by Celia Crown
Doctor’s Indecent Fixation
Celia Crown
Copyright © 2019 by Celia Crown
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are from the author's imagination or folklore, legends, and general myths.
The book or any portion of the book may not be reproduced or used under any circumstances, except with the written permission from the author. Public names, movies, televisions, and locales, or any references are used for atmospheric purposes. Any similarities and resemblances to alive or dead people, events, brands, and locales are all complete coincidences.
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Editor: Syeda Erum Fatima Naqvi
Contents
Doctor’s Indecent Fixation
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
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Doctor’s Indecent Fixation
by Celia Crown
Adrian Shafer has been in love with Tabby Sterling for thirty years.
Back then, he was a boy, and she was a woman. Now he’s a man, and she is still the same young woman he had fallen in love with three decades ago.
She hasn’t changed, but he has, and when the chance is presented to him to find her again after years of abandonment, he is not going to let go of her ever again.
Time and space relinquish control, and he steps in to take the wings on her back and break them—taking her freedom one day at a time while he poisons her with his love.
Tabby doesn’t need anyone but Adrian; he would make sure of that.
She is a strong and independent woman with a reputation as the best astrophysicist, but Navy SEALs Doctor Adrian Shafer is a hero with sinister villain tendencies.
He will make her remember him.
Chapter One
Tabby
“Marry me.”
The pen in my mouth falls, smacking loudly on the table as I look up from my paperwork. The mess around me is of a tornado’s doing; papers scattered, pens uncapped and in-between pages as bookmarks while the brightly lit room highlights the morning hours.
My phone between my ear and shoulder remains silent as I wonder if I heard it wrong. “Good morning” and “Marry me” are nowhere near the same-sounding syllables. I must not be fully awake yet.
It must be a prank call because no one in his right mind would ask a stranger to marry him unless it’s done to get his fifteen minutes of fame on social media.
I may have been up in space for a long time and the time dilation between space shuttles and the Earth has drastic differences based on where I am in space, but I still know a joke when I hear one.
Times have changed on Earth, and the day I returned to solid ground with the team, I was overwhelmed by the changes: the flourishing world of technology, children growing up way too fast, and the ever-growing feud of everything.
If one person has a stance on something, another will have the complete opposite. Fashion has changed, laws are being amended, and the voices of those who were oppressed in the past have risen to fight for their individual rights as human beings living in the United States.
“Wrong number,” I mumble back, and press the “end call” button.
It took me a whole day with my eyes glued on the screen of the phone to figure out how to use this strange contraption.
Thirty years passed on earth, but as I was up in space, it meant that I have only aged a mere two years. It’s an odd feeling, something hard for my head to wrap around because life is such an intriguing thing that I want to understand it more.
That can wait; I’m still getting a handle on technological changes. While I was gone, more books on new scientific findings have been published, and new cures for diseases discovered that save lives; DNA technology is capturing those who thought they had gotten away with their crimes.
It’s been five months since I came back, and I got used to the changes in front of my eyes during my third month. I spent the rest of my time catching up with the new discoveries of science and understanding the schematics of the insane shift of cultures.
Another call comes in, but it’s the name of my assistant instead of the unknown number. I should have checked before I answered, but I am a rookie at technology, so I can make rookie mistakes.
Though common sense tells me that I’m stupid, people with half a brain cell would check before answering.
“Hello?” I say over the speaker as I highlight a text for future reference for my notes.
I jot down the parts that need further clarification as my assistant tells me that there is a charity event for me; all the renowned scientists and rich folks will be there to congratulate everyone on the Hercules for the great success of the mission.
No one knows what we were doing up in space; the level of classified clearance someone needs to read into the files in-person would be the equivalent of the Secretary of Defense.
It’s why the security detail on every Hercules member is heavy, but they don’t speak to me at all. I just pretend that I don’t see them; they’re pieces of the big picture that broke apart. I don’t think I have seen them even blink once; that’s how still they stay while protecting me—it’s difficult to be a normal girl when I have burly men flanking me.
“No, thank you.” I flip another page on the notebook, rereading the things I wrote as I twirl my highlighter between my fingers.
I have daft fingers, so the highlighter tumbles out of my grasp, but I am not a sore loser that takes defeat facing down. I take the highlighter again and manage to have one swirl before it falls again.
“You don’t need me there, and besides, I’m giving blood today. I won’t be able to make it.”
I deem it adequate to hang up; my assistant can be uptight about public appearances. When I was interning at NASA after the rare opportunity came to me via a recruiter, she said that the executives had reviewed my physics essay for an Ethics elective class. They were intrigued and wanted me to intern with them.
