Healed by Doc Novel

Chapter 3 "You look like you're the one who could use something for sleep." My head shoots up, and I stare blankly at Abby, who offers me a weak smile. She's lying in bed, a large blanket pulled up to her chest, and her eyes are locked on me. She looks a little better than she did when she arrived yesterday, though her one eye is still swollen and her skin is still too pale. She seems well-rested at least, when I, on the other hand, feel like a complete mess. "Huh?" I hum, balancing the tray in my hands.

The yogurt parfait wobbles precariously next to the steaming scrambled eggs as I carry the tray to the bedside table. "How did you sleep, Abby?" "Surprisingly well," she says. "Whatever Doc gave me knocked me out the second I closed my eyes." "And how are you feeling this morning?" "I'm sore all over, but I feel...safe. Safer than I have in a while if I'm being honest," she says, smiling shyly at her breakfast. "You didn't have to do this.

I don't want to be an inconvenience anymore than-" "You're not," I cut her off, nudging a spoon into her hand then moving to check the IV line Samantha set up once Abby was settled the night before. "I've been in your position before. All the women here have experienced something similar to what you did. I was hurt by the people who were supposed to take care of me, and I didn't have anyone to turn to. I was alone until I could get myself out." I adjust her blanket and pillow so I have something to do with my hands. "I promised myself to be there for people going through the same thing I did.

Most of us who work here do this because we want to. It's not a burden at all." She tilts her head to the side, her expression turning speculative. "If it's not a burden, then why do you look so unhappy?" "W-what?" "You look tired, and there are dark circles under your eyes. You look like you didn't sleep at all last night," she says, hesitating as she dips her spoon into the yogurt parfait. "You don't look so good, Cara. Is it because of me? Am I triggering bad memories?" It's true that I don't feel well, but it has nothing to do with Abby.

My mouth feels dry and my eyes hurt from lack of sleep. Christ, I tossed and turned in bed all night, dreading morning and the moment I would see James again. I considered slipping out in the middle of the night like a thief and running, but where would I go? I've found my place at Haven House, not just a roof over my head but a community that depends on me as much as I depend on them. I belong here, and after I graduate from college, I plan on working here full time. Despite this, I found myself thinking constantly of the packed bag in my closet.

I keep it in case my stepfather ever finds me and I need to run. I never imagined James would find me first. "Cara, are you okay?" "Sorry, yes, I'm fine. And no, my restless night wasn't your fault. I've got something on my mind, but it doesn't have anything to do with you." Abby's brows draw in confusion. Leaning back against the pillows to watch me, she says carefully, "Doc seemed nice." "Oh?" I murmur, developing a sudden interest in my nails. "He did," she says. "I was nervous when he and Saint arrived. They're so big and intimidating. But Doc has something about him that put me at ease.

He seemed worried about you, though." My eyes shoot up in surprise at her words. "What? W-why would you think that?" "He kept looking at you, like he was afraid you might disappear. I don't think I would have noticed if I hadn't been trying anything to distract myself from the pain, but he was just as focused on you as he was on me," she says. "Do you know him well? I was trying to guess how old he is." Thɪs chapter is updated by find⸺novel.net Thirty-six, but I don't tell her that. I'd have to explain how I know, and I would rather not touch that right now.

"He was probably just making sure I was keeping you distracted while he worked," I say instead. If James was looking at me, then it's only because he was plotting ways to get revenge for what I did. I've spent all night trying to figure out what I would do if I were in his position, and none of the answers were good. Christ, it doesn't help that the man I'm indebted to is a walking wet dream. Abby's voice pulls me back to the present. "You were looking at him too.

You were a little more subtle than he was, but I caught it." "Abby..." The sound of heavy footsteps approaching the door sends my heart drumming hard in my chest, and I push up to my feet in panic at the knock. Maybe it's not him. I noticed a leather jacket on the chair in the corner when I walked in and recall that Ransom had insisted on keeping watch over Abby last night. He must still be around here somewhere, so it's probably him coming to retrieve his jacket. "Cara, hey, you're shaking," Abby whispers, reaching up to take my hand.

I hear the tremor in her voice, and the last thing I want to do is scare her, so I force myself to take a deep breath. The knob turns, and then slowly, like a horror movie scene, the door swings inward with a soft groan, and my breath hitches as a pair of dark boots step into the room. He fills the doorway, a dark silhouette against the hallway light. He's wearing a black shirt today, rolled up to his elbows to reveal a tapestry of tattoos snaking up his arms.

My heart pounds frantically as I take in the sight of him, that short hair slicked back and the way the light catches the sharp angles of his face. I shouldn't notice the way his jeans fit snugly or just how the shirt stretches over his shoulders. I realize that I'm trembling again, but it has little to do with fear this time. Desire slowly seeps through my body, leaving me a trembling mass of need. Made worse when those carefully blank eyes lock on mine. "Good morning, ladies," he says, voice deep and rough as he steps into the room.

