It's in His Touch

by Shelly Alexander

  Angelique’s lips still burned from the heat of Blake’s kiss. She leaned against the windowsill and watched Sarge torture an unsuspecting tree. Tracing her bottom lip with the tip of one finger, her eyes fluttered shut.

  Sarge scratched at the door, and Angelique opened it to let him in. Kimberly’s red Jeep crunched into the drive, so Angelique held the door open until her BFF pulled up and jumped out. She blew through the door carrying a purple leopard-print overnight bag.

  “Hey, girlfriend!” Kimberly plopped her Bohemian-style purse onto the counter. All the metal objects dangling from it clanked together. “So it’s either belly dancing or line dancing tonight. Take your pick. They’re interchangeable on the bucket list.”

  Angelique rolled her eyes, loading a few dirty dishes into the dishwasher. “Really? Those are my only choices?” She picked up a pot and started to scrub it with a Brillo pad. And wondered how long her lips would feel swollen and bruised from the onslaught of Blake’s sizzling kiss. Her bottom lip puckered involuntarily, and she drew it between her teeth.

  Kimberly studied her. “Okay, what?”

  “What, what?” Angelique looked up at her friend and frantically scrubbed a small pot like it had radioactive waste on it. Only the running water and steel wool against metal filled the silence between them. Unless, of course, Kimberly could hear the lust Dr. Tall, Dark, and Hot-some had stirred through every fiber of Angelique’s body.

  Tapping her foot, Kimberly waited for an explanation until her eyes finally widened. “Oh. My. God.” She gasped, and Angelique returned her attention to the pot. She really, really needed to get this pot clean.

  “You got laid, didn’t you?”

  “What?” Angelique’s head shot up, but she kept on scrubbing. “No!” Not even close. So why was she acting like a skittish college girl who’d just lost her virginity?

  “Did too.” Kimberly planted both hands on her hips. “You’re totally doing someone. Who is it? No, wait!” she yelled, holding up a hand. “Let me guess . . .” Then she gasped again, a conspiratorial smile on her face. “It’s your hot neighbor, isn’t it? I told you he was fling-worthy!”

  “We’re not having a fling,” Angelique hissed, concentrating on the pot. But oh, she’d wanted to when he’d salvaged her dignity by pretending to be her boyfriend, when his lips were on her neck, when his hand slid up that sensitive area over her ribcage. Until his palm found her breast and she panicked like an adolescent playing spin the bottle for the first time.

  “Uh-huh. Well, if you scrub that pot any harder, you’ll wear a hole in it.” Kimberly reached over and flipped off the water. “So spill, or I’m making you do number fifty-six on the bucket list, which is skydiving, and I know how much you hate heights.”

  “It’s not that I dislike heights, it’s just that I can’t understand why any rational person would willingly jump out of a perfectly good airplane.” Angelique pulled a head of lettuce, a cucumber, a bag of Roma tomatoes, a few stalks of celery, and a purple onion out of the refrigerator.

  “I’ll push you out if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

  With both arms full, Angelique dumped the load of veggies on the counter. “Mom, Dad, and Nona will be here soon, and I want to have lunch ready. Can we talk about this later?”

  “No.” Kimberly started tapping her foot again.

  Angelique let out an exasperated sigh. “All right,” she said, and filled a large pot with water, salt, and olive oil. Then she put it on the stove and turned on the burner. “At least make yourself useful and make the salad.”

  Kimberly grabbed a kitchen knife from the butcher block and laid the vegetables out across the island. “I’ll chop, you talk.”

  Hell’s bells. Angelique drew in a deep breath and tried to figure out where to begin. “Turns out Dr. Blake Holloway lives next door.”

  Kimberly’s mouth hit the floor. “You’re doing the town doctor? The one who brought your thong home?”

  “No!” Angelique pinched the bridge of her nose. “No, I’m not doing anyone.”

  “But you want to,” Kimberly said in a singsong voice.

  “No, I most certainly do not.” Angelique bit her lip, because since this morning when she and Blake had made out like two teenagers with their clothes still on, she’d wondered what it would be like to run her hands over his bare chest, down his sleek, muscled back to the firm butt that his worn Levi’s cupped so nicely. But then he’d want to do the same to her without clothes on, and when he got to her fake boobs . . . She shuddered with fear. “I just . . . we . . .”