At that time, I was simply jumping from one major to another, trying to see which would fit me or if I even liked them at all. I found that I had a knack for physics even though I hated math, but it beats being a Mathematician; my taste for Geometry only consists of the basic shapes and not needing to find the proof that an octagon is an octagon.
I hated Proof the most.
It’s got eight sides; that’s how far anyone should go to know that it’s an octagon.
“Alright, alright,” I give in to the assistant that’s been with me for mere months, but her tiger-mom characteristics transfer from her children to me.
“I’ll come if I have time, but I have to give blood first.” I can tell she’s about to say something from that inhalation, “Have a nice day!”
With my phone turning black, I now have a situation in hand that I can’t resolve. I can handle needles just fine, but it’s the sight of blood that makes me queasy, and I must sit there for who knows how long to finish one session of bloodletting.
That’s an old saying, and I should keep up with my modern preferences, so I don’t ward people off with my gruesome vocabulary that isn’t PR-appropriate.
I would rather suffer watching my blood get sucked out of me than be in a room with people trying to get me to work for them; I am a loyal NASA astrophysicist. My love for space trumps all money, even if I ma
de a lot given that I was on a dangerous mission up in space.
The money in the account that the NASA accountants set up for me before I went on the mission had been building far more than I ever anticipated. I almost fainted when I checked the amount, but I’m not focused on that when I only wanted to know if I still had a job at NASA.
They said “Yes,” and I could finally sleep in peace in my own expensive home that the government funded.
The perks of being an employee of NASA are ridiculous, and I can’t complain about it. Hard work comes with higher advantages, but money provides only temporary happiness when my long-lost soulmate is the space and the twinkling of my babies.
Every constellation is unique, and they will never outshine one another; each one is equal in beauty and brightness.
“Ah!” I snap my finger at a thought that popped up in my head.
There was an email from NASA that a blood drive will be open to anyone who wants to give blood. It’s all going towards the soldiers fighting a war overseas. My bleeding heart didn’t delete it, and this is the perfect chance for me to get out of that charity for rich people.
I smile to myself; this ingenious idea would save me, and I can go home early too.
Leaving the mess on the table, I dash out of the door and come face-to-face with two men who have muscles ripping out of their black shirts. Sometimes, I wonder when they have the time to work out since they have me under round-the-clock surveillance.
They’re super-soldiers. I just know it from the bottom of my gutless stomach.
I am a coward and a weakling. I will never be the first in line for battle. I’m the support like those medics in video games; I’m more useful when my mind isn’t firing the same decibels as assault rifles.
“Gentlemen, I need to get my blood sucked!” I shoot them a grin, running towards the door with a slight panic that my assistant might already be on her way to my house to personally drag me to the charity event.
Getting to the Navy base must be easy because the driver is another one of my bodyguards. He doesn’t care that I’m in Donald Duck pajamas and a pizza-stained shirt as he takes me on this short road trip.
He neither makes conversation, nor does he turn on the radio, but I’m glad I can breathe without having another man in the car with us. I have constant eyes on me, and it’s starting to take a toll on my psyche. The inkling of paranoia eats at my mind that even sleeping doesn’t negate those feelings.
As we approach the gated area with men in uniform that reminds me of the army, they ask for identification and peer into the backseat to look at me. With no warning, one of them pushed a flashlight into my eyes, and I groan at the aching in my head.
“I apologize, Ms. Sterling,” the man drops the light and smiles.
From my time thirty years earlier, I would have been super paranoid that someone knows my name without asking me. Then I came back, and the television broadcasted the return of Hercules after being in space for a long time. Now, everyone practically knows every member on the ship by heart because it’s still news till this day.
I have had reporters trying to break into my home for an interview or a picture of me, but the guards always get them before they tread too far. Each time people either get craftier or it gets more outlandish, but they are relentless as they pursue their next story that could put their name on the map.
My driver brings me up to the front entrance of the Navy yard; it’s big and busy as people are coming in for work. I’m just in time for the blood drive that starts at seven and will run for the entire day.
I wave the driver away. I know that his job is to protect me, as well as to make sure that he never leaves my side. He doesn’t need to worry about me in a place filled with government agents with guns.
He is employed by NASA, but must listen to me, so I tell him to take the day off while I do this blood drive. Reluctantly, he watches me go inside the entrance and pass the security check before he goes away.
My gut tells me that he’s going to park at a hidden place but keep an eye on me, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he blended in with other agents.
The blood drive is on one of the higher floors, and the elevator is packed with agents from various departments of the Navy, but I know their eyes are on me no matter how subtle they try to make it look.
