by Lund, S. E.
"Here," he said and put his arm under mine and then he actually picked me up.
"Whoa," I said, trying to resist, hating to be carried by anyone. "You don’t have to pick me up."
"Don't worry. You're light as a feather. You've probably sprained your ankle."
My hands went around his neck and I was two inches from his face, my own face hot with embarrassment. He found my parent's bedroom at the rear of the apartment and placed me on the bed, sitting across from me. My dress had hiked up, the tops of my sheer black nylons and black lace garters on display for him to see.
He raised his eyebrows, his eyes widening. I quickly drew down my dress to cover them.
"Oh, I'm sorry…"
"Don't worry," he said, smiling just a bit. He placed my injured foot on his lap so he could examine it. "I'm a doctor."
I took off my coat, warm from it and his gaze. "Still, you shouldn't have to see that."
"Oh, I don't mind." He grinned without meeting my eye as he moved my ankle back and forth. "I don't mind at all."
"Ouch!" I said when he moved my ankle a bit too far in one direction.
He glanced up at my face. "That hurts?"
I nodded.
"What about this way?" He twisted it the other way, gently this time.
"Not as much."
He felt around, prodding my foot, my ankle and the bone above it in my calf.
"Don't think it's broken. You might as well take off those nylons. I'll have to treat those lacerations."
"Oh, yeah," I said, and hesitated. I waited, and he watched me expectantly.
"Oh." He glanced away, smiling a bit sheepishly.
I quickly unhooked the garter clasps to one leg and rolled down the nylon. Then, the bastard peeked while I was busy undoing the garters to the other leg.
I cleared my throat. "Excuse me?"
"Sorry," he said and turned his head away again, grinning widely. "Just don’t get to see real garters very often."
"My best friend made me wear them. Now she'll be pissed that I ruined her nylons."
"It's a shame they were destroyed," he said softly, a hint of humor in his voice. "I especially like the ones with the seam up the back. Really retro."
Once my nylons were off and I readjusted everything, he started to examine my calves, running his hand up my leg on the injured side, checking the bone. I had to spread my thighs a bit so he could examine my knees, and blushed profusely when I had to jam my dress between them to cover my crotch.
"Calves and knees look great," he said, a faint smile on his face.
He left me on the bed and went to the en-suite bathroom. I heard him opening and closing cabinet doors and drawers. Finally, he emerged with a bottle of peroxide and some cotton balls, some gauze and bandages. He also had a wet washcloth. He then tended my wounds, wiping the dirt off my knees and ankle.
"What kind of doctor are you?"
"Neurosurgeon."
"So you cut up brains?"
"Something like that," he said, a half-smile on his lips. "I don’t cut them up as much as fix them. Robotically-assisted electrophysiology is my specialty. Using electrodes to treat disorders like Parkinson's and epilepsy. You're thinking pathologist. But don’t worry," he said as he washed the dirt off my knees. "We also learned to look after superficial wounds. And I have a truckload of insurance, just in case you're wondering…"
He daubed the cuts and scrapes with the peroxide-soaked cotton balls. It stung a bit, but not too badly. All the while he was tending my injuries, I got the chance to see him up close. Man, was he beautiful. His black hair was a bit longish and wild as if he was just caught in the wind. Dark arched brows. Blue blue eyes fringed with thick black lashes. A bit of scruff on his face, and a jaw that screamed perfection.
He was perhaps the hottest man I'd ever seen.
"You'll be fine. Don't need stitches. Just a bit of antibiotic ointment and a few bandages. But you should rest your ankle. Are you going to stay or do you need a ride home?"
"I better stay. Do you know who Elaine is? Can you ask her to come and speak to me?"
He nodded. "Sure. If that ankle doesn't get markedly better in a couple of days, you might want to get an x-ray. Can't do anything for a broken bone in your foot but rest it. You could probably use some crutches."
He smiled at me and left me on the bed.
I'd just met Doctor Delish. It took me a few moments to recover.
CHAPTER TWO
In a moment, Elaine came rushing in and sat on the bed, hugging me.
