by Whitley Cox
Mark pursed his lips together, reaching out once again because he couldn’t stop himself. He wanted to touch her so badly. He drew his thumb across her cheek and wiped away a stray tear, then he offered her his hand and helped her to her feet. “Have you eaten?”
She shook her head again. “No. And I’m sorry, but I haven’t had time to make supper. If you can stay with Gabe, I can quickly whip you up something.”
“It’s okay. I brought dinner home. There is chicken and salads in that bag there. Help yourself.”
She moved over to the bag and began bringing out the containers while Mark crouched back down next to his son. It didn’t even seem like Gabe had noticed his father was there.
“Hey, buddy. I hear you had a tough day.” It was hard to hear his own thoughts with the moaning sound coming from his little boy on the floor.
At least he wasn’t screeching anymore.
Mark rested his hand on Gabe’s forehead. He was hot to the touch. Maybe he was coming down with something.
Wouldn’t be the first time.
He brought his face into line with his son’s eyes so that Gabe could see his dad. A brief flash of recognition resonated in the blue, but he didn’t stop moaning.
Mark managed to grab Gabe’s flailing arms and brought them into the child’s chest, applying deep pressure. Then he scooped Gabe up and drew him into his arms, holding him tight to his own chest, eventually maneuvering his son so that he was straddling his father’s lap, one leg on either side of Mark’s torso, Gabe’s arms pinned between their chests. His little boy’s moans slowly began to ebb, and his breathing grew deeper and less erratic.
Gabe’s cheek fell to Mark’s shoulder, his breath warm and even against his father’s neck.
Mark rubbed his son’s back, gentle, rhythmic circles in conjunction with a soft “shushing” noise. He’d used this technique with Gabe ever since he was a baby. He’d been a colicky infant, and falling asleep upright against Mark’s chest as Mark shushed him and rubbed his back was the only way Gabe fell asleep for months.
It didn’t matter that he was a doctor and it was recommended that babies sleep in their own bed on their backs and blah, blah, blah. Gabe was his child, and his child was in distress. So Mark did what any parent did who wished they could take the pain away from their child and transfer it into themselves: He sat in a La-Z-Boy recliner every night with his son on his chest, and that is where they slept. At the time, it felt like forever, that Gabe would be eighteen and still sleeping on Mark’s chest to fall asleep. But in reality, it had only been a month or two.
Mark also attributed those nights to why their bond was so strong from the get-go. All those nights spent with just the two of them in the living room, their hearts beating in tandem, right next to each other. From early on, Cheyenne had struggled with nursing and supply issues, so they switched to formula by the time Gabe was four months old. So when he was home, Mark was on bottle duty. He was on diaper duty. He was on Gabe duty. He was Gabe’s safe place. He was Gabe’s provider. Not that Cheyenne hadn’t been a good mother at first; she’d been incredible. But Gabe responded more to Mark, always had. When given the choice between Mark and Cheyenne, Gabe always chose Mark.
He felt Gabe take in a big, deep breath, his body slumping and melting deeper into Mark’s as he exhaled.
“That’s it, buddy. That’s it. Big, deep breaths.”
Soft whimpers drifted up from Gabe, along with the odd shudder as his body fought to calm down.
Mark just continued to shush and rub his back. “That’s it, big guy. You got this.”
He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, rocking back and forth with his son, rubbing his back and shushing softly, but when Tori gently touched Mark’s shoulder, he realized he’d closed his eyes.
“Gabe’s asleep,” she whispered.
Mark assumed he would eventually fall asleep. That’s usually the way it went. But then his night wouldn’t be restful, due to the buildup of cortisol in his brain and the fact that he hadn’t eaten. He’d be up before midnight with Gabe, and then probably at least twice more.
Mark nodded and carefully pushed himself up off the floor, cradling his son’s body against his own. He lifted an eyebrow at Tori, and she gave him the thumbs up that Gabe was still out cold.
Grunting, because he was an old man and didn’t belong with his ass on the floor anymore, he heard his knees pop and felt his back twinge. Gabe was also getting big. He’d feel all this in the morning.