I get off before anyone could ask me questions as I adjust the visitor’s badge clipped on my shirt. I notice that I’m in pajamas, and they were probably finding it funny. There are more people than I thought; each station has a blue examination bed and a doctor or nurse attending the donors. I step up to the signup sheet that has a ton of information that I need to fill out. It’s daunting how many types of medical conditions there are on this one regular, white piece of paper.
“Hello!” the person in front of me greets with a big smile, and I return one that’s equally bright.
“Hello, is this where I sign up?”
She nods, “Yes, just fill this out, and you can start your donation after I have determined your eligibility based on the information you give me.”
I take the clipboard with the pen dangling to the side and walk to the wall where I have privacy to fill out my forms. Basic information gets filled first, and then I go down to my medical history, but I have never heard of any of these conditions, so I check no for all of them.
Finishing the last bits before my signature goes on the bottom with the date next to it, I set the pen back into the little holder on the metal clasp and take the clipboard back to the woman sitting at the table.
She looks over the information and congratulates me on being able to be a blood donor. She has an odd way of saying it, and I push that thought back to step into the area that’s separated by a massive medical shield for more privacy and to cut back the noises.
The more comfortable the donors are, the easier it is for the doctors and nurses, and I think some of the donors are taking this relaxing time to fall asleep.
“Good morning—” a nurse walks up to me, but her steps falter as she stammers. “Doctor Shafer!”
My eyebrow jumps at her red face, but it takes me a minute to know that she’s not talking to me. Her eyes are zeroed in on the body behind me, and I can see the shadow dwarfing me in front of my feet.
Having exponential growth over the changes in climate and environmental factors, I never expect someone to cover me with their shadow in any angle. He must be one huge man, and attractive too, based on how flustered the woman is.
I turn my head, peering through my lashes at the white lab coat and the straining navy-blue button-up seeping into the grooves of his chest.
Alright, he’s muscular.
My eyes travel up to the thickness of his throat and the vein on the side is too visible as a jawline lined with rough stubbles. Just a little more upward glance gets me a view of sharp cheekbones and deep, brown eyes that steal my breath.
I understand why the nurse is blushing. I’m probably burning up too.
The mess on top of his head is black. It gives him a nice sexual appearance with a slight touch of pure masculinity. My mind plays a scenario where he bathes in baby oil and poses in front of a full-length mirror. A man with such sexiness should not be in that scene, and I slap my hand over my mouth to not laugh.
My head snaps back to the nurse as she’s too star-struck to steer me to where I’m supposed to sit, so the doctor takes the initiative to put his big hand on the dip of my back where it meets my butt. Professionalism would tell me that he’s putting his hand too low, but Tabby is a young girl who is chronologically an old woman.
“This way,” he says, deep and assertive.
My heart thumps against my ribs. The shivers going down my toes make my feet stationary on the ground as my mind is reeling in the feeling of familiarity of his touch.
I know him from somewhere, but I can’t put my finger on it.
I would recognize someone this attractive from a mile away, but it has been thirty years, and people
have changed with time.
His voice is another thing that I notice, and not only have I seen him from somewhere, I also heard his voice at some point in my life.
Doctor Shafer takes me to the more secluded area where I can’t see the common section. I’m being taken to a room with medical equipment as I sneak a long look around me to memorize the route of escape if I need it.
“Doctor?” I raise a question to him, “Where are you taking me?”
The older man doesn’t say much, just enough to tell me, “You have special treatment.”
“I do?” My confusion doesn’t stop there, and his voice is so familiar that it bothers me since I am someone who needs answers to everything, or it’s going to keep me up at night.
The room he pulls me into is white with the medical bed centered in the middle that has the elevated back support to the wall where there is a sink, chairs, and a computer. This floor must be the medical center, and I always thought that it’s closer to the bottom where emergencies can be assessed quicker.
I assume this place is for non-emergencies, and the more pressing things are somewhere else on the base.
“Sit,” he says, hooking his hands under my arm and lifting me up to the bed that functions as a chair.
I may have graduated with honors, but my degree doesn’t have the necessary medical knowledge to know what the heck this contraption is.
“What’s this called?” I pat the blue cushion while actively ignoring the butterflies fluttering in my tummy that he literally picked me up like he’s holding up a sack of potatoes.
“Examination table,” he says as he stands between my legs.
Wow, I was wrong on both names.
“Why am I here and not out there? I don’t need special treatment,” my voice stutters, wavering even squeakier when Doctor Shafter puts a big, warm hand on my knee. The duck pajama pants are hideous when I should be seducing him with sexy lingerie.
That is an acceptable form of meeting men that I have learned from the vast knowledge of the internet.
