“Okay, mother.” Mark closed the door before she’d even walked away. Then he turned to me and growled.
“What?” I asked, hoping he’d talk to me about what had just happened.
“Nothing,” he said. “It’s just that she’s got me wanting lemon petit fours now. Let’s put on some more winter-appropriate attire and head downtown? There’s a great little bakery down there. It’s my go-to when I’m feeling down.”
“Nothing like a bunch of sugar to chase the blues away,” I said with a smile I wasn’t quite feeling. Lyla Johnson had a way of turning a good day to shit. “Oh, and newsflash… you didn’t bring me any shoes.”
“Shit. I forgot about that. What size do you wear?”
“Eleven-and-a-half.”
“I wear a twelve, and I just bought a new pair of sneakers. They felt a little snug, so I was going to return them for a half size up. They’ll probably fit you perfectly.”
Mark led me into his cavernous closet and pulled a shoe box from a shelf above our heads. Inside, there was a brand-new pair of dark blue Nikes, and they still had that new shoe smell.
He tossed me a pair of jeans and a long-sleeve paisley button-up in shades various shades of blue. “These will be a little big on you, of course, but not too bad.”
“Thanks,” I said, feeling a bit like Cinderella trying on her stepsisters’ clothes. I hoped Mark wouldn’t start looking at me like I was some charity case or something.
“They suit you,” he said when I came out and modeled them for him. “I won’t be able to return them now, so they’re yours.”
“Are you sure? We could always swing by my place and grab some of mine.”
Mark waved the notion away. “I want you to have them.”
As we left the apartment and headed downtown, I tried to focus on the warm feeling of him giving me a gift instead of the other things that were nagging at my brain. It wasn’t an easy feat to forget the horrors I was facing. My career was likely over, and jail time was a very real possibility. Even worse, I might have been partly responsible for a man’s death. The icing on the cake was that I was getting intimate with someone who probably didn’t have the same depth of feelings for me as I did for him. Life was not going particularly well for me that week, and yet just looking over at Mark as he gripped the wheel and navigated the city streets ignited a little flame of hope in my heart.
Mark took me to a cute little bakery called Music City Pastry that served gourmet desserts. The place was cheerful and cozy, with bistro-style tables scattered around the dining area and watercolor paintings adorning the walls.
A stout man in a white apron stepped up behind the counter to greet us. “Well, look what the cat dragged in. Thought I might never see you again.”
Mark scoffed. “Oh, don’t be such a drama queen, Joe. It’s only been about a month.”
“A month is a long time.” Joe wiped his meaty hands on his apron. “Long enough for you to find some other baker and forget all about me.”
“Not likely. You know I’ll never be able to walk away from your petit fours.”
Joe chuckled and glanced at me. “It’s true. I do make the best petit fours in town.”
“I’ve heard a lot about them,” I said, reaching out to shake his hand. “I’m Jason Whitham.”
“Oh, I know who you are,” Joe said with a grin. “Heard a lot about you, too.”
I immediately thought of the Terwilliger scandal and winced. I supposed it wouldn’t be long before it was all over town.
“Don’t worry,” Joe said with a laugh. “Mark has had only good things to say about you.”
I whipped my head around and stared at Mark, who gave a self-conscious chuckle. “Joe is like my therapist. Basically, I pay him to listen to my life story while he stuffs me full of sugar and bread.”
Joe nodded. “That’s about the gist of it. It’s like a barbershop around here.”
A young woman with strawberry-blond hair came out of the kitchen carrying a large platter with a variety of colorful desserts arranged on it. She beamed at Mark. “Tropical platter with white chocolate macadamia nut cookies and extra lemon cakes.”
“Perfect,” Mark said. “Add two large coffees to that, and we’ll be good to go.”
“This is my daughter, Sally,” Joe told me with a conspiratorial wink. “She’s good at figuring out what the regulars like.”
“Nice to meet you, Sally,” I stared wide-eyed at the loaded platter. In the center was a pyramid of petit-fours in orange, yellow, white, and pink, topped with one perfect ripe strawberry. Around the edge of the platter was a ring made up of alternating cookies and orange slices. “That’s a lot of food.”