He carried his limp-noodle son down the hallway to his bedroom, pulled off Gabe’s shoes and socks, then tucked him into bed.
He switched off the light and knelt down next to Gabe’s bed, his face mere inches from his son’s. Brushing the sweaty hair off his forehead, he leaned in and kissed Gabe twice. Once because he was Gabe’s father and a second time for the mother that he no longer had.
“I love you,” he whispered before standing back up and moving to the door. “She may have found you too difficult, too much to handle, but to me, you’re perfect just the way you are.” Then he closed the door and headed back down the hallway to the kitchen.
Turning the corner into the kitchen, he was struck dumb by the image before him. As if she belonged there, Tori was humming a tune and swaying her hips to the song. Her back was to him as she puttered at the counter, probably plating their meal. She had a beer popped open for him, sitting at the table, and the cutlery was all set and salads laid out.
He’d missed coming home to someone. Someone he could share his day with, share his home with, share his life with. He missed the banter over the dinner table, the quiet chit-chat once Gabe was in bed as they just vegged out in front of the TV for the rest of the night. He missed falling asleep next to someone. He missed love.
He cleared his throat. “What tune is that?” He grabbed the beer off the table and took a long swig, loving the taste of the San Camanez Island honey lager. He’d be having a few more of those before the night was over, for sure.
She spun around, her fingers shiny from taking the rotisserie chicken apart. “Ah, I can’t remember. Earworm.”
He nodded, unsure what to say next.
That always seemed to be the way with them. They could banter and joke for a while, but then suddenly, as if his brain was suddenly elbowed out of the way by other organs interested in joining the conversation, he was at a loss for words.
“Almost done here,” she said with a slight grunt. “Did you pick the one with the biggest breasts? They’re huge!” She grunted again, then let out a celebratory whoop. “Got it.”
Mark snickered to himself. The chicken’s breasts were the last thing on his mind.
He meandered over to stand next to her. There was no reason to stand there and watch her, but he wanted to. He wanted to be close to her. Hell, he didn’t want it, he damn well needed it. When Tori was around, he felt a visceral pull more than he had in a very long time. A pull to be near her. To touch her. Protect her. That’s when he noticed the scratch from Gabe running down her cheek. Grabbing a piece of paper towel from the counter, he ran it quickly under the cool water from the faucet.
“Here,” he said, encouraging her to face him. “I need to clean that up.” No, he didn’t, but he wanted to be close to her. Wanted another reason to touch her.
“My fingers are covered in chicken juice,” she said, heeding his instructions and facing him, her big blue eyes blinking several times before focusing on his face. “I’m okay, Mark. I’m sure it will hardly be noticeable by tomorrow. I know he didn’t mean it.”
“Shhh. Let the doctor work.” Gently, he ran the damp paper towel over the blood, mopping it up and cleaning up the area as best he could. It wasn’t deep enough for her to need stitches, but she might have a small scar, and it would most certainly be noticeable tomorrow. Perhaps for the next week or so. He felt sick that his son had done that to her.
She batted her lashes, her lips parting just enough for him to feel small little puffs of air on his
wrist.
Did she feel it too? The pull? The draw? The need to be near each other? Or was it all entirely in his head?
He didn’t need to keep wiping her cheek, but he did because it allowed him to be in her space. It allowed him to be near her, touching her. She smelled incredible, all woman, floral and feminine and perhaps just a touch fruity. He glanced down between them only to see that her nipples were poking hard into the fabric of her long-sleeved black T-shirt.
Oh, fuck me.
His cock jerked in his dress pants.
“I … ” She swallowed again. “I think I’m good, Mark.” She made a noise in her throat, breaking his trance. She pulled away and turned back to the counter.
“Right.” He cleared his throat and took a step back. “Keep it clean. Maybe put some Polysporin on it tonight, a bandage or some gauze and surgical tape. We wouldn’t want it to get infected or scar.”
