Dr. Good: A Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance

by Flora Ferrari

  It’s not the pounding drum-knock of Miller, but a more ladylike tap-tap.

  My belly drops when the truth thunders into me.

  It’s his girlfriend, the one he laughs with when they discuss how they trick gullible inexperienced virgins like me, and he’s sent her here to throw me out. My throat starts to close with panic and I want to scream, but that would let her know I’m in here.

  “I know you’re in there, dear,” the woman says, as though reading my mind.

  She sounds older than me, more sophisticated, a woman more on Miller’s level.

  “It’s Macie, yes?”

  “Yes,” I say because I feel like I haven’t got any other choice.

  I can’t hide in here forever.

  His girlfriend probably has keys.

  How was I so stupid?

  “I’m just going to pack my things and then I’ll get going, okay?”

  “What?” The woman titters in the most civilized way imaginable. “Why on earth would you do that? I was going to ask if you wanted some breakfast, dear. Although brunch would probably be more apt.”

  “What?” I pause, staring at the door like this is another trick. “I don’t understand. Who are you?”

  “I’m Miller’s mother. Kayla.”

  I giggle, shaking my head, relief washing through me. “Oh.”

  “Oh?” she says, with an ironic lilt to her voice.

  Now that I listen closely, I can hear a little of Miller in the way she speaks. She says oh with the same tinge of sarcasm Miller would, but without any of the bullying undertones that might come with that sarcasm from anybody else.

  I find myself feeling at ease and I haven’t even properly met her yet.

  “Are you going to let me in? Or shall I wait in the kitchen?”

  “Um, two secs. I need to get dressed.”

  “That’s okay, dear. I’ll wait in the kitchen. Do you like syrup with your pancakes?”

  A cruel thought slithers into my mind, a hateful taunting thought that tells me she’s going to follow up my answer with a twisted joke about my weight. I know it’s the sort of thing I should’ve grown out of by now, this constant on-alert state for insults and taunts, but somehow I still find myself expecting the worst out of people.

  “Yes,” I say, realizing I’m standing here with my mouth hanging open like a real idiot.

  “Great.”

  I hear her walk down the hallway, and then I’m left to wonder what the heck I’m going to do. I have to go out there and face her, of course, but at the same time, horrible ideas and swirling throughs fill my mind.

  If Miller is tricking me…

  He isn’t, something from deep inside of me screams, trying to calm me down so we can get to the point where I can give my man a child without being so freaking self-conscious about it. He wants you. He’d never trick you. Everything he said is true.

  But if he is, then maybe this woman isn’t even his mother. Maybe this is all part of the twisted game.

  I shake my head, pushing those unfair and unhelpful thoughts away.

  He isn’t tricking me.

  I overreacted last night, letting my anxiety and my self-consciousness drive me when I should’ve listened to the thrumming moving through my body, the heat swelling up inside of me when we pressed our bodies together.

  Everything he said he wants, I want too.

  I wish I could turn back time so I could tell him that, holding onto his face with my hands, feeling the hard press of his jaw against my palms.

  I throw on a summer dress and some simple comfortable shoes and then make for the door.

  I walk down the hallway, still struggling to believe I’m really here, my footsteps seeming loud on the marble flooring as I move from rug to rug. I round the corner to find the most elegant woman I’ve ever seen standing at the kitchen island.

  She’s tall and her hair is a proud white, pearls glinting at her neck and her ears, wearing a dress that’s patterned with little roses. Her smile seems genuine as she takes me in, and she has the same dark eyes as her son, the sort of eyes that seem to see into me.

  I look at the sleek obsidian surface in front of her and see that she’s already laid out two plates of pancakes, one of them with a generous helping of syrup on it.

  “Those look delicious,” I murmur, my belly rumbling.

  She waves a casual hand, displaying expertly painted fingernails. “Oh, it’s nothing. The least I can do.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, as I pick up my plate and together we move over to the table by the window, overlooking the city that glitters in early-summer sunlight.

