Copyright © 2017 by Penelope Ward and Vi Keeland
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial Fuses permitted by copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the authors’ imaginations. Any resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
BRITISH BEDMATE
Cover model: Philip Van den Hoogenband – Chadwick Models Melbourne
Photographer: Brian Jamie
Cover designer: Letitia Hasser, RBA Designs
Proofreading & Interior Formatting: Elaine York, Allusion Graphics, LLC
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Epilogue
More from Penelope Ward & Vi Keeland
Acknowledgements
Other Books by Penelope Ward & Vi Keeland
Other Books by Penelope Ward
Other Books by Vi Keeland
Tuesday. That’s what my underwear said, even though it was Friday. Right across my ass in big, bold letters. A few months ago, when the airline had lost my luggage during my trip down to Florida to visit my mother, I’d picked up a package of cheap undies at Target. Of course, I had no idea there was anything printed on them at the time. And I wasn’t about to throw away seven pairs of perfectly good underwear when I eventually realized. Plus, how long had it been since anyone had seen my underwear anyway? Two years?
The nurse came back into the treatment room to take my history. “Why don’t you have a seat, Ms. Valentine?”
“Ummm. I can’t.”
“Oh, sorry.” She smiled. “That’s right.”
“Do you know when the last time you had a tetanus shot was?”
“I’m a nurse over at Memorial, so I get them regularly. Last year, maybe.”
“Okay. That’s good. How about pregnancy? Any chance you could be pregnant?”
“Not a cold chance in hell.”
Even the sixty-year-old nurse looked at me sympathetically. “Dry spell, huh?”
“You could say that.”
“Well, you’re in luck then. Dr. Hogue is on today.”
“Dr. Hogue?”
“He’s our resident. A real young hottie.” She winked.
Great. Just great. I wasn’t just going to be mortified in front of the first man to see my ass in years, it had to be a young, handsome doctor. “Do you have anyone else on call, by any chance? Maybe a female doctor or an older, male physician, perhaps?”
The nurse stood and closed the chart she’d started for me. “Don’t worry, sweetie. You’re in good hands. I’m positive Dr. Hogue has seen his share of ass.”
Kill me now.
A few minutes later, I was trying to ignore the pain and distract myself by scrolling through my phone while I waited for the resident on duty, when the door opened.
I turned around and froze.
Seriously? This couldn’t be the doctor. We definitely didn’t have any doctors that looked like this over at Memorial.
“So, I hear you want to show me your bum, and I’m not even going to have to buy you some dinner first?”
My bum? Of course, young, hot doctor had an equally hot accent, too. Was he…British? I pulled the gown I was wearing closed tighter. “Please tell me this is a joke. You are not the doctor. How old are you even? Twenty-two?”
He didn’t seem the slightest bit offended by my comment. Instead, he leaned against the desk and folded his arms across his chest. “Twenty-nine. Would you like to see my driver’s license?” Then…he smiled. Oh God. Perfect pearly whites, too. Figures. The man was downright gorgeous. Tall, really tall—probably at least six foot two, broad shouldered, muscular arms, bright blue eyes, a chiseled jaw, and blond hair that looked as if he’d just had sex. Jesus…the doctor had fuck-me hair. I couldn’t possibly show him my ass.
“I need a new doctor.”
He looked down at my chart. “No can do, Ms. V. It’s three o’clock. You arrived right at the change of shifts, so it’s me or the janitor with a rusty, old pair of pliers—he might be able to help you out. Come on. Don’t be shy. Let’s have a look, shall we?”
Ugh. It was either Dr. Dreamy or the ER across town that I worked in. And I’d never live this one down if I went to Memorial. I rolled my eyes and huffed. “Fine.”
Just wanting to get the humiliation over with and get the hell out of here, I turned around and leaned over the examining table. I then proceeded to reach back and pull my gown aside to expose my left ass cheek. I’d already tucked that side of my underwear into my butt crack to keep it from getting tangled with the hook.
Dr. Hottie was quiet for a long moment, but when he spoke, I heard the laughter in his voice. “Have you been wearing them for three days?”