All he got was the side-eye. “I’ve been scratched before. And by clients no less. I think I can manage to not let it get gangrenous.”
He nodded, feeling like a total tool. “Okay, I’m going to go change into my sweatpants. I’ll be back out in a moment.”
All he got from her was a grunt, or was that a grunt from spent efforts as she pulled apart the chicken? Either way, he retreated to his bedroom to escape the stunning woman in his kitchen and the heady smell of her that had managed to encircle him like a plume of smoke and embed itself in his skin, hair and lungs.
When he returned back to the kitchen, much more comfortable in sweats and a gray T-shirt, he watched her wash her hands at the sink, then carry the plate of chicken breasts, thighs, legs and wings over to the table, plunking it down next to the salads.
He pulled out her chair for her. With a flick of her eyes, she gave him a quizzical appraisal, but then seemed to shrug off her suspicions and instead flashed him a big smile and sank into the chair. He followed suit.
“Great job breaking down the chicken. Where’d you learn to do that?” He stabbed a breast and thigh with his fork and put them on his plate. He needed to keep talking to her, otherwise his eyes would drift back down her top and his mind would start to wander, and it wandered into some very dirty scenarios.
“My Uncle Wes was a butcher and a farmer. I spent the summer on his farm one year, and he showed me how to butcher a chicken and then break it down.”
Mark paused his fork mid-air. “You killed chickens?”
She nodded. “Yep. It helps you gain a greater understanding of where your food comes from and the work that goes into producing it. You also learn respect for the animal and the fact that they’re giving up their lives so we can eat.”
“I would have thought you’d go vegan after that.”
“Naw. I’m just a lot more mindful of where I buy my food from and how the animals were treated. We’re at the top of the food chain. Animals eat other animals. I’m not against it; I’m just against the cruelty. I buy organic when I can. Free-range, ethically treated, that kind of thing. I want to know my food had a good life and then one final crappy day.”
He wrinkled his nose. “I didn’t check to see if this one had a happy life before his end. I’m sorry.”
Her smile was wide and infectious, lighting up her eyes in a way that made the entire room brighter. “It’s okay. I’m sure this guy had a happy childhood. At least that’s what I’m going to choose to believe.”
Silence fell between them as they ate. Once again, they’d had friendly banter, jokes and even a bit of a story about her childhood, but then it all of a sudden came to a screeching halt. Why?
Because you want her, and after a while your brain heads directly into the gutter.
Mark scooped more salad onto his plate. “I want to apologize for Gabe scratching you. He really isn’t normally that aggressive.”
Her smile was demure, and long lashes fluttered against her cheek. “I know that. He’s a fantastic kid. I know he didn’t mean to hurt me. Transitions are hard. And he’s very attached to Mrs. Samuelson, so to walk in and see the substitute teacher, I knew we were in for a bit more of a challenging day.”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
“I’m not giving up on him, if that’s what you’re implying. If you’re trying to give me an opportunity to bail, I’m not going to.” She shook her head and lifted her gaze, leveling it on him. “I’m trained to deal with children like this. I like this job. I love Gabe, and he’s certainly not the most difficult client I’ve had. He just had a rough day. So unless you’re dismissing me … ” She trailed off and nibbled on her bottom lip, averting her gaze. “Sorry … I didn’t mean to get so emotional, it’s just … ” She glanced back up at him. “He’s a great kid, and I don’t want you to think that one bad day is going to scare me away. I like this job. I want this job.”
Heat rolled through him and settled in his belly. This woman was one of a kind. An outburst like the one he’d walked in on that night would have sent Cheyenne off the rails. It had been one very similar to that, but in a grocery store, that had indeed sent her packing. But Tori just took it in stride. Sure, it was her job, but she went above and beyond because this was her calling.
Kind of like Mark and medicine.
He always went above and beyond for his patients, sat with them, got to know them, called them at home, gave them a cell phone number he had specifically for patients so they could call him if they needed to. Sure, he was a radiologist and not a surgeon or general practitioner, but he was also somebody who dealt with cancer patients and had to be the bearer of bad news. If that meant sitting and talking with a patient for an extra ten minutes just to make them feel better, he would. Because medicine, healing, saving lives was his calling.
