Doctor Steamy

by Kristen Kelly

  “Say that again,” I said into the phone. “I haven’t laughed this hard in two years at least.”

  “I’m getting married, Patrick and it isn’t funny. Not funny at all.”

  “Oh, why is that?”

  “What?”

  “Why isn’t it funny, Sean?”

  “Because her brother said if I don’t, he’s going to kill me.”

  “Oh this is great.” I laughed again.

  “Yeah, apparently Seamus O’Reilly is one of my old rivals. Even though I don’t remember him.”

  “A rival. You mean from...”

  “Yeah, back when I was in Sandwell.”

  I knew it well. Many a time I had to rescue my brother from a dangerous situation. He either owed someone money or was lost in an alley somewhere. It wasn’t that Sandwell was worse than Dublin, but there were more criminals there than anywhere else in England.

  “You of all people should know how fucked up I was back then.”

  “I prefer to ignore that memory, Sean.”

  “Anyways, I be telling this O’Reilly fellah that aint me no more.”

  “And the girl’s not pregnant?”

  “No. Fiona is not.”

  “I don’t understand. Why would he want you to marry his sister anyway?”

  “He caught us doing the ...you know?”

  I looked out at the bay, noting how the sun was sparkling on the water and chuckled. “What kind of girl is she?”

  “Awe, Pat. She’s fine. Real fine.”

  “But you don’t want to marry her.”

  “I...I don’t know.”

  “Christ, Sean. What do you know?”

  “Tell me what to do, Patrick. You’re my big brother.”

  My jaw set. I hated this shit. At some point, Sean needed to grow up.

  “I can’t tell you what to do with your private life.”

  “Sure you can and a...”

  There was something else he wasn’t tell me. I could smell it.

  “How’s the company? You still attending the board meetings? Making sure the members see your face?”

  Our family owned Takeda Pharmaceutical, employing more people in Ireland than any other company, which is why it wasn’t one of the many businesses I’d sold off, even though I had an abhorrence for drugs. Any and all drugs.

  “Um...”

  “I knew it. That isn’t the real reason you called, is it?”

  CHAPTER 3

  Delila

  I hadn’t bothered to look in the mirror when I returned home the previous night, just fell into bed and into a comatose-like sleep. I was plenty surprised when I came out of the shower, opened up the towel in front of the floor-length mirror, and gazed at my reflection. “Oh shit.” I grinned back at my sopping wet hair, my boobs that looked like they’d been run over by a truck, and red welts raised all along my neck. I wrapped the towel back around my body, tucking it at the top. “Patrick, you are one naughty boy but...” I leaned into the mirror. “You’re my naughty boy now and it’s about damn time.”

  I traced the purplish marks on my neck and wondered how I would keep those stripes from freaking out my sister. She’d been my guardian until I’d turned eighteen, since the day our parents died in a car crash, and even though I was now twenty-two, she was still overprotective.

  I never told Susan I was a virgin, nor that I wanted to have sex, but at age fourteen, she took me to my first gynecological exam, and had a doctor place an intrauterine device inside my uterus. At the time, I’d been mortified. I barely looked at boys back then. Now, I saw her logic loud and clear.

  Unrolling the towel from my head, I threw it on the shower rod. Then I plugged in a hair dryer beside the sink.

  I was looking forward to my next time with Patrick. Preferably in a bed and not in the back room of a pub this time, not that it had been a bad thing. It hadn’t. In fact, it was the sexiest thing that had ever happened to me, but now with my first time out of the way, it took some of the pressure off. Maybe now he would open up to me. I wanted to see inside that shy soul of his. I had the feeling there was more to Patrick Duffy than a shiny badge, a stiff magnificent cock and a swarthy attitude. I wanted to know him down. See what made him tick. Besides the primal parts, that is. I had started wondering at my ability to arouse Mr. Law and Order, but seemed I had nothing to worry about after all.

  After fifteen minutes of drying my hair, I pulled it behind my head, wound an elastic into a high ponytail and got dressed, choosing a low-cut blouse that accented my perky breasts and some ripped jeans with studs on the back pockets.

