by HELEN HARDT
“What the hell kind of therapist are you?”
I shivered nervously. “The kind who doesn’t clutter up her office with obsolete records. I have followed the guidelines for storage of records for patients who are no longer active. And I couldn’t let you see it even if it was here. Those records are confidential.”
“The death of the patient ends doctor-patient confidentiality. Everyone knows that.”
“I’m afraid you’re wrong. Psychotherapy notes have special protection under HIPAA.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I didn’t write the Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act, but I can assure you that I’m correct. I can’t give you the file, even if it was here.”
“I’m not interested in your medical and legal jargon.”
He was so close to me now that only about a foot separated us. My pulse beat hard, and nausea churned in my throat. His breath stank of alcohol. So that was it. He had been drinking.
“I’m going to have to ask you to leave now, Dr. Cates.”
His blue eyes glazed over with rage and fire. “I’m not sure I made myself clear. I’m not leaving without that file.”
“And I told you”—I swallowed—“it’s not here.”
He grabbed my arm, and I instinctively jerked backward, hitting the wall.
“Don’t you dare touch me,” I said.
“Then give me the file.”
“I do not have it here.”
“Listen, bitch.” He grabbed me by the throat. “You’re going t—”
“Melanie?” A soft rap on the door.
Oliver! Thank God.
Dr. Cates removed his hand from my neck, and I gasped in some air. The gasp was more from fear. He hadn’t obstructed my breathing, but damn it, I was scared to death.
“Oliver, am I glad to see you.” I smoothed out my blouse.
“This isn’t over, Dr. Carmichael,” Dr. Cates said. “I will get the information one way or another.”
Without acknowledging Oliver, Dr. Cates stomped out of my office. I could still hear his footsteps after he left the reception area and traveled down the hall to the elevator.
“Are you all right?” Oliver asked. “What was that about?”
I lost my footing, and he rushed toward me, catching me. He helped me to my couch and sat down next to me.
“Melanie?”
And the tears came. Whether they were tears for Gina or tears for the fear that had just coursed through me, I didn’t know.
Oliver put his arm around me. “God, what happened? Who was that guy?”
I sniffled into his shirt and then looked up at him, grabbing a tissue from the box on the coffee table. I wiped my eyes and blew my nose quickly.
“He was the father of a former patient of mine.”
“Should we call the cops? For a second I thought he was choking you.”
Normally I would have said yes, but I shook my head. “I’m all right. The man has been through enough.”
“Are you kidding me? He just tried to strangle you.”
“He wouldn’t have done me any harm.” And in my heart, I did believe that. “He’s distraught. His daughter was a patient of mine, and she ended up killing herself.” I bit my lip to force back tears. “I’ve been over her file time after time after time, Oliver, and I cannot find anything that indicated she was suicidal. What did I miss?”
“He has no right to blame you.”
“But I must’ve missed something.” And I had. Gina had fallen in love with me, and I’d had no idea. “And there’s more,” I continued. “His wife just attempted suicide a few days ago. She’s over at Valleycrest in the mental ward. So he’s not in his right mind.”
“That’s still no excuse for him treating you that way.”
In theory, I agreed. But the way I was feeling right now—so woefully inadequate, wishing I could go back in time and see what I had missed, to pay better attention—I couldn’t concur.
That letter haunted me. I should have given it to the attorney. I should’ve put it in the file. I should’ve let my colleague and attorney review it. But I hadn’t. I’d kept it. And now it was too late. I couldn’t bring it up now.
“Really, I’m fine. Just drop it, okay?”
“Are you still up for dinner?”
Dinner. Hell. Well, a girl had to eat. I blew my nose again and stood. “Sure, let’s go to dinner.”
Oliver stood and then reached for me and wiped away an errant tear rivering down my cheek. “I’m sorry you’re going through this,” he said. “As you can imagine, in pediatric nephrology, I’ve lost a few patients too.”
“And they were children. That’s got to be a lot worse. I’m sorry, Oliver.”
He pursed his lips. “I wish I could tell you that you get used to it.” He shook his head. “I certainly never have.”
“Any physician who gets used to it probably shouldn’t be practicing medicine,” I said. “And I’m the one who decided to practice psychotherapy. I could’ve been a more routine psychiatrist, just dispensing meds and referring patients to psychologists and counselors. I knew ahead of time there would be people I just couldn’t help.”
“You have such a caring nature. I can’t imagine you just dispensing meds.” He cupped my cheek. “You’ve always been that way. Always thinking of others. You know, Melanie, I’ve thought about contacting you many times over the past decade. I read your book on overcoming childhood trauma. It was brilliant.”
My cheeks warmed. “Why in the world would a pediatric nephrologist read a book on psychotherapy for overcoming childhood trauma?”
“Because I knew the author. And I knew she was brilliant.”
I chuckled. “You were the one who was always at the top of all of our classes.”
“And you were always right behind me.” Oliver smiled.
“You have no idea how annoying that was,” I said. “My main goal in life was to pass you up, and I never could.”
“Ha! The reason you were never able to do it is because I forced myself to work that much harder to stay ahead of you.”
