Dr. Fake It: A Possessive Doctor Romance

by Hamel, B. B.

  “Did you hear the rumor?” he asked, eyes twinkling.

  “I’m not sure which you mean. There are a lot of rumors going around Mercy.”

  “This one involves you.”

  I smiled a little and sipped my whiskey. “Still got to be specific, Fred. You know me.”

  He laughed. I could tell he liked my antics, and he probably thought he saw himself in me—except I was more ambitious and twice the doctor he’d ever be, not that I could say it out loud.

  “There’s an opening in emergency and your name’s been thrown into the ring.”

  “That’s good,” I said, “since I threw it in myself.”

  He laughed again. “But you’ve got backing this time. There are a few of us that think you’re ready.” His eyes moved over to Erica. “You know, since you’ve settled down.”

  I nodded slightly. This was what I meant—the hospital was an old boys’ club, and they wanted their new members to follow the rules. That meant settling down, getting married, and doing all the damn married people shit they all did.

  I could play the game, even if I didn’t love it. And by the sound of it, Erica was holding up her end of the bargain admirably, and fending off Agnes as well as she could.

  “I’ll admit, it was sudden, but we’re happy.”

  “Of course. And the girl’s mother? One of your patients?”

  “Former patient now, yes. She’s in a coma.”

  He nodded gravely. “Always hit or miss with those.”

  “We’re hopeful.” I noticed Erica listening and changed the subject as fast as I could. I didn’t want Fred to go on a tangent about comas and to upset Erica, and I could tell he was about to start lecturing me on some bullshit theory or treatment he’d read about in an online journal that hadn’t been peer reviewed yet. I didn’t want to hear it and I didn’t want Erica to get her hopes up.

  The waitress took our orders and conversation flowed. I was proud of Erica for the way she laughed at their bad jokes, the way she asked questions and was exceedingly polite. I didn’t know what I expected from her, but I didn’t know her all that well and so couldn’t be sure how she’d handle herself in a situation like this—but so far, she was nailing it.

  Our food came and as we finished up, Fred leaned forward with a grin. “I have to say, how did you manage to convince this one to get hitched?”

  Erica gave me a grin. “Oh, I can be very persuasive.”

  “I’m sure you can,” Fred said, laughing. “It’s a good thing, you know, making him settle down.”

  “What, you don’t mean to suggest that he was wild before me?”

  He gave her a look. “Oh, no, of course not. He was a perfect saint.”

  I grinned and Agnes looked horrified. “Fred,” she hissed.

  He waggled his eyebrows at Erica then leaned back in his seat and took a sip of his drink.

  “I think the good doctor is drunk,” I said. “I’ve been nothing but a gentleman and a scholar.”

  “A scholar, at least,” Fred said, and the table laughed.

  The meal ended, dessert was skipped, one final round of drinks were downed, and I insisted on paying. I could tell Fred was delighted by that, and I led Erica out onto the street. We parted ways with the good doctor and his wife and began the slow stroll back to my house.

  Erica leaned up against my shoulder. “How’d I do back there?”

  “You did pretty good.”

  “Pretty good? Oh, please, they loved me. I saw you watching me, you know.”

  I shrugged a little. “Got to make sure you can hold your own.”

  “Turns out, rich people are like anyone else. They just want you to listen, ask questions, and not get in the way when they start talking.”

  “Is that how I am?”

  “Maybe, but I’m not interested in anything you have to say.”

  I grinned and put my arm around her shoulders. “That’s because you only want me for my body.”

  “More like your money.” She smiled up at me but didn’t pull away. The street light reflected in her eyes and I had the strangest feeling, like we were meant to be in this moment, like everything that had happened had led me to her, to this street, this quiet block with its dark streetlights and its cars jammed up against the sidewalk. There were no other people around and the houses were quiet, their stoops empty and swept clear, the evening air cool and comfortable. I hesitated then stopped walking, and she turned to face me.

  I wanted to say something, or to pull her against me and taste her lips—but that was when I saw the guy walking toward us.