"Oh, Kate it's you! You poor dear," she said, examining my cuts and ankle. "Drake told me this guest had fallen and wanted to talk to me. I had no idea it was you!"
Drake? Dr. Delish finally had a name.
"Yeah, we didn't introduce ourselves. Can I borrow something safe in the shoe department? I fell outside because I wore those," I said and pointed to the high heels on the floor.
"Of course," she said and went right to her huge walk-in closet with racks of shoes, sorting through her collection. She pulled out a pair of black ballet slippers and held them out. "Will these do?"
"Yes, thank God you have some. I should have been wearing those in the first place."
I put them on and limped out using Elaine as a crutch.
"Leave your coat here," Elaine said. "I'll have one of the staff hang it up."
We stood just inside the entry to the living room, and I was so reluctant to be there. The suite itself was huge, two full stories with cathedral ceilings in some of the rooms and floor to ceiling windows. Everything was cream and gold with rich dark wood on the furniture, floors and all the trim.
Almost two dozen people were there, most of them rich businessmen in several-thousand dollar suits, a couple of women there as arm candy, tall leggy bottle blondes who were managing quite fine in their own stiletto heels. I was a dwarf compared to the rest of the women in attendance.
Now, I'd have to explain to everyone why I was bandaged up and limping. I searched for Nigel. Immediately, he called out to me.
"There you are my girl," he boomed, pushing through the people standing around him to get to me. My cheeks burned as everyone in the room turned at the sound of his voice.
I smiled when I saw him and he opened his arms wide. Close to three hundred pounds and six foot six, while I was all of five foot three, and one hundred and fifteen, we made a comedic pair. He picked me up and hugged me like a bear.
"Hey, hey!" I said when he held me up. "Watch it – I fell and hurt my ankle."
He placed me gingerly back down on the ground, kissing both my cheeks in that Continental manner, a huge arm around my shoulder, helping me limp into the room. Immediately, a group of men surrounded us and Nigel introduced me to them all.
A few minutes later, Peter, my father's chief of staff for his campaign, came by.
"Kate what happened?"
"I fell in the back alley."
"Are you all right?"
"I'm fine."
"Your father's in a conference call. Can I introduce you to a few people?"
Nigel let go of me and now Peter escorted me around the room, letting me lean on his shoulder for support.
It was then I saw 'Dr. Delish' – Drake – standing with a man I met two years earlier before I went to Mangaize with Nigel.
Dave Mills was an MBA type who worked in fundraising. He also happened to hit on me, blatant about wanting to take me home at the end of a long booze-filled party. I refused him and his advances.
"I'm Justice McDermott's daughter," I'd said, hoping that would scare him off.
"You need lovin', too," was his reply.
He was attractive with blond hair and brown eyes, well-dressed and erudite. He was a catch. But he was far too glib for my tastes. He'd hit on me each time we met after that. I could almost predict what he'd say and it bothered me, as if he couldn’t see me as anything other than fuck material.
He placed his beer down on the table and stood up straight, ad
justing his jacket when Peter led me towards them, me limping along beside him.
"Drake, Dave, may I introduce—"
Before Peter could introduce me, Dave stepped forward. "Ahh, the lovely Miss Bennet," he said in an affected British accent. "Um, I mean the lovely Kate needs no introduction."
"It is a truth universally acknowledged that a man in possession of a good fortune must write out a check and make a donation to the cause," I said in an equally affected British accent, not wanting to miss the opportunity to tease him and also continue with the Pride and Prejudice reference.
Dave laughed. "Well played, Ms. McDermott, well played."
At that, Drake made a face of surprise. "You're Katherine…"
"Oh, this is Kate McDermott," Dave said, gesturing to me. "Kate, this is Dr. Drake Morgan, brain surgeon, bass player, philanthropist. I assumed you already knew each other."
"I met, but didn’t really formally meet, Ms. McDermott," Drake said, his voice soft. "I've known you by reputation for years. My apologies for not introducing myself."
"By reputation?"
