Bad Boy, M.D. Page 17

  “Then I am going to press my lips against yours and kiss you like you’ve never been kissed before. Is that alright with you, Dr. Decker?”

  A sound somewhere between a sigh and a whimper filled the gap between us and I wasn’t entirely sure if it was she or I who made it. I meant to slowly lower the Operation box to the asphalt, slowly slide my hands against her body, slowly, oh so slowly, bring my lips to hers. Slowly was the furthest from what actually happened.

  I dropped the game box to the ground as if it were suddenly cast on fire. My hand brushed against her ribcage in its rush to pull her close and my fingers wrapped themselves in the thick material of her sweatshirt, my sweatshirt, at her lower back. It was messy and uncoordinated and the opposite of suave and smooth, but I didn’t care. My hand was on the back of her neck before she could finish gasping and I felt the hairs rise under my palm. I didn’t slide the back of my hand gently against her cheek first or tuck a strand of hair behind her ear before I drew her tight to my chest, but the way her hands snuck around my waist and clutched desperately at my back told me she didn’t care either.

  Our lips moved against one another’s like we were lovers reunited after a millennium of separation. And if the span of just a few days felt like a millennium apart from the softness of her lips, the fullness of her lips, the sweetness of her lips, I can’t imagine what one month would feel like. I couldn’t fathom one, let alone two. I kissed her and knew I couldn’t bear it if it were half a year apart from the warmth of her touch, her skin, her smile. She sighed against me, falling against my chest, tripping over my feet in an attempt to get closer still and I knew I didn’t want to be torn from her ever again, whether for a millennium, a century, a decade, a year, month, or week.

  I pulled back, partially so I could see her face and partially so I could breathe. She too drew in a long inhale and I made it just long enough for her to start to exhale on the same breath before I again lowered my face to hers. As we kissed she started to push against me till my feet stepped back. I let her guide me backwards. Hell, the way her tongue circled around mine, I’d let her walk me right off of any cliff, building ledge, mountain top in the world.

  My back collided with something metal and my dick twitched when I felt Lauren’s hand sliding toward my crotch. But she stopped at my pocket and I couldn’t help but rock my hips against her as she rummaged around. She pulled out my keys and only then did she this time tilt her lips away from mine, devilishly just out of reach.

  Lauren raised my keys between us and dangled them back and forth. I might as well have been a cat following a toy, I was so transfixed.

  “Let’s do something crazy,” she whispered, lust and love dripping from her voice.

  I raised an eyebrow. “I know of a lake.”

  She grinned and cupped my crotch before giving me a quick peck on the cheek. “We’ll see if I make it that far, Dr. Castle.”

  Epilogue

  Lauren

  “Be good!” I called to Ruth.

  She paused in the open doorway of her house. “Oh I will. Don’t you worry about that.” She winked at me.

  She was still too thin but her color was good and she was slowly gaining back her weight. Her hair, which she’d shaved off during chemo, had grown back enough to cover her head in peach fuzz. She was wearing makeup and dressed sharply, leaving to go on a date with a man she’d met at the local gym.

  Ryan still hadn’t talked to his father. I don’t know if he ever would.

  Perhaps one day, but right now, he was too busy with his career, his mother, and our relationship to want to deal with it.

  After a rough round of treatments, Ruth had beat the cancer and was well on the road to recovery. I’d helped her get to this point, having spent the last six months on sabbatical, which had given me the time to spend with her, but more importantly, I’d gotten to know her better as my boyfriend’s mother and not just as a patient. She was my family now, just as much as Ryan was, and my only regret about returning to Graton’s next week was that our time together would be much more limited.

  “You be good, too. But not too good. Ryan likes your bad girl side, you know,” Ruth cooed, then shut the door behind her.

  I smiled and shook my head affectionately.