  I don’t know what made me react. Maybe it was the look in his eye or the clothes he wore. But he came toward us, walking fast, face intense and serious. He had on all black, which was strange, and his right hand was clutching something beneath his short nylon jacket.

  “What’s wrong?” Erica asked, her hands on my chest.

  I took her shoulders and pushed her aside as the guy got closer. She cursed and tripped on her heels, stumbling against the car as the guy pulled a knife and lunged at me.

  The blade sliced across my abdomen as I turned to the side. I grunted in pain and brought my left fist up to smash into his chin. He grunted and staggered as I stumbled aside and whipped my jacket off. He turned to me, coming again, and I wrapped my jacket up like a rope. He lunged, stabbing, and I caught his wrist in my jacket, taking another cut on my arm as I did it. Blood stained my sleeve as I yanked him off balance then smashed my forehead into his nose. He grunted in surprise and I felt blood on my face as I brought my knee up to connect with his elbow.

  He shouted and the blade fell from his hand. He must not have expected me to know how to fight. I released my jacket and punched him again in the stomach then again in the face. Erica screamed something and the guy staggered to the side. I kicked him in the knee and he toppled to the ground. I kicked him again in the face and I felt something crunch—his nose, or his jaw, I wasn’t sure.

  I turned away from him. Erica stared in horror. I felt blood on my side, blood on my arm, and the guy’s blood on my face. “Are you okay?” I asked her.

  “I’m fine.” She stepped toward me. “You’re bleeding.”

  I grabbed her hand. “Come on.”

  She let me tug her along. Several people came out of their houses and stood in their doorways staring down at me, but I kept my head down and hurried forward, leaving the attempted killer out on the sidewalk.

  I got lucky. He underestimated me, but that wouldn’t happen again. Cosimo would send more guys, or next time they’d have guns. At the very least they’d know I was dangerous, and they’d be ready.

  My place wasn’t far. I hustled Erica inside and made sure she was okay before stripping off my shirt and checking my wound. It wasn’t terrible, but it was relatively deep. I cursed and stormed upstairs with Erica on my heels.

  I ripped into my cabinet and pulled out my medicine kit. I cleaned the wound then put on antiseptic with a grunt before putting on a bandage. I washed the blood off my face the best I could then sat on the tub, the water running pink. Erica lingered in the doorway, staring at me with a horrified expression.

  “It’ll be fine,” I said. “We’re alive, right?”

  “He stabbed you. He almost killed you.”

  I waved a hand. “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Gavin—”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said again, though it came out harsher than I meant it.

  Her face shut down. “I guess you don’t need me then.”

  “Wait, Erica—”

  She shook her head then walked away.

  I cursed and stared up at the ceiling.

  The night had been so nice. Dinner went well, and for a moment back there, I thought we might kiss again, like we had in her mother’s room, like we had when we’d gotten married.

  Instead, I was a bloody mess. I’d need stitches, but that wouldn’t be a big deal. Fiona could do it better than most doctors. I texted her then groa
ned as I thought about how fucked up this all was, and how the hell I was going to get everyone out of it alive.

  14

  Erica

  I changed out of that uncomfortable dress, hands shaking with adrenaline, as Fiona took over downstairs. I stared at myself in the mirror, shaken and barely recognizing the girl that stared back, before I forced myself to head back down. I sat cross-legged on the kitchen floor with my back against the cabinets while Gavin perched on a stool and Fiona stitched him up. She didn’t say much, only went about the job as simply and as quickly as possible. Gavin’s face was tense, but he didn’t show any pain, and I was probably the most uncomfortable person in the room.

  “Done,” Fiona said, stepping back and shaking her head. She looked at me and touched her face. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine.” I looked away. “Never seen that before.”

  Gavin stood and put a clean bandage over the stitches. “It’s not so bad. Fiona’s good at it.”

  Fiona leaned up against the counter and stared at him for a long moment as he pulled on his shirt and let out a sigh.

