Healed by Doc Novel

Chapter 7 I know he's gone before I even open my eyes. Am I surprised that his side of the bed is cold when I reach out to touch it? Well, not so much surprised as disappointed. By now, I should be used to him running off every time we share an intimate moment. It shouldn't affect me the way it does when I open my eyes to find myself alone in the room. There are so many unresolved issues between James and me that we cannot comfortably lie together and pretend everything's okay. No, everything is not okay.

I didn't just steal a huge portion of his life from him, I also ruined his career in the process. When I turned fifteen, I took myself to the library and looked him up. Before his sentencing, James Loxley served as a battlefield medic. He went to medical school while in the military and was just starting his career when the incident happened. According to the police report-my account of events-James attacked an innocent man and, in the process, killed him. I close my eyes at the memory of it. Reading that report chipped at the bits of my heart that hadn't crumbled yet.

He was labeled a killer and he lost his job and his reputation. I bet working as doctor had been his dream as much as working as a social worker is mine. And I stole that away from him. Now as a convicted felon, it's unlikely James will ever get a license to practice medicine again. The closest he can get is working as an unlicensed medic for the Steel Rebels. Would I find it in me to forgive him if our roles were reversed? If I couldn't work with women and children anymore-if I couldn't help them find better lives-would I ever forgive the person who stole it from me? Kiss and hug them?

Touch and bring them pleasure unlike anything they've experienced before wrapping my arms around them and letting them find comfort in my embrace? Would I stay in bed with them all night? Discover more novels at find[ɴ]ovel.net Ours could have been an epic love story if we'd met under different circumstances. I allow myself to imagine meeting a handsome doctor without all this guilt and heartache between us. There wouldn't be hesitation and second guessing every time we were together. Maybe I'd wake up to his face after a night of pleasure.

And maybe, just maybe, I wouldn't second guess every touch and caress between us. I need to get a hold of myself. I can't afford to fall into delusion. "Too late now," I whisper to myself, pushing the covers to the side and climbing out of bed. My eyes cross to the bedside clock and wince when I notice it's already eight before remembering that I have today off. I typically spend mine studying and trying to get ahead in classes. But I know that won't be enough to distract me this morning. Looks like I'll be heading downstairs and begging Samantha to give me something to do.

There's a heavy weight the size of a boulder sitting on my chest as I drag my feet to the bathroom. The warm shower does little to take it ease the burden, and a few minutes later, when I find a single coffee cup sitting on the kitchen counter, the weight intensifies. There's still coffee left inside, it's gone cold now. I bring my finger to the cup, running it around the rim and imagining James drinking from it. I bet he looks so darn sexy in the morning, that neatly combed hair all mussed up. His voice... God, I can hear that deep voice rough with sleep murmuring in my ear.

Those lips trailing my skin as his hands seek my body under the blankets, touching me, guiding me into touching him back until we are both panting. I sigh, grabbing the cup and walking to the sink, daydreaming as I wash it. I'm still in my head, staring into space, when a knock comes. It snaps me right back into the present, and my first thought is Samantha. She wouldn't come to my door on my day off unless there was a problem in the building. Oh God, do we have a new resident? Even then, she'd only come to me for help on my off day if it was a real emergency.

The new arrival must be in really bad shape. I drop the cup in the sink and rush to the door, remembering how Abby had looked when she'd arrived and starting to panic as I unlock it. The panic quickly morphs into surprise when I see the person on the other side of the door is not my boss. My breath hitches when my eyes lock on his, the man I've spent all morning thinking about. He's standing there, bathed in the morning light and... Wow. Dark slacks, a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a couple of buttons undone, and those tattoos I adore peeking out.

His dark hair is slicked back, not a strand out of place, and his olive skin seems to glow in the light. Christ, he looks so good, and for some reason, he reminds me of one of those old movies about Italian Mafias. He looks just as dangerous too. My mouth runs dry when those brown eyes meet mine. "You changed," I say lamely as my mind runs blank. I wasn't expecting him to come back, and to see him standing outside my door is a shock to my system.

