Doctor's Secret (Carver Family)

by Lyz Kelley

  Bright colors, feminine clutter, and antiques were what he expected, so the muted earth tones and simple furniture surprised him. She moved around him to fasten the two deadbolts and chain securing the steel door. He contemplated the excess security until a petite, round-faced woman came around the corner.

  “Abby, this is Dr. Branston…er…a…my pretend fiancé.”

  “Oh, yeah, right. Liam told me about the project.”

  Project? He wasn’t anyone’s project.

  “Don’t worry,” Abby assured him. “You can count on me to keep the secret.” She shoved a hand in his direction. “Nice to meet you, Doctor.” The brunette woman smiled but assessed him like his sisters assessed a new pair of shoes, determining comfort and whether the pair might fit. Reaching a conclusion, she turned her attention back to McKenzie. “The food is here. I set the table.”

  “You didn’t need to do that, but thank you.”

  The exchange seemed odd, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it. He kept trying to fit the Carvers into a pretentious mold, but the casting continued to fall apart. At a bump on his calf, he looked down toward the floor. Golden, slitted eyes stared back. He crouched to let the creamsicle cat smell his hand.

  “Who might you be?” He let the long-bodied feline have a good sniff before scratching behind the orange-striped ears. “You’re missing a leg there, buddy.”

  The cat flopped over and swatted at his shoelaces.

  “You want to wrestle?” He gently shoved the cat’s hind end, sending the body spinning.

  The cat’s cross-eyed stare made him laugh.

  The fourteen-pounder got to its feet, shot him an indignant look, and sauntered away, in no way compensating for his missing leg.

  Both women stared at Garrett wide-eyed, as if he’d sprouted green ears and a tail.

  “What?”

  McKenzie’s big eyes moved between him and the cat. “George normally doesn’t let anyone get within ten feet of him.”

  “Seems okay with me.”

  “Seems so.”

  The cat brushed up against the corner of the wall, glancing back. Waiting.

  Abby’s scrutinizing eyes held his attention before she turned to McKenzie, grabbed her hand, and squeezed. “Call me if you need anything. I’ll be in the next room.” A silent message passed between the two women before Abby disappeared.

  How odd.

  “What would you like to drink?” McKenzie asked on her way to the kitchen.

  The narrow hall opened into a massive room, with other rooms connected through attached doorways. “Beer, if you have it.”

  She veered off toward the kitchen, and he walked over to take in the city skyline. When she appeared beside him holding the beer bottle by the glass neck, he leaned closer.

  “Nice view.”

  “Central Park is lovely lit up at night.”

  “Mac?” Wrapping his hand around the bottle, he gave a little tug to get her attention. “I meant you.” His voice sounded husky, with a craving overtone he couldn’t control. “Geez, that sounded corny. It’s been a while, sorry,” he said, trying to remember the last time he felt this way, which was never.

  “Branston, when are you going to stop apologizing?”

  As she gazed out the window at the New York skyline, her body seemed to relax. He slipped his free arm around her waist, and she didn’t pull away. “Today seems like a good day to start.” He sighed over the sweet sensation rolling across his skin.

  She leaned her head on his shoulder and nuzzled closer.

  “I’ve never met a person before who makes me want to be better,” he added.

  “That’s okay because I’ve never met a person who makes me feel sexy,” she murmured letting the words drift into the room.

  A tender thrill pulsed through him, creating an arousal that had been long dormant. “So, what’s the next step, Boss?”

  She breathed in a gallon of air before slowly exhaling. “This was all supposed to be pretend, so I’m not sure. I need some space and time to get used to the idea that what I feel might be real.”

  “You like to plan and analyze and make appointments. Might I suggest we coordinate calendars. Schedule a real date. Something fun. Away from the hospital. Although, I should warn you, my schedule is sporadic, and I can’t do permanent. I’m married to the hospital, and she can be a ruthless lady when it comes to stealing time or allowing any other relationship to thrive.”