  “Totally pushing you out of the plane.” Kimberly pointed the small knife at her.

  “Okay.” Angelique gathered her thoughts, then recounted the whole bizarre mess with Gabriel at the bakery.

  Kimberly chopped and diced more urgently. “We’ll sue him for defamation, and then we’ll file a civil suit. He’ll be wearing rubber boots from Walmart instead of eight-hundred-dollar Italian shoes by the time we’re done with him.”

  Angelique filled another pot with sauce and set it on the stove. “And Blake . . .”

  Kimberly arched a brow while dicing a stalk of celery.

  “Dr. Holloway happened to be handy, and I kind of pretended to be with him.”

  Kimberly’s chopping ceased completely when Angelique described the kiss.

  At the memory, Angelique busied herself by stirring the sauce as rapidly as she’d scrubbed the pot. “Don’t tell Mom I’m using sauce out of a jar.”

  Kimberly did a turning key motion to her lips. “It’s in the vault.” She grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl and took a big bite.

  “And all of that was after I almost broke his nose in a volleyball game,” Angelique said as she hid the empty marinara jar at the bottom of the trash can.

  “Holy shit,” Kimberly said, mouth still full of apple chunks. “Red River is like a soap opera. I’m gone a few days, and all hell breaks loose.”

  Angelique took up Kimberly’s position in front of the chopping board and viciously attacked a carrot.

  “Sweetie.” Kimberly put her hand on Angelique’s arm that wielded the knife. “That carrot is dead now—you can rest easy.”

  Angelique stared down at the carrot, then put the knife down. She rubbed a hand over her cheek.

  “Maiming the guy might make it harder to get him into your bed.”

  “I wasn’t trying to get him into my bed,” Angelique said through gritted teeth.

  “Well, you should’ve been.” Kimberly threw the apple core in the trash. “It’s just like competitive diving.”

  Angelique started to speak, but her mouth just hung open. “Wait. What?”

  Kimberly snagged a ripe banana this time, never able to satisfy her voracious metabolism. “Coaches make their divers get right back up on the board after an accident, so they’re not consumed with crippling fear that will prevent them from performing again.”

  “Uh-huh.” Angelique eyed the meat-tenderizing mallet on the counter . . . maybe a good whack would bring Kimberly back to planet earth because Angelique still didn’t know what diving had to do with Blake Holloway.

  “You! Sex! Men!” Kimberly hollered as though it should be obvious. “I’m the coach and you’re the diver. You can’t just stop because of the bad break you caught with health issues. And because Gabriel was a shallow idiot.” She smacked and swallowed. “You do realize Gabriel was a shallow idiot long before you had breast cancer, right?”

  Yes, yes, Angelique did realize that. It had taken her longer to see through his smooth, well-dressed facade of perfection than it should have. Looking back, the signs were there. She just hadn’t wanted to see them, which made his betrayal all the more humiliating.

  “He would’ve still been a shallow idiot even if you’d never gotten sick, so stop thinking all men are going to react to it like he did.”

  Angelique went to the stove, stirred the marinara sauce, and then turned the burner on low. “I am not having this conversa
tion.”

  Kimberly ignored her. “If your hot neighbor is a doctor, then he of all people will be understanding about the surgeries. Give him a shot.”

  Angelique wished she could, except it was so much more complicated than that. Doctor or not, what if he didn’t want to get naked with the bride of Frankenstein? And another rejection like the one Gabriel had doled out was more than she could withstand. She’d had her limit of heartbreak for one lifetime. She wasn’t opening herself up for that again.

  Even if Blake was understanding, she didn’t want his pity, and they wanted completely different things in life. They had nothing at all in common. Not to mention the fact that he hated everything she represented.

  Dr. Blake Holloway just wasn’t an option.

  A knock sounded on the front door.

  “That’s probably my parents, so don’t say anything about Gabriel. It’ll just upset them.”

  Kimberly polished off the banana and pitched the peel into the trash. “Fine. We’ll plot his demise later.”

