by Lyz Kelley
“What happens when you’re no longer practicing? Someday you’ll retire. Then what?”
Fear choked off his breath. If he lost his license to practice, he’d be left no choice. His mind went numb. He walked to the nearest park bench and sagged onto the metal seat. He didn’t want to think of what he would do. He didn’t want to believe there might come a time when he wouldn’t be able to practice medicine. But the current situation made the possibility all too real.
“I don’t know. I’ve wanted to be a doctor since I was a boy.”
She slid into the space beside him and touched his forearm. “I shouldn’t have asked. There’s no need to worry about your future today. The investigation will go quickly, and you’ll be back to work in no time. You’ll see.” Her confidence made his churning stomach ease.
“And until then? What will I do? I have no family here. I haven’t had time to make friends. I’ve visited most of the museums. I can’t go back to LA, because they’ve asked me to remain available for questions.”
“I’ll tell you what you’ll do. Tomorrow when you accompany me to the ball, I’ll make sure the board sees my family supports you. Then Sunday we’ll go to the football game. And tonight we’ll get some takeout and watch movies.”
Another time her suggestions might create excitement but this sympathy invitation was based on an obligation, not the desire to be with him. He shifted on the bench, separating his physical desires from stark reality. “Mac, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I’m the last person you want to be with right now.”
“You nag, nag, nag me about adopting a child, one of yours. I apply to give Ellie a home, and you refuse to help me celebrate with dinner and a movie?”
He sucked in air to plug the hole she’d poked in his defenses. “Really?”
“Really!”
Launching to his feet, he hauled her into his arms, spinning them in circles. His whoops and laughter mixed with hers.
“This is great news.” His ginormous grin confirmed his enthusiasm. “Ellie will be one lucky girl. This means, I get to check in and see her from time to time. Maybe I should get a few buckets of ice cream. When do you sign the adoption papers?”
“The caseworker at Child Protective Services said that since my home study is already complete, it’ll take about a week to process the application. I should hear soon after that. They seem eager to get her placed.”
“That’s cool.”
“And scary. If the adoption moves as fast as they say it will, I only have a week to get the nursery painted, furniture delivered, and all my art supplies packed and put into storage.”
“Why are you packing your art supplies?”
“I want Ellie next to my room. So the studio needs to go.” She shrugged with a determined emphasis.
“I thought you loved your studio. You have other rooms. I saw at least one, maybe two. Besides, there are monitors you can put all over the house so you know how she’s doing.”
“I love my studio, but Ellie and her welfare are more important. I’ve been searching for a small retail space with good foot traffic to open an art gallery. Now I have an incentive to find something suitable.”
He shouldn’t be getting sucked in. Personally invested. She was at least three, four, maybe even five circles of influence outside his social sphere. If not for the hospital, they would never have met.
He should be sprinting a hundred miles an hour in the opposite direction, but all roads led back to her. Figures. Trouble tracked him down like a sniffing hound dog. He studied her sweet face, with little freckles she often tried to hide with makeup. “You’re full of surprises today. Adopting. Opening a studio. Looks like you’re checking off those changes you want to make and fast. You’ll be such a great mom.”
“Would you help me paint?” She pulled color sample cards from her purse. “I picked buttercup yellow. I thought Ellie might like it. She reminds me of a gerbera daisy, bright and happy, now that the drugs are out of her system.” She paused, her movements fidgety. “The paint store should have delivered the supplies by now. I could use help moving my drafting table.”
“Coming to your apartment may not be such a good idea. The last two times, I’ve made you nervous. I’m not sure if my ego can handle it a third time. Perhaps Liam can lend you a hand.”
A bright pink blush spread across her cheeks. “Liam’s in San Francisco with a client and doesn’t get back until tomorrow morning, and I want to get started today.” She twisted her wrist and looked at her watch. “To pay you back for helping me move the table, I’ll order Chinese, and promise not to toss you out of my apartment. I can’t promise George won’t attack your shoelaces. How does 5:30 sound?”
