Dr. Hot Stuff (Ponderosa Resort Romantic Comedies Book 9)

by Tawna Fenske

  “I’ll make the arrangements,” my mother says as Chelsea draws closer. “Knowing there’s a date on the calendar and a scheduled flight should be enough to calm things down for now.”

  “But—” My protest dies as Jade and Amber push through the side door and nearly collide with Chelsea. I watch as all three women—my friends, these wives of my brothers and cousin—embrace and laugh and draw back to touch Chelsea’s belly.

  I blink hard against the realization gripping me. I’m an outsider to the world inhabited by these women. I love them, and I want so badly to belong here, but I can’t. Deep down, I’ve always known this.

  Bradley’s face flashes in my mind, knocking the breath from my lungs. I’m going under, dragged down by the force of my wish for something I can never have.

  “All right.” I breathe the words softly into the phone. They’re almost not words at all, but a surrender, a white flag waving tiredly over my head. “All right, Mother.”

  Bradley appears on my porch at exactly six with Kevin on a leash. Both are wearing red bowties, but only one oinks cheerfully at the sight of me.

  “Izzy.” Bradley kisses me softly on the lips as he hands off Kevin’s leash. “Guess we’re both pretty happy to see you.”

  Kevin’s snorts turn to flat-out squeals as I bend down to scratch his ears. “Hey, friend. It’s been too long.”

  Nosing me aside, Kevin trots straight into the living room and makes a beeline for his pet bed. I trail after him and unclip the leash, stopping to scratch beneath his neckwear.

  “What’s the occasion?” I ask Bradley as he slips off his own bowtie and lays it on the counter.

  “My mother’s idea,” he says. “They’re from my sister’s wedding a few years ago. Mom thought it would be a cute way to present Kevin for his new living arrangement.”

  “And it is.” I move toward Bradley, unable to keep my distance as I twine my fingers behind his neck and stretch up on tiptoe to kiss him

  He responds like I’ve dumped kerosene on a fire, deepening the kiss as I moan and press against him. It’s like I’m starved for human contact, or maybe just for Bradley. He’s warm and solid and delicious and I can’t seem to draw back.

  “Mmm.” He kisses me harder, sliding his hands around my back to cup my backside. We kiss like that until we’re both breathless, and he looks dazed when he draws back. “Hello to you, too.”

  “Hi.” God, how did I end up doing this again? I take a step back to put some distance between us, reminding my silly, hammering heart that this isn’t helpful. “How’s your week going?”

  “Good. I missed you.” He releases his hold on my body, but my heart sticks to him like a gummy worm on a shoe. “Be right back. I left the food in the truck.”

  He breaks away, and I take a moment to compose myself. I need to tell him tonight. I need to make it clear that I’m leaving, that there’s more than one good reason I can’t stay.

  Needing to distract myself, I turn back to Kevin. He’s sprawled across the plaid cedar bed, looking supremely content. “We’re going for a walk later, okay? No falling into bed with Bradley.”

  Kevin looks at me and oinks, agreeing to my terms. I wish it were that easy.

  Bradley bursts back through the door, two paper bags in his hands. “I may have gone a bit overboard,” he says. “I wasn’t sure if you preferred curry or something milder, so I got a bunch of different things.”

  “Thank you.” I peer into one of the bags, breathing in the scent of spices and fresh herbs. “This smells amazing. It’ll be nice to have leftovers when I’m running around dealing with wedding stuff.”

  “Kinda my thought,” he says as he starts unpacking the food. “I remember how nuts things were when Julia got married. If it’s that stressful for the family, I can’t even imagine what it’s like when it’s your own wedding.”

  I laugh and pick up a warm box of naan bread. “No kidding. Remind me to elope someday.” The words slip out before I can catch them, and I meet Bradley’s eyes in horror. “I don’t know why I just said that.”

  He tears off a piece of bread and pops it in his mouth, eyeing me curiously. “No big deal.” A pause. “Is it?”

  There’s a roaring in my ears, a scream I’ve heard again and again these past few weeks.

  Tell him. Tell him.

