Prescription For Love (Destiny's Child Book 1)

by Zee Monodee

  He refocused his gaze on Margo. Not more than a second or two had elapsed since she’d appeared, yet, his whole life had just tilted on its axis in that split moment.

  Go with the flow.

  “Come on down,” he again said. She needed the push, as she stood, frozen, on the landing.

  She didn’t break eye contact with him. Wariness, and something else, clouded her gaze. She released her lip from the grip of her teeth, and strong colour flooded the soft flesh.

  Would her mouth look like that after being kissed?

  Down, boy.

  He didn’t want to have to get up and make her come down. Lord knew if he touched her where that would lead. A slap, most probably.

  Yes, it had been a long time since he’d been with a woman. Margo wasn’t just any woman, though. His heart accelerated, and all his good sense left him, when he stood close to her. Unbidden, the memory of her tongue caressing his thumb rose in his mind, and he shifted in his seat.

  Blimey. She spelled pure torture to him, a complication he didn’t want or need in his life. Ice queens who, on top of everything, batted for the other team and didn’t show any inclination towards men, had never attracted him. So what about Margo had wheedled under his skin and gnawed at him to know everything about her?

  Like why she shielded her heart so much.

  Like how passionate he knew she could be, underneath that cold façade.

  Like how in need of love and cherishing she was, but refused to admit it.

  He turned his head the other way as he let out a few choice expletives and reined himself in. No good would come out of cursing. Margo already proved skittish, and he needed to win her trust, not send her scurrying for the glacial cover. He wanted them to be friends, not strangers.

  “Margo.” He nodded at the placemat across him. “The food will grow cold.”

  The reluctance in her steps when she dragged her feet down couldn’t scream any louder.

  “Why are you doing this?” she asked.

  Because I want to be in your life.

  “Did you have any dinner at the lab?” he countered.

  “No.”

  He glanced at the food, then up at her.

  She sat down, even though she glared at him. Her body remained stiff and, he’d swear, as wooden as the chair on which she perched. The spoon slammed into the lasagne, the morsel thrust into her mouth with unconcealed violence.

  Her face grew pale, and she winced. The food hadn’t cooled much, and she’d probably burnt her tongue. He got her a glass of water. She took a long sip, her narrowed glare fiery over the rim of the tumbler.

  He wanted to chuckle. Not his fault if she’d grown angry. Her eye colour deepened when under the grip of strong emotion, and he delighted in catching the many hues in the blue irises.

  The same shade as the flower, come to think of it.

  When she thumped the glass down, he frowned. Water spilled over onto her hand, and she flicked the liquid off, as if stung by acid.

  “What are you still doing here?”

  He settled more comfortably in his seat. “Making sure you eat some dinner.”

  “And who are you? My mother?”

  She didn’t direct her anger at him; he knew that in his gut.

  Instead of jumping on her retort, he cut her some slack. “I’m your friend.”

  Odd how defeated she appeared at his words. Her shoulders slumped, and the spoon clattered from her hand against the porcelain tub. She brought her left hand up and pushed it into her hair, just above her temple. The immaculate smoothness came undone, a few strands curling out over her ear as she brought her fingers forward to press at her forehead.

  That’s what he wanted to see—the person inside her, the one with a beating heart and with hot blood running through her body.

  He softened when she pinched her lips together. “I know you had a tough day, and an even tougher evening.”

  Let me look out for you, he wanted to add, but didn’t.

  “How would you know about that?”

  “I heard the news. The police found another girl’s body, bringing the total to three, officially making the criminal a serial killer.”

  “How did you know I’m on that case? Did they say anything?”

  Her voice had grown high.

  “Nothing.” He reassured her with a smile. “I just put two and two together. You’re called out at the same time that the case comes into the spotlight.”

  I figure you’re probably one of the best in your field. That, too, he didn’t say. He wasn’t trying to suck up to Margo.

  “I can’t really talk about it,” she said in a mumbled whisper.

  “I know, and I’m not asking you to.” He nodded at the food. “I just want you to look after yourself, since that kind of shit can mess anyone up, and I don’t want that to happen to you.”

  She toyed with the food for a long time. “No one really understands that.”

  With that low voice, did she speak to herself, or hope he’d hear, too?

  “I can only start to understand,” he said. “I’ve had patients die on me, but it’s not the same, is it?”

  “How?” Her eyebrows furrowed, puzzlement on her features.

  He figured out her true question, almost by instinct, and chuckled. “I wasn’t always a country doctor. I trained in trauma and emergency response, spent most of my hospital working years in the Accidents & Emergency department.”

  Another deflection, to try and become everything his father didn’t want him to be. Working for the NHS, and especially in the Casualty room, didn’t promise a big, money-filled career. One thing always sent him over the edge, in the father-son tussles—his family didn’t need the extra money. They were loaded already. True, they came from East End stock, but money had never been a problem, since his great-grandfather had made a fortune on the docks even before he’d married well and had children.

  “Did you burn out?” she asked.

  He detected no morbid curiosity in her tone, unlike all the people who’d asked him the question when he’d mentioned he would fill in for Gordon in Surrey.

