Doctor Scandalous : A Fake Engagement Romance (Boston's Billionaire Bachelors Book 1)

by J. Saman

  Same as we do for him.

  And maybe I’m also hoping that when this ruse between us is over, he’ll continue to seek us out from time to time. Kinda like he said. For Layla’s sake, of course. Not for me. No, I need to keep my thoughts about him in check before they get ideas and start sprouting roots and wings and teeth and legs and I find myself growing into something that only exists in my head.

  But there’s something about him. Something I’ve tried to fight since the first day I met him when I was just twelve. Something I felt spring to life the moment I saw him again at the reunion. Something that, despite my ardent denial, won’t be thwarted. It destroyed me the second he walked into that waiting room today.

  I need to get under wraps. Like this very second.

  Before I go and do something stupid, like fall in love with my fake fiancé.

  17

  OLIVER

  Tomorrow might become one of the worst days of my life. At least, that’s how I’m prepping myself. My mother is undergoing a double mastectomy and partial lymphadenectomy to hopefully excise her cancer. If all goes well, she will stay in the hospital overnight. She will heal from her surgery. Then exactly one week later, she will start a rigorous round of chemo that will strip her of her hair, make her physically ill, cause her to lose weight and her appetite, and there are zero guarantees that any of this will work at eliminating her cancer.

  We aren’t most families.

  We’re the Abbot-Fritzes.

  Billionaires. Boston icons.

  Stupid fucking influencers, as Amelia likes to call us. Healthcare providers. Doctors and nurses, and that’s what fucking hurts the most. I’m a doctor and I can’t prevent my mom from having breast cancer. I’m a doctor and I can’t ensure she survives.

  Our mom is our glue.

  Our guiding force and light.

  We were raised by both my parents, not a nanny or a fleet of hired caretakers. But mainly by our mother. She read to us. Played with us. Taught us German, French, and Spanish. Educated us on how to exist in the world we were born into. She was tough and fair.

  That makes us a rarity in our world. We had staff and nannies. But they were only there when my mother couldn’t be. My parents love each other. My parents love us. And because our family is as close and tight-knit as we are, this is gutting us.

  Gutting me.

  I think that’s why I ditched out on work today and went to Wilchester. Yes, Layla asked if I’d come when I asked for her interview details. Yes, I knew Amelia would be there and seeing Amelia, regardless of how fleeting or the circumstances surrounding it is like fresh air my lungs never knew they needed to breathe. Yes, I wanted to ensure that the administration people saw me after the conversation I had with them that will never, and I mean fucking ever, reach Amelia’s ears. She must never know what I’ve done to ensure Layla’s placement.

  But I also went because I needed an escape.

  A distraction that work just couldn’t provide me.

  A way to shut off my brain, to stop feeling this.

  I needed Amelia.

  I needed her eyes. Her smile. Her warmth. Her fucking sass and reserve. I fall asleep with her on my mind, my cum that belongs to fantasies about her squirting onto my chest. I wake with visions of her eyes. Her fucking eyes haunt me like a sexy dream, just out of reach.

  I don’t know what’s going on.

  I definitely can’t explain it.

  So I can hardly be blamed when I take her hand and guide her up the stairs of the west wing of our house, along the corridor and past my siblings’ rooms. All the way down to my room.

  “What are we doing?” she asks. “What is this?”

  My mom has Layla. My father is working in his study. The staff are all either doing their thing or in the residence. It’s just us. “I want to show you my bedroom.”

  She cocks an eyebrow at me.

  “What? Have you ever seen it? It’s like a piece of Oliver Fritz history.”

  “Are there pictures of naked women glued to your walls?”

  “Not glued.”

  “Oliver.

  “Amelia. My beautiful fiancée. I want to show you my room.” And possibly kiss the hell out of you even though that’s against our rules. Maybe go down on you because the taste of your pussy in my memory gets me harder than any naked woman ever could. I want her to ride my face and scream out my name.

  I certainly won’t be thinking about anything other than her if she does that.

