Her Cocky Doctors (A MFM Menage Romance) (The Cocky Series Book 1)

by Tara Crescent

  The clinic doesn’t open until six, but the doctors had assured us that their assistant Rhonda would be there at five. It’s ten after, so we knock on the front door.

  “Coming,” a voice yells out, and a curly-haired redhead opens the door and surveys us skeptically. “You must be the replacement doctors,” she says. “I’m Rhonda. Come on in.”

  We walk in and look around. The place isn’t large. There’s a small waiting area with half-dozen plastic chairs and a stack of out-of-date magazines on a side table. “There are two examination rooms through that door,” Rhonda explains.

  “Just two?” That’s odd. Even in single-doctor practices, there are usually three examination rooms.

  “Well,” she replies evasively, “it’s a small town. People like their privacy.”

  I exchange a look with Blake. The doctors had been nervous and twitchy on Sunday, too eager to get out of town to hand over their practice properly. Now, Rhonda’s refusing to meet our eyes. Something’s definitely up.

  “You’re not from Goat, are you?” Blake asks the assistant. “I’ve never seen you around before.”

  She shakes her head. “I moved for the job. I’ve been with Dr. Swanson and Dr. Rhodes for almost eight years.”

  “How do you like Goat?”

  “It’s okay.”

  Blake’s trying to get her talking, but he’s not having much luck. I shrug inwardly. I’m sure we’ll find out what’s going on in due time. “Since we have some time now, why don’t we look around before we get busy?”

  “Umm,” the red-haired assistant interjects. “You’re not really busy. There are just three patients scheduled tonight.”

  Blake lifts his head and gives her an incredulous look. “The whole evening?” he asks, astonished. “Why on Earth did Dr. Swanson and Dr. Rhodes want both of us? Either Declan or I could have handled this on our own.”

  “I’m just the assistant,” she replies.

  Not really. If she’s been with the doctors for eight years, she more or less runs the place. I’m prepared to bet that she knows exactly why Swanson and Rhodes were in such a hurry to go on vacation, and she knows why the clinic has almost no appointments scheduled.

  She’s hiding things from us. Sooner or later, I intend to get at the truth.

  Two hours later, I’m going out of my mind with boredom when the door swings open, and a blonde woman walks in.

  She looks like she’s in her early forties. Her makeup is carefully applied, and she’s wearing a pair of skin-tight leopard-print pants and a black tank-top.

  Rhonda goes pale when she sees the woman. “Ms. Herman,” she says nervously. “What are you doing here? You don’t have an appointment.”

  “Where are they?” she demands. “I paid for ten sessions in advance, and now I hear they’re not around.” She looks up and meets my eyes and her expression changes from annoyance to interest. “Are you the substitute doctor?”

  Blake’s lips twitch. “He is,” he replies, cheerfully throwing me under the bus. “If you’d wait in the examination room, he’ll be glad to help you out.”

  She gives my college roommate a speculative look. “Perhaps both of you should help me,” she purrs.

  I bite back a grin at Blake’s chagrined expression. “Please wait for us in the examination room, Ma’am,” I say smoothly. Something tells me I’m about to find out exactly what’s going on at the strange clinic that we’ve found ourselves in. “We’ll be in shortly.”

  She nods and enters the room, shutting the door behind her. “What’s going on, Rhonda?” I ask the assistant, my voice grim.

  “Nothing,” she stammers. “Lettie Herman didn’t have an appointment, that’s all.”

  “She said she paid for sessions in advance. What was she talking about?”

  “Who can tell?” she replies evasively. “Lettie drinks a lot. It makes her ramble.”

  “Really?” Blake gives her a skeptical look. “She seems perfectly sober to me.”

  This is pointless. Rhonda seems determined to stonewall, and I’m getting tired of it. Something’s clearly afoot, and I loathe being given the run-around. “We’re going to meet our patient now,” I say evenly, biting back the anger in my tone. “We’ll continue this conversation as soon as we’re done.”

  I swear that Rhonda crosses her fingers as we knock on the examination room. “Come in, Doctors,” Lettie calls out.

  Blake pushes open the door. I’m at his heels, and I almost run into his back as he freezes in the doorway. “What the hell…” His voice trails off.