  “Are either of you going to tell me what happened?” she asked.

  I stared at Gavin, trying not to panic. The memory of that bastard attacking us played over and over in my mind. It happened so fast—one second, I was embracing him, thinking about kissing him, and the next he shoved me away and was fighting for his life. He moved so fast and seemed to know exactly what he was doing, but I was still terrified.

  “You don’t want to know,” Gavin said. “Seriously, Fiona. You really don’t.”

  “This has to do with those gangsters,” she said.

  He nodded gravely. “Like I said.”

  She looked down at me. “Are you going to be okay?”

  “I’ll be fine.” I pushed myself up to my feet. “He took care of us, okay?”

  She shook her head and gave him a look. “You shouldn’t have to take care of anyone.”

  “And yet if I didn’t, Erica would be in a much worse position right now.”

  “He’s right,” I said. “If it weren’t for him, I don’t know where I’d be right now.”

  She shook her head and put her medical things away in a black bag that snapped shut. “You know how I feel about this,” she said. “You can keep playing this crazy game, but I think you should go to the police.”

  “Understood,” Gavin said. “Thanks for the stitches. I owe you one.”

  “Whatever. Glad you didn’t do it yourself at least.” She walked to the door. I lingered in the kitchen, arms wrapped around myself. She looked back over her shoulder at me and seemed like she wanted to say something, but stopped herself at the last minute, shook her head again, and left without another word.

  Gavin stared after her then locked the door. “We can’t bring her here again,” he said.

  I blinked, a little startled. “What?”

  “Cosimo probably has my place watched. I don’t want them to think they can use Fiona against us.”

  “Do you think they’d do that?”

  He gave me a long look and I knew what it meant. He walked over to a cabinet, took down a glass, then found a bottle of whiskey and poured himself a glass. He drank it down then nodded at the bottle.

  “Want some?”

  “No, thanks.” I stared at his side where he’d been sliced open and I could still see the blade slide through his skin, the blood seeping down along his skin, his muscles rippling, his face drawn in pain and determination.

  I’d be dead without him. I knew it, deep down in my bones. That guy hadn’t been sent to kidnap me, to take me away, or anything like that—he’d been sent to murder both of us.

  Some part of me hadn’t really thought it would come to this. I knew Cosimo was dangerous and I was afraid of him, but I believed Gavin when he said that nobody would try to murder him. Maybe I was naive, or maybe I was desperate for a way out of this mess, but either way we were both very, very wrong.

  He turned to me and tilted his head. “I know what you’re thinking.”

  “I don’t think you do.”

  He stepped toward me. “We didn’t get to finish what we started back in the street.”

  I smiled a little. “And what did we start?”

  “Come on, we had a good time at dinner. You were standing there, looking up at me like you couldn’t believe your luck, and I was—”

  “Oh, god, that’s not true.”

  “I was thinking about how good your lips would feel against mine.”

  I felt a chill run down my spine, but it was a sheer bolt of excitement. I sucked in a breath and bit down on my lip harder than I’d intended, but I needed to do something to calm myself down. I felt a surge of desire run through me and I knew he was right—we’d come close again, so close to kissing, and I knew I shouldn’t, I knew I was making a mistake.

  But he came closer to me. I backed up and felt the counter against my ass. He loomed over me, so big and muscular, and I flashed back to that knife, the guy’s screams as Gavin kicked him in the face—and a strange thrill crawled up into my throat. I wanted to see Gavin hit that man again, wanted Gavin to break him, break all of them.

  “You were thinking about how I nailed that dinner and made you look good,” I said, trying to hide my need for him, but I knew my cheeks were bright red.

  “Something like that. More wondering how fast I could get you home and undress you.”

  I tilted my head. “Is that something we’re doing? I thought we had rules.”

  “Fuck the rules. I got stabbed tonight.” He reached out and ran his fingers through my hair. “Tonight I’m going to live a little and take what I want.”