Underneath her pushy, decisive, corporate-executive façade lived a woman with the biggest, kindest and most gentle heart. The drastic contrast always left him in awe.
“Gotta love a woman who takes charge.” He gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek. The softness of her skin made his body sigh. “I’ll come on two conditions.” Her wary expression made him laugh. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s not that bad. I’d like to suggest I move the heavy stuff and tape while you paint. I bet you can be rather particular about painting. I don’t want to trigger the next world war.”
“And your second condition?”
“I get to buy Ellie one of those plush Pooh-bears. She likes soft things.”
Her eyes sparkled, and her lips curved into a joyous, everything-is-going-to-be okay smile.
“Deal,” she said with a raw excitement he hadn’t heard before. “I’d better go. All my art supplies need to be boxed up so we can move the table.”
“If you’re making me work, I might as well start now. I have little else to do.”
“You sure?”
He questioned his sanity. Entering her apartment wasn’t safe, at least for him, but curiosity overrode his reality check. He wanted to know more about her—learn who the real McKenzie Carver was without all the practiced layers she showed the world. He wanted to scrape back the layers until he found the person, not the impressionistic view of the woman.
“Suddenly I have lots of time. Preparing a nursery sounds like a perfect way to spend my day.”
Shifting from foot to foot, she looked like a little girl waiting to go to a birthday party. Adorable. Playful. Excited. He gathered his backpack and moved beside her, as jealousy gave him a pinch.
She had found her path to happy, while he had tripped and taken a nosedive onto the cement.
Why did life always leave him bruised and bloodied?
Garrett held her hand. He’d kissed her—a soft, feathery kiss—and a beautiful and strange and terrifying feeling hit her all at once.
McKenzie had dreamed about him for weeks. The dreams she’d overanalyzed, justified, and then dismissed. Today’s physical connection was all too real and allowed her to hope. For the first time in too many months, the ugly darkness didn’t invoke fear when a man touched her. Garrett’s touch helped her believe, believe that life offered possibilities.
Unlocking her apartment door, she moved toward the kitchen and he followed behind, carrying the gallon of paint and extra supplies she’d ordered.
“Thanks, Garrett. Hey, would you mind putting the supplies in the studio, first room on the left?”
He disappeared down the hall and through the studio’s doorway. She shrugged off her jacket and headed for the kitchen to warm a cup for tea. “Can I get you something to drink?”
A minute passed. He didn’t respond. Another minute passed. Odd. Then it hit her. The drawings.
Oh, C.R.A.P.
She rushed to the studio, her heart thumping faster than her feet. The drawings of him and Ellie cradled naked against his bare chest amplified the panic. At least the painting she’d prepared for the auction was already at the hotel. She decided to hold off telling him about the picture until doing anything about it was too late. His eyes met hers. Questions dangled between them.
“I
can explain.” The words tumbled out of her mouth faster than her mind created a meaningful excuse.
He rotated the first page of art in his hands toward her. “Your work is incredible. The mural is great, but these sketches are fantastic. You captured Ellie perfectly. I like her fussy smile and defiant eyes.” He shuffled the sample pages. “Is this how you see me?”
Her favorite sketch—his naked torso, firm chin, Ellie in his arms, the soft morning light drifting over his shoulder—he held in his hand.
“They’re just doodles.” She tried sounding convincing, but the words came out too fast, squeaky and false.
“These aren’t just doodles—it’s art. I’m flattered. I’m not this perfect. I wish I were this man.”
“To me you are. Bold, yet soft. Strong, yet loving. Demanding, yet giving.”
The smoldering interest in his eyes made her body tense.
“These drawings are intimate, intuitive, almost sexual. Every day you push me away, but these sketches tell me you are interested. Why are you holding back?”
She rubbed her palms down her pants to avoid fidgeting. How could she explain something she didn’t understand herself? How could she explain the tug and pull of her emotions?