  Angelique hurried to the door, and her mom rushed in full of hugs and kisses. Her mom’s salt-and-pepper hair was cropped short, and it still held quite a bit of jet-black for a woman her age. The familial resemblance was unmistakable.

  “Glad you made it, Mom. How was the drive up from Albuquerque?”

  “Beautiful as always this time of year.” Her mom’s New York accent was still noticeable even after all these years in the Southwest. “We even saw a herd of big horned sheep coming through the pass.” She looked around. “The firm rented you a nice place.”

  “That’s because my baby girl deserves the best.” Her dad walked in carrying two Health Shack grocery bags. “Hi, sweat pea! We picked up some groceries in Taos.” He set the bags on the counter and gave her a bear hug. His waistline had expanded several inches since he retired a few years ago, but he still had a full head of hair and a keen mind. “You’re looking good.” He chucked her nose like she was five years old. “What’s this?” He squinted through his bifocals at the fading red patches on her neck.

  “Just some poison oak.” She waved off his concern and hustled to the stove to throw some pasta into the boiling water. “I got some medicated lotion for it.”

  “Well, I’ll cut that down for you before we go back to Albuquerque in a few days,” her dad said, concerned. “I never knew you were allergic to it.”

  “Neither did I, but there’s no need. My neighbor already came over and cut it down.”

  Kimberly coughed. When Angelique shot her a shut-up-or-die look, Kimberly busied herself with chopping the rest of the veggies.

  “Where’s Nona?” Angelique asked, returning to the counter to unload the groceries. “Did you forget her in Taos?”

  “I tried, but the woman followed us here anyway.” He snatched some antipasto from one of the grocery bags and popped it in his mouth. “She runs fast for an old lady.”

  Her mom made an annoyed clucking sound and swatted him on the arm with a wooden spoon that she’d grabbed from a utensil jar on the counter.

  Dad rubbed his arm.

  “Nona’s still in the car,” her mom said. “A couple of old codgers flirted with her in the geriatric section at the health food store. She’s trying to type their numbers into her smartphone but keeps dialing the fire department accidentally.”

  “Accidentally my right butt cheek,” Kimberly scoffed. “She just wants to talk dirty to those good-looking firefighters.”

  “At my age, I’ll take whatever action I can get.” Nona walked through the door. She looked at least a hundred and ten years old. With a slight hunch to her shoulders, she shuffled along without a walker, insisting she looked younger without assistance. Soda-bottle glasses magnified her eyes into saucers, her silver hair held a bluish hue, and her New York accent was thicker than the traffic in Manhattan during rush hour. “I won’t be needing to dial 911 for a while.” She put a hand under her back-combed hairdo and fluffed it, the pungent odor of Final Net wafting around. “I have a date.”

  “Way to go, Nona.” Angelique gave her a high five as she walked past to shut the door. Nona often forgot such trivial details. Details like putting the car in park, which was why her driver’s license had been revoked.

  Mom sputtered. “You don’t even know the man! What if he’s a criminal?”

  “Well, I have the solution,” Kimberly announced, and everybody groaned.

  “Please, God, let it not be another crazy idea on your bucket list,” Angelique said, because skydiving was looking better and better.

  “I’m so underappreciated by this family,” sulked Kimberly, crossing both arms over her breasts.

  Another groan rounded the kitchen.

  “I can forgive and forget, if you’ll go line dancing tonight.” She put an arm around Nona’s shoulder and squeezed. “Saturday night in a town this size? Cotton Eyed Joe’s is sure to be jumping, and Nona can invite her date.”

  Great. Just what Angelique needed. More interaction with the people she was about to help put out of business. Thank the angels in heaven her parents wouldn’t be the least bit interested in line dancing.

  Mom clasped her hands under her chin. “Oh, that sounds like fun. Of course we’ll all go.” She looked at Angelique. “There’s nothing else to do up here, right? We might as well join in with the locals.”

  Angelique’s heart hit her feet like a brick. Everyone in the room stared at her expectantly. “Sure. Sounds like a hoot.”