  These rules have been killing me. I had one night with Amelia, one absolutely incredible, out-of-this-world night, and I’m not allowed a repeat? Not even allowed to cop a feel?

  Fuck that shit.

  It’s like someone dangling a delicious piece of candy in front of you and telling you you’re a diabetic now and can no longer eat it. It’s tragic is what it is because she’s right here. And she looks sexy as all fuck in her black pencil skirt, cream blouse, hair pulled up, and heels. She’s even wearing her glasses today.

  She is my sexy librarian fantasy come to life.

  My fingers toy with the ring on her finger as I open the door, leading us in. Another unexpected thing. I like seeing my ring on her hand. It’s my brand. It says, property of Oliver Fritz, now back the hell off. No other man will touch her while she’s wearing it. Again, who knew I was so jealous and possessive? Just the thought of her boss asking her about her weekend plans turned me into a cookie buying monster.

  Amelia steps through the door, and I shut and lock it behind me. Why? Because right now, I feel like a teenage boy having her in here. A teenage boy who always had a secret crush on this nerdy redhead. She was the first girl I orgasmed to. Right there in that bed.

  Now I want to return the favor by making her orgasm there.

  She moves cautiously throughout the room, almost like she’s afraid to touch anything, but her eyes are everywhere. They’re all over my dresser. My bookshelf loaded with college and med school textbooks and old sports trophies. My walls sans naked women but filled with famous quarterbacks. My bed with the thick blue blanket and matching plush pillows.

  Then something catches her eye, and she gasps, walking briskly toward it and reaching out to touch the glass of the framed picture. “This is the 1999 All-Star game at Fenway. Ted Williams came out and Pedro Martinez struck out five of the six batters he faced, earning MVP of the game. I was only six, but I remember staying up late with my dad to watch it. It was a big deal.”

  I love how much she loves the Sox. I love how she’s obsessed because it’s something she did with her dad. Stepping in behind her, my hands find her hips, my lips the crook of her neck where I take a deep inhale.

  “I was there,” I whisper into her.

  Another gasp. “You were?”

  “I was. My family has a box at Fenway. I’ll take you some time,” I promise as I lick her neck.

  She shivers against me and that right there, that tells me she feels this too. Our night together aside, if she wasn’t into me, I wouldn’t affect her the way I do. I make her nervous and excited.

  I make her tremble. I turn her on. Same as she does for me.

  “Oliver.” It’s a rasp coated in desire.

  “Mmmm.” My lips trail slowly up her neck, soft, open, kisses that make the rise and fall of her chest go faster. I lick at her carotid, feeling her pulse thrum. My girl wants me.

  “We…” Hard swallow. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

  Needy hands glide up the fabric of her shirt, over her taut stomach, until I’m cupping her full breasts through her thin blouse. “Worried we’ll get caught,” I husk into her ear. My cock presses into the seam of her ass, my thumbs brushing her hard nipples. She moans, and I thrust into her, unable to stop my reaction to that sound. That fucking sound!

  “I. We…”

  “I want you so bad.” Nip. Bite. Squeeze. “You’re so fucking sexy, Amelia. I can’t get enough. I want to lift up this skirt. This sexy as fuck skirt that instantly got me h
ard when I saw it. I want to drop to my knees and bury my face in your pussy. Lick you till you gush your wetness all over my face and cry out my name.”

  She moans again and I growl in return, a goddamn animal where she’s concerned.

  She spins in my arms, her hands getting lost in the back of my hair as she drags my mouth down to hers. I groan into her, my tongue demanding entrance and just as I get it, she rips herself back. Our eyes lock, loaded with tension and heat, the air crackling between us.

  “I said no more kissing. This is a lot more than kissing. We’re not supposed to do this.”

  She takes a step back and I take a step forward, stalking her. I wonder if she’s aware she’s headed in the direction of my bed. “But we want to.”

  Her head shakes, some of those beautiful red strands falling free from her bun, framing her face. “We set boundaries.”

  “That I’m about to break.”