  “That’s fair and honest.”

  The fact his statement and her accepting response nearly choked him might surprise her. It surprised him. For the first time in years he didn’t want to think about serving others. He wanted her, and allowed his body to take over, closing the distance between them, pulling her closer, his lips brushing hers with a light kiss. She didn’t move or breathe.

  After setting his beer on the coffee table, he used both arms to align her body with his. “I’m not sure I can wait for an appointment. Tell me if you mind drop-ins.”

  His intense desire escalated. He lowered his lips and played with hers until she leaned in and pressed her lips to his. He tightened his grip. The thought of the comfortable-looking leather sofa behind him presented ideas, but his mind registered that she hadn’t slipped her arms around him, and she didn’t move closer. He released his grip one finger at a time. “McKenzie?”

  “Hmm.” She seemed distracted, but not in the good, romantic way.

  “What’s going through that beautiful and intelligent mind of yours?”

  She snuggled into the crook of his neck, her breath hot on his skin. “I’m not sure I’m ready for what comes next.”

  “I’m not sure myself. But I was hoping I could kiss you again. It’s been a long time, and I need the practice.”

  The hitch of her giggles bubbled against him and created a sense of satisfaction. He wrapped his arm around her back and shoulders and guided her closer. Her head lifted. The look of wonder broke his desire to take it slow. When his lips descended, they consumed her mouth, pressing, pulling, wanting her to feel the way he felt, to share his growing desire. His hand skimmed up her body and cupped her breast. When he pressed in, she stepped back and bumped into an end table and tipped off balance.

  When her arms lifted and flailed for balance, he grabbed her wrist hard and locked a steadying arm around her waist. She stiffened in his arms. A snapshot of pure terror froze on her face. She opened her mouth, but only a heart-wrenching whimper escaped before her arms extended, frantically pushing against his chest. Her body twisted and turned in desperation.

  The beer on the table crashed to the floor. He tightened his grip to create a center of balance. Their limbs tangled. She stared past him as she continued to push, and he pulled. Her head dropped forward and cracked him in the jaw.

  “No! No! No, don’t.” Her voice sounded shrill and panicked.

  One final wrench and he lost the wrist hold. She launched backward over the arm of her leather couch and lay sprawled half on, half off the sofa, her eyes wide, her chest heaving with the effort of taking in a breath.

  “McKenzie?” He advanced a step, kicking the glass bottle, and then stopped. The look of terror in her eyes cemented his feet to the floor. He’d seen that look before, on the street below the Brooklyn subway station. A clamp of concern tightened around his chest and squeezed.

  “What did you do?” a voice screeched from the doorway.

  Within seconds, Abby shoved past him, knocking him back. She rounded the furniture to gather McKenzie in her protective arms. “What the hell did you do?”

  “Nothing.” Except experience the most glorious kiss.

  “I knew this wasn’t a good idea.” Abby wrapped around her friend like a mother dog around her pups.

  Helpless, he stood a few steps back. “Would you tell me what just happened?”

  “She trusted you. She trusted you, and you blew it.” Abby caressed McKenzie’s arm for comfort. “Right now, you should leave. Please, go.”

  Eve
rything about the situation said to walk away—no, run. But he stood there and watched Mac’s violent trembling, unable to look away. The polar contrast to the woman in control at the hospital, and to the woman he now admired, seemed implausible. She had layers, many, many layers.

  For some stupid reason, he wanted to dig deeper and learn her secrets. He wanted to comfort her. Instead, he stepped back.

  “McKenzie, I’m…I’m sorry. I know you don’t want an apology. Whatever I….” Words wouldn’t help. He lifted the beer bottle off the floor and placed it on the glass table, trying to make things right—to rewind the moment. But the damage had been done.

  Abby’s glare sliced through him. “Leave it. I’ll clean up. Just get out of here.”