“When people get too close or invade my boundaries, fear chokes off all logical thought. I hear my attacker’s voice, his words echoing in my head. It’s easier to keep people at a distance than explain my odd reactions. Unfortunately, I’ve not been able to hide it from you. You’ve gotten the real deal, and I’m sorry for that.”
“Why unfortunately? Why are you sorry? That guy should be neutered for what he did. People—good people, the ones you want in your life—will understand.”
“I realize how isolated I’ve become thanks to my overprotective family. I haven’t dealt with all my baggage.”
“We want what’s best for you.”
He said ‘we,’ meaning him. By definition the word we meant plural, like not alone, and offered a great deal of potential. The thread of possibilities got thicker.
Sure, she grew up in a tight, supportive family, but the need to succeed created an isolation. The edict to show no fear, no tears, no weakness, made growing up harder when setbacks and failures happened. And she’d failed. A lot.
“Friends and family protecting me, isolating me, doesn’t help. I’ve been in this continuous loop for three years. When that gunman came to the hospital, what you said, what you did for me—everyone—that was different. It helped. I’m more in control and feel oddly safe. That is until my brain kicks in, and I start the what-ifs and should-haves.”
“Maybe thinking too much is the problem. I still vote for spontaneity. Living in the moment pushes you to the edge. Makes you live life.”
The automated defensive beast in her wanted to bite, tell him to keep his diagnosis to himself. The problem was, he was right. She did think too much. In fact, her brain never shut off. Even when sleeping, she always felt like she was running toward or from something. Her life was an endless track and all she’d been able to do was keep running. In circles, probably. Just the thought of living left her exhausted.
“Mac, look at me.” His soft, caressing tone encouraged her to meet his eyes. “What is it you need?”
The question punched her in the gut. Stubbornness, a self-defense mechanism, made her take a step back. “I don’t need anything.”
Disappointment flashed in his eyes before determination bullied its way back in. “Let me rephrase. What does a woman who can buy anything she wants, need?”
Avoiding his question would be easy. She had the skills to contrive an answer close enough to the truth he would accept. But she sensed a pivotal moment, a crossroad on this jagged journey. She wanted happiness. She’d even settle for contentment.
A tiny voice told her not taking this chance would haunt her. All she needed was a little step forward to meet him halfway. Her hand fisted at her side while determination floated to the surface.
She took the drawings from his hand and laid them on the table. “A kiss.”
The whispered request floated in the air like a feather pushed by the current of her emotions.
He leaned forward, tilting his ear toward her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”
“A kiss. I need to feel again.” She didn’t look at him. Her arms pulled inward and her breathing stopped waiting for his rejection.
“Tell me what you’re thinking.”
Her chin lifted and her eyes met his. “I want to be normal. To be touched and kissed without hearing my attacker’s voice in my head. I want to lay my head on my pillow at night and sleep at least a few hours in peace. I want to walk the streets of New York without having my inner voice sound alarms like someone’s about to attack me. Or close the door of my apartment without thinking I need four locks engaged on my door. I want to go back to the life I had. I need to live.”
Sure he would reject her for the psycho she was, she turned to leave, but his light touch stopped her. She turned back and wiped away the pooling tears. He stood, her hero, his arms open, waiting for her to take a step—just a single step, a brave step—into his comforting arms.
For the first time in years, she took an essential step forward, not inward or back, but forward.
His arms wrapped around her like a swaddling blanket. Tears trailed down her face for the life she wanted back, for the lost innocence, for life’s cruel injustices. She struggled to breathe. She fought to be in the moment and focused on doing something fresh and new.
Exhaustion weakened her knees, and she pushed back. He released her, sensing a restlessness. He would never take. Only offer and give.
Her lips began to tremble, and she stepped closer again. “You don’t have to kiss me. It’s okay. I understand. It’s just…it’s just that I’m not afraid.”