I warmed again. “You’re saying I was an incentive for you?”
“Yes, totally. You don’t know how close you came to beating me. There’s a reason I didn’t socialize.”
Oliver hadn’t had a social life? He was always so jovial and good-looking, always had two or three women clinging to his every word. I was the one who’d had no social life. Of course, since I hadn’t had one, I wouldn’t have known whether he had.
“I don’t think any of us did much socializing in med school, and that was nothing compared to internship and residency.”
“You’re telling me. Those hours were brutal.” He caressed my cheek with his fingers.
I was getting uncomfortable. I cleared my throat. “What are you in the mood for? There are some great restaurants around here. There’s a nice sushi place about a block over and a couple Italian places.”
“Sushi sounds great. Let’s try that.”
“All right. Let me grab my purse out of my desk.”
Warmth came up behind me as I was bending to pick up my purse out of the locked drawer where I kept it. I grabbed the bag and turned around. Oliver was right behind me, and he quickly brushed his lips over mine. I jolted backward, falling into my desk chair, my ass plunking on the leather. I bit my lip.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just couldn’t get that out of my mind.”
I stood nervously. I wasn’t sure how I felt about the kiss. Granted, Oliver and I had been intimate long ago, but only once, and it was certainly not part of any kind of relationship.
He grabbed my elbow and pulled me toward him. “Let’s try that again,” he said.
And before I could pull away, his lips were on mine once more.
He ran his tongue over the seam of my lips, and although I wasn’t sure, I opened to him. He slipped his tongue into my mouth. I closed my eyes, trying to concentrate on the kiss, trying to melt
into him the way I had melted into—
“What the fuck is going on here?”
Chapter Twenty–One
Jonah
My body went rigid, and my hands clenched into fists. Another man had his lips on Melanie.
My Melanie.
But she wasn’t my Melanie. Until that moment, I hadn’t known how much I wanted her to be.
Instincts took over, and my hackles rose. I stepped toward her, feeling feral, primal. I grabbed the man’s suit coat by the back of his neck and pulled him off of her. He landed on the floor on his ass.
“Hey! Who are you?” he said. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
I ignored him. He wasn’t the problem. The woman kissing him was.
Melanie inched backward slightly, rubbing at her lips. They were red from another man’s lips.
Never again.
“Who the hell is he? And what was he doing kissing you?”
“He… He’s a friend of mine from medical school.”
“Is that how you say hello to all of your friends?”
“Look, Jonah, this isn’t any of your—”
“The hell it’s not.”
The other guy had gotten up, and he touched the sleeve of my shirt. “Look, I think we have a big misunderstanding here. It’s like Melanie said. I’m Oliver Nichols, a friend of hers from medical school.”
I shrugged away from him and pushed him down to the floor again.
“For God’s sake, Jonah, would you stop that?” Melanie knelt down to the other guy. “Oliver, are you all right?”
Oliver stood and brushed off his pants. “Yeah, I’m fine. Look, maybe we should have this date another time.”
“You have a date with him?” I spat out.
Melanie stood. “He’s a friend, Jonah.”
“I’m going to excuse myself now,” Oliver said. “Melanie, I’ll call you.”
“Don’t bother,” I said over my shoulder.
He walked out the door.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Melanie demanded. “He and I had dinner plans.”
“Yes, dinner plans with your friend. A friend who had his tongue shoved down your throat.”
She reddened. That beautiful raspberry flush… But no, I was not going to fall prey to her feminine wiles. I was angry—livid, actually—and she was going to answer to me.
“Why was he kissing you?”
“I don’t know. I was as surprised by it as you were.”
“You didn’t look surprised from where I was standing.”
“You came in at the exact wrong time. He had just started to kiss me, and I was about ready to end it.”
“Oh, you were? And I’m supposed to believe that?”
“It doesn’t really matter what you believe, Jonah. You and I are not together.”
“Seems to me we’ve been together a couple of times now.”
“It was sex. Really good sex, but we don’t even know anything about each other.”
Right. She knew all about me from her sessions with my brother. “I’d say you know a hell of a lot about me.”
“Fine.” She sighed. “You don’t know anything about me.”
I pulled her to me, molding her breasts against my chest. “I know more than you think.” I inhaled. “I know you always smell like fresh lavender. I know exactly how your ruby-red lips feel under my own. I know your nipples are almost the same color, and I know you like them sucked. Hard. I know every little crevice of your hot pussy and how it tastes like sweet peaches and earthy musk. I know how many times you come when I suck your hard clit and put my fingers inside you.” I lowered my voice to a whisper and grabbed her ass, not gently. “I know you don’t like your ass slapped during sex. And I also know that will change.”
She gasped against me.
“Yes, that will change. I guarantee it, Melanie. I want to slap that sweet little ass of yours. Slap those peachy breasts of yours. Tie you to a bed and fuck you silly. And in the end, I always get what I want.”
She shuddered, falling into her chair. She bit her lip, trembling all over. “And what do you want right now?”