  “Oliver.”

  I smirk at her attempt to be reprimanding. “Amelia, do you have any idea the things I want to do to your body right now? The way I want to touch you and taste you and fuck you?” Her breath hitches, her chest heaving as a trickle of red climbs up her neck, landing firmly on her cheeks. “I used to jerk my dick right there,” I point to my bed behind her, “thinking about your beautiful tits. Your wild red hair all over me. Your cum drenching my fingers and cock.”

  Black eclipsing gray eyes beg me to stop.

  “Do you really want me to stop?”

  Maybe I should. But I want her. I want her like a man obsessed. Ever since she opened up to me at dinner. Ever since she came to my office. Ever since she sought me out. A flip has switched in me. Now it’s her. It’s all her all the goddamn time. And if she wants me too… everything else we can figure out.

  “I… I don’t know.”

  “How does what I told you make you feel?”

  She licks her lips, taking another step back until her knees hit the side of the bed, making them buckle and her body fall, catching herself with her hand so she’s not sprawled out for me. Shame.

  “Scared,” she admits, staring up at me with those eyes, dark and burning like coal.

  Stepping into the narrow opening between her legs, I push her until she falls onto her back. My body climbs over her, holding my weight up with my hands, my knees on either side of her hips. I watch her for a moment, just stare into her eyes. She is scared, and the longer I stare at her, the more I understand it. I don’t get involved. I don’t get attached.

  But she’s looking at me like she’s hoping I’ll reconsider.

  I see the potential, that’s for sure.

  For that reason alone, I should get up and walk out of this room. But then I wouldn’t have her. And I think I want her more than I don’t want to be involved or attached. I could say something stupid like we’ll just take it slow or keep it casual. I could tell her the truth: I don’t fuck women I can see my future with.

  But I can’t make the thoughts form. I can’t make the words come out.

  She’s not casual and I’d never be able to take it slow. And my future? The more time I spend with her, the more she seems to hold it in her fist.

  By coming to my office, she eviscerated all my doubts. All the bullshit Nora spewed at me. Amelia’s just afraid. That’s all this is. That’s why she was avoiding me. But she’s only afraid because she feels this too. I saw it in her eyes that day and every moment I’ve been with her since. It’s not fake. It’s not pretend.

  This, right here, it’s as real as it gets.

  “Do you want me?” I ask, my voice husky, suddenly just as scared as she is. A tremor of apprehension rolls up my spine like an icy warning. But still, I don’t move. I wait, needing her answer. Needing her more than I need my scars to keep me locked away and sane.

  “Yes,” she says, voice trembling. “That’s why I’m scared.”

  Her vulnerability destroys me and before I can stop it, I sink down, pressing her into the mattress and covering her lips with mine. “Me too,” I whisper into her as my tongue rolls with hers, claiming her mouth in a feverish kiss.

  “I don’t want you to be charming,” she tells me. “I want you to be real.”

  “Baby, I’ve never been more real and less charming with anyone in my life.”

  I’m not sure anyone has ever liked me for me before. Not even Nora. But Amelia does. She looks at me in a way no one else ever has and it’s like a tonic to my damaged soul. A drug I never knew I wanted to be addicted to. I never realized how badly I wanted someone to see me, to actually give a fuck until she came along.

  A hazy smile curls her lips and then I go back in, deeper, needier, rougher. I grind in an upward thrust between her legs, hitting her in just the right spot that makes her nails dig into my shoulders. Sweet lust tears through my body, my movements wild and frantic.

  My mouth trails down her jaw, her neck, my fingers poking at the buttons on her blouse, undoing one at a time when what I really want to do is rip them apart and watch them fly.

  I make it to the third one, getting a flash of smooth skin and gorgeous swell, my teeth grazing along the peekaboo of lace when someone jiggles the handle of my door.

  Shit. The two of us spring apart like we’ve been electrocuted. Frantically Amelia sits up, buttoning her blouse and attempting to fix her hair that is in such unfixable disarray I nearly laugh. She’s not though. I can tell she finds no humor in this at all.