Sally grinned. “Enough to take some home and eat later.”
“We’ll take the leftovers home to Bill,” Mark said. “Do cats eat cake?”
“You’ve got a cat?” Joe asked.
Mark flushed as if just realizing what he’d said. “It’s actually Jason’s cat.”
“For the time being,” I said. “I think Mark is trying to steal him from me.”
“I told you Bill said he wanted to go to my place. Who am I to ignore a cat’s pleas?”
“Uh-huh,” I said, aiming a skeptical look in Mark’s direction. “Just so you understand that when I leave, Bill goes with me.” The words unless I end up in prison rose to the tip of my tongue, and I bit them back. No sense thinking like that. If it happened, it happened, but some hopeful part of me refused to believe that fate would be so cruel.
Joe chuckled. “You boys fight it out. In the meantime, I have something for you.” He disappeared into the kitchen and re-emerged momentarily with a small white paper bag. “I’ve been experimenting with a new line of gourmet pet treats. Give these to Bill and let me know if he likes them.”
“Thanks,” Mark said with a big grin.
Sally came around the side of the counter with the platter and set it on one of the tables. “Is this spot okay?”
“Perfect.” Mark headed over to the table and took a seat.
I followed and sat down in the chair opposite him while Sally went back behind the counter and came back with two coffees.
Before Mark could get the jump on me, I snatched the lone strawberry from the top of the petit four pyramids and popped it into my mouth. “Mmmm…” I ignored Mark’s glare and chose a pink square of cake to start with. It was fresh and moist and bursting with strawberry flavor.
“So, what do you think?” Mark asked around a mouthful of lemon cake.
I grinned. “I think you have lemon cream on your lip.”
“Here?” He darted his tongue out and made a big show of trying to locate the cream, and I tried not to notice how sexy he looked licking his lips.
I shook my head and pointed toward the opposite side of his mouth. “Over there.”
He licked the center of his lips, and all I could think was how good that tongue would feel in other places. “Did I get it?”
“No, over more.” My voice was rough and needy, betraying the fact that he was turning me on right there in the pastry shop.
His eyes glittered with mischief as he licked the same spot he’d tried the first time.
I laughed. “You’re doing that on purpose.”
“What?” He feigned innocence so well it was almost believable, but that look in his eyes said he knew exactly what he was doing.
“Stop it, Mark.” I glanced around the shop and noticed we were alone except for Joe and Sally, and a woman I hadn’t noticed before. She was busy clicking away on her cell phone at a table tucked into the corner. Judging from her self-satisfied grin and flying thumbs, had discovered the secrets of the universe and was busy sharing them with everyone on social media.
“Stop what?” Mark asked. “Why would I be doing it on purpose? I really can’t find it.” He sent the tip of his tongue out to scout the area again. “Why don’t you come over here and give me some real help? You don’t want me going around looking like a messy toddl
er, do you?”
“Real help?” I swallowed, thinking maybe I knew exactly where he was going with this. But that was silly. This was Mark, who was so deep in the closet he should have smelled like mothballs. Could he possibly be suggesting I touch him in public?
“Yeah.” His voice was a purr, low and seductive. “Lean over here and lick it off for me. It’s what any Good Samaritan would do.”
I smirked, projecting a confidence that belied the nervous quiver in my belly. “Maybe I’m not a Good Samaritan.”
Mark’s eyes went a shade darker. “Oh, I think you’re a very Good Samaritan. Come over here and show me how good you can be. I won’t bite.” The corner of his mouth curled up. “Not hard, anyway.”
“Okay,” I said. “But we’re in public, so you’d better behave.” I leaned across the table, my ass coming completely out of my seat, and Mark met me halfway.
When we were face-to-face in the center of the table, Mark groaned low in his throat. “In all of my dreams, I never imagined Jason Whitham would be licking cream off of my lips.”