  I step around him and see what’s stopped him cold. My mouth falls open in shock.

  Our patient is stark naked. She’s lying on the examination table, her legs locked into the supports, thighs spread wide. Her freshly-waxed vagina is front and center, and does she have glitter on it?

  Fuck me blind. This woman has glittered her vagina.

  “I’m ready for the two of you, Doctors,” she purrs seductively. “Make me feel good.”

  What the hell is going on here?

  7

  Blake:

  “Explain.”

  It’s ten minutes after the Incident of the Glitter-Vagina. After screaming at Rhonda for five minutes about the sex-doctors that took her money and skipped town, Lettie Herman has flounced off in a huff.

  I glare at Rhonda Sawyer. I have a very good idea of what the two doctors were up to in the aptly-named Clinic of Love, but I want her to confirm my suspicions.

  At my side, Declan’s sitting on a chair, his face expressionless. From the set of his shoulders, I know that he’s furious, and I don’t blame him. This stupid situation is the last thing Declan needs. He’s waiting to hear back from the UN. If they even catch a whiff of this story, they’re going to back away, even though Declan has nothing to do with this sordid mess.

  Declan’s brother Grant screwed up his career once. Now, it appears that I’ve inadvertently done the same thing.

  Rhonda gives me a sullen look. “I don’t know what you’re saying.”

  My patience snaps. “Fine,” I tell her. “Have it your way. I’ll call the ACP with my concerns, and they’ll take it from there. They can investigate Dr. Rhodes and Dr. Sawyer.”

  She folds. “Okay, okay, I’ll talk,” she says hastily. She chews on her nail nervously as she gathers her thoughts. “Where do you want me to start?”

  Declan speaks up. “How about we start with the sex doctors?” he asks dryly.

  She flushes. “They don’t have sex with their patients,” she murmurs. “They just get them off.”

  “Of course,” I reply sarcastically. “That’s totally different. Hell, I almost think that makes them Florence fucking Nightingale.”

  Declan’s lips twitch. “Florence Nightingale was a nurse, not a doctor.” He turns his attention back to the assistant. “Okay. So the clinic provides ‘special services’ to women.”

  “Not every woman,” Rhonda says, as if that makes a difference. “Dr. Rhodes and Dr. Swanson only worked with single women. It was less complicated that way.”

  These guys. These fucking guys. “Does the clinic have any legitimate patients?” I bite out.

  “A few,” Rhonda admits. She takes a deep breath. “We came to Goat because even though this is a small town, everyone minds their own business. The doctors swore to me that they’d go clean. No more smutty stuff. Just real medicine.”

  Something in her expression gives me a clue. “You’re dating one of them?”

  “Ted.”

  Wow, it sucks to be Rhonda. She sits in the office and watches as her boyfriend gets strange women off? “What happened?”

  “They got bored,” she sighs. “They started offering the special services, as you call it. Ted tried to resist, but George was too persuasive for him.”

  I snort inwardly at that. From where I’m sitting, neither doctor looks like a hero. “Why did they skip town?” Declan asks.

  She flushes. “Everything was okay until Lettie
Herman booked an appointment. She lied to us and said she was separated, but she wasn’t.” She bites her lower lip. “I begged the doctors to refund her money.”

  “You didn’t want an angry husband marching in here with a shotgun?”

  “Something like that. I asked around town. Everyone agreed that Michael Herman would go ballistic when he found out. The doctors needed to get out of Goat in a hurry.”

  I frown at her. “Why involve us? Why not just shut down the clinic for a few weeks?”

  “We thought that if Michael Herman were to talk to you, it’d be obvious that you were on the up-and-up. So I canceled all the special client appointments for the next month, and we thought we’d be able to weather out the storm.”

  My blood boils. These stupid idiots have dragged Declan and me into this mess to cover their own asses. Rhonda reads my expression correctly. “We weren’t thinking straight,” she tries to explain. “Look, don’t worry about it. It’s not your problem. You can walk away from this mess.”

  “No, we can’t.” Declan’s voice is flat. “We’ve already seen two patients tonight. Lettie Herman knows we’re the substitute doctors.” He sighs heavily. “We’re involved, whether we like it or not.”