"Abby, how are you feeling?" "Better," she says, looking between us, clearly noticing the weird tension in the room. Hard not to when it's practically floating in the air, thick enough to cut. I want to go. Run away. Hide. My hands tremble as I collect the breakfast tray. "I'll, um, leave you to it," I say hurriedly, but before I can get through the door, a hand grasps my arm, stopping me. I freeze to the floor, my head swimming with fear and my body burning with heat from his touch. Both emotions equally overwhelming. "Stay," he says, his voice soft but firm.

"I'm sure Abby will be more comfortable with you in the room." I look back at Abby, whose nervous fingers are twisting the blanket over her lap, and then back at the man, swallowing at having those dark eyes firmly on me. "Okay." His eyes linger on me a couple of seconds longer before his hand drops, and I wait until he turns away to shudder out a breath. I give it a few more seconds for my heart to stop hammering in my chest before turning around. Slowly, I place the tray back down on the side table and lower myself on a seat, intent on staying invisible.

James drops a brown leather Gladstone bag on the bed and opens it to reveal a variety of medical instruments and supplies. "Tell me, Abby, did you have trouble sleeping last night?" he asks, walking to the opposite side of the bed to check her wounds, and I find my mind drifting as I stare at the man that scares me as much as he turns me on. Is it a wonder that I would be attracted to the one person who saved me? That I would allow myself to be lost in the soothing rasp of his voice as he speaks, a deep rumble that works to ignite and soothe parts of me.

I've never been attracted to anyone before this moment, afraid to fall for someone like my stepfather or stepbrother with their wild tempers and dark hearts. In the three years I've been on my own, I've met so many men like them and the women they left with scars on their bodies and minds that will never fully heal. It only makes sense that I would resign myself to being alone forever. It's fate's idea of a cruel joke for me to be drawn to the last man I should be. "I think we can lose the IV.

There are no signs of infection, but I'll stop by again to check up on you," he says, straightening up, and I realize that I've completely missed him redressing her wounds with fresh bandages and Abby taking her pain meds. "I'm leaving you with a balm for the bruising. Make sure you get enough rest and don't hesitate to ask for me if you're in pain." "Thanks, Doc." Abby offers the man a hesitant smile, and I sit up, a part of me hoping that he'll simply leave, but instead, he turns to me. I drop my hands on my lap and wait for him to finally address me. "Miss Dupree." Oh God, here it comes.

"I would like a moment of your time." "My...m-mine?" "Yes, in private." Oh, God. What could he possibly want from me if not some kind of revenge? Is he going to make me leave? This shelter is owned by the Steel Rebels. If he wanted me out, certainly they'd support him. Right? This place is the closest thing to home I've ever known. I don't want to leave, but I will if he demands it. He's the club medic, so our paths would be bound to cross again if I stay. I owe it to him to disappear from his life at the very least. "Okay," I offer meekly, slowly climbing to my feet.

"We...uh, can talk in the hallway." Where anyone could walk by and see us. He nods and opens the door, urging me to walk ahead of him, and I've just stepped outside when a loud yell breaks through the air. I'm racing down the hall before my mind can make sense of what the sound means, rushing downstairs and to the front, half expecting to see yet another woman seeking help. That is the only thought in my head as I reach the entrance, and I am taken by surprise at the sight of a man standing outside fighting the two men restraining him. "Where the fuck is my girlfriend?

I know she's here, goddamnit!" he yells, kicking at the men holding him back. "Don't tell me she's not here, because the tracker I put on her damn phone proves she is, and I know she sent those goons after me yesterday. Yeah, that's right! I heard all about the attack dogs sniffing around my place last night." He's blond with boyish looks and blue eyes that would have made him look harmless if he weren't foaming at the mouth. He looks like Eric. I choke out a laugh, backing up a step as I stare at a man who could have passed as a younger version of my stepbrother. But Eric is dead.

He can't hurt me anymore, because he's dead! My hand protectively closes around my left wrist, whimpering at the memory of Eric's firm grasp on it. He'd broken it once; it never was the same after that and still hurts now and then. "Get Abby out here before I fucking lose it. That little bitch needs a lesson in manners." I should head back inside, but my feet are frozen to the ground. My chest is tightening, a vise slowly constricting and making each breath painful. Before I know it, I'm gasping, sucking in air that doesn't seem to reach my lungs, and the world starts tilting.

Where's my food, you little brat? Why is this place such a mess? You need a lesson in manners! My vision tunnels, and I feel my heart hammer against my ribs, blood roaring in my head like a hurricane. God, this can't be happening. Not now. Please, not now! Your whore mother should have taken you along with her, spoiled little brat! My fingers tremble and twitch uncontrollably as they claw at the collar of my shirt, grasping for something, anything to hold onto. I feel everything. The sweat beading my forehead, my muscles locked, rigid with tension.