  After the investigation cleared both Ryan and I of the lies Samuel filed with HR before his heart attack, we sat down with Marcus and Maria and worked out a plan. To avoid any problems, I offered the idea of taking a sabbatical for the first six months of Ryan’s residency. Ryan tried to protest, but there wasn’t much he could do to convince me otherwise. It helped that I’d confessed the restlessness I’d been feeling before I’d ever met him. The desire to take a break from my career and focus on other things.

  When I asked to be able to take care of his mother’s health during that time I could see the hesitation still in his eyes. We were working through our own fears and like Bonnie said change doesn’t come overnight. But he eventually nodded, even if his jaw was still tense.

  I didn’t spend the entire six months caring for Ruth, of course. I simply supplemented the care Sharon and Ryan gave her. I took time to do other things. Read. Work out. Take a painting class. Things I normally didn’t have time to do given the intensity of my career.

  I’d also had one last lunch with Samuel, about two months after his heart attack. Samuel hadn’t gotten the job. Instead the hospital had decided to hire two co-chief surgeons, one of them being my friend Raegan. Samuel had actually taken the rejection in stride. The heart attack had scared him enough that he appeared to be taking another look at his priorities. The day after his surgery, he’d shaken Ryan’s hand and thanked him for saving his life. And when we’d met for lunch, there’d been a sense of calm and humility about him that had reminded me of how he’d been during the early years of our relationship. He’d actually apologized to me again—this time for ratting on Ryan and I to HR, and although it wasn’t quite all water under the bridge, I was glad we’d had some closure. He’d moved out of Denver last week to accept a position in a small city in northern California and I wished him well.

  Having closure with Samuel was just one more thing that had enabled me to enjoy my sabbatical, and I knew the break was only going to make me better at my job when I returned.

  The first day of his official residency Ryan called just about every five minutes until I told him we were fine and hung up on him. Later that night, I heard the car screech to a stop outside the house and Ryan ran in breathless to see Ruth and I sitting quietly together in the kitchen nook reading medical journals.

  It wasn’t always easy for me either. I had to deal with the strange looks I received from friends and colleagues when I explained what I’d been up to.

  “Will this backtrack your career?” they’d ask.

  “You’re not going to the conference this year? Your absence will be noticed,” they’d say.

  “He’s how young?” they’d all ask after picking up their jaws from the floor.

  Each time it made me flinch and each time I thought of what was more important than all of that: Ryan. Each time it got easier.

  But now Ryan was firmly entrenched in his residency at Graton, under the supervision of another senior cardiologist. And I was ready to get back to work, what other people thought be damned.

  I was returning Ruth’s pill bottles to the cabinet when I heard the car pull up outside and checked my watch. He was early.

  I ran to the room we shared on the other side of the house and closed the door. As her battle with the cancer had continued, Ruth had given in to Ryan’s need to be closer to her but we’d be moving back into my house when I started work again. I flung off my t-shirt and kicked off my pants and snatched the nurse costume I’d hidden in the back of the closet.

  I almost stopped with the skimpy little white dress half way zipped up. I looked ridiculous, way too old for role playing. But then I stood up straight and adjusted my tits in the tight bustier and ruffled up my hair a bit. No, I look
ed goddamn hot. I looked sexy and confident and I knew that was exactly how Ryan was going to see me.

  As Ruth had so correctly stated, Ryan liked me good, but he liked when I was bad even more.

  The front door clicked shut and I hopped onto the bed, taking the last few seconds before he walked in to arrange myself seductively.

  “Hey, babe, you in he—”

  Ryan stopped halfway through the door, frozen when he saw me.

  “Hello, Doctor Castle,” I said with a sly smile.

  He raised his eyebrow.

  “Nurse Decker,” he said as he pulled off his coat and left it on the floor, moving closer to the edge of the bed, “what are you doing in here?”

  I sucked in a breath at the sight of his naked chest as his shirt joined his coat.

  “Do you want me to leave?” I whispered.

  He crawled onto the bed and looked down at me. His hair fell across his eye and I reached up to touch his cheek.

  “Never,” he said. “We’re in this for the long haul, Decker, and don’t you forget it.”