  He’s absolutely right.

  For a moment, I’m tempted to walk away anyway. I don’t stick around when things get complicated—that’s why I’m a locum. I get to leave when shit gets real.

  You wanted to stick around this time.

  Stay or leave?

  It’d be so much easier to leave. There are other jobs. I could be basking in the warmth of Miami Beach in the winter, not knee-deep in snow in a remote Oregon small town. I did a stint as a doctor for an NFL team once, a long time ago. I have fond memories of treating the sprained ankles of busty cheerleaders. I could do that again.

  But I’m not going to.

  This isn’t just any small town. This is Goat. This is my home, and I’m not going to walk away from it.

  Besides, if I’m being perfectly honest, I’ve never met a blond cheerleader or a Hollywood starlet who’s stuck in my thoughts like Lana Davey. Ever since Sunday, the dark-haired author has been in my thoughts, and I’ve been looking forward to spending Friday with her all week. I want to get to know her better. I want to discover what makes her tick.

  I take a deep breath. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. Goat deserves a real clinic with doctors that give a shit about their patients, not just pussy, and I’m going to give it to them.” I fix Rhonda with a stern look. “The party’s over. No more special sessions, no more hanky-panky. We’re going to work five days a week, not three. We’re going to have daytime hours, as well as evenings. We’re going to clean up this mess.”

  “It’s not your clinic,” she retorts. “You’re just a replacement. You’ll be gone in a month.”

  I give her a grim smile. “You’re wrong,” I tell her. “I’m not going anywhere. And Rhonda? You can either cooperate with us, or you can leave.”

  8

  Lana:

  I spend most of the week chasing down John’s stupid story. Wednesday evening, I pull everything together, write the article and hit ‘send.’

  My phone rings five minutes later. Glancing at the screen, I see that it’s my boss. Of course it is. No boundaries. “John, it’s nine in the evening.”

  He ignores me. “Nice job on this piece,” he says. “What about the doctors? What do you have so far?”

  I exhale with exasperation. “I have nothing. Remember our conversation back at The Torch? You called this a working vacation, and you told me I’d have two months to write this story. Ring any bells?”

  “Yeah, that’s not going to work. I need the scoop in the next two weeks.”

  What the hell is wrong with my boss? This is insane. I’ve been working sixty and seventy-hour weeks for the last two years. Every vacation request I’ve made has been denied. I haven’t made a fuss because I’m frequently reminded that I’m lucky to have a job, but honestly, if I do the math, on a per-hour basis, I’ll make more money flipping burgers for a living.

  “I can’t do that,” I say flatly. “If I start sniffing around the clinic one week after I get into town, that’s going to set off all kinds of red flags.”

  “I’m sure you’ll figure something out, Lana. You always do.”

  He’s not listening to me. This is my fault. For years, I’ve busted ass for The Torch. I’ve created a monster.

  I have to fix this. I can’t keep working these hours. I will burn out. “John, what you’re asking for is impossible.”

  “Nothing’s impossible for Lana Davey,” he says blithely. “I’ve got to go. Give me a call next Wednesday with an update.” He hangs up before I can protest anymore.

  I stare blankly at my phone, my thoughts hazy and unfocused. It’s becoming painfully clear that my editor has no intention of lessening my workload. I can either put up with it, or I can quit my job.

  Okay, I say out loud. Make a plan, Lana. You can freelance for a while, can’t you?

  Yes. I could freelance. Hailey would buy an article about Elvira Grantham. Her feminist readership loves stories about women overcoming the patriarchy and living life on their own terms. It’s not much, but it’s a start.

  I’m seeing Blake and Declan on Friday. I haven’t reminded Blake about meeting his aunt, but I will. It’s not a matter of idle curiosity anymore. It’s a matter of survival. I need to make rent.

  Be honest, Lana. That’s not the only reason you’re looking forward to Friday.

  Okay. I admit that my vibrator’s been getting quite a workout this week. I don’t even need my usual montage of Jason Bourne, Mr. Darcy, and Pierce Brosnan in the Thomas Crowne Affair to get off. Thinking about Sunday evening is more than enough. Sitting on Blake’s lap, my legs spread wide as Declan attacked my pussy like a starving man at an all-you-can-eat buffet? It’s prime-grade spank bank material.