“What?” I turned to look back at the gorgeous doctor. His right hand was scratching at the stubble on his chin, while his left was holding onto his elbow.
“Your knickers. It’s Friday. They say Tuesday. I was wondering if you’d been wearing them for three days or just got your days of the week mixed up.”
I seriously would’ve rather kept the hook in my ass. “I bought them when the airline lost my luggage during a trip. I didn’t realize what was printed on them. You know what. I’ll keep the hook.” I dropped the gown back down and stood.
Dr. Hogue put his hands up in surrender. At first he seemed sincere. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made that comment. It was inappropriate.”
“You’re right. It was.”
“It’s bad enough you’re already…” He grinned. “…the butt of the joke. You don’t need me to poke fun.”
“You’re an ass, you know that?”
“I’d rather be one than have a fish hook in one.”
“Very mature. Did you say you were nine or twenty-nine?”
We had a mini staring contest and then the ridiculousness of the situation made me break out in laughter. Dr. Dreamy joined in, and when we were done, the air had shifted back. “Why don’t you go on and turn around and let me take a better look this time? I’ll be serious.” He held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor. What kind of a hook is it? A Circle? Treble? Aberdeen?”
“I have no idea.” I turned back to face the treatment table, assumed the dreadful bent-over position again, and lifted my gown. “I really don’t k
now much about fishing.”
“You don’t say…”
“Does the type of hook matter? I could probably find out if I need to.”
I heard the slap of latex from Dr. Hogue putting on his gloves and then his large hand was on my ass. “It’s pretty far in there, actually. I’m not sure the type of hook really matters. Looks like I’m going to have to make a clean slice to slip it out no matter what. How did you get the thing set so deep in there anyway?”
“I was on a little row boat out in Narragansett. I was trying to teach my son how to cast.”
Dr. Hogue squeezed the area where the hook was embedded. “Oww.”
“Sorry. You know teachers are supposed to have knowledge on the subject they teach.”
“Just take out the hook.”
“I’m going to need to numb you up first in order to slice it open.”
“Can’t you just thread the hook back out?”
“Nope. More than the tip is in your arse, and it looks like it’s got a long shaft.”
God, my body had been ice cold for two years—not a hint of heat even when I’d taken my own hands to it. And it decided to spring back to life at this moment. I was bent over a table talking about the tip of a long shaft going in with a man who could have been a model instead of a wise-cracking doctor. Perfect timing, Bridget. I was suddenly glad to be in this position I was in so he couldn’t see the flush on my face. I felt the good doctor walk away and then the heat from his body returned.
“Stand by for a quick pinch.”
“Ouch!” As quickly as the word escaped me, the pain was over.
“Okay, that should numb the area so we can dig in and extract the hook without too much pain.”
It was quiet for a minute or so before I felt his hands on my ass again.
Ohhh.
His voice seemed to go lower, deeper. “Just relax, Bridget. Breathe in and out. Everything’s going to be okay.”
He sounded almost…seductive. The muscles between my legs contracted. God, was I really getting off from having a fishing hook removed from my ass? The answer would be yes. Yes, I was.
“You’re just going to feel a little bit of pressure.”
I couldn’t help where my mind went. I imagined what it would be like if he came up behind me with a special surprise, bestowing upon me way more pressure than I bargained for.
Get your mind out of the gutter, Bridget!
“Here we go,” he said.
I felt the skin of my ass stretching along with some tugging.
“It’s out,” he finally said. “Just going to bandage you up. Hold still.”
It actually hadn’t hurt nearly as much as I’d expected.
“Well, Ms. V., it looks like you are officially off the hook. Pun intended.”
When I turned around, he had the hook in his hand.
“This is known as a double hook, by the way,” he said.
“Good to know.”
“Do you want to keep it for any reason? A souvenir?”
“No. Thank you.”
“Very well, then.” Dr. Hogue set the hook down on the tray and then removed his gloves, discarding them in the trashcan marked Biohazard.
He took something from his pocket and began to write something on a piece of paper.