  I grabbed my keys, purse, an apple and headed out the door.

  Traffic was same as always this time of day. It took twice as long as it should have to get to Susan’s house making me think that I so needed to get a bicycle one of these days. A bike would allow me to steer through the traffic. Avoid the stop lights, crossing walks, and those awful cabbies trying to run everyone over.

  When I pulled up to my sister’s place on Commonwealth, a delightful row-house with salmon-colored steps, I sat in the car for a few minutes thinking.

  Susan would know I wasn’t a virgin. I could never hide a thing from my sister because it was always written all over my face. “It’s now or never,” I told myself.

  My heart was in my throat. I didn’t want to see that disappointed look in my sister’s eyes when I told her how I lost my virginity in the back room of a bar. I didn’t need to tell her all the details, but I knew I would. Susan and I told each other everything. Even when we knew the other would jump down our throat. Not that Susan was a pillar of morality. Far from it. Except for my darling brother-in-law, who unfortunately died in Afghanistan four years back, she had ridiculous taste in men. I let her know my opinions on said men every chance I got.

  I guess this was payback.

  I looked in the rearview mirror and tugged at the ribbing of my shirt, tipping my head right so I could get a good look at the purplish marking right below my chin.

  He’d marked me! Actually marked me. Quite the love bites from a guy who I’d thought I’d have to dance naked on a table just to get him to take me seriously. I pulled at the left side of my collar. It looked like leeches or maybe a vampire had sucked out my blood. Susan was going to freak.

  I could claim I had a rare skin condition. Or a cat scratched me.

  Three times before you shooed it away? Besides, you don’t have a cat.

  I’d thought about wearing a scarf, but it was so hot—the temperature already in the eighties. I couldn’t bring myself to put one more piece of clothing on.

  I glanced up and down the street, looking for any familiar faces but saw no one. The brick houses on Commonwealth Avenue were exquisite, but the best thing about the neighborhood was the park at one end.

  Why was I doing this to myself? Was I crazy to march into Susan’s and explain not only to her, but to my small nephews and niece why their aunt looked like she had train tracks all over her neck? That was nothing short of suicide, I decided. Just because I visited every Sunday morning, had breakfast with the kids, then took them to the park didn’t mean I couldn’t change that routine if I had a mind to, right? I made a decision. I’d wait a couple of days before facing Susan. By that time, the marks should have faded or so I hoped.

  Turning the key in the ignition, I ducked my head down, playing the kids weren’t looking out the window. Then I pulled out of the parking space, drove up a quarter of a mile and parked. A walk in the park was just what the doctor ordered, I decided. Alone.

  After sending my sister a text about not coming, explaining I had menstrual cramps, I put on my sunglasses, slung the straps to my mini-backpack over one shoulder and walked toward the mall.

  Boston’s grand boulevard, they’d called it. Tree-lined and shaded, it was the best place in the city for pedestrians. And that was me this morning. Your average innocent pedestrian. Okay, maybe not so innocent but who would get close enough to me to know? In two words, no one.r />
  By eight thirty, the city was wide awake. Food trucks were setting up, and hot coffee filled the air. Within half a block, I’d already passed three joggers, two women with baby strollers, and an old man who was feeding popcorn to pigeons. When I reached the George Washington statue, I took a seat on one of the benches, stretched my legs out before me, and thought about my time with Patrick.

  I’d never met a man so shy. He hadn’t even kissed me before that night. I wasn’t sure he’d wanted to either. It took a lot of confidence on my part, without ever knowing how he felt about me, but in the end; it had worked. Like a bomb ready to explode he just let loose. All that pent up passion, the pain I sometimes saw in his eyes, his ability to remain calm during all our conversations, had been a disguise for something else. Something wild and driven buried inside his soul. Something deep hidden beneath that perfectly pressed uniform. Animal, didn’t even come close to describing how Patrick was with me.