  I don’t say anything. I don’t know where to start, but I know I can’t keep doing this.

  Maybe he senses my fumbling, because he takes a step closer and draws me into his arms. I lean into him, absorbing his strength, his kindness. My chest aches from wanting this so badly while my brain pounds its gavel against my skull, reminding me what’s at stake. As Bradley plants a kiss on my temple, I feel a tear slip down my cheek.

  I beg it not to drip on his arm, not to give me away before I’m ready to have this conversation. I know I’m out of time, but I’m not sure how to say this. How do you tell the man you might love that you’re an awful excuse for a human?

  “Iz?” His lips brush the top of my ear. “You got kinda stiff all of a sudden. What’s up?”

  I take a shaky breath as I fight for courage. For the strength to finally be honest. “I—” The words die in my throat. As I squeeze my eyes shut, another tear leaks out.

  “What is it, Izzy?” Another kiss, this one at the top edge of my cheekbone. “I can’t help if you won’t let me in.”

  Another tear falls and another, accompanied by a bitter choke of laughter. The idea that this can be fixed, that there’s any way out of this, it’s too much. His kindness right now, when I deserve none, is more than I can bear.

  “Bradley.” I take a deep breath, bracing myself for the fact that everything’s about to change.

  I don’t want it to, but I need to get this out. I can’t keep doing this to the kindest man I’ve ever met. I was a fool to think a man like that could have a no-strings fling.

  Or that I could. What an idiot I’ve been.

  I take a step back and try to breathe, but my chest is too tight. It’s a physical reaction to the loss of his touch, the knowledge of what I’m about to say. When I meet his eyes, the bottom falls out of my belly.

  “Bradley.” My voice croaks this time, weak and unattractive.

  That’s exactly how I feel, but it’s about to get worse. He’s about to hate me, maybe as much as I hate myself.

  His eyes search mine, smile faltering just a little. “You’re scaring me, Iz. Did you get bad news from your doctor?”

  It’s such a Bradley thing to go straight to a medical crisis, and my heart wrings itself into a tight, soggy ball. I don’t deserve this man, this gentle, compassionate soul.

  I shake my head, struggling to find my voice. “It’s not medical. There’s something I need to tell you.”

  “What is it?” His brow furrows, and he tries to step closer. “Izzy? Whatever it is, we can face it together.”

  I close my eyes as more tears fall, as the happy space I’ve built here crumbles into a big, dusty heap. When I open my eyes and meet his, my heart splits in two.

  “No,” I whisper. “No, we can’t.”

  Chapter 12

  Bradley

  As I study the shimmering tears in Izzy’s eyes, I know what I’m about to hear won’t be standard cold feet. Not “I’m afraid of these feelings” or “let’s take things slower.”

  Maybe not even “I’m just not into you,” though I’m braced for that. I’m braced for anything but the pain etched on her face.

  “Iz?”

  She shakes her head, and a tear slips down her cheek. Dashing it away with the heel of her hand, she takes a shaky breath. “This is all my fault.”

  “What’s your fault? Talk to me, Iz.”

  I touch her elbow, and she flinches but doesn’t draw away. “That,” she whispers, closing her eyes. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  I drop my hand, confused. “Me touching you?”

  “No, the way I feel when you touch me,” she says. “This was only me
ant to be a fling.”

  “Okay,” I say, regrouping a little. “So we slow things down. Just keep it casual. Or if you want, I know this great couples’ therapist my sister saw when—”

  “Oh, Bradley.” She shakes her head, and the look in her eyes undoes me completely. “I’m going back. To Dovlano, I’m going back home.”

  The word home sticks awkwardly in my mind because I’m a selfish prick who thought maybe she’d come to think of this place as her home. “I understand,” I say, even though I don’t. “And we’ll deal with that when the time comes.”

  “The time has come.” Her voice is barely a whisper, but the words are a scream in my head. “Right after Jon’s wedding. My mother is sending a private jet to come get me.”

  It hits me like a sucker punch to the gut, and I take my time responding. “Okay,” I say, processing what she’s said. “All right, it’s not the end of the world. I can come see you. Or you can—”

  “Bradley, no.” She shakes her head slowly, sending another tear down her cheek. “That’s not all.”