  “For you, Macie. For the woman who’s finally melted my son’s heart.”

  I gape at her and she grins with a note of thrilled wickedness in her expression.

  “I’m too old to mince words, dear,” she says, grinning widely at me. “My son has changed since you came into his life. He called me last night to tell me, and I was stunned. Stunned. When you’ve been around as long as I have, that’s a very difficult thing to achieve. But it’s the truth. I’ve never heard him like that before. He was borderline smitten.”

  I must keep gaping like a fish because she laughs in delight, reveling in this moment.

  “I don’t know what to say,” I murmur after a long pause.

  “We spoke this morning too. I called him this time, wanting to see what he’d planned to do. He’s given me bits and pieces. He wouldn’t tell me why you’re here. He wants to respect your privacy.”

  “It’s not a big deal,” I say, cutting into my pancakes to distract myself from how surreal this moment is. “I’ve got a stalker. Miller’s helping me.”

  “How is that not a big deal?”

  “Well…”

  I shrug. I have no idea what to say.

  “Hmm.” She taps her fingernails against the table.

  “Hmm, what?” I giggle.

  She laughs. I find it easier to sit with this stranger than I could believe if it wasn’t happening right now. It’s like we’ve known each other for a long time like we can do away with the social niceties that would normally be required in this situation.

  “I think I’ve been exactly where you are, dear. Devaluing your emotions. Not wanting to bother anyone else with what’s happening to you. So let me state for the record… having a stalker is a very serious issue. But if Miller has decided to help you, I trust it will all be sorted out in the end.”

  I fork my pancakes, making a metal scrape sound, mimicking the feeling of my heartbeat pounding against my ribs.

  “Well, you must be a mind reader,” I say. “Because that’s exactly how I feel. But I fail to see how Miller can help.”

  Especially if he’s tricking me.

  “Macie, I did manage to work one thing out of Miller.”

  “Hmm?”

  “He said you doubt he truly feels what he says he does?”

  I bite my lip, letting my gaze flit over the sun-flecked city.

  “You can’t tell me it’s not difficult to believe. He’s Dr. Miller freaking Marshall. He’s… him. And I’m me. And it’s so sudden—”

  “Look at me.”

  For a heart-tugging moment, I’m sure my aunt has come back from the grave. Kayla reminds me so much of her, right down to the commanding tone of voice she just used, but somehow she managed to soften it so she didn’t come across as over the top.

  It’s a skill my aunt honed after years of working with belligerent movie directors.

  I turn my gaze to her, staring into her Miller-like eyes.

  “Whatever my son has said to you, it’s the truth. He’s… well, he’s never had many girlfriends. Don’t get me wrong, he’s had his share of women try to get their hands on him. He’s wealthy and he attracts certain types. But he’s never been in a real relationship. When I asked him why, do you know what he said?”

  “What?” I ask, enraptured.

  “He said he was waiting for his perfect girl. I laughed and told
him no such woman exists. But he was adamant that if he couldn’t find her, the woman who made him feel, who he had to have, then he would die alone. Before you came along, he was ready to accept that fate. You changed everything. I could hear it in his voice last night. And there’s something else…”

  Her smile spreads kindly across her face, her eyes twinkling playfully.

  “You feel the same, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” I say, even if I didn’t plan to. “Okay? Yes. Yes, I freaking do. But what if he’s lying to me?”

  “He’s not,” Kayla says flatly. “After my husband, his father passed, Miller changed. He became more withdrawn. He was only twelve when my dear Trent decided to go hang-gliding. Hang-gliding. He always was a thrill seeker. It’s one of the things that made me love him so much. But hang-gliding in that weather? It was foolish.”

  She sighs, moving a hand through her snow-white hair.

  “In any case, Miller was not the same after that. I stopped believing a long time ago anybody would be able to puncture the defenses he’s built up around himself. But somehow, after only a short while, you did. You did the impossible.”

  “He’s not tricking me? This isn’t some game?”