“God, Mark. You’re killing me.” I brought my mouth to his, my body quaking with uncontrollable lust, and dragged my tongue across the sticky goodness. “Mmmm… sweet.”
“Very sweet.” Mark wound a hand in the collar of my T-shirt and yanked, imprisoning me with my mouth pressed against his. His tongue parted my lips insistently, and he licked inside.
I was dimly aware of my chair legs scraping the floor and a startled gasp coming from the direction of the woman with the cell phone. “Get a room, Dr. Johnson,” Joe called from behind the counter. “I don’t want to have to call 911 when one of our customers keels over with a heart attack. Are y’all running low on patients over at Vanderbilt? They got you doctors out trying to drum up business?”
Mark released me with a laugh, and I flopped back into my chair, nearly missing it because it had slid back as I’d squirmed against Mark’s hold. At that point, I was breathless with desire, and with shock at the spectacle we’d just made of ourselves.
I’d never kissed a man in public. Never even held hands. I’d never done anything at all in public that could be construed as indecent, but I had to admit that kiss was a damn fine initiation to the PDA club.
Mark had a huge grin on his face when he addressed the pudgy baker behind the counter. “We have plenty of patients already, Joe. This was purely personal.”
Joe ran a hand over his balding head and said, “Well, I guess I’m not very observant. You’ve been coming in here on the regular for at least two years, and I didn’t even realize you were gay.”
I smiled up at him. “Don’t feel bad, Joe. I work with him almost daily, and even I didn’t know.”
Joe chuckled. “Well, it sure looks like you’ve got the idea now, anyway.”
That brought a blush to my cheeks, but what Sally said made me want to crawl under the table.
“Doctors in love,” she said dreamily. “Oh, it’s just so romantic. Just like on Grey’s Anatomy, right Daddy? Maybe we could get one of those reality shows for them.”
Mark held up a hand and laughed. “Please. No reality shows.”
The girl’s eyebrows shot up. “You wouldn’t want to be on TV? I heard all you have to do is send an email to the networks and a little pitch for the show. Then next thing you know, they’ll be down here making you famous. Hell, you could even come in here and let them film you eating your favorite pastries.”
Mark looked alarmed. “Sally, do not email any networks on our behalf. We’re not interested in becoming TV stars.”
“Why not?” she asked. “They’ve made shows about a lot worse. Towing cars and pawn shops? That crap is boring as hell. I’ll bet a ton of people would love to watch Doctors in Love.” She grinned proudly. “That’s what we’ll call it when we pitch it.”
“Sally…” Joe said in a stern voice.
“Okay, Daddy. Fine. I was just trying to make ’em famous.”
“Infamous is more like it.” The woman with the cell phone walked past us, glaring. “Is this what the world has come to? Homosexual doctors? It makes me afraid to go to the hospital.” She pushed the glass door open and left the shop.
Sally was the first to speak. “What did she mean by that? Why would she be afraid to go to the hospital?”
“Don’t listen to talk like that,” Joe said. “She’s not really scared; she’s just mean.”
13
Mark
Joe came around the counter and approached our table, his ample belly jiggling beneath the ever-present apron he wore. I thought, not for the first time, that Joe was the perfect face for Music City Pastry. He was a jolly, robust man, and he certainly looked like he indulged in his own creations.
“Listen, guys.” Joe leaned down slightly and spoke in a soft voice. “That woman didn’t sound too friendly, so I’d watch your backs. Could you possibly get into trouble for—”
“Making out in public?” Jason supplied with a smirk.
Joe nodded, his face turning red.
“Maybe,” I said. “I’m not really sure what the rules are for fraternization. At the very least, I think our supervising physician would strongly discourage it.”
Jason laughed. “Yeah, Rosenfeld would definitely not be thrilled to learn that two of his residents are fooling around.”
“Could you get fired?” Joe asked, his voice edged with concern.
I shrugged. “I really have no idea. It’s just that Jason and I work as sort of a team. Rosenfeld might see it as a problem.”
“But how would he find out?” Jason asked. “Do you think that lady would report us to the hospital?”