  It hadn’t been easy. Seducing Patrick. I’d agonized that night about my wardrobe choices. I’d worn the right dress, a short skirted number that showed off my legs, but I barely got a response when I entered the bar. I flirted and I touched him. Occasionally, he flirted back, giving me hope, but that was as far as it went. That night things were different. Something was niggling at his heart.

  By midnight, his serious expression had turned to downright dirty. When the bartender tossed Patrick the keys, asking him to close up, I knew he was finally mine.

  I placed a hand on the back of the wrought iron bench where I sat, recalling something else rock hard. My nipples stabbed at the cotton of my shirt. I couldn’t wait to feel that again.

  Patrick was sweet, in a mature, man who knows what is right and what is wrong kind of way. I knew it went along with the badge, but I saw more beneath the surface. I could tell he really cared about people. Maybe too much. I’d been drawn to that. What I hadn’t expected was how much I’d enjoy that unhinged side of his personality as well.

  And the way he touched me... Holy shit! A sudden heat flushed my face, my panties damp.

  I sighed, wondering how long I could sit here getting myself all worked up over just one date with the man. I glanced at my watch. It was nine o’clock. I reached inside my bag, retrieved breakfast, the green apple I’d brought along.

  Before I could take a bite, my phone pinged.

  Patrick: Hey!

  Delila: Hey yourself. Samson.

  Patrick: I still have my hair. Thanks for that.

  I laughed. Even though I’d heard the lame joke a million times before, I loved hearing the brogue Patrick used reciting that line.

  Delila: No problem. How are you?

  Patrick: I should be asking you that question.

  Delila: ???

  Patrick: I didn’t mean to be so rough. I’m sorry.

  Delila: Nothing to be sorry for.

  Patrick: There is. I should have been gentle. Again, I’m sorry.

  Delila: I’m not.

  Patrick: Let me buy you dinner. Take you on a real date. I behaved like an ass. I want to make it up to you.

  My heart did little pitter pats. Part of me had wondered if I’d ever hear from Patrick again. He was difficult to read and seemed a bit reserved. He’d hinted more than once about our age differences. We didn’t know each other’s last name, and he’d never even asked where I lived..

  Delila: That would be wonderful. When?

  Patrick: On second thought..

  My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach.

  Patrick: How about now?

  Delila: Now?

  Patrick: Yeah. Breakfast.

  Delila: Where are you?

  Patrick: Turn around.

  At first all I saw was a huge yellow truck with the words, The Chicken and Rice Guys emblazoned across the front with about twenty people waiting in a line. I wasn’t used to seeing Patrick out of uniform either. When I’d finally picked him out of a crowd wearing kakis and a short sleeved blue polo, my heart warmed at the incredible smile he gave me. The sun shone on his brilliant blue eyes and—for the first time—I saw the Celtic tattoos on both his arms. I smiled back at him. His chest was broad, not muscle-man broad, but strong enough to make a woman feel safe when wrapped inside them. He looked man-hungry gorgeous and good enough to eat.

  I met him halfway, hoping my eagerness to see him didn’t show. “Breakfast?”

  “Chicken and rice.”

  “A bit early for that kind of food, don’t you think?”

  “Have you ever...?”

  “I don’t think so. No.”

  “Fantastic. You should try it. The real flavor is in the sauce. There’s garlic, barbecue, mint or if you want it really hot there’s... What’s that look?”

  “Patrick, if I eat that stuff this early in the morning my stomach will turn into a slip-n-slide.”

  He chuckled and then squeezed a packet that said cilantro-jalapeño sauce all over the food. I couldn’t help but sneer at that.

  “Yeah, I get it. I used to work nights. I’m just so used to eating at odd hours, it doesn’t matter what time of day or what I eat. As long as it’s good.” He grunted and then shoved a fork of chicken and rice toward me.

  “No thanks.”

  “You’re not hungry?”

  “I had an apple.”

  “Awe, sugar, that’s not breakfast. You need real food. The kind that sticks to your ribs as they say ‘round here.”

  The way he smiled had my nipples stiff and straining against my blouse. I crossed my arms over my chest, suddenly self-conscious.