"Yeah, I got a bit of blood on my other clothes, so I had to shower and change while I was at the clubhouse anyway." "Blood?" I gasp, eyes widening in horror. I rush forward, panicked as I press my hands over his chest, running my eyes over his clothes as if expecting to see through them. "You're hurt? Where? How?" He laughs. "It wasn't my blood, Cara." "Oh." "Yeah, I had to run out this morning to treat a fool who shot himself." Oh. He didn't leave just to escape me? Of course he left for work. The man's a doctor who deals with adrenaline junkies.

I feel the boulder on my shoulders diminish and curse myself for a fool. I can't afford to slip back into delusion, but as I look at him, I find myself longing to feel those lips on mine again. To have his hands touch me in places only he ever has. And I hope only he ever will. "If you don't stop doing that, Cara, we're going to have a scandalous scene in this hallway." My brows draw in confusion. "Doing what?" He smirks, and I follow his eyes to his chest, flushing when I realize my hands are still on him, caressing his pecs. Embarrassed by my own lack of control, I push back.

"Are you going to let me in?" Right. "Yeah, sorry," I murmur, moving aside to let him go before following him in. I close the door, and I've barely turned around before I find my back pressed against the wall and his lips on mine. All the warnings and that pep talk I gave myself this morning fade away when I feel the press of his hard muscles against me. My eyes flutter closed, and my hands instinctively move to his shoulders as he kisses me. His breath is just as ragged as mine, and I moan, opening up for him with such hunger, it sends fire lighting in my belly. I want this, I realize.

Not just for a moment or a day. Forever. Jesus Christ, I've allowed myself to fall in love with a man who could crush me. Who has every reason in the world to want to crush me. James makes an impatient sound and pulls back. "You're doing it again," he says, holding my gaze. "Cara, I don't have any ulterior motive when I touch you." I lick my lips, resisting the urge to lean in for another kiss. "Don't you?" "Damnit. No, I don't," he says, his voice controlled, but I sense the anger behind it. Surprisingly enough, I don't flinch in fear as I have in the past when faced with rage.

Perhaps it's because everything the man has done from the moment we met is treat me with kindness and touch me with care. Even when he was being rough, he was careful. "James-" "Fine, let's talk about this and get it out of the way," he says, pulling back, and I immediately miss his touch when he does so. I watch him stalk toward the kitchenette and follow behind. "I need another cup of coffee first." I sit on the stool and watch him prepare his coffee. I shake my head when he offers to share, not sure I can stomach anything in the moment.

We sit in silence as he drinks the first cup, and I know I should say something, but I am terrified by the prospect of digging into the past. When he starts pouring the second cup, I figure one of us needs to get this conversation started. "I'm sorry," I begin, letting out a breath with a shudder. "I know you keep saying that you don't blame me, and I don't understand it. I blame myself-" "Why?" "Why?" I laugh without mirth. "James, I ruined your life. Most people would feel guilty about it." "You were a child," he counters.

"An abused child who witnessed something they never should have." "But I..." "Look," he says, pushing the cup aside and taking my hands in his. "Let's get one thing clear first. You did not ruin my life, Cara." His eyes drop to our joined hands, and I watch them soften. "Before I came home on leave, I'd spent a year deployed to one of the worst places on Earth. I spent twelve months in a war-torn country. I saw things I will never be able to forget no matter how badly I want to.

My leave was to last thirty days, then I would be re-deployed to the field, back to rolling the dice with my life." "That's..." He sighs and his eyes turn sad when he looks up to see the horrified look on my face. How the hell can he talk so casually about something like this? "So much of what I saw was horrific and I almost became numb to it." His eyes drop back to our joined hands. "I thought I'd left the violence behind on the battlefield. I wasn't prepared for was to witness what was happening to you at home in my own country.

