Writing Mr. Right

by T. K. Leigh

  It was probably nothing, but my heart filled with hope my father’s condition wasn’t progressing as fast as everyone believed. In my soul, I knew he’d heard me tell him the storyline of my book and remembered it enough to want to read another forbidden romance. He still had some memories. He wasn’t a lost hope yet.

  Returning my eyes to the page, I lost myself in Edith Wharton’s tragic tale, thinking of my own book and what fate awaited Avery and Jackson. I didn’t quite know how their story would end. Would they be able to overcome the limitations and expectations imposed on them by society? Or would they crash and burn like Ethan and Miss Mattie Silver?

  Consumed with the story, I lost track of time. Just when things had started heating up, as much as they could in early twentieth-century literature, a loud throat clearing tore me away from the book.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Brinks.” Larry loomed over me, Brian standing beside him. “Doctor’s orders. Time’s up.”

  I glanced around the room to see the doorway now empty. Nodding, I reluctantly placed a shoestring between the pages of the book. A smile tugged at my lips as I recalled my father always using an old shoestring to hold his spot…a habit I now used in my life.

  I left the book on the side table, then met my father’s eyes. I would have given anything to rewind the clock to those days when we would read together every night. I’d never forget the disappointment in his eyes when, as I neared adolescence, I told him I’d rather read by myself. I shouldn’t have shut him out like I did. I should have granted him the one thing he had in common with me…a love of the written word.

  “I have to go, Dad,” I told him, standing. “But I’ll be back tomorrow and we’ll read some more, just like when I was little.”

  He gave me a lopsided smile, then mumbled something incoherent.

  I was about to give him a hug when the security guard and orderly rushed toward me. I stepped back in surprise, my eyes fierce.

  “What the hell? I’m just giving him a hug.”

  “Just a precaution, ma’am,” Larry explained.

  “I understand that,” I hissed in a quiet voice, hoping my dad couldn’t understand what was going on. “But he’s my father. As you’ve seen with your own two eyes, he’s been calm the entire time I’ve been here. He may be confused, but he knows I’m not here to cause him any harm. I’ll be fine.”

  Before they could stop me, I spun back around and flung my arms around my father, wishing he could understand he wasn’t alone. “I love you, Daddy.”

  “I love you, Josie,” he mumbled, his speech slurred.

  I drew in a breath. These were the first real words I’d heard him say in over a week. My teeth gritted. I hated the idea this man would die thinking I was the woman who deserted him and his family, not the daughter who idolized him.

  “I’m not Josie. I’m Molly, your daughter.”

  “Molly?” he said, sounding almost like an infant learning to speak for the first time.

  I pulled back, searching his eyes, praying for a hint of recognition. “Yes, Dad. I’m Molly.”

  In a flash, his serene expression turned irate. Before I could react, he wrapped his hands around my throat, his strength surprising for his frail condition. Everything else was a blur as I struggled to capture a breath of welcome oxygen. One moment, I was being choked by the man who gave me life; the next, I was pushed away violently. Unable to maintain my balance, I fell back, hitting my head on the corner of the coffee table.

  Disoriented, I blinked, the bright lights in the room obscuring my vision. A dark figure leaned over me, Brian’s face coming into view. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the security guard pinning my father’s arms behind his back.

  “Stop! You’re going to hurt him!” I screamed, my heart pounding. “He doesn’t know what he’s doing!” I tried to sit up and go to him, but the room spun.

  A flurry of medical staff descended on the room, ushering my dad from the sitting area and into the bedroom. Almost immediately, his irate yelling and shouting ceased.

  “Are you okay?”

  I glanced to my left, surprised to see Noah crouching down beside me. His wide eyes raked over every inch of me, his breathing ragged.

  “Of course I am,” I shot back, quickly standing up. Dizziness set in and I lost my balance. Noah reacted quickly and grabbed my waist, preventing me from falling.

  “Get a wheelchair,” he ordered Brian.

  “You got it.” He dashed out of the room.