  I’ve kissed a stranger at a bar. I’ve crossed off ‘Get Really Good Oral Sex’ off my bucket list. I wonder what Friday is going to have in store for me.

  “Lana.” Blake smiles widely when he sees me on Friday, his ocean-blue eyes alight with pleasure. “You look amazing.”

  The sun falls on his hair, illuminating it in shades of gold and warm caramel, and my insides flutter when I look at him. Holy hotness, Batman. I want to pinch myself. Or him. On his cute ass.

  Stop it.

  “Thank you,” I say, blushing at his compliment. “I wasn’t sure what to wear.”

  He takes in my pink tank-top, white linen shorts, and my battered running shoes. “This is perfect. I thought we’d drive up to the mountains and picnic off the side of one of the trails. Declan’s just loading the cooler into the car.”

  “No, I’m not.” Declan’s voice interrupts our conversation. “I’m done.” He smiles at me and brushes a kiss on my cheek. “It’s good to see you, Lana. You ready to leave?”

  Well, let’s see. My pulse sped up because of that kiss, and when I caught a whiff of Declan’s cologne, my lady-bits clenched. Hard. I’d say I’m more than ready.

  As promised, we drive up into the mountains. I sit in the back seat of Blake’s jeep, taking photos of the amazing scenery through the window. “Nice camera,” Declan says, looking back at me.

  Shit. It’s not my camera; it’s a loaner from The Torch. “I like taking photos,” I murmur, my cheeks heating as I lie to them. “It’s a hobby of mine.”

  “Nice.” Declan’s gaze is appreciative. “Did you get your work done? You said you were swamped this week.”

  Oh, right. More lies. “I drove around the area,” I confess. “I had some research to do for my book.”

  “The book with the cat who solves crime?” Blake asks over his shoulder. “Are you setting it in Goat?” Through the rear-view mirror, I can see the wide grin on his face. “That’d be hilarious.”

  I laugh. “I don’t think my readers would believe me if I told them that there was a small town in Ore
gon called Goat.”

  Declan chuckles. “Truth is stranger than fiction,” he agrees.

  They’ve inadvertently given me an opening. “Talking about my book,” I say, crossing my fingers in my lap, “would your great-aunt be interested in talking to me?”

  Blake’s eyes meet mine in the rear-view mirror. “Actually, she’s quite curious about you,” he says. “I was told to invite you to dinner.”

  “Wait, she doesn’t know about the list, does she?” I give Blake a horrified look.

  “What?” He raises his eyebrow. “Of course not. What kind of conversations do you think we have around the dinner table?”

  Declan rolls his eyes. “Some very strange ones, if we’re being honest,” he tells me. “But we do draw the line at discussing our sex lives. Elvira’s just intensely nosy about everyone in Goat.”

  Damn John and his insistence that I get the story done early. “There does seem to be a lot of new people around,” I probe. “Mrs. Sharp at the convenience store said that there’s a huge housing shortage?”

  Blake shrugs. “You’ll have to ask Aunt Elvira about that,” he says. “The last time I was here was at Christmas, and it was snowing too hard to do much exploring.”

  Thwarted. I was hoping to lead the conversation to the Clinic of Love, but my efforts to snoop aren’t leading anywhere. “I’d love to have dinner with your aunt,” I say sincerely. “She sounds fascinating.”

  After an hour and a half of driving, Blake turns left on an unmarked dirt road. “We’re almost there,” he says cheerfully. “Hold on, Lana. This last bit is a little bumpy.”

  That’s an understatement if there was ever one, but the jostling is totally worth it because the road ends ten feet away from the banks of a spectacular clear blue mountain lake. I have no words to describe how gorgeous it is. “How come there’s no one here?”

  “The side road isn’t on Google Maps,” Blake replies. “Also, technically, this is private property.”

  “Are we trespassing?” I might get a seductive little thrill from having sex outdoors, but I certainly don’t want to get shot by an irate landowner. “Is that a good idea?”