That level of anger and violence inflicted on a child-" "I wasn't a child." "You were twelve!" he argues, those gorgeous brown eyes darkening. "That's a child in my eyes, and that man, that beast had no right to hit you. I saw red. I wanted to kill him, Cara. I didn't plan to, but in that moment, I wanted to kill him, and I did." "It was an accident," I whisper. "It was," he confirms. "And I tried to keep him alive, but I couldn't.

I tried to plead self-defense, but then I was shown a video of your deposition claiming otherwise." My eyes well up at the memory, of how scared I'd been, lying to the police and the prosecutor, knowing darn well that I was not being honest about the events of that night. "You were seated in a conference room, looking so small and scared...looking helpless, and I imagined putting you through the ordeal of testifying at my trial, and I couldn't do it. So I pleaded guilty to aggravated assault." "I'm sorry," I sniff.

Anguish rips through me as I realize James saved me twice, once from my stepbrother and again from the ordeal of a trial, which would have enraged my stepfather. I drop my gaze to the counter, but he grabs my chin and forces it back to his. "Don't be," he says. "I probably could have proven my innocence if I'd gone to trial, but Cara, I didn't want to put you through the hell of it. That part was my choice and mine alone." "I lied," I protest, the tears falling. "My stepfather, he said I owed him for causing his son's death.

He said he would kill me and then come after you if I didn't tell the cops what I did. I'm so sorry. I should have..." "You did exactly what you needed to do for your safety and self-preservation. I did what I did to protect that abused little girl; you shouldn't feel guilty for doing the same," he says, slowly rounding the counter and moving to my side. He reaches up and brushes a thumb over my wet cheek. "I don't want you to blame yourself, Cara. I would do it all over again." "You lost your career." "A career that put my life in danger every day.

As much as I loved being in the military, I went in because I had nowhere else to go. I had no money for medical school, and the military offered to sponsor me. I dedicated ten years of my life there, and now, even though I can't legally practice medicine, I still get to do what I love without the risk of losing myself. Your testimony might have cost me five years of my freedom, but in the end, it saved my soul. I was losing my humanity on that battlefield. If I'd been re-deployed in that state of mind, I probably would have lost myself completely. So in a way, you saved me.

That, and the work I do now is far less gruesome." "You just treated a man who shot himself." He laughs, the sound so loud, it fills the entire room and seems to clear up the dark clouds that have been hovering over us for days. "You're right," he says, laughter flashing in his eyes as he brings my hands to his lips. "Tell me what happened once I was gone?" I sigh, but I feel the heaviness I've carried for years fade a little. "My stepfather wasn't as cruel as Eric, but he was a nice man either. Fortunately, he was gone working most of the time. I left when I turned eighteen.

Lived in homeless shelters and survived on the meager savings I'd hidden. Thanks to a few scholarships, I was able to start taking some college courses. It's been slow going, but I'm well into my third year. Living here helps with living expenses, and I get to work with women and kids." "Do you like it?" I nod.

"I've wanted to do this my entire life." "And your stepfather?" "I haven't seen or spoken to him in years, and I want to keep it that way for the rest of my life." "No, you'll never have to see or speak to him again." His hand brushes my cheek in comfort, but it has the opposite desired effect. Instead of the reassurance it offered before, this time it causes a spark in me. I shamelessly lean into his touch, losing all reservations I had about the man and all the moments we've shared.

Perhaps I should hold back a little longer, but I am so darn tired of fighting my need for him and second guessing every moment. I want him. Crazy as it sounds, I am in love with him. I wet my lips, lifting my hands to his chest and trailing them over the hard ridges of his stomach. I can't keep the neediness from my voice when I finally speak. "Are we done talking now?" He exhales heavily. "I hope so." I look up to find his eyes heated, reflecting my own desire. There is hunger there, but beneath it, under all the lust and desire, is affection.

Maybe that too is a reflection of my own, but I find that I don't care. With my heart hammering in my chest, I push up on my tiptoes until my lips are almost brushing his. Until his breath is hot against mine and I can see clearly the dark rings in his eyes. Then and only then do I respond. "Then kiss me, Daddy."