  “Yes. There’s something about death ...” He let the words dangle, unsure how to express himself.

  “That makes you wonder how and why you’re still alive when the Reaper is going happy-crazy-lucky all around you.”

  There was no bitterness in her words. Just a weariness he’d never have credited a person who dealt with death every day to possess. People were people after all, not immune to bereavement.

  “Yet, you’re on that threshold every single day.” He darted a look at her food. She’d eaten half the lasagne already, maybe without realizing. He had to keep her talking.

  She pursed her mouth, as her teeth pulled and dragged the soft flesh of her lower lip. “I like my job. I like knowing I can bring the answers everyone is searching for, the closure needed to allow people to finally grieve, and give justice to the victims by shedding light on what happened to them.”

  “These are all laudable aspirations.” Which showed a different side of Margo many people didn’t see. She allowed him to see that facet, and for that, he sent silent thanks out.

  And fell under her spell even more. She was no ordinary woman.

  She smiled, and his gut clenched.

  “I don’t expect everyone to grasp my motivations,” she said.

  “I’m not everyone.”

  She cocked her head to the side. “No. You aren’t.”

  Shifty grounds—when she looked at him like that, he wanted nothing else but to shoot out of his chair and finish what he’d started, earlier, at that same table. He craved to kiss her, taste her, as she’d tasted his fingers.

  He cleared his throat. “What made you decide to become a forensic pathologist?”

  “It’s what I always wanted to do.”

  “How did you know?”

  Everything came down to a choice in life. Why had she chosen to undertake so many years of studies and t
raining, finally be able to work only in her thirties, when she must be bright enough to have been on the top rungs of any other ladder at thirty?

  “You’ll laugh,” she said.

  “I won’t.”

  She glanced away, instead of facing his gaze. “Big fan of Silent Witness.”

  A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He quelled it. So that was it—the hit BBC show that followed the life and work of a top female forensic pathologist. “You wanted to be the real Sam Ryan.”

  “I knew you’d laugh.”

  “I’m not laughing.” He smiled and tamped down the laughter that begged to burst from his lips.

  “No, I didn’t want to be a know-it-all, too-sure-of-herself doctor who thought she had all the answers every time, because she could never be wrong.”

  “Yet, today, you’re a toned down, normal version of her in your lab.”

  “I don’t head my lab.”

  “So far.” He had no doubt she’d make Professor of Pathology in the coming years. The Ministry of Justice would then entrust her with one of their facilities. “How old were you when you heard that call?”

  She scrunched her face in concentration. “Twenty? I was already into medical school. Sam Ryan clinched the deal for me.”

  “What was she, your girl crush or something?”

  Margo laughed. “Nothing of the sort. I had eyes only for Hugh Grant in those days.”

  Jamie froze. Hugh Grant? She used to crush on a man? Definitely bisexual, then. His hopes rose even more.

  “I even dated his doppelganger for a while,” she said on a chuckle, before she bit her lip and went silent.

  “What happened between you two?”

  “He died.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too,” she whispered.

  Not enough information for him. He wanted to know everything about her. Did she date women more than men? Did he stand a chance? His heart raced against his ribcage and slammed against the bones so hard, his chest hurt.

  “Has there been anyone since him?”

  “There was someone, but it never came out to much. Pathetic, right?”

  And what of the past? “So you and Emma’s mum ...”

  She narrowed he gaze. “What about me and Cora?”

  He squirmed in his seat. Was that so much a touchy subject? “You two were, um, together, innit?”

  Her forehead creased in a frown, before her eyes went wide and she gasped before bringing a hand up to cover her mouth. Her stifled laugh resembled a snort.

  She dropped the hand and leaned her forearms on the table. “You thought Cora and I were a couple?”

  He shrugged, suddenly discomfited by her mirth.

  “Oh, my goodness!” She chuckled again.

  “You have to admit it did look that way, what with Emma calling you ‘Mum,’ too. Plus, you said ‘a woman I loved very much’ when you spoke of her.”

  She smiled, and a pink blush crept up her cheeks.

  “I’m not gay. I did love Cora with all my heart, but as my best friend, that’s all.” She paused, tilting her head as she watched him. “Enough about me, though. What made you decide to be a doctor?”

  He wouldn’t get more out of her today, yet, he’d bet not many became privy to the insight she’d just provided. But even those titbits shed more light on her than he’d ever hoped to see, and now, the possibilities of what could happen between them ... She wasn’t even bisexual and totally favoured men.

  He stood a good chance with her. Right then, more than ever, his certitude reinforced that he should stay on in Surrey.

  “Gordon is my hero. He inspired me to do good around me.”

  “You’re not telling me everything.”

  While I have, he heard between the words. True enough. “Why do you say that?”

  “Just a feeling.”

  She had gut instincts, on top of stellar medical training. No wonder she worked on big criminal cases. “A scout found me when I was fifteen.”

  Her brows remained furrowed, before understanding dawned in her eyes. “You could’ve been a top goal keeper.”