  With a swift whisk of paper and ink, he brushed off my seat with a newspaper. “This okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So what do you eat for breakfast? I mean, when you’re not skimping with itty bitty apples that is.”

  “Oh anything.”

  “Not anything, Delila. You don’t eat chicken and rice.”

  “That’s true.”

  “So what is your favorite breakfast food?”

  “Um, Waffles or maybe pancakes. Something sweet usually, although it’s really bad for my figure. Hence the apple I already ate.”

  Patrick pretended to look behind me, I assumed at my ass. “From where I’m sitting, your figure has nothing to worry about.” He glanced around the park, face crinkled like a little kid’s . Then his face lit up. “I know! Will you hold this for a second?”

  “S...sure.” He handed me his bowl and when his knuckles brushed my hand, zings of electricity simmered through me. I put a hand to my cheek, feeling the heat, grateful he’d stepped away so I didn’t have to explain why I looked like some love struck teenager all of a sudden.

  Ten minutes later, Patrick returned with a large bowl and a spoon. “Sorry I was gone so long. There was a line, plus I had to hear all about Chico’s new grand baby.” We switched bowls.

  “For breakfast?” I asked skeptically, seeing it was ice cream.

  “It is. Please allow me to describe what you are holding,” By way of demonstration, he pointed toward my bowl with a fork. “On the bottom we have a peanut butter cookie, filled with protein. Topping that deliciousness, we have a double scoop of Richardson’s ice cream. One vanilla, one cheery chip, the cherries being your fresh fruit of the day. On the sides, we have oatmeal coconut cookies with coffee Oreo ice cream giving you your fiber from the oats, more calcium, which all women need I’m told, and coffee.”

  “Oh I see,” I laughed. “This is definitely breakfast food.”

  “Right so. And who can start the day without coffee, right?”

  “Certainly not me,” I said, mouth salivating.

  I took the spoon he offered and scooped up a bit of whipped cream, letting it linger on my tongue for several seconds while he watched. He half growled, under his breath, but I heard it just the same. As I took another bite, I moaned with extreme pleasure. The sweetness simmered on my tongue and I had to admit this was the best breakfast I’d ever had. When I looked up, Patrick’s eyes ha
d gone dark as he watched my lips, my tongue, heard the sounds of ecstasy coming from my mouth. I giggled, loving the affect I was having on him. Let the flirting begin, I said inside my head.

  “Is it good?” Patrick asked, his gaze eager as I licked my lips. He licked his own in response—I don’t even think he was aware of it. “Well, is it?”

  “Mmmm. Fantastic. Better than fantastic. It’s...it’s orgasmic.”

  Patrick’s face heated and there was a hungry look in his eyes that had nothing to do with food. “About that. I um....”

  “Mmmm. Not until I finish my breakfast.”

  “All right.” He sat back on the bench, grinning like he knew some sort of secret joke, appearing as ruggedly handsome as any man I’d ever seen while he watched me over the top of his chicken and rice.

  It was starting to unnerve me.

  “Don’t you have to go to the station? Or to your desk? Or wherever you do your policeman stuff?”

  He chuckled, a sound that resonated deep in his chest, sounding so sexy I wanted to eat him up next.

  “This is my policeman stuff.”

  “What? Eating ice cream?”

  “Chicken and rice,” he corrected with a lift of his fork.

  “Whatever.”

  He swept a hand out indicating the park before us. “This is where I work. Every day. Right out here. Rain or shine.”

  “Oh.”

  “Pretty good gig, don’t you think?”

  “So this is your beat?”

  “This is my beat.”

  “But I thought. I mean, you told me...”

  “I was filling in for someone.”

  “Oh. Okay.” I didn’t tell him just how relieved I was by that revelation. The park looked so...normal. At least by daylight.

  “Wow.” I nodded, truly appreciating the beauty all around us. The trees in full leaf. Bright sunshine with just enough shade to make it comfortable. Birds chirping in the trees overhead. “I love it here,” I said. “And my sister...” I glanced over my shoulder, “she lives back in that direction. Not far, actually so I come here every time I visit. Usually I have one or two of her kids with me but not today.”