Colors seem to blur, and the sound around me is distorted. All but Eric's grating voice. When you're older, I'll make you earn your keep in this house! I'm falling, I realize. Even in death, Eric can still make me suffer, it seems. And once again, I'm alone to bear the weight of his vitriol. Surrounded by people but alone, like I've spent every day for the last twenty-one years. A presence, warm and solid, steps in front of me. I feel his hands on my shoulders and he urges me to bend forward. "Cara, breathe for me," he orders in a soft but steely voice.

"Look at me, baby." "I...I can't!" "Breathe with me, in and then hold." He instructs, bringing one of my hands to his chest so I can feel it expand and contract. I choke in a gasp, forcing my lungs to hold, eyes boring trustingly into his. "Out, slowly. Yes, like that. Now I want you to do it again. In, hold, out." I don't shift my eyes from his, doing as he instructs until my lungs aren't burning anymore and my heart isn't threatening to pound out of my chest. As everything slowly slips into place, I feel a wave of exhaustion wash over me.

I'm tempted to let myself slide to the ground when strong arms wrap around me and I'm lifted, the ground falling away beneath my feet. I should protest this. Ask for a moment of privacy to die from mortification, but I can't find my voice. Instead, I let the man whose life I ruined carry me in his arms. I allow myself to be pressed against a solid chest, to drown in his scent that is a mix of leather and cedar. Inhaling his scent, I let it ground me.

He stops to say something to someone, and then he's walking again, murmuring something low and soothing, his voice a gentle rumble against my ear, but the words are lost in the roaring in my head. He maneuvers through a doorway and kicks the door shut behind us, then we're in a dimly lit room. It takes me a second to realize that we're alone in one of the sitting rooms. There is an urge to rush upstairs to my bedroom, crawl under the covers, and turn my face into the pillow, but I can't bring myself to pull away from James.

"I'm fine," I whisper, silently pleading with the man to just leave me, but he simply tightens his hold on me as he moves to the couch and sits down with me in his arms. "You're not fine," he says, pushing back to look at me. He runs his long fingers delicately over my forehead, brushing back my hair in a move that's supposed to be innocent and yet feels deeply intimate. "You just suffered a panic attack, Cara." "No, I'm fine," I protest, and realize I am beginning to feel better. So much so that it slowly dawning on me that I am on the man's lap, feeling his touch....

God, something must be wrong with me. This man and I have so many unresolved issues between us, and now he's here, in my safe place. And we're alone. He could do anything to me in this moment, exact whatever revenge he might want. "Stop," he grinds out, his harsh voice pulling my focus back to his face, and I shudder at the hard expression on his face. "I know what you're thinking. I'm pretty good at reading people, and I can see it on your face and feel it in your body, the way you tense up when I get too close. I understand why you're afraid of me, but I'm not going to hurt you.

Ever." "Won't you?" I challenge, my voice is not as firm as I would like it to be. "No, Cara. I've never considered it." Why not? I want to ask, even as my gaze drops from his. I ruined your life. Long fingers grip my chin, and I look up to meet hard brown eyes, gasping at the heat I read in them. "James," I whisper, my body reacting as much to the hand sliding along my jaw as the one rubbing my back. It's not overtly sexual, but it makes me feel sensitive. Everywhere.

It's almost like every one of my nerves is connected to his touch; my breasts ache, thighs tremble, and the spot between my legs pulses needily. I feel it in my fingertips too, the urge to reach up and touch that stubble. I long to trace my lips over his, feel them against mine, and then kiss that hard jawline. It would be my first kiss. The first time I have ever allowed myself to think of a man in this way, and now, I want nothing more than to forget the past and focus on this...on him. "I'm not going to hurt you, Cara," he growls. "What do I have to do to prove it to you?" Touch me.

Heat prickles my cheeks at the thought, and I fight the urge to squeeze my thighs as those heated eyes send moisture pooling between my legs. I realize with surprise that I believe him. The fiery look in James's eyes has nothing to do with him getting his revenge-something that I still haven't wrapped my thoughts around-but everything to do with this strange sexual tension between us. "Okay," I murmur, my eyes dropping to that firm mouth.

"I believe you." "Do you?" "Hmm," I hum, wetting my dry lips as I stare up at his, and I realize that I want to feel them on me with a desperation that floors me. One that promises to wreck me to the core. I realize a second too late that my breathing has turned shallow, and the thickening ridge under my ass tells me I'm not alone in these new feelings. I...I shouldn't want this. Not with him. I know it to my core that Doc is an honest man; if he says he won't hurt me, I believe him. That doesn't change the fact that I ruined his life, though.