  I wouldn’t. Not ever.

  I wasn’t going anywhere.

  Thank you for reading Bad Boy, M.D.

  If you enjoyed spending time with these characters, be sure to check out

  Raegan’s story coming up next.

  Also, be sure to check out my sports romance series, Going Deep.

  Here’s a sneak peek of Book 1, Down Deep:

  DOWN DEEP Excerpt:

  Prologue

  Football players possess the ideal combination of strength and endurance.

  And the best asses of any other athletes.

  At least, that’s what Sheila, Camille Pollert’s best friend, once said. Sheila’s cousin Mindy had thought Sheila was crazy. She’d claimed no one could beat soccer players for sheer sexiness.

  But with her gaze focused squarely on #24’s ass, Camille was definitely calling the play in Sheila’s favor.

  Of course, since Camille had been in love with the boy currently wearing the #24 jersey since freshman year, she supposed she was a bit biased.

  Football players grunted and tackled each other, and the shrill sound of a whistle filled the air. She quickly took a few photos before wandering around the outskirts of the field. Always looking for the perfect shot, she hardly even noticed the screams and shouts of the students in the bleachers or the off-key blaring of the marching band.

  A senior in high school, she had been part of the yearbook staff since ninth grade, but this was her first big assignment. But she wasn’t just taking photos for the yearbook. Some of the photos she was taking for herself, to hide away in her box of photos documenting her crush on the most popular boy in school: Heath Dawson, player #24.

  Camille heard one of the coaches yell something at the ref, and the ref warned him to back off. He didn’t. She walked over to the long bench where some of the home team was sitting, all of them watching the ref and coach argue. She took a photo, liking how the shot radiated the edginess that she could feel coming off the team in waves.

  Finally, the ref made an offside call against the visiting team and instituted a five-yard penalty. The players on the bench cheered while those on the field began to huddle up for the next play. Camille stayed at the bench, snapping photos.

  At one point, Heath jumped into the air to catch the ball. Turning upfield and toward the end zone, he weaved agilely around the cornerback. Out of nowhere, the free safety came in, lowered his shoulder pads, and hit Heath square in the chest, causing the ball to fall.

  The defensive cornerback scrambled and fell on the ball, recovering it for the defense.

  The angry screech of the whistle sounded.

  Camille held her breath as Heath lay on the ground, unmoving, but then finally, he shook himself off and stood. Looking both angry and crestfallen, he jogged back to the sidelines.

  She blushed, her heart picking up speed when she realized he was headed right toward her where she stood by the water table. He was still several feet away when he took off his helmet. He shook his head, his sweaty dark locks brushing across his forehead, and he smiled gamely when a teammate slapped him on the shoulder. But his expression grew cloudier when he glanced up into the stands at an older man—Camille had seen them together enough to know it was his father—glowering, yelling something that she couldn’t catch.

  Heath walked right by her without even noticing her, which unfortunately wasn’t anything new.

  Even though Camille’s father had coached Heath when he was just starting to play football, she’d never actually met him until ninth grade. That day, however, was forever burned into her memory. Their lockers had been next to each other, and when she’d been trying to reach up and place her books on the top shelf, Heath had stepped in and helped her. “Having trouble there?” he’d asked with a grin. His hand had brushed hers, and she had jumped away with a bright blush. He had looked her up and down, as if trying to place her, but when she was too tongue-tied to say anything, he had shrugged and turned back to his conversation with one of his buddies.

  Heath smiling at her and helping her had made her heart beat so fast she was surprised she hadn’t passed out. Not many girls got to be so close to him, and her appreciation for his help quickly blossomed into a fully-fledged crush. She snapped photos of him around school, she dreamed of him asking her out and telling her he loved her, and she blushed every time she heard his loud laugh in the hallways. As locker buddies, she had the opportunity to see him almost every day, although she never had the courage to talk to him. Just being close to him had been enough for her.

  Sadly, the next year they were no longer locker buddies, but she’d always looked for him. She’d wanted to see his smile and hear his laugh, even if he didn’t know she existed.