  “Who is it?” I call out.

  “It’s me,” Layla says. “Why is the door locked? Your mom had me come up to tell you that lunch is ready.”

  “Oh, is the door locked?” I say. “Weird. Hold on.” I run my hands through my hair, fixing my clothes and adjusting my harder than steel dick so I don’t give Layla the fright of her life. “Take your hair down,” I whisper to Amelia as I slowly rise off the bed. I give Amelia a minute as I make my way over to the door, placing my hand on the knob. Amelia is standing now, raking her fingers through her tangled hair, quickly redoing it into a ponytail.

  But she won’t meet my eyes and I open the door.

  Layla stares at me with suspicion. She is fourteen, after all, and no fool by any stretch. “What were you doing in here?”

  “Showing Amelia my room. I wanted to show off my football trophies and my big textbooks.” I can’t fight my grin. “I must have hit the lock button by accident.”

  Amelia’s facing the bookshelf, her face still flushed as hell, but that might also have something to do with the fact that her little sister nearly caught us. Still, she’s not looking at me.

  Not even as she finally turns around and asks Layla, “How was riding Frosty?”

  And just like that, Layla’s focus shifts from us to the horse she rode. She launches into a step-by-step account of how she rode Frosty and how my mom taught her to post and said she was a natural. Amelia attempts to race past me, following after Layla, who is still going strong. I try to grab her hand, to pull her back, to get her to look at me, but she shrugs me off, and just like that, my heart plummets.

  Shit. I think I just seriously fucked up.

  18

  AMELIA

  After Layla nearly caught us making out in Oliver’s room, I couldn’t get away from him fast enough. It was like a slap to the face. A bucket of ice water I was immensely grateful for was dumped on me. I get lost too easily with him. Lose my head and my focus.

  But today is different.

  Today his mom is having surgery.

  The hospital is actually buzzing with it. The entire Fritz clan is up in the surgical waiting room. And I’m not. I’m stuck in the OR with Sagginalls, who for all his concern for me the other day, has made remark after remark about how I’m not with them despite the fact that I couldn’t get the day off.

  Trust me, I tried.

  I texted Oliver, letting him know I was thinking about him and his mom. That I wanted to be there and that I would try to run over and see him in between surgeries. I didn’t get that ch
ance. Sagginalls had it out for me today evidently because he pushed up surgical times for some patients or lingered longer than necessary on others.

  I don’t know if it was intentional or not, but it felt that way.

  Luckily, on Fridays, we end around three and after scrubbing out at lightspeed, I fly down the hall, racing as fast as I can to the waiting room only to smash into someone. I nearly go down but am instead saved as a set of hands grab my shoulders, steadying me.

  “I’m so sorry,” I exclaim, brushing my hair from my face to find myself staring into a pair of green eyes that match Oliver’s. “Rina. Hey. How’s your mom? I hate that I wasn’t there today. I tried to get off work, but I couldn’t. We just finished up and I got here as fast as I could.”

  Rina waves me away. “It’s fine. Relax. She did great. We won’t know all the details until the pathology report comes back, but her doctor thinks he was able to excise all the cancer. She’s resting comfortably upstairs. My dad is with her, and she kicked the rest of us out. I just came back to grab the sweater I forgot in the waiting room.”

  I sag with relief. “I’m so happy to hear that. Wow. That’s fantastic news.”

  “It sure is. Were you meeting Oliver? I think he already left with Carter.”

  I shake my head. “I texted him earlier, but I haven’t even checked my phone to see if he replied.” As much as I hate to admit it, I’m glad he already left. Otherwise, I’d have to see him. Talk to him face to face. He texted last night asking if everything was okay and I replied back that it was, but it’s not. Not at all.

  “Perfect. Then you can come with me. I need a drink. And some seriously greasy bar food and I’m guessing you’re right there with me on that.”

  I hesitate because I seriously am right there with her. Layla is sleeping at Stella’s tonight.