Doctor’s Virgin
Roxeanne Rolling
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
Excerpt from Her Boss: A Billionaire and Virgin Romance
Excerpt from Daddy’s Bought Virgin
Excerpt from Running Back’s Baby
About the Author
Copyright © 2017 by Roxeanne Rolling
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Any resemblance to real persons, places, or things is not intended and is purely coincidental. All characters in this book are over the age of 18 and all sexual acts are between consenting adults. This book is intended for adult readers.
Chapter 1
Liam
“Well, that about does it,” I say, moving away from the patient on the surgery table. “He’ll be as good as new in no time.”
“You’re always so sure of yourself,” says Vivian, the nurse who unfortunately always seems to be assisting me. She’s become nothing more than a thorn in my ass recently, always trying to report me for some indiscretion or another.
I chuckle. “Well, Vivian,” I say, pulling off my gloves and dropping them in the trash cylinder. “How often have I been wrong?”
There’s nothing she can say to that, since I’m the best surgeon in the hospital, not to mention the entire city.
“I’ll be in my office,” I say, running my hands under the sink. “You can go talk to the family. I’m done for the day.”
“Administration wants to see you,” says Vivian, a nasty smirk on her face. She knows this is what I hate most, and she knows this is the way to get back at me the best she can.
“Tell them I don’t have time for their bullshit today.”
“Johnson said you’d say that,” says Vivian, her smile widening. “He said it’s imperative that you see him as soon as possible.”
“You’re just pissed because you never got to sleep with me again,” I say.
That shuts her up, and wipes the smile right off her face.
I know she’s just bitter about me slamming ass all over the hospital, laying practically every hot nurse in sight.
I chuckle to myself as I walk down to Johnson’s office. I’m on a natural high, to the point that I’m almost whistling. Even Johnson isn’t going to be able to bring me down with his usual drudgery and bullshit.
“Heard you were looking to see me, Johnson,” I say, walking in without knocking.
Johnson, who’s balding and won’t admit it, looks up from the computer he’s hunched over.
“Knock next time,” he grumbles.
“Don’t think so,” I say. “Now I’m about to hit the range. Let’s keep this as short as possible.”
Johnson sighs and shuffles some papers on his desk. He’s always overworked, always stressed, always rubbing his eyes, and always covered in dandruff.
“I don’t have all day, Johnson,” I say.
Johnson clears his throat awkwardly as he finds the paper he was looking for. He holds it up to the light, peering at it from behind his large glasses.
I can’t help but notice his big belly that his shirt crumples over as he leans over the paper.
“Wouldn’t kill you to hit the gym once in a while,” I say. “Plus, it’s not great advertising. We are a hospital after all. We’re supposed to be healthy.”
“There’s been a complaint filed about you,” says Johnson.
“Another? What’s that? Three this week? Which nurse is it from this time? I swear, once they get a taste of my cock, they get crazy with jealousy when they see me so much as talking to another nurse, let alone a patient.”
“You’re not supposed to be fraternizing with the nurses, and especially not the patients. The hospital doesn’t need another costly lawsuit.”
“I wouldn’t call it fraternizing,” I say. “Unless that’s a fancy word for fucking.”
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” says Johnson, wrinkling his nose at the thought of good old fashioned physical fun. That’s the kind of guy he is, scared of his own shadow, and probably his wife too.
“So what’s the deal?” I say. “You still didn’t tell me the pretty little nurse’s name who’s lodged a complaint against me.”
“It’s a malpractice suit,” says Johnson, handing me the paper.
Shit, that’s not what I was expecting.
“Malpractice? That doesn’t make any sense. Everyone knows I’m the best. Who else do these people think they’re going to go to? Who else is going to do as good of a job?”
“Just read the paper.”
I read the paper rapidly, an old trick from medical school. I taught myself to read very fast and retain almost everything. I can still quote almost verbatim the books I used in my coursework. But hell, you don’t become one of the country’s top brain surgeons without a heck of a brain yourself.
“This is total bullshit,” I say.
I might sound pissed off, but I’m not angry. It takes a lot to set me off. Instead, I’m just mildly amused.
“What are you going to do about it?” says Johnson, for once looking me right in the eyes.
“What am I going to do about it?” I say. “I don’t think that’s the right question, Johnson. You’re the administration. It’s your job to deal with this shit.”
“I’m not the one running around doing whatever the hell I feel like,” says Johnson.
I stare at him for a moment. I feel like punching him right in the jaw, but I’m not going to. It’s more paper work than it’s worth, especially for a guy as insignificant as Johnson.
My cell phone vibrates in my pocket.
“Hang on, Johnson,” I say. “I’ve got to take this.”
He goes red in the face, full of anger and frustration. “When you’re in my office, you…”
But I don’t bother listening to what he has to say.