  “I don’t need a wheelchair,” I insisted, trying to push away from Noah, but he was too strong for me in my still rattled state. “It’s just a little headrush. I’m fine.”

  “If you don’t mind, Molly, I’ll let a professional make that determination.” His hand on my elbow, he slowly lowered me to one of the chairs.

  “Who? You?” I cocked a brow at him as he kneeled in front of me, studying my face intently. My hands still shook from the unexpected attack. I didn’t want to believe my father had any hatred in his heart.

  “I do have a medical degree, after all.” Noah flashed a compassionate smile, then reached for my neck, pressing against it slightly.

  I flinched when he hit a tender spot.

  “That hurt?”

  “No,” I lied. I didn’t want him to feel any more guilt for what had happened than he already did. He wasn’t to blame. He had tried to warn me, but I’d been too stubborn to listen. I’d pushed him. I’d used personal information I knew about his family history to persuade him to allow me to see my father when he’d insisted it wasn’t safe.

  “Nice try, Molly. I can’t let you leave until I look you over.”

  I raised my eyebrows, my heart rate slowly returning to normal. Since day one, Noah had an uncanny ability to calm me. The same was true today, as well.

  “Does that line work on all the ladies?” I needed to laugh about the ridiculousness of the current situation I found myself in. I didn’t want to think about the possible ramifications of what had happened. I feared I’d never be able to see my father without supervision again. The disease already isolated him. Not being able to offer him any sort of love or compassion would only make matters worse.

  Noah’s face turned red in the most adorable way. “Not like you’d think.”

  Brian returned, pushing a wheelchair toward us.

  “Thanks, Brian.” Noah stood up, stepping away from me, his voice demanding once more. “Please wheel Ms. Brinks to an open exam room. I’ll be along.”

  Brian took my elbow and helped me into the wheelchair. As he pushed me out of the room, I glanced over my shoulder at the open door to my father’s bedroom. I could see him sitting on his bed, what looked like an old photo album splayed on his lap. There was a smile on his face.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I PULLED MY CARDIGAN tight around me as I waited in the chilly exam room. I wondered if this was something they taught at med school. Every exam room I’d ever been in was sub-freezing…or maybe it was simply my nerves that caused a chill to trickle down my spine.

  Pacing the room, I studied the diagrams of the brain, the nervous system, and the heart hanging on the wall. Science had never been my strong suit in high school or college. As far as I was concerned, these diagrams could have been in a foreign language. A few of the terms were familiar, due to the amount of reading I’d done about the disease that now plagued my father. Still, I found myself in awe of Noah and his accomplishments at what I considered to be a young age for the medical field. He had a list of credentials a mile long. All I had going for me was my ability to write a killer sex scene. The differences in our achievements were staggering.

  “What are you doing standing up?” Noah’s demanding voice cut through my thoughts. I hadn’t even heard the door open.

  Whirling around, I blinked at his tall frame standing in the doorway. I immediately felt lightheaded, which had nothing to do with my recent fall. There was something about the sight of him, the power and compassion in his gaze, that kno
cked the breath out of me.

  “I told you I’m fine.” I cracked a small smile, recovering my composure. “Making Brian push me in a wheelchair was a bit of an overkill on your part.”

  “There’s no such thing when it comes to you.”

  My breath hitched, his words taking me by surprise…in a good way.

  “I need to make sure nothing got rattled,” he explained. “It’s protocol.”

  “Of course.” My shoulders fell.

  “Go ahead and have a seat.” He gestured to the padded table, a sheet of tissue covering it.

  “There?” I asked with a grimace.

  “Where else?”

  “Anywhere else.”

  He eyed me, intrigued. “You don’t like doctors?”

  “It’s not necessarily that, but I’m a female.”

  “So I’ve noticed,” he countered with a grin.

  I bit my lower lip, completely flustered by his proximity in such close quarters. Fidgeting with my hands, I explained, “Every time I’m forced to sit on an exam table, a cold metal instrument is being shoved into my hooha. And the sound of that paper crinkling is worse than nails on a chalkboard. I’d rather not have to hop onto that sadistic device you call an exam table.” I crossed my arms.