Pulling her into his arms, he groaned. His mouth descended like a perfect snowflake and landed on her lips. His tongue brushed hers. She tugged him closer, arms circling his shoulders, before she skimmed her hands down his muscular back. When his lips pressed into the soft skin below her ear, she dropped her head back, absorbing the warmth of his breath. Her body hummed. Stomach muscles tightened when he brushed a hand along the side of her breast. Her body came alive.
When she moaned and pressed closer, he dropped his hands to her arms and pushed back.
“This isn’t a good idea.” His words came out choppy and firm and passionate. He ran his thumb over her bottom lip. “You’ll want more, and I can’t—”
“Help me push my fears away for good.” She touched his arm when he looked away. “Garrett, I want to create new memories. I don’t want that guy to live in my head anymore. You said something about being married to the hospital. I get that. But right now the administrators have given us the gift of time. When this gets cleared up—when you are cleared and reinstated—whatever we share will end. I’ll end our fake engagement at the same time. No strings attached. You’ll be free to focus on your work. All I’m asking for is the time, and help.”
She rejected the idea of being embarrassed for her shameful forwardness. There wasn’t an ounce of indecision. Not on her part.
The certainty in his eyes wavered. “Are you sure this is what you want? I don’t want there to be regrets.”
“Yes. I want this. I want to be free of my past. Can you understand that?”
“When I’m called back to the hospital—”
“I promise. No regrets. Just you and me, right now, right here, just right.”
“You’re the most beautiful, courageous woman, McKenzie Carver.”
She led him to the doorway of her room. “You’re a good man, Garrett Branston.”
“If we do this, you need to take the lead. We can stop any time. Take your time. Take as long as you want.”
Interlacing her hands with his, she guided him farther into the room, and then tugged his shirt from his trousers. She leaned into him for a moment, then circled behind, reaching under his arms to unb
utton his shirt, one button at a time. When she touched his bare chest, he released a quick breath.
She liked his response and wanted to please him—return the gift he was giving her. But her hand paused on the waistband of his slacks. “I don’t know why I’m so nervous.” Her fingers curled into fists. “You’re a doctor. It’s not like you haven’t seen a woman naked. I have scars. He…umm.”
He turned and lifted her chin to eye level. His head descended and he gave her the most delicate and delicious kiss. When she opened her eyes, she saw his ardent desire.
“Would it help if I told you I was wearing Mickey Mouse boxers?”
A giggle slipped out before she could catch it. “Now this I’d like to see.”
Working the waist of his slacks, she released the top button, and then the zipper, sliding the pants to the floor. Gray flannel boxers with Mickey imprints washed away the rest of her fears. He stepped out of the wadded fabric at his ankles, relieving his feet of crew socks at the same time. His desire was evident by the tent pole in his underwear.
Her eyes widened. “Garrett, I might need help. I haven’t done this in a while.”
Without asking, he stretched out on the bed. He placed his hands behind his head, which in turn flexed his muscles, creating indentations along his chest.
She took in his splendor. Committed to moving forward, she slid her top over her head and then smoothed her hair. His body tensed. He watched her skirt slide down her legs. A seed of doubt returned, and a touch of shyness prevented her from continuing the fantasy playing in her head.
I want this. Show no fear. I want this. Show no fear.
She joined him on the bed, stretching lengthwise to watch the rise and fall of his chest. She traced loops and spirals across his belly with her fingernail. When the prominent underwear tent deflated because of her inaction, her determination surged.
Leave the past behind.
Move forward.
Fight.
She had to hurry. He might change his mind, and then what? This opportunity—an understanding man who wanted to help—wouldn’t come again. She wouldn’t take the chance he’d abandon what they started. She tugged on the bottom of his boxers. When he lifted off the bed, the muscles in his thighs tightened, making her mouth water over yet more of his delicious muscular definition. Trying not to think too much, she shed her panties and bra and crawled across the bed toward him.