“What is that?”
“Don’t worry. It’s not my number, just a prescription for some antibiotic cream in case you need it. I’ll leave it right on the desk here. You can get dressed, and then you’re free to go.”
He lingered for a few seconds before he said, “Take care now. Watch your back, Bridget. Or rather, your backside.”
“Wait,” I blurted out.
He stopped and turned around. “Yes?”
A piece of his blond hair had fallen into his eyes. He was so handsome.
I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry if I was…”
“A pain in the arse?”
My cheeks felt hot. “Yes.”
“No worries.” He winked.
And just like that, Dr. Dreamy disappeared out of the room. Unfortunately for me, my sore ass had been replaced by a tingling vagina.
THREE MONTHS LATER
The phone rang while I was getting ready to work the first of three consecutive, twelve-hour shifts.
“Hello?”
“Bridge?”
“Hey, Calliope.”
“I just wanted to let you know I’ve given Simon the key to your flat. Is that okay?”
“Absolutely. It’s empty and move-in ready. That key is for the separate entryway off the main house. The only thing the space doesn’t have is a kitchen. So, he’ll have to share with us. You told him that, right?”
“Yes. He’s thrilled that he doesn’t have to commit to a lease. So, he’ll take anything flexible he can get. He says he’ll start gradually moving his stuff in, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. Thanks for the heads up.”
“Alright, see you at class next week, Bridge.”
Calliope was my yoga instructor, who’d become a friend. Outside of classes, we’d sometimes meet for coffee at the Starbucks in town. She’d moved here to Rhode Island from the UK several years ago when her husband got a job with the American division of the bank he worked for.
When she’d told me that her BFF needed a place that didn’t come with a one-year commitment, I offered the in-law apartment on my property. Apparently, he was in his last year of residency and was transferred to my hospital with less than a year to go before he would be moving out of state. So, he didn’t want to sign a new lease and needed a place relatively close to work. The suburb where I lived was right off the highway and a straight, ten-minute shot to Providence.
My husband, Ben, died unexpectedly a couple of years ago, leaving our then six-year-old son, Brendan, and me behind to fend for ourselves. Despite my decent nursing salary, it had become tougher as of late to cover the mortgage for our large colonial. The life insurance that I’d collected needed to be set aside for my son’s eventual college education. I’d never be able to save for that; even meeting the monthly bills was a challenge. But I refused to move, wanting Brendan to be able to continue to live in the only house he’d ever known.
I’d been thinking about renting out the vacant in-law apartment that came with the house for a while now. So, when Calliope mentioned her friend, who she said was like a brother to her, needed a place to stay, I figured it would be good extra income to rent out the space to him. And at least I knew he wasn’t some psychopath.
By the end of the week, I’d slowly noticed boxes showing up whenever I peeked into the unit. Simon must have been coming in during the day and dropping things off, but we’d yet to cross paths.
One evening, Brendan was spending the night over at Ben’s mother’s house about a half-hour away in North Kingstown. I decided to draw myself a hot bath, since I could relax without interruption. The bathroom typically got too hot with the door closed, so I left it open, figuring I’d take advantage of the fact that my son wasn’t home tonight.
I had a tendency to feel faint when immersed in hot water for too long, so I reluctantly forced myself out of the soothing suds after thirty minutes and wrapped myself in a plush towel. Sure enough, the twinge of nausea that I normally felt right before I was about to pass out hit.
I had been told that to prevent a blackout, I should put my head between my knees. But it was too late. The last thing I remembered was my towel dropping to the floor.
An indeterminate amount of time later, my eyes blinked open. I was lying by the tub naked, grateful that I was okay. It wasn’t my first rodeo; fainting was just something I was prone to.
When I had passed out that one time in hot yoga class, I remembered Calliope telling me to get into Child’s Pose before standing. So, this time I stayed down on my hands and knees, spreading my knees wide apart while keeping my big toes touching. My butt rested on my heels. Breathing in and out, I tried to relax.
“Bridget?”
The sound of a man’s voice caused me to jump so fast that I hit my head on the tub. “