  “That’s okay. I’m flexible.” He winked.

  A sex-craved little fairy, which had taken up residence in my stomach, started flapping her wings as I wondered exactly how flexible Dr. Noah McAllister truly was. I shouldn’t have had these thoughts, but I was only human…and perhaps a little horny. There was something about him — his tall stature, the roughness of his hands, the vividness and sincerity in his eyes when he looked at me — that had grown increasingly impossible to ignore over the past several weeks.

  “I’ve heard that about you,” I joked in a low voice, taking a seat on a wheeled stool opposite the exam table.

  “You realize, technically, that’s my chair, don’t you?”

  I nodded, smirking as I crossed my arms over my chest.

  Letting out a sigh, he kept his eyes glued to mine, faux irritation plastered on his face. He sat in another chair, then hooked his foot on the bottom of mine, dragging me toward him.

  The sudden movement caught me off guard and I gripped the sides of the chair. One second, I was in my own little world. The next, I was in Noah’s atmosphere. I inhaled quickly, his peppermint breath and musky aroma invading my senses, intoxicating me. One hit of that and I was a complete goner. A dull ache settled between my legs in such an inconvenient way. I wanted to yell at my raging libido to calm herself, but I had a feeling the sex-deprived nymphomaniac had no intention of listening.

  “I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal about this,” I said, struggling to suppress the multitude of inappropriate thoughts circling my head at that moment. I had a rather vivid imagination, which was currently on overdrive. “I’m fine. It was just the shock that unbalanced me. Honestly.”

  He removed a penlight from the pocket of his lab coat and turned it on. “Just look straight ahead.”

  I huffed, following his command as he shined the light into my eyes. I didn’t know what he was looking for, but I no longer cared. I’d do whatever he wanted in order for him to remain near me. We hadn’t been this close to each other since that almost kiss. The warmth coming off his body was an aphrodisiac.

  “From what Brian and Larry told me, you took a pretty nasty fall,” he said in a soft, even voice, shining his light at a bunch of different angles while I continued to stare straight ahead. “I’m just making sure you don’t have a concussion.”

  He turned off the light and sat back in the chair, holding up his hand. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

  “I’ll give you a finger.”

  “So original.” He lowered his arm. “You’re not the first one to tell me that. Remember, I deal with patients with Alzheimer’s and dementia on a daily basis. Some of them are quite snarky. In fact, most of them could probably outsnark you.”

  “Outsnark? Is that a real word?”

  “It is now.”

  “I’m not sure,” I said in reproach. “I may have to consult Merriam-Webster, just to verify.”

  “You do that. Now, how many fingers?” He held his hand back up.

  “Three.”

  “Good.” He placed his hands on his legs and studied me in an unnerving manner. “How do you feel?”

  Horny? I thought to myself. “Fine.”

  “Pick a word other than fine. You’re a writer. I’m sure you have a thesaurus stored in that beau…” He stopped himself, then continued, “big brain of yours.”

  I flung my eyes to his, wondering if I’d simply imagined he almost called me beautiful. Imagined or not, there was something in the air between us tonight that was much more charged than it had been over the course of the past few weeks. I’d spent a great deal of time with him, but we’d kept things light and easy. He hadn’t looked at me with this kind of hunger in his eyes since we shared that dance.

  “It’s the truth. I feel fine.”

  “You always say you’re fine. Nothing more, nothing less. Give me something else.”

  “Give me something else to go on here. What specifically do you want to know?”

  “How’s your head? Any headaches or stiffness?” He cupped my face just below my jawline and tilted my head from side to side, looking for any indication the movement caused me pain.

  “My head is just dandy.” I smirked, avoiding the use of “fine”.

  “Better.” He removed his hands from my face. “How about any nausea?”

  I shook my head. “None.”

  “Okay. Can you stand up for me?”

  Eyeing him, I slowly stood from his chair.