Since a very young age, he would bring in sick and injured animals or help fix a scrape or cut on his friends. For him, medicine had been a no-brainer. He hadn’t done it for the money or the prestige of being called “Doctor.” He’d done it because he had to, because healing was in his veins, was at his very core.
And working with special-needs children seemed to be in Tori’s veins, in her core. It was certainly in her heart.
He went to open his mouth when there was a knock at the door.
Who the hell was coming by at this hour?
He glanced at his watch.
Jesus Christ. It was only seven o’clock. How old was he to be calling it “this hour”? He really was an old man. Thirty-eight going on eighty.
Grumbling about kids on his lawn and the youth today, he got up from his seat and stalked off toward the front door, ready to tell whatever vacuum salesman was cold-calling him to take a hike up Mount Baker.
He opened the door with a scowl only to find three of his friends standing there holding beer, potato chips and more beer.
Oh fuck!
“You forgot, didn’t you?” Will asked, pushing past Mark into the house.
His friends from work.
Will Colson and Emmett Strong were doctors in the ER, and Riley McMillan was a general surgeon. He’d invited them over to watch the football game but had completely forgotten after all the drama with Gabe.
And Tori was here.
Shit.
Emmett and Riley sauntered in as well, both of them chuckling.
“Uh … guys … ” Mark said.
“I knew he’d forget,” Riley joked.
All three of his friends made their way to the kitchen.
Mark cringed.
Not that he was ashamed of Tori. Far from it. But he also wasn’t ready to introduce her to his buddies. Sure, Riley and Will were married and Emmett was divorced with zero interest in dating, but Mark also wasn’t ready to explain why this sexy woman who was also his employee was eating dinner with him after his son had gone to bed.
“Oh, hello!”
“Whoa!”
“Um … hi.”
Mark exhaled and braced himself before entering the kitchen behind his friends. All three of them were standing on the other
side of the table staring, yes, staring at Tori.
“Guys, this is Tori, Gabe’s intervention therapist and educational assistant. Tori, these are my friends and colleagues, Will, Riley and Emmett.” He pointed at each of the men.
The woman was mid-chew, but because she was a class act all the way, she smiled, held up her hand in apology, then quickly chewed her food and swallowed.
Even with his friends in the room, Mark’s cock jerked in his jeans as he watched her long, sexy neck bob in a hard, erotic swallow.
“Hello,” Tori said, standing up to shake each of Mark’s friends’ hands. “Nice to meet you all.” She sat back down. “Are you all doctors too?”
Will and Riley shot Mark a salacious grin as they nodded. Emmett seemed a tad more apprehensive. Though he still smiled at her, he wasn’t as carefree and eager as the other two.
Mark fixed his gaze on Tori. “I’m really sorry. I forgot that I invited the guys over to watch the game. This whole thing with Gabe has totally thrown me today, as I’m sure it’s thrown you too. You bore the brunt of it all.”
She shook her head and stood up, bringing her plate with her. “Not at all. I appreciate you letting me stay and eat. I missed lunch, so thank you. I’ll just tidy up and then get out of your hair.”
Mark hightailed it around the table, ignoring the gawking looks of his friends. He grabbed the plate from her hand before she was able to open up the dishwasher. “Don’t clean up. Just head home. You’ve had a crazy challenging day and deserve to relax.” A thought popped into his head, and he held up his finger. “Hold on.” He hustled over to the cabinet along the wall and slid open the door, revealing a floor-to-ceiling wine rack. He grabbed a bottle of very nice Argentinian malbec, one of his favorites, and brought it over. “Here. You deserve it.”
“No, no, I can’t,” Tori protested, pushing the bottle back into his hands. “I was just doing my job.”
“I insist. Go, let your hair down and have a glass—or two. You’ve earned it.” He pushed the bottle into her arms. “I’ve decided to keep Gabe home from school tomorrow, so definitely bring your A game.”