  He leaned forward and kissed me. I kissed him back and didn’t hesitate. All the danger of the last few hours, all the fear and horrible certainty that I might die, that it wasn’t even nearly over—it spilled out of me into that kiss. He felt good, tasted like heaven, and I needed him in that moment as much as he seemed to need me.

  It was a mutual desire born from nearly getting killed. I didn’t look too deeply at it, couldn’t let myself think about what it meant, I simply let him kiss me, then let him lift me up and put me down on the counter. He grunted in pain and I guessed he strained his stitches, but neither of us cared—his lips were against mine, his tongue in my mouth, his hands in my hair, then on my body, then unbuttoning my jeans.

  He tugged them off and let them drop onto the floor. I arched my back, staring at him, as he spread my legs and slid a hand down to cover my warm, wet pussy. I chewed on my lip and let a moan escape as he smirked and kissed my neck.

  “Looks like you wanted this as badly as I did,” he said. “I like that you pretend as though you don’t want me. But come on.” He slipped his fingers down my panties and found my slick spot. I gasped as he let out a soft, delicious laugh. “You clearly need it as bad as me.”

  I moaned and buried my lips against his as he teased me with his fingers. It felt like heaven, like pleasure exploded through my entire body. The combination of his incredibly skilled hands and the near-death experience heightened everything, made every touch, every caress and kiss, every little nerve ending fire ten times the pleasure, ten times the excitement. My heart juddered and sent wave after wave of blood through my body and I felt it pulsing along with pleasure, god, so much pleasure.

  I gripped his hair and pulled. He laughed again, clenching his jaw, and pressed fingers deep inside me. I gasped, threw my head back, banged it against the cabinet, and didn’t give a damn. He bit my lip hard and I growled in response, then laughed like an idiot and let him kiss me—before he slid down between my legs.

  I stared at his gorgeous mouth as he spread me wide and licked me top to bottom. I rolled my hips as he took me, tongue and lips and everything driving me wild, his fingers sliding deep in and out, and my breath came heavy and fast, panting, groaning. I gripped his hair tight and hunched forward, wanting more of him, wanting to feel him closer. He was so good with his
fingers, with his tongue, and I lost myself in the moment, all the residual fear leaving my body in a rush, replaced by need, by pure, primal want for this man.

  He didn’t stop or slow as my moans got louder, and I knew the pleasure built, built, as I got closer and closer, and he continued to work me, pushing my boundaries, making me wild with his incredible tongue.

  I came then, body shaking, his name rolling off my tongue— Gavin, Gavin, oh, god, Gavin— and he kept going, bringing me up beyond anything I’d ever experienced before, my body wracked with pleasure, legs tense, muscles tight, mind wild—and slowly I came back down. He ran his tongue along my length then stood up and kissed me. I tasted myself on his lips and tongue and kissed him back with a shocking passion I didn’t know I felt.

  He pulled back and smirked, his lips red, and ran a hand through my hair. “I needed you to feel that,” he whispered, his voice like velvet. “You had a hard night.”

  “I think you had it worse.” I chewed on my lip. “I mean, you got stabbed.”

  He laughed. “That’s true.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “Right now? Nothing.” He kissed me again, then kissed my neck, then kissed my inner thighs, then stepped away. He poured himself another drink as I dropped off the counter, adjusted my useless, soaking panties, and tugged my jeans back on.

  “You have to have some idea, right?”

  “I didn’t think they’d move that fast.” He drank back his whiskey and leaned on the counter with both hands. He grimaced and touched his side. “Truthfully, I’m not sure what they’ll do from here.”

  “You fought that guy off. Maybe they’ll back down?”

  “I doubt it.” He looked at me and I saw the truth in his eyes. He didn’t think we stood a chance.

  “There’s got to be a way.”

  “I’ll think of something. Cosimo’s a mafia asshole, but he’s still running a business. There’s got to be something he wants more than you.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. He seems… unstable.”

  “Then I’ll find him and kill him.” He looked at me and for half a second, I thought he was serious. But then he gave me a little smile and I laughed nervously.