of the room as regally as I can in my floral duvet and pink pom-pom beanie. The door clicks shut behind me as I turn in the direction of the stairs.

  “We have to take the elevator.” His voice stops me in my tracks. “The damp down there has rotted the wood in the stairs. I put my foot through one last night and nearly fell on my ass all the way down. I’ve taped them off. I’ll fix them as soon as the storm stops and I can go get the stuff.”

  Turning back in his direction, I try not to think about Danny down in the basement, shirtless, a tool belt slung low on his hips, getting all hot and sweaty, his tats caked in sawdust as he repairs the treads. His back view doesn’t help. His ass in those jeans is like something out of an anatomy textbook—two tight, taut buttocks—and I want to strip him of his jeans just to admire the musculature.

  A great set of glutes is a magnificent thing.

  I blink at the direction of my thoughts. What am I doing? Has my brain completely checked out? This isn’t the set of a porn film. I must be entering the delirious stage of sleep deprivation.

  I give myself a mental shake and drag my gaze off his ass, going wide-screen now. The ease of his swagger as he ambles down the corridor with his perfect glutes is suddenly irritating, and I remember the other thing I find irksome about him.

  The man never seems to be in a hurry to get anywhere.

  Like he has all the time in the world and the world will just wait for him, anyway. For someone who’s always busy, it’s really freaking annoying.

  There are never enough hours in my day to fit everything in. At work, there’s rarely a moment to recoup before the next thing comes along, even in the middle of the night. And if there is a weird lull, I fill it with paperwork. I eat on the run, see patients on the run, talk on the phone on the run.

  Hell, I rarely even get to go to the restroom. At least my pelvic floor benefits from that tragedy.

  Home’s no better. Sure, I get to go to the restroom there, but between late nights either at work or studying and long, long day shifts, there’s barely enough time to eat and sleep. And other recreational things like shopp
ing and reading and seeing my parents are hit-and-miss.

  Relationships? Sex? Maybe in another five years.

  So yeah…I really, really, really resent this guy for his sexy, what’s-your-rush-baby swagger.

  He halts at the elevator, and I shuffle past him to stand on the other side of the doors. The hallway is silent, its usual Monday morning buzz eerily absent. No one within the Hardrock city limits is going to work today. Everyone from the head honcho meteorologist to the police chief to the mayor has urged people to stay indoors until the blizzard blows over.

  The elevator dings and the doors slide open, and once again he indicates that I should precede him. It’s a large space—registered for twenty people—and I immediately stand in the furthest corner right at the back, my eyes fixed to the floor. It’s as clean as an OR in here. Given the weather, it’s probably not been used since the cleaning service came last night.

  Danny grins at me as he saunters inside and plants that ass against the wooden railing nearest the buttons. He’s obviously amused by my distance.

  It’s warm in here. Or maybe that’s just the heat flowing to my cheeks and buzzing through my thighs. He pushes the button that says B, turns his head to face me, and says, “Going down?”

  I cock a sarcastic eyebrow at his juvenile remark. At least, I hope it’s sarcastic. My body seems to have a mind of its own around him, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s a come-closer-and-say-that eyebrow.

  He smiles at my feigned indifference as the doors close, but holy moly…my head is full of images of going down.

  Of him going down on me. That beard rubbing against my thighs…

  Which is exactly what he wants, of course.

  The elevator shrinks suddenly, and he seems to fill it with his sheer physicality. I feel the pull of him from a few feet away and grip the handrail behind me to stop myself from edging closer.

  I watch the numbers tick down from six. So freaking slow.

  Five. Four. Three. Two—

  The elevator suddenly shudders to a stop, and the movement jolts through my knees. The lights go out and the alarm starts to ring as the emergency lighting flickers on. It’s subdued, but there’s enough of a glow so we’re not in total darkness. I press a hand to my chest to still my accelerating heart but it’s too late, it’s already in my throat.