"Your father told me about you, and I read your articles on Mangaize."
I smiled briefly, surprised that he knew who I was.
Dave turned to me. "Dr. Morgan's father Liam fought with your father in Vietnam. Drake volunteers with Doctors Without Borders," he said, sounding mock officious. "I run his foundation, which donates surgical equipment. Drake goes to war zones where civilians have experienced brain trauma and fixes them up."
It was then I realized who Drake was and I turned to him, totally surprised. "My father's spoken of you before." I smiled. "It was Dr. Morgan this, Dr. Morgan that. He thinks you're practically a saint."
Drake gave me this warm I'm smiling just-for-you smile. I felt a little flip in my gut in response to him.
"Sorry, I didn't introduce myself earlier," I said, my cheeks hot. "I was in kind of injured mode."
"Nice to finally meet Ethan's beloved daughter." He extended his hand. "Your father told me so much about you. I should have known it was you by your eyes, but I was in slightly caddish doctor with bad bedside manner mode and not my charming and gracious guest mode."
Our eyes met again as he kissed my knuckles and I felt a jolt of adrenaline surge through me at his kiss.
"I'll leave her with you then," Peter said and left the three of us. Then, Dave stepped forward as if trying to get in between us.
"So, Ms. Bennet, how have you been since our last meeting?"
"Mr. Mills," I said and turned to him when Drake let go of my hand. "I wouldn't have taken you for a fan of Miss Austen's work."
"Ah, but I studied Victorian Lit in college," Dave said. He extended his hand. "I've brains behind this beauty, in case you failed to notice."
"Oh, I noticed." I took his hand to shake.
"It didn't help my case." Dave kept my hand in his. "So tell me, Ms. McDermott, what would help my case?"
I succeeded in extracting my hand from Dave's.
"My father warned me about men like you, Mr. Mills," I said, thinking of Drake. "Suave. Charming. Devastatingly handsome…"
"Oh, that's riiight. Your father The Hangin' Judge… Does he keep a shotgun under his bed to keep away your suitors? I take it you only go for the nerds? The dorks? The ones who don’t have a clue what to say or how to treat a woman? Some of us do know."
"I don't know why I'd be of much interest to you," I said, trying to change the subject. "I'm looking for donations. Care to donate to Nigel's foundation?"
Dave smiled at me and we locked eyes for a moment as if in battle.
"Kate was with Nigel in West Africa during the famine," Dave said to Drake.
"I'm well aware of her work in Africa," Drake said to Dave, not taking his eyes off me. "The Judge talks about you a lot."
"He does?" I frowned, surprised that my father spoke of me at all, especially since my trip to Africa. It was usually Heath my father paraded around, his little clone.
"It was always, Katherine this and Katherine that. He's very proud but he's kept you pretty well hidden."
"I've been really busy with school and work…"
Drake nodded, watching me, his expression hard to categorize. Interested, surprised? I couldn’t tell which.
"Your father told me you got a job with Geist. What are you writing about now?" Drake said, his hands in his pockets.
Geist was an indie paper run by Columbia Journalism students. Another black mark against me. My father wanted me to use his connections with The New York Post instead but it just wasn't my kind of paper.
"Philanthropy in the age of social media."
Dave turned back to me. "Drake's foundation funds a number of hospital projects in West Africa if you're interested in philanthropy. I'm his manager of fundraising."
"Yes, that's what my father told me." I smiled again at Dave, unable to keep looking in Drake's oh-so-blue eyes. The idea he was a doctor just did something to me. Doctors knew their way around bodies… "I'm doing an article for Geist," I said, trying to divert my mind from Drake. "Maybe I could do an interview?"
Dave stepped closer to me, leaning in.
"I'd be only too happy to do an interview, Ms. McDermott. Your place or mine?"
I laughed uncomfortably at Dave's balls.
"I think she meant she wanted to interview me," Drake said.
Dave wouldn't let up, waving him off.
"You're far too busy with all your important breakthroughs in robotic brain surgery, your band and humanitarian projects, Drake. I'd be more than happy to oblige, take Ms. McDermott off your hands."