  “Oh, Macie, I’m so sorry.”

  “Sorry for what?” I snap with some fire in my voice.

  “That your stalker and whoever else – whatever monsters bullied you and ridiculed you – have made you so wary. Perhaps you’re right to be wary. In most cases, this would be ludicrous. But you and Miller, this thing between you, it is not most cases.”

  “I want to believe you,” I murmur. “But there’s still a chance…”

  “I swear on my dead husband’s life. I swear on Miller’s life. This is the real thing.”

  I gasp, both at the words at the solemn way she said them, as though intoning a spell from one of my beloved fantasy stories.

  “But what if he’s lying to you?”

  She shakes her head firmly. “Miller is a terrible liar, just like his father. It’s one of the things that makes – that made – my husband so special. And, on top of not being able to lie to me, he rarely does, except to say my cooking is delicious when it’s anything but.”

  I laugh, gesturing at the pancakes. “I don’t know about that. These smell pretty great.”

  “Yes, dear, but there’s a big difference between smell and taste, isn’t there?”

  “So all that crazy stuff he said to me,” I murmur, “all this crazy stuff I’m feeling, you really think it’s real?”

  “Yes,” she says, with iron certainty in her voice. “There isn’t a single doubt in my mind that Miller means what he said. He cares about you. I know, I know… it should be impossible. It doesn’t make sense. So what? Affairs of the soul rarely do.”

  I sigh. “I freaked on him last night, Kayla. I yelled at him to get out of my room. It was like I was back in high school and Derrick – that’s my stalker – had barged into one of my classes and started making a scene. I couldn’t stop myself.”

  She reaches over and places her hand atop mine, squeezing softly, looking at me with soft acceptance in her eyes. “Talk to him. I’m sure you can work it out.”

  I nod, blinking back foolish tears.

  “Oh, dear…”

  She wraps her arm around me and pulls me into a hug.

  I collapse into the embrace, angry at myself for letting go like this. But it’s like all the heartache I’ve been stowing up since my aunt’s death is spilling out now, a busted hydrant I can’t do anything to stop.

  “I’m sorry,” I sob. “I don’t know what came over me.”

  “Hush,” she whispers, stroking my back. “You don’t have to apologize.”

  So I let the pain out instead, sinking into her embrace, letting myself dream for a warm moment about what it would be like to have this woman as my mother-in-law.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Miller

  I ride the elevator up to my apartment with a tight ache in my chest, my whole body roaring at me to get up there and be with my woman right this second. It’s like the primal part of me wants me to scale the elevator shaft, sprinting up like some mad beast in search of my beauty.

  When the doors open, I almost sprint into the apartment, my heartbeat thudding heavily through me.

  I’m a professional and I put my all into my work today, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t damn difficult to pull my mind away from Macie and focus on my work instead. Every second she flitted across my mind in bright and tempting vignettes, her perfect body arrange just so on my bed.

  But I need to slow down.

  Maybe she’s still pissed at me.

  Mom said they spoke earlier today and she sounded positive, but that doesn’t mean her mood hasn’t shifted.

  I remember with aching vividness how angry she got yesterday, how suspicious, and the idea of spanking her for it has entered my mind more than once today.

  I walk into the open-plan living room, my belly dropping when I see that it’s empty. But I do notice the tell-tell smell of cleaning products that lets me know Mom has been around, and she probably only left recently.

  That woman…

  No matter how old I get, no matter how many times I tell her I can clean my own place, she can’t resist going around and giving everything a quick once-over.

  Maybe that would bother some men, but I know how much it means to her, and after Dad passed there’s no damn way I’m going to take that away from her.

  I chuckle to myself.

  Look at me, justifying letting my Mom clean for me.

  What a fucking hero I am.

  “Care to share the joke?” my woman murmurs.

  I turn, my heart pounding against my chest, my head hazy with thoughts of her, with dreams of her. But I don’t need to dream when she’s standing right there.