  With nothing left to say, he moved toward the door. His frustrated fingers worked the ridiculous number of locks and chains until the last one fell away to allow escape. In the outer foyer, he punched the elevator button and paced until it arrived, and then pushed the first-floor button repeatedly until the metal doors slid shut. He leaned back against the wall, letting his head fall forward, taking in a baffled breath.

  At least he’d been able to get out of her apartment before he’d done something stupid.

  Like stay.

  The familiar click of the front door deadbolt sliding home resonated through the apartment. Regret settled in. McKenzie’s lungs filled with a calm, determined breath. She crossed her arms over her stomach to slow the churning fear.

  Garrett had kissed her. The warmth of his lips still tingled. If she hadn’t tripped over the stupid table, if he hadn’t shackled her wrists with his hands, apprehension wouldn’t have given way to panic and twisted into a dead chill, allowing rational thought to evaporate. The demons that haunted the edges of her pragmatic mind had taken over, forcing her body to react irrationally.

  Abby’s returning footsteps quieted her turbulent thoughts. “What a jerk.”

  Her protective tone gave McKenzie comfort.

  “It wasn’t his fault.”

  “Right. Tell me that again, and make me believe it.”

  The concerned look on her friend’s face made her cringe. “All he wanted to do was kiss me. And I…I overreacted.”

  “He shouldn’t have tried something like that.”

  “Why, because I’m damaged goods?”

  “You’re not damaged. You’re just wounded and need to heal.” Abby settled her shoulder on the doorframe, frustration creasing the corners of her mouth. “Can I do anything? Get you some water? Call your psychologist? Or Liam?”

  “Not Liam, and especially not Mom’s psychologist. That’s the last thing I need. If you can find a flash of magic and revert my life to what it was, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Sorry, I tried ordering fairy dust three years ago, but there’s a shortage. Apparently, it’s on permanent back order.”

  A stretch of the lips, like when she applied lipstick, pulled her skin tight across her face. “Don’t look so worried.” An embarrassing quiver seized her throat, and words jammed together. She swallowed again, and again, to ease the knot and gather her thoughts. “Garrett meant no harm.”

  “But he did harm. That’s the problem. And from what Liam said, he’s trouble.”

  “Garrett doesn’t know my history. He may not be the best when dealing with people, but he isn’t a bad man. You should see him work with kids.”

  Abby pushed from the doorframe and made her way around the end of the couch. Her lips were thin, almost to the point of turning white. Unspoken words dangled between them. Abby seemed to wrangle back her thoughts and sank into the leather couch. The silence stretched heartbeat by heartbeat until Abby’s shoulders eased, and her concern yielded. “I guess he can’t be all that bad if George likes him. That monster hates everyone but you.”

  The furry feline, who was sprawled on the leather chair opposite them, swinging his tail, irritated by the mere mention of his name, lifted his head. All but a select few had entered her apartment in the past few years, so the orange maniac had limited opportunity to sink his claws into someone. “Maybe he’s grown passive in his old age.”

  “Very unlikely. Look at him.”

  That cat lived to ambush his next victim. George’s instant acceptance of Garrett created a perplexing riddle. “I was shocked when George let Garrett near him.”

  “Not only near him…Did you see the doctor spin that cat? I thought he would lose a hand for sure.”

  McKenzie hadn’t missed George’s lack of response. “Maybe we’re the one’s being too critical. Maybe it’s kids and animals who have it right. They see a person for who they are. It’s adults who taint people with their discriminatory judgments. Garrett has some rough edges, but beneath all those harsh words is a kind and honest man.”

  Abby’s eyes widened with enlightenment. “Oh, my God. You like him. And I’m not saying in a buddy-buddy type of way either.”

  “I do not.”

  “Then why are you defending him?”

  Her mouth opened to give a response, but nothing came out.

  Having a man look at her the way he did—no, not just look. His eyes told her he needed, wanted, craved. She shuddered with a dormant desire she hadn’t realized still existed.