  The other shoe is about to drop. I steel myself, not sure how bad this might get. It hurts like hell to think she’s breaking things off, but I need to hear her say the words. To make sure I’m not jumping to paranoid conclusions.

  But she’s crying so hard now I’m not sure she can get the words out. I cup her other elbow, holding on to her like she might blow away.

  “You’re ending things.” I say the words myself because her sobs make speech unlikely. “You’re wanting to call it quits before you head home. Iz, I can deal. It’s not like I’ve never had a woman break up with me b—”

  “I’m getting married.” She chokes out the words in staccato bursts, like she’s spitting them out. Her eyes are frantic, searching mine for a response. “I’m getting married, Bradley.”

  I stare at her, positive I’ve heard wrong. I wait for her to laugh. To tell me it’s a sick joke or I’ve misunderstood. An icy chill floods my chest as I meet her eyes. She’s telling the truth.

  My God.

  “I don’t understand.” A ridiculous understatement, but I’m too stunned to wrap my brain around what she’s just shared. “How—what—”

  “In my culture, arranged marriages are common among the royal class,” she says slowly. “The pairings are made for political or social standing, often before the parties even meet each other.”

  “Okay.” I hold her gaze, struggling to grasp what she’s saying. “All right, I spent time in small villages in Iraq. I’ve seen arranged marriage firsthand.” Sometimes horrifying examples of young girls forced into wedlock, but I don’t think that’s what we’re talking about here. “Or India, I know they have some impressive statistics about the success of arranged marriages there.”

  It’s a dumb thing to say, but I want her to know I’m not judging. That I don’t kid myself into thinking American culture has a stronghold on the definition of marriage. Lord knows the traditional route hasn’t gone great in my own family.

  But the way Izzy’s sobbing makes it clear she’s not thrilled with her nuptial plans. Or maybe I’m reading it wrong. Maybe it’s shame, a hollowed-out regret over what she and I have done together. I drop my hands, not wanting to make things worse by touching her when that might be the last thing she needs.

  She gulps for air like she’s drowning, composing herself enough to get the words out. “His name is Stefano Romano Charnelton, and he’s a prince. From Saxenheim, the country that borders Dovlano on the northwest tip.”

  Hearing the names, the specifics, makes it real. It also makes my head throb. A tiny flicker of anger flares to life in my chest, and I take slow, deep breaths so it doesn’t blaze bigger. Cortisol floods my system, a symptom of stress and jealousy. I urge my brain to override emotion.

  My brain tells me to suck rocks.

  “So, we’ve been cheating.” I cringe at my own words, though at least I managed to say “we” and not “you.” I cross my arms, then uncross them so I don’t seem like an angry prick. “It would have been nice to know I’m participating in infidelity.”

  Izzy flinches like I’ve struck her. “Dovlanese arranged marriages aren’t like an American engagement. There’s no ring, no expression of devotion. Just a lot of paperwork and handshakes between parents.”

  “But you’re engaged.”

  Izzy bites her lip. “We don’t use that term. My family signed documents when I was seventeen, though the terms state we’re not required to wed until I’m thirty. I never met Stefano until just a few years ago. ‘Promised’ might be a more accurate term than ‘engaged,’ though perhaps I’m splitting hairs.” She looks down at her hands. “I never promised anything.”

  I’m torn between sympathy and anger. Anger that she never said a word. Never mentioned this when we discussed dreams and relationships and everything else under the sun. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She looks up, and the pain in her eyes sends me reeling. “I was hoping something might change. That my mother would see I’m happy here and let me stay.” She bites her lip but doesn’t break eye contact. “That maybe they’d find another match for Stefano, or he’d ask to be released from the betrothment. There’s a medical clause, an escape hatch he could use in light of my kidney transplant.” She’s talking faster now, hands balled at her sides. “I thought he might want to get out of it, assuming I’d have difficulty producing an heir. Or he might not want to endure the trauma in twenty years when the doctors say I’ll likely need another kidney transplant.” She’s gasping now, like she can’t get enough air. “Or he could be hit by a taxi, a bus maybe, or an airplane crash. I don’t wish him ill, but—but—” She chokes out a sound that’s part sob, part hysterical laugh as she covers her face with her hands. “I was hoping for a miracle.”