  She’s wearing a summer dress that falls tantalizingly against her body, like vapor, outlining her perfectly so her breasts bulge and her hips tempt me to grab them. Her hair is tied up in a cute-as-fuck bun, begging me to grab it and release it and let it cascade down her body.

  “Macie,” I growl, striding across the room to her. “I missed you.”

  She smiles, and it isn’t as shaky, as uncertain as last time. Confidence flares into her eyes and her smile widens gorgeously, the sort of smile I’d be a madman not to fall in love with.

  Fuck.

  Did I really just think that?

  Fall in love?

  Even if it’s the truth – even if I feel it bone-deep, right at my core – I can’t let her know, not yet.

  If she freaked before, this would cause my spunky angel to go nuclear.

  “I missed you too,” she murmurs.

  I grab her by the shoulders and pull her close to me, leaning down so I can taste her lips like I’ve been dreaming all damn day. I kiss her hard, opening my mouth so our tongues can fuse together, growling through the closeness as she whimpers and shivers against me.

  “Wait,” she moans, leaning back in my arms.

  I stare down at her, a smirk touching my lips. “Okay, I’m waiting.”

  “I wanted to say sorry,” she says. “For how I reacted before. I shouldn’t have gone crazy like that. It’s just… What the heck am I supposed to think?”

  “That you’re perfect. That any man would be lucky to call you his. But that I’m the only one who’s ever going to get that honor. That, Miss Future Mother of my Children, is what you’re supposed to think.”

  “Well, that’s completely cuckoo.”

  “Cuckoo?” I chuckle. “Did you really just say cuckoo?”

  She giggles, slapping my chest playfully. “Mock me all you want. It doesn’t change the fact it’s cuckoo, does it?”

  “I’m more concerned with the fact the future mother of my children uses words like cuckoo,” I tease, caught up in the banter between us, stunned at how easy it is to sink into the back-and-forth with her.

  She should be a stranger, but
she’s anything but.

  She lets out a short moan, the sound going directly to my core, stirring things that were dormant before my woman came along.

  “What is it?” I ask, smoothing my hands down her back and grabbing onto her hips.

  “The future mother of your children… it really does sound crazy.”

  I pull her close to me, mashing our bodies together so she can feel the hot urgency running through me. I feel her virgin body return the heat, a shimmer moving through her, her lips trembling with her need to give herself to me.

  “But you believe me now,” I say, reading her expression.

  “Yes,” she says, giggling. “How can you tell?”

  I lean down, keeping my face close to hers, staring directly into her eyes.

  It’s like I can look past her eyes into everything happening inside of her.

  It’s like I can read the uncertainty and the flaming desire, to believe me, to believe this is real.

  It’s like I can pick her apart into all her beautiful pieces.

  “Because I can read you. That’s just another sign we’re meant to be together.”

  She turns her face away from me, my kiss landing on her cheek. Her gaze moves down and a tantalizing shudder moves through her, causing her body to graze against mine, her perfect breasts pushing against my heaving muscles.

  “What is it?” I growl.

  “Do you believe in that sort of stuff? That people are meant to be together?”

  I take her by the hand and lead her across the apartment, out onto the balcony so we can sit in the blazing sunlight. I drop onto the wicker cushioned couch and pull her down into my lap.

  She moves fluidly, as though she’s letting her body and her need take over and not allowing herself to sink into paranoia like she did last night.

  Or maybe that’s unfair.

  If we weren’t destined to be together, she’d be right to be cautious.

  She falls against me as I slide my hand up her body, moving my fingers through her hair.

  “The feels nice,” she whispers. “But you didn’t answer my question.”

  I kiss her forehead, savoring the feeling of her against me, right where she belongs.

  “I didn’t believe in destiny or fate or any of that before we met,” I tell her. “But the moment you walked into my office, that all changed. I know how crazy it sounds, but I’m tired of questioning it. I’m tired of second-guessing it. We belong together and that’s that. That’s all I care about, me and you.”