“Hello?” I say, picking up the phone without looking to see who it is. I walk out the door, letting it fall back with a loud noise, leaving Johnson sitting there red in the face and furious. Anyone, even a telemarketer, is worth my time more than Johnson is.
“Liam? It’s John.”
It’s my old friend, John Smith. What a ridiculous name. Too simple. It almost sounds like a joke. But that’s what he was born with, and in his time he was a hell of surgeon. He’s been retired for a few years now, but once in a while we get out to the golf course together. Although, come to think of it, it’s been at least a year since I’ve even heard from him. That’s the way it goes with friends sometimes, they seem to drift away into the spiral of time, no matter what you try to do. Myself, I don’t try to hold onto anyone.
“What’s good, John?” I say, checking out the pert and plump ass of a passing nurse. I’ll never get tired of the way the scrubs look on those nurses. In my opinion, it’s one of the huge perks of the job, worth more than pensions or whatever crazy stock options they dream up as incentive.
Me? I’m in it for the nurses. And I’ll nev
er admit it to anyone, but I like helping people. Nothing gives me quite as much of a thrill as slicing out just the right part of the brain, allowing the poor patient to get on with their life in a way they couldn’t have done without me. It still amazes me not how good I am at my job, but how bad the other surgeons are at theirs. I can’t figure it out. Sometimes it seems like John and me are the only competent surgeons in the whole area, and he’s retired. So he’s not much use to the patients now.
There’s a silence on the other end. My thoughts run fast, but not that fast.
“What’s going on, John?” I say. “You’re not saying anything.”
“Do you think we could meet somewhere?” says John. “I’ve got something I need to talk to you about.”
“Ehh,” I say. “That sounds like a whole thing. I’m not into it.”
“Come on, Liam. I need your help… It’s important.”
“Just spit it out then,” I say. “I’m just getting off work, and I’m about to get out and enjoy myself, if you know what I mean.”
John chuckles weakly.
“You know me,” I say, chuckling along with him. But his laughter sounds forced and fake. I wonder what is going on with him. Normally, he’s jovial and laughs at life just as much as I do. “Anyway, John. Just spit it out. You know me, nothing fazes me.”
The door to my Porsche in the hospital garage opens automatically. The key in my pocket activates a sensor that unlocks the door and starts the car for me.
I press my foot down onto the perfectly weighted clutch, pull the shifter into reverse, pressing down on the knob to do so, and let the engine roar as I back up.
“It’s just that… I’m having problems with my daughter, Mia.”
“What’s that, John?” I say, barely able to hear him with the windows down and the engine roaring as the guard at the ticket booth waves me through without checking my ticket. I’m out on the open street now, already passing a slowly moving minivan. My view is that I work hard and play even harder, and I don’t like things that get in the way of my work or play.
“You met her a few years ago at the club once, Mia.”
“Oh yeah,” I say. “I remember her. What’s going on with her? How old is she now? She need a recommendation to get into college or something? You know my signature works magic with those Ivy League schools.”
“It’s not that, Liam,” says John. “But I appreciate it. She had to drop out of college in her first semester.”
“Too much partying, eh?” I say, laughing. “She took a page out of the old man’s book, I see.”
“It’s not like that,” says John, sounding serious enough that I finally roll up the windows to hear him better, even though I love the feeling of the open air on my skin. “She has this rare medical condition. We don’t know what it is.”
Rare medical condition, eh? That catches my attention. There’s nothing I like more than a good puzzle.
“She’s allergic to everything. It’s gotten so bad that she simply faints when she goes outside. She’s been in her old childhood bedroom for a whole year now.”
“She hasn’t come out in all that time?”
“She tried. She passed out right away. After the fifth time, she stopped trying. She’s living like a bubble kid, sealed away in that room. And we had to take practically everything out. Everything seems to cause a reaction in her.”
I’m not one to mince words. Not now and not ever. If people don’t like what I have to say, then too bad. That’s just the way I work.
“She sounds like she’s having some psychological problems, John,” I say.
I know this isn’t what he wants to hear.
“I thought the same thing, Liam,” he says. “Trust me, I did. But there’s something more going on. I know it. We’ve taken her to every specialist I can think of, therapists and psychologists, endocrinologists, allergists, everyone.”
“Hmm,” I say. “That’s a tricky one. But it’s hard to catch those mental problems sometimes.”
“Listen, Liam. I need a favor from you. I need you to come and take a look at her. I know you can find something that no one else can.”
“I’m a brain surgeon, John,” I say. “I don’t work with the interior of the brain, or psychology. You know that. I just find the piece that needs cutting, and it doesn’t sound like she needs anything cut.”
“You owe me, Liam,” he says. “Remember that time you were caught with the two nurses in the closet and I helped you from getting fired? Come on, you owe me. Just come over tomorrow. It’ll take half an hour of your time.”