Joe rubbed his balding head. “I don’t see how since she doesn’t know what hospital you work for. But if you want to keep your relationship a secret, you need to be careful is all I’m saying. As big as this city is, sometimes it really feels more like a small town. Seems like we ought to be past all the homophobic bullshit, you know? Gay marriage is legal now.”
Jason frowned. “Homophobia isn’t going anywhere, Joe. There will always be people who have a problem with it no matter how many laws they pass in our favor. It’s just the way things are.”
“Well, it’s a bad way for things to be,” Joe said, rubbing his belly with thick, stubby fingers. “If you don’t mind people knowing, I say throw caution to the wind, but if you could lose your job, that’s another matter.”
I popped the last bite of my lemon petit four into my mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “I’m sick of living in the dark, but I don’t know how to change that without risking too much.”
Joe rapped on the table with his meaty knuckles. “Well, you know I’ve got your back. I’d hate to see anything bad happen to you boys.”
“It’s a little late for that,” Jason muttered too low for Joe to hear.
I knew he was thinking about the Terwilliger case. I’d been trying to forget about it because I still wasn’t quite sure what I believed. It was better to pretend the problem didn’t exist, at least until I had to go back to work tomorrow. Better to imagine that Jason was innocent. Better to enjoy his company and his body until reality came calling.
Jason’s professional career was hanging in the balance, and quite possibly his freedom. What if he was found guilty of criminal negligence? What if he got arrested? I didn’t even want to think about it, especially because, to some extent, I had a part to play in the whole drama.
Yes, it was better to pretend we were just two men enjoying the day in the greatest city in the world. I could do that. And surely it would help Jason, too. I didn’t ever want to worry about his well-being like I had the day before, and I didn’t ever want to find him drunk and wallowing in his misery again.
I had admired Jason Whitham ever since I’d met him. He had an unwavering conviction to doing what was right, and an uncanny ability to always see the good in people. He was a gentle soul.
But he was also uptight and could get a little preachy at times. It al
l stemmed from his need to do the right thing and the expectation that others should as well. And from the fact that he had been forced to beg and scrape when so many others around him—myself included—seemed to have opportunities handed to them.
On some level, I understood Jason’s struggle. I couldn’t help but notice the way Rosenfeld favored me over Jason, and it wasn’t just because I’d been there longer. It also wasn’t because I was smarter or worked harder than Jason. It was because Dr. Rosenfeld knew my father. Arthur Johnson was a respected and influential man, and I was his sole heir. Translation: a lot of people kissed my ass.
Rosenfeld’s favoritism was obvious, and it rankled when he blatantly dismissed Jason and fawned all over me. It was unfair, but I did very little to change it. I kept my mouth shut like I always did when other people’s bad behavior benefited me. It was just human nature, right? It didn’t make me a bad person.
Still, I hated to see Jason busting his haunches trying to make a name for himself while I got preferential treatment most of the time. I knew there was a place for me at Vanderbilt once my residency was over; Dr. Rosenfeld had already made that clear in myriad ways. But Jason’s fate was less certain. Add to that the stain of a malpractice lawsuit and a formal inquest into Jason’s professional behavior, and… Well, let’s just say it was the kind of the stain that didn’t come out with bleach.
Even if Jason was found innocent of wrongdoing—and it wasn’t looking good so far—just having been involved in such a debacle could have a lasting effect on his career. Rosenfeld might not be so keen on offering him a position at Vanderbilt after all of this, especially if Jason didn’t handle himself professionally during the inquest.
To say I was worried about him would have been an understatement, and yet it seemed there was nothing I could do to help. The only thing I could do was offer support and ask around. I was no detective, but I owed Jason a valiant effort at finding the truth.
But what if the truth wasn’t in his favor? That was the real question that had me hung up.
Could Jason possibly have gone back on an order and endangered a patient? Was his ego big enough for that? I’d known doctors who weren’t above that type of behavior. Scruples were in short supply in the medical field, and when it came down to it, it was every man for himself.
Dr. Perfect: A Contemporary Romance Bundle Page 13