  “Okay.” A wave of sympathy cools the embers of my anger, but I’m still mad. And confused. And jealous and reeling from at least a dozen other emotions I know shouldn’t control my response right now. “You still could have told me. Seems like the sort of thing you might have shared before we slept together.”

  She flinches, then squares her shoulders. “You’re right.” Her throat moves as she swallows. “You’re absolutely right.”

  “So why didn’t you say anything?”

  She hesitates. “Because I wanted you. I know that’s selfish and awful, and I’m not proud.”

  I am, just a tiny bit. It’s flattering to have a woman like Iz throw caution to the wind because she wants me that badly, but I can’t let my ego rule me right now. “Okay,” I say slowly. “I mean, I wanted you, too, obviously—”

  But somehow it became more than that. I thought I wasn’t the only one feeling that way. I could have sworn she was on the same page, but now I’m not so sure.

  “I thought we could keep things physical,” she chokes out. “Just a hot, sexy hookup before I settle down and fulfill my duties. We both knew I was leaving, so I thought we’d be okay with an end date.” She bites her lip again. “I thought I wouldn’t fall for you.”

  “But you did.” I try not to speak the question mark at the end, but she still hears it.

  “Yes,” she says. “I fell hard. So hard I don’t know what hit me. I wanted this to just be a fling, but I failed so hard I don’t know what happened.”

  I’ve never been a guy to relish anyone’s failure, but I like hearing that. It’s not enough to ebb the pain of watching her cry, watching her break down so completely, but it’s something.

  I take a deep breath and offer a confession of my own. “I knew we could never be just a fling. I agreed because it’s what you wanted, but deep down—” I bite off the rest of that statement, knowing it’s not helping. “We were always more than sex.”

  She closes her eyes, but doesn’t deny it. “I know that.” She shakes her head slowly. “But there’s no room in my life for that. I can’t—I can’t fall in love. I just—that’s not in the cards for me.”

  Can’t or won’t?

>   I don’t ask because it’s hardly the right question at the moment. I’m hung up on the betrayal, on the fact that she had so many opportunities to say something.

  “I wish you’d told me.”

  “I wish I had, too.” She opens her eyes and looks deep into mine, those green depths bright and watery. “So much. If I could go back in time, I would. I’d—I’d—” She chokes on another half sob, half laugh. “You know what? I might not change it. Because I’m greedy and selfish, and if it meant having only a few weeks with you, I’d still have chosen that. I’m sorry, but it’s the truth.”

  I bite back a retort about Izzy’s fumbling grasp of the truth. She had weeks to say something, but I understand why she didn’t. Hope can make people do strange things. I’ve watched cancer patients deny chemo, convinced their sister’s nanny’s aromatherapy regimen will be the cure. Even in the face of scientific facts, they’ll cling fiercely to their hope for a magic solution.

  “You’re not awful, Iz.” Confused. Trapped. Maybe even a little imprudent, but she’s still the same big-hearted person I know. “I just wish you’d trusted me.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “So sorry. It was wrong. I should have been honest from the start. I should have told you and Bree and Mark and James and—”

  “Wait, your siblings don’t know?” I blink in astonishment. “But—how?”

  Izzy wipes her eyes, then fumbles on the side table for a tissue. “No one outside Dovlano knows.” She hesitates, biting her lip. “Well, Dante.”

  Oh. A puzzle piece clicks into place. “Was he sent here to make you come back?”

  “I don’t know.” She wrings the tissue in her hands. “I thought so at first, but he’s had ample opportunity to force me to return. When he didn’t do that, I thought maybe…maybe my mother had a change of heart. That perhaps they sent him to watch over me while they worked out some way I could stay.”

  I can see how she might cling to that fantasy. Hell, I wish for the same thing. “But that’s not the case.”