  “Walk a straight line.”

  “Is this a DUI checkpoint? Do you want me to recite the alphabet backwards while I’m at it?”

  “No.” He smiled. “Most people can’t even do that sober.”

  “And most people can’t really walk a straight line all that well sober, either, especially when they’re wearing chunky shoes.” I gestured to the wedge sandals with a rather impressive heel I wore to give my meager height an added boost.

  “Okay. I’ll let you slide.” He stood up, peering down at me. “Any dizziness?”

  I shook my head, my chest beginning to rise and fall in a faster pattern.

  Leaning closer, he continued his questioning. “Numbness?”

  “No,” I whispered, a dull fire igniting in my bloodstream.

  “Any tingling in your limbs?” His voice grew quiet, serene. He ran his tongue across his lips, his eyes locked with mine.

  Dazed, I shook my head again.

  “Are you feeling tired or drowsy?”

  “No,” I breathed. An outside force made me shorten the distance between us. I should have done something, anything, to break the building tension. This was wrong. It was selfish of me to push the boundaries Noah had obviously been struggling with, but I’d never felt so inspired before. “I feel…”

  He leaned down, his sweet breath mixing with mine, our lips a whisper away. A voice in my head screamed at me to walk away, but I physically couldn’t. I was frozen in place, unable to put on the brakes. Noah was like a drug I’d grown addicted to. I’d become desperate to spend time with him so I could go home and write until my fingers bled. I hoped that was the only reason I couldn’t stop thinking about him anyway. I didn’t want to consider the possibility there was a deeper, scarier reason for my infatuation.

  “Yes?” He inched closer, his mouth nearly brushing mine.

  My lips tingled, anticipation and yearning bubbling deep within. I’d imagined what Noah’s kisses were like. I even tried to use that to write Jackson and Avery’s first kiss. No matter how many times I’d imagined it, though, the words I wrote seemed lacking. It wasn’t right. There was no spark, no electricity, no euphoric sensation I felt all over from them finally acting on their impulses after weeks of torturous buildup. I
f I could just have one taste, I could get it right. Then I’d be satisfied and could move on.

  “Fine,” I finished my thought.

  A smile broke out on his lips. Before he had a chance to retreat, I clutched his cheeks in my hands, forcing his mouth to mine. A shiver ran through me as my tongue traced his lips, begging for permission to enter, urging him to drop all his apprehensions. There was no turning back after this. I understood why Adam and Eve ate the forbidden fruit. Now that I had finally gotten a taste of something I wasn’t supposed to have, I wanted more.

  A low groan escaped his throat as he deepened the kiss. He pulled me closer, wrapping my hair around his hand, blissfully trapping me to him. His tongue explored my mouth, as if imprinting each crevice and dip to memory, thoroughly examining everything I had to offer. Part of me wished I had a way to take notes of everything I thought and felt so I could reference them later. The other part was lost in the moment. My body arched into him, a raging fire inside me. Weeks of pent-up yearning — the sideways glances, the occasional innuendo, the random brush of our hands — had culminated in this kiss. It was more passionate, more sensual, more heated than I could have imagined.

  He moved his hands to my hips and lifted me with extraordinary ease, forcing my legs around his waist, propping me on the exam table. Tiny synapses erupted in my core as he gently pulsed against me. The feel of his arousal between my legs made me want more of him. More of his kisses. More of the feel of his body against mine. More of his calloused hands brushing against my skin in the most reverent, yet prurient manner. His movements were measured, forceful, greedy. It didn’t matter I had initiated the kiss between us. He made it clear he was in charge. It made me burn for him in a way I didn’t think possible. My mind was blank, my brain silent for the first time in years. All I could hear was a voice inside me begging for more. God, I wanted more of him, more of this, more of everything that made me feel alive.

  I reached for his belt, tugging at it. Our kiss became frantic as we carelessly attempted to remove every barrier between our bodies. As I was about to rip my shirt over my head, a loud beeping pierced the sound of our heavy breathing.