My dick was so hard I thought it might pop out of my jeans. I had to have her, had to mark her, had to make her mine. Another male was stalking her, and that wasn’t going to happen under my watch.
“You. Here. Now.”
“This is my office. My door is open.”
“Don’t care.”
“But…I work here. People know me.”
“Still don’t care.” I unbuckled my belt and unsnapped my jeans.
She sucked in a breath. I pulled her up from her chair. She was wearing a cream-colored silk blouse and a black sheath skirt. No pantyhose from what I could tell.
I bent her over her desk and lifted her skirt. God, basic beige cotton panties. And for some reason, they were the hottest thing I’d ever seen. I ripped them off her.
“Tell me now, Melanie. Tell me now if you don’t want this, because if you don’t say no right this minute, I’m going to take you.”
“I want this,” she said softly. “Take me, Jonah. I want this.”
I plunged into her wet heat.
God, what sensation. I groaned. The sweet suction of her musky pussy completely enveloped my cock. I thrust in again and again, her beautiful ass spread out like a smorgasbord. I pumped into her, taking her. Below me, her breathing came rapidly, and soft moans escaped her lips, wafting their way to my ears, making my blood boil. I wanted to last, but before I knew it, I was nearing the edge.
“I’m going to come now, Melanie. Come hard and come into you. This is me, coming into you.”
“Yes,” she sobbed, her voice muffled by the blotter on the desk.
I pulled out, thrust once more, and emptied into her, my whole body shuddering.
I collapsed on top of her back, regretting that I hadn’t taken the time to remove all of our clothing.
There would be time for that later.
I inhaled and let out a deep breath. Finally, I withdrew.
I pulled up my jeans, snapped them, and buckled my belt. I helped Melanie up, straightening her skirt over that beautiful ass.
“I’m sorry you didn’t come. I’m sorry I couldn’t wait.”
She bit her lip. “It’s okay.”
“And I’m sorry if…”
“What?”
“If I was a little…forceful.”
She shook her head. “You asked me before you did anything. I said I wanted it.”
What if she had said no? I had been so filled with wanting. What if I hadn’t been able to stop?
Thank God she hadn’t wanted me to.
“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted a woman as much as I want you. Seeing that scumbag kissing you…”
“Oliver.”
“Yes, I know it has a name.”
She sighed. “He’s not an ‘it.’ He’s a friend of mine from medical school. We were just going to have dinner.”
“It didn’t look like dinner.”
She moved away from her desk and sat down on the couch. “I don’t need to explain Oliver or anything else to you. But I would like to know why you showed up here tonight.”
I’d nearly forgotten. I did need to talk to her. “I had a talk with Tom Simpson today.”
“The mayor, right? Your friend’s father?”
“Yeah.”
She fidgeted, pulled her hands together, clasping and then unclasping them. Something was clearly bothering her, and I began to feel like an asshole. I hoped it didn’t have anything to do with Oliver Twist or whatever the hell his name was.
“Melanie? Are you okay?”
She closed her eyes and sighed. When she opened them, they were glazed over with unshed tears.
I reached toward her and cupped her cheek. “What’s going on?”
She shook her head. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing. Give me a break. Is it…that other guy? Is he someone you wanted to
be with? Is he…” I couldn’t bring myself to finish that sentence. Melanie Carmichael with another man wasn’t a thought I could form in my head.
“I’m fine. It’s not anything I can talk about.”
“You can tell me. My word is as good as gold.” I drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “Do you want to be with him?” It shouldn’t matter to me, but it did. I had gone batshit crazy when I saw them together.
“No, believe me. It’s not Oliver. I was telling the truth when I told you he was just a friend.”
“Why the kiss, then?” I felt like shit as soon as I’d said it. “Never mind. You don’t have to answer that. If that’s not the problem, what’s bothering you? Let me help.”
I truly did want to help. The thought of Melanie being in any kind of pain or distress bothered me. Disturbed me. Made me want to crush whoever was making her feel this way.
“I know that. But I really can’t talk about it.”
“At least tell me how I can help you.”
She rubbed her arms. “You can’t. I wish you could.”
“Oliver? Your…friend? Was he going to help you?”
“No. He’s a friend from med school, but he’s not a psychiatrist. He’s a pediatric nephrologist.”
“Nephrologist? That’s kidneys, right?”
“Yes. He just came in to town to do some work here on a temporary basis. We ran into each other at the coffee shop downstairs, and he invited me to dinner. It was all very innocent.”
Then why the kissing? The question sat on the edge of my vocal cords, but I refrained from asking it again. She was clearly upset about something, and now that I knew it didn’t have anything to do with this guy, I truly did want to help her. But she was being a closed book, as usual.
“Since you won’t talk to me, how about this? I ruined your dinner date, so can I take you to dinner?”
She smiled. Oh, what a beautiful smile it was. “You know? I’d like that.”
“Where were you going to go?”
“The sushi place a block away.”
Sushi? Really not my thing. I was a rancher, for God’s sake. A meat and potatoes kind of guy. But for Melanie Carmichael, I’d eat raw fish. “Sounds good,” I said, hoping I was pulling it off. “Sushi it is.”