“Those nurses were asking for it!” I say. “They practically pulled me into that closet, but I was the one they wanted to punish.”
“Don’t I know it,” says John. “I’ll expect you over here at five tomorrow. Oh, one more thing. No touching my daughter, OK?”
“Don’t worry about a thing, John,” I say, hanging up the phone and pressing down on the Porsche accelerator.
Don’t touch his daughter? If he has to give me a warning, she must be some hot piece of ass. I know that game, though.
Then again, I don’t go out with women with mental problems… unless there’s an “extra incentive” in it for me.
Chapter 2
Mia
The phone rings. It’s my dad. Even though he’s in the same house as me, he has to call to speak to me, unless he wants to go through the lengthy process of changing all his clothes, putting on the gloves, the facemask, the hair net, the whole gambit. My mom and dad used to do that quite a bit, but over the last year, they’ve understandably gotten tired of having to redress themselves throughout the day just to enter my room. So we use the phone a lot to communicate. I would never tell them, but it makes me feel horribly lonely, not having much real human interaction at all except through technology.
“What’s up, Dad?” I say.
“How’s my little girl doing?” he says. Yeah, I’m 20 years old, but I’ll always be his little girl in his eyes. That’s OK, though.
“I’m fine,” I lie. “Just catching up on some chemistry homework.” Another lie. I’ve been wasting time on the internet as usual, looking for more information about my “disease” or whatever the hell it is.
“That’s good. Hey, I just wanted to let you know, there’s an old friend, a doctor… I was just talking to him on the phone yesterday, and he mentioned he thought he might be able to help. He wanted to come over today and pay you a visit. I hope that’s OK with you.”
I sigh. Another doctor. I’m getting really tired of them. When I first went to the appointments, I was all giddy with excitement, thinking that I would be helped immediately. But of course, that wasn’t the case, and the doctors and therapists and psychologists all got more and more perplexed with my case. Each visit to the doctor was something to dread, rather than something to look forward to.
“I don’t know, Dad,” I say. “I mean, I’ve seen a lot of doctors…”
“We can’t give up on you,” says my dad. “I know the cure is out there somewhere. I just want you to be able to go out there and live a normal life like everyone else your age.”
“I want the same thing,” I say. And, really, I would like to add that it’s not helpful having my parents repeat my own worst fears and my dreams back to me. I want to be out with my friends doing normal college girl stuff more than my parents want it for me.
Each hour I spend locked in my childhood bedroom is like another eternity, another period of damnation. And each second on the internet, where I waste so much of my time, I encounter yet another reminder that everyone else is out doing fun things, creating their lives, and falling in love, while I’m stuck in here, doing nothing at all.
“He’s really good,” says my dad. “If anyone can find a cure, he’s the one.”
“That’s what you said about the last woman,” I say.
“This guy’s different,” says my dad. “He’s the best brain surgeon in the whole city.”
“
A brain surgeon?” I say. “Well, if you think I need brain surgery…” The thought makes me depressed, having someone cut open my brain to figure out what’s wrong with me and possibly cure me. But honestly at this point I’m so desperate that I’ll try anything at all.
“Oh,” says my dad. “I don’t think you’re going to need brain surgery. But he’s an incredible diagnostician. He can figure out practically anything. Even though he’s known as the top brain surgeon in the hospital where I used to work, doctors of all types are always bringing him their difficult cases, the ones they can’t figure out on their own. And with just a single look at the paper, he can almost always tell them something that helps them solve the case, if not the answer right away.”
“He sounds good,” I say, completely noncommittal, but for my dad’s sake, I try to keep my voice sounding somewhat positive.
“He’s going to come tomorrow afternoon,” says my dad.
“It’s not like I’m going anywhere,” I say.
My dad chuckles. Laughter has become rarer and rarer in this household. And it’s all because of me. It’s all my fault, and there’s nothing in the world I can do about it.
We say goodbye, and my dad hangs up.
I listen to the dead sound of the cell phone for a moment before putting it down. I can feel the human contact fading away.
I can see the blue sky through the window. Nothing has ever looked farther away, nothing ever seemed remote and inaccessible as that sky. I can’t count the hours and days that I’ve spent this past year looking up at it, gazing up at it.
Most of my friends have dropped away over the last year. The only one that remains is my best friend for life, Shelly, who I know will always be in my life no matter what. But we’re more like sisters than friends, and that means that we can spend a good amount of time annoyed at each other, or frustrated with each other, or nagging at each other to do the “right” thing.
Shelly goes to college here in Philadelphia, but she’s been busier lately and hasn’t been calling as much. We still write emails and texts to each other, and I would never want her to know how much those texts mean to me, how much I wait for them in the day, checking my phone to see if she’s written something that will give me a couple minutes of respite from the blank reality that awaits me here in my room.
Doctor's Virgin (Innocence Book 3) Page 1