  Cotton Eyed Joe’s on a Saturday night in October was Angelique’s worst nightmare. The place was decked out with obnoxious pink ribbons. The napkins were pink. The waitstaff wore pink. Pink martinis littered every table. A handful of pink cowboy hats and pink cowboy boots even made an appearance. When the offending color whizzed past Angelique’s table from the dance floor, she whistled to the server and ordered a second beer before she’d finished the first.

  Uh-huh. The pink craze that settled over every community in America this time of year was enough to drive her to two-fisted drinking.

  She surveyed the room. Everyone wore a tacky pink ribbon. Everyone except Angelique. Even her parents and Nona had coughed up money for a ribbon, ignoring Angelique’s protests. Angelique sighed. Mom and Nona had been through the surgeries, too. Why couldn’t they see that a pink ribbon didn’t show support? It branded them a victim. Weak. Unable to move on. Unwilling to climb out of the ditch into which the disease pushed its unsuspecting and undeserving prey.

  While Mom and Dad filled her in on the Barbetta family gossip, Kimberly bopped to country and western music. Well, more like her girls bounced, which garnered several ogles from the male patrons. Nona sat at a separate table with her new gentleman friend.

  Every last boot-wearing, cowboy-hat-tipping, C&W-dancing person at Joe’s was happy to be part of the festivities. Everyone but Angelique. She was ready to chug both beers and get out of Tombstone to avoid both the color pink and another confrontation with Doc Holloway. She almost snorted.

  Oy vey. Maybe she should order a third beer, because all this frenzy over the color pink was making her crazy. Who picked that awful color anyway? Why not chartreuse?

  Angelique drew on her mug, a pull starting low in her belly when Blake walked through the front door. His gaze zeroed in on her just as quickly, even through the boisterous crowd of patrons. All brooding and sexy, his eyes turned to smoke and the muscles in his corded neck flexed as he stared at her.

  He started at the opposite side of the room and made the rounds. Angelique tried to ignore him. Tried not to snatch glimpses of his broad shoulders and easy smile as he greeted just about everyone there. Tried and failed miserably, because his quick, subtle glances in her direction made her skin sizzle and a certain spot between her thighs tingle.

  Frick. If only she had three hands, she could drink until Dr. Tall, Dark, and Hot-some was just a blur and the pink turned to red.

  Blake rounded the room, slow and methodical, shaking every hand. And, oh, how th
e locals seemed to love Doc Holloway. His smooth, country-boy manner had all the men slapping him on the back and all the women puddling at his feet. As the town’s only medical doctor, he probably knew just about everyone and their secrets.

  Including hers. She’d revealed a weakness when he touched her breast. A vulnerability that she hated with every ounce of her being. If the tables had been turned, she would have looked for a way to exploit that vulnerability. But not Doc Holloway. Even though she was the enemy threatening to help tear down his whole life, his Hippocratic oath had kicked in and he’d shown her compassion. Kindness.

  A waitress scampered over to him like a puppy dog and coaxed a five-dollar bill out of him in exchange for a pink ribbon, which he pinned to the collar of his blue pinstriped button-up shirt. Angelique chugged on her beer as he took a seat at the end of the bar where he chatted with the bartender, Dylan, and his cousin Perry. Dylan and Perry laughed, but Blake just nodded, smiled, then returned his heavy-lidded stare to Angelique.

  She pretended not to notice and nodded at something her mom said about her nephew’s pediatric appointment. Really, it was a little hard to concentrate on her nephew’s butt rash while surrounded by enough pink to make her nauseated and with Blake watching her every move.

  It made her squirm. Made her feel self-conscious in the knit dress that showed off her tall, curvy figure. It also made her want to invite him into the parking lot and rip that crisply pressed shirt of his open without unbuttoning it first.

  She looked at the frosty mugs in front of her. Jeez, she wasn’t usually such a lightweight. The local brew must be potent because all she could think of right now was Blake hiking her dress up, but still leaving it to cover her breasts.

  Now, there was a thought. Sex might be a possibility if she left her shirt on.

  No. No. She actually shook her head. Blake wasn’t her type. Not that she actually had a type anymore. Too bad she wasn’t interested in women. She wouldn’t feel half as insecure about her body if she was undressing in front of another woman. But she was as straight as Blake Holloway was beautifully masculine. Which meant she was really, really straight.