  ”Yep.” The best Premier League training academies had approached him. He could have easily settled for a life of money and blocking balls in a goal post. “Until I turned thirty-five, if I was lucky. Then what?”

  “It’s not the life you wanted for yourself.”

  “No.”

  She blinked, and her eyes appeared to contemplate something far away when she next spoke. “Sometimes, life chooses for you.”

  “And you make do with what it throws upon your path.”

  “What if that’s not what you wanted?”

  He leaned forward, his forearms on the table. “When the cards have been dealt, you play the hand you get. Simple.”

  “Is it?”

  The question hung in the air between them. He wanted her to ponder his last words. Margo stood at a crossroads in her life, and every prompt she received as to the direction she had to take would steer her in one direction or the other. Emma, an innocent young girl, also existed as an integral part of the picture here, her well-being crucial.

  He glanced at the dish in front of Margo. Empty.

  “Good girl,” he said, as he looked up into her face. He grinned harder when she blushed again.

  Time to call it a night. After grabbing the porcelain dish and her spoon and fork, he rinsed them in the sink, before loading the dishwasher. Then he pressed the button that would start the cleaning cycle.

  The humming of the machine permeated the tranquil stillness that had fallen between them, a wakeup call to return to reality. Outside, crickets chirped in the blanketed quiet of the Surrey night.

  “It’s late,” he said. “I better get back, and you need to get some sleep.” She probably had a full day ahead of her tomorrow. He turned and walked out of the kitchen. “Good night, Margo.”

  “Jamie, wait.”

  On the threshold, he peered over his shoulder.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  He nodded, and smiled when he turned, so she wouldn’t see his face. He was breaking through her walls. Slowly but surely, he’d work himself under Margo’s skin, the same way she had done with him, and only then would he allow himself to move to another level with her.

  ***

  “Margo!”

  Margo glanced up from the stack of papers on her desk. William stood in the doorway, a frown on his face.

  “I must’ve called your name three times already,” he said, with a shake of his head.

  “Sorry.”

  She gave him a small, tight smile. Just what she didn’t need—being lost in her thoughts at work. She’d stared at the toxicology report on an ongoing inquiry for over an hour, and still couldn’t see a thread between the results and the case. Usually, answers came to her like lightning bolts. Usually. Except that at that moment, there was nothing ‘usual’ in her world. She had a daughter obsessed, in half-and-half measures, with football and boys, and a ‘sitter’ who made her want to jump out of her skin faster than one could say, “Twister!”

  Jamie could be so bad for her, because when around him, she aspired to be someone else, a person she’d squelched dead a long time ago. Unearthing a cadaver was not a happy perspective. Yet, she yearned for the breath of life Jamie could provide.

  Damn it. She had shown him depths of her soul no one got to see, and he now had the cheek to blow cold after blowing hot, all that time, with her? Bringing what she’d thought dead embers to a spark of existence?

  Get a grip, Nolan. The only spark in your life is between you and an autopsy report.

  Poor judgement. Why did it have to affect her at the present moment, of all times? Her world had already had spun once on its axis because of Emma. She had to push Jamie out of their lives.

  “What are you working on?”

  William sat down in the guest chair, on the other side of her desk.

  She shook her head, attempted to clear h
er wayward thoughts. She then stared at her boss and handed over the toxicology report. “The teen death in the council estate park. It looks like suicide. I’m still not convinced.”

  He perused the sheet. “Hmm. The coroner wants to solve that one quickly. The area is a total crime hotspot.”

  “Exactly.” She sighed. “I can’t write it off as suicide when I’m not certain.”

  “Indeed.” He returned the paper to the desk and settled back into the chair. “That’s why I gave you that case. I knew you’d be thorough.”

  Praise? When did William Ford ever step into his colleagues’ offices to offer commendations?

  He shifted in his seat. “Have you found a nanny yet?”

  “No.” It pained her to admit it. No one she’d met had the right ‘vibe,’ as Emma put it. They seemed okay to Margo, but Emma needed someone she’d get along with, or they’d have another Mrs. May-like debacle on their hands.

  Jamie had pointed that out. Damn him. He popped in everywhere in their lives, yet nowhere close to where she wanted him to be in hers.

  All right, Nolan. Where exactly is that?

  Dead end question, she reminded herself. Jamie wanted to be friends, and they were. He kept good distance between them, ever since he’d learned that she wasn’t a lesbian. Could that be why he’d been so forward before, because he’d believed she’d never crush on him?

  “I know someone who could fit the bill,” William said. “I met her on a case, not too long ago. Her name is Polina Petrenko, and she’s Ukrainian, an artist. She’s looking for a job.”

  “She’s reliable?” Margo frowned. “What case was it?”

  No one with criminal ties would get close to her daughter, that was for sure!

  “The young gay man murdered by his ex-lover. Polina shared a flat with him in Leyton.”

  A crime of passion. She didn’t recall any illicit associations with that case. “I’ll have to meet her.”

  “Of course. Here’s her number.” He handed her a piece of paper. “She should be able to start right away, if you decide to hire her.”