I should stop this, nip it in the bud before it blooms into something I can't live without. And somehow, I know with absolute certainty that if I let this go further, I won't want to live without it, without him ever again. Still, I let my thoughts wander to how his mouth would feel on mine. I've seen people kiss before, heard other women reminisce that it can be as sweet and seductive as the soft scent of a rose or as dark and dangerous as a summer night. Heaven above, I want both. I want it all. Just this once. I'll allow myself to get lost in these feelings just this once.

"How are you feeling now? Better?" he asks, and I bite down a whimper as those long fingers move down to the back of my knees and then back up, traveling up my inner thighs, those dark eyes daring me to protest his touch. "Your breathing is still a little off." "I'm fine, I..." My mouth parts with a gasp when his fingertips brush over my jean-clad sex. My eyes blur for a second at the delicious heat that shoots up my tummy. "James-" "I haven't heard that name in so many years," he rasps, slowly rubbing his middle finger over the dampening spot.

"No one calls me that anymore." My breathing is ragged when he slides his hand up and pops the button of my jeans, slowly sliding the zipper down. Every inch of me is aching when he eases my jeans and panties down my thighs, and then his hand is between my legs. "D-Doc?" I cry out when his middle finger brushes over my damp slit. My cheeks are flushed with both arousal and mortification. Christ, what the heck am I doing-allowing to be done to me? "I don't want you to call me that," he growls, moving his middle finger back and forth my slit, sending little sparks of pleasure all over my body.

My head falls back, mouth parting as harsh tremors roll through my body. "I'm Loxley to people who knew me before, Doc to the MC and everyone else, but not to you." I feel his lips on my neck, causing my eyes to flutter closed. The harsh beating of my heart makes me dizzy, a feeling that intensifies when he kisses my sensitive skin, trailing his mouth up my throat, the hand between my legs stroking my clit in slow circles as the rest of the world falls away. He becomes everything.

My senses tune to those sinful hands, that maddening brush of lips over skin, and a closeness that floods my nose with his intoxicating scent. He's everywhere, engulfing me completely. "Daddy!" I cry out, as he presses a thick finger to my entrance. I have no idea where that came from or why I said it, but I'm too far gone to feel embarrassed, though I'm sure that I will later. He goes still for a beat, and I manage to pull in a ragged breath, preparing to take it back, to apologize, when he interrupts. "That's it," he growls. "Call me Daddy." Then his lips are on mine.

We both moan into the kiss, his body shuddering against mine as his mouth parts, slanting slightly, and then he's moving. I open up for him, a tremor rocking through me when his tongue grazes mine. My hand flies to his neck, and I press against him, whimpering as his tongue strokes into my mouth in a kiss that sends pleasure rolling down my body to the tips of my toes. Is this it? The soft and seductive feel of a rose petal?

"James," tumbles past my lips, and it seems to have an effect on him as the hand between my legs stills, but only for a second before he strokes my sensitive bud harder, faster. "Oh God, Daddy!" "Say it again," he growls against my lips. "I want to hear you say again." I didn't mean to say it the first time. I shouldn't repeat the word, but I can barely grasp onto my thoughts to dig into all the reasons why this is a bad idea. "Daddy," I sob, my body writhing and lifting to meet his fingers, chasing the promise of a nirvana I've never experienced.

"Faster, oh God..." Every muscle in my body stiffens a second before they lose tension with a rough shudder. My eyes go blind for a second and my mouth parts on a sob. I cry out, thrashing about as an intense storm crashes through my body. His mouth closes over mine again, swallowing my cries as his thumb strums my clit until I'm too sensitive and can't handle more. There is a knocking in my head, harsh and insistent that remains even when I'm nothing but a trembling mess in his arms.

I'm still panting when he pulls back to look at me, and I realize a little too late that the knocking is not in my head but on the sitting room door. "Cara, are you in there?" Samantha's voice barely penetrates my lagging brain, and when it does, I suddenly push against James's arms, blushing fiercely when I realize I'm on the man's lap with my jeans around my thighs. "Cara?" "I'm here. I just needed a minute to...regroup. I'll be right there," I choke out, climbing off James and turning away from the man to tug up my jeans. Oh God, what did I just do?

I hear him climb to his feet behind me, but I don't turn around as I force my trembling fingers to work so I can button the darn jeans. A shudder runs down my back when his hand brushes my hair to the side and he leans in, "You're not panicking after I worked so hard to calm you down, are you?" Calm me down? There is nothing calm about me right now, but I don't tell him that. "I...no, I'm fine." "Good," he says, turning me around to face him. His mouth is on mine before I can react, moving softly and firing up that red ball of heat in my tummy that was only just beginning to cool.

There is a wicked look on his face when he pulls away, humor dancing in those intense brown eyes. "I'll see you later, Cara." And with that, he's gone.