"Either one of you would do fine," I said and smiled. Just then, Peter came back and put a hand on my shoulder, scooping me up and away from them. Dave made a telephone sign with his hand and mouthed call me.
"Nice to meet you Dr. Morgan."
"Please, call me Drake, considering," he said, pointing to my knees.
I gave him a quick smile and left them, limping off with Peter to the next group of wealthy suits.
For the next half hour, Peter introduced me around to everyone who mattered in the room. I was still recovering from meeting Doctor Delish, Drake Morgan, brain surgeon, bass player, philanthropist… Someone my father thought walked on water.
The conversation got going again, this time about new regulations governing tax shelters but my mind was occupied thinking of Drake. My father told me before of this brilliant young surgeon who ran his father's charitable foundation, using the wealth he earned from the robotic surgical implement business his father founded to fund charity projects in Africa. My father thought he was a stellar example of manhood. I didn't believe I'd ever seen a more beautiful man in my life. But if my father liked him, I could strike him off my list of men I would go out with. A Republican with social conservative religious roots, my father's kind of man was definitely not mine.
Despite being off-limits, Drake Morgan was imprinted on my brain. Later, I knew I would fantasize about him when I was alone in my chaste little bed back in my apartment in Harlem.
"Tell me more about Drake Morgan," I said to Nigel while we circulated, trying to keep my voice nonchalant.
"Why?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. "Are you interested?"
"No," I said a little too quickly. Then I shrugged. "My father's talked a lot about him, but I never really listened."
Nigel pursed his lips for a moment as if debating whether to say anything. "I know he's a very big supporter of your father's candidacy for the House seat and absolutely loaded with cash from his father's business. He's a Republican. I also know he's divorced and quite the lady's man."
"He is?" I frowned. Not my type, in other words.
"Quite. But he's rich and a big supporter of Africa, so I make sure to butter him up when I can, get us some of his excess money. It wouldn't hurt if you did, too."
"I don't like buttering people up, Nigel. I hate hypocrisy."
"I know, my dear." Nigel patted my cheek. "B
ut we need their money. Can you smile sweetly and stroke a few egos if it means we can fund more campaigns?"
I took in a deep breath. "I can be as fake as the next person if necessary."
"Good girl. Go out and rake in the donations. I knew you could do it."
We were talking about West Africa when I saw Drake Morgan standing on the edge of the group, watching me. I had almost finished my first glass of champagne, and my tongue was even looser and my inhibitions a bit muted. I tried my hand at buttering him up.
"People with influence have to step up to the plate and use their power to do good." I turned to Drake and looked at him directly. "Like Dr. Morgan, using his father's foundation to provide hospital equipment to Africa. Those who have the means should use them."
He seemed pleasantly surprised that I referred to him and bowed his head, touching his chest.
"My father was committed to Africa," Morgan said. "I'm just trying to fill his big shoes using whatever influence I have."
As that conversation ended, Nigel pulled me away and I noticed that Drake followed me with his eyes as I left to meet someone else. Dr. Drake Morgan was a rich doctor with family money. He was probably a lady's man like Nigel said, a jet-setting lothario. Self-absorbed, self-important. Dr. Dangerous. Republican.
My father's kind of man.
Not my kind of man.
I decided I would do the interview with Dave Mills instead of Drake. I didn't think I'd be able to stand interviewing someone that gorgeous. I'd send Dave a text later and see when we could meet for the interview.
My father didn’t show up for his own fundraiser until a few minutes before it was scheduled to end. A teleconference with several powerful types in the Party advising him about his run for the Congressional seat went longer than anticipated.
When he finally did arrive, I was just getting ready to leave, saying goodbye to Elaine and Nigel. Nigel and I were able to garner a pretty impressive amount for his pet project in West Africa, started after we returned two years earlier. My father breezed in and was greeted by Peter and others, who surrounded him, wanting to shake his hand and hear the latest on the campaign.
He saw me from the doorway and came right over.