  Not for all the stocks on Wall Street would she have bet those emotions, the raw, primal need, would surface again in her lifetime.

  “I committed to defending him with the board and staff, to ensure the success of our project.” She brushed her fingers across her bottom lip, the shape of his mouth appearing in her mind. “Plus, he’s easy on the eyes. If George can tolerate him, maybe I can too.”

  “Woman…you’ve got it bad.”

  Heat burned her cheeks. The realization settled in. “I guess I do.”

  The cowering ball of fear that had curled her inward evaporated. Her body stretched and expanded with determination. She hated being weak, scared, and not able to move past that single event. Living a life feeling powerless to make a change was no way to live. She longed to experience a man’s touch without cringing, or worse, panicking. She longed to walk the New York streets on a hot summer’s night and feel the energy of the city, enjoy the bustling sounds, and not hear the words of her stalker. The man who’d destroyed her life because he became infatuated with a picture in a magazine.

  She missed the insignificant experiences she’d once taken for granted.

  She wanted to feel again.

  Live again.

  Chapter 8

  Garrett closed the boardroom door behind him and headed toward his office. Excitement pulsed through every cell in his body. He had to call his sisters and give them the news.

  “Dr. Branston,” a masculine voice called, shoving him out of his mental celebration. He slowed and turned. The jubilation bouncing around in his head fading.

  Liam Carver’s stride lengthened, his body rigid and tense, his face too serious.

  Now what? “Liam.” He hesitated, and then extended his hand in greeting, a peace offering if needed, even though he still couldn’t figure out what the hell had happened last night. “What brings you to the hospital?”

  The man released his hand. “I’m giving the board a closing project report. I’m up in a few minutes. From the look on your face, you did well.”

  “I get to keep my job. That’s always a good thing.” And with the board’s backing, he hoped he didn’t have to worry about the Carvers too much longer.

  Liam slid his chin back and smirked. “If I know that group, they’re trying to figure out how to heap on more responsibility.”

  “You got that right. The board supported several of my recommendations for improvement, which translates into more work for me. By the way, thanks for personally pulling some favors to get the project over the finish line.”

  “We got it done, but man, what a challenge. Every time we turned a corner it was something else. Hey, the footage from the surgery turned out great. If you like, I’ll shoot you a draft of the footage.”


  He understood about the unexpected and could empathize. A kid could be healing, and then BAM, an infection could derail the recovery. “I’d like that.”

  “I expect my dad put you through the paces in there. He’s like that. Don’t take it personally.”

  “Good to know.”

  Liam glanced around him only to step in closer a few seconds later. “Since you’re not going to mention it, I will.” His voice came out as a conspiratorial whisper. “I understand something happened between you and my sister yesterday. At least that’s what Abby said.”

  A sudden tightening of his chest made him take a deep breath. “Abby? That explains a lot. I didn’t figure your sister for the tattling type.”

  “She’s not, and you should know that by now.” Liam shifted his briefcase to the opposite hand, demonstrating a nervousness Garrett rarely observed in a Carver.

  “I don’t know why so many people have gotten involved. Nothing happened.”

  “Something happened but it didn’t start with you.”

  Crossing his arms over his chest, Garrett waited for more accusations to come, but none did. “What’s your point?”

  Liam’s contemplative, distant stare gave Garrett the impression the man fought to find the right words—words chosen to convey precise meaning. A long second passed before Liam’s gaze drifted back and centered on his face. “I don’t know how you do it. You make my sister laugh. You get her to take public transportation. And you make her steaming mad.” He smiled. “That’s not a bad thing. She hasn’t looked at a man like she looks at you in a long time.”

  Why did he get the impression Liam wanted to say ever, instead of long time? “I respect your sister’s position, that’s why I agreed to this engagement thing in the first place, and I get that some bastard boyfriend hurt her, but—”