  She was so preoccupied thinking about her history with Heath that she hadn’t realized he was standing right next to her until he shoved a water cup into her hand. “Dude, refill this for me?” he asked, his gaze on the field.

  Camille stared at the cup, nonplussed, before stammering, “I’m not the waterboy.” She thrust the cup back in Heath’s direction.

  His gaze jerked to her face, and for a moment, he looked embarrassed before he grinned. “My bad. You’re definitely not a waterboy.”

  Amused more than insulted, Camille glanced down at herself—jeans and an oversized football jersey with stained tennis shoes—and she shrugged. “I can see how you’d think that.” She refused to apologize for being a tomboy or for how she dressed.

  Heath squinted at her. “No, it’s not the clothes. It’s the hair. It’s too short. You should think about growing it out.” He returned his glance to the field, waving at a teammate before glancing back at her. “Have we met? What’s your name?”

  Not surprised he hadn’t recognized her as his silent locker buddy from ninth grade, she fingered her hair. She had always worn it short—at the moment it was about chin-length— because she didn’t know a lot about hair or make-up. Her mother had died when she was five, and her single father wasn’t exactly into fashion. Plus Camille’s naturally wavy hair could be so temperamental. But maybe Heath was right. Maybe she looked too much like a boy with short hair like this. Then she bristled, annoyed with herself for even considering his suggestion. What right did he have to give her style advice? When he looked at her again, though, an eyebrow raised, she blushed and stuttered, “I’m Camille.”

  “Well, Camille, you should eat something, girl.” Looking her up and down, Heath added, “You’re too skinny. You’d look great with some curves.” His gaze landed on her breasts—or lack thereof—and Camille crossed her arms over her chest. She knew she was flat-chested and scrawny and didn’t look like the kinds of girls Heath dated—curvaceous and blond and tan—but she couldn’t believe he was being such an ass.

  He had no right to talk to her like that. He didn’t even know her! What kind of guy told a girl she needed to eat more because she was too skinny? Camille ate as much as an
y person.

  Heath was still watching her, and a frown had overcome his expression.

  Camille wasn’t quick to anger, but when she was truly pissed, her friends and family knew there’d be hell to pay. She opened her mouth to tell him to go to hell when a harsh voice barked something from behind her, making them both jump.

  “Would you stop talking to the waterboy and concentrate for once?” a man yelled.

  Camille spun around, and saw Heath’s dad stalking toward them. He looked so incensed she immediately took a step back, bumping into Heath.

  He put a hand on her shoulder and gently moved her behind him, as if he was actually trying to protect her from his father.

  “What the hell was that out there?” Heath’s dad ranted. “When are you going to get it into your thick skull that without a scholarship, you aren’t going anywhere?”

  Heath glanced back at her, concern and something darker overtaking the frown on his face. While part of Camille wanted to rush to his defense and tell his hateful father that Heath was the best wide-receiver in the state, she was too humiliated given Heath’s father, just like his son, had mistaken her for a boy.

  She clutched her camera close to her body, like a shield. Heath said something she didn’t catch, and his dad replied, “You’re a girl?”

  It was too much. She skittered off the field and even though she thought she heard someone call her name, she didn’t stop. She hid out under the bleachers for the remainder of the quarter, glad that no one bothered her as tears poured down her face. She felt silly for being so hurt by what Heath and his dad had said, but sometimes the barbs about her appearance became too much.

  After the tears had dried up, anger took the place of her humiliation. Hatred for Heath completely eclipsed any kinder feelings she’d had toward him, and her crush on him disintegrated almost as quickly as it had started. So what if he’d helped her that one time and smiled at her? So what if he was the cutest boy in school and made her heart pound? She had no interest in being in love with a guy who was such a jerk, and if she’d known he was that awful, she’d never have fallen for him in the first place. He’d been the star football player, unattainable and handsome and popular, and she had idolized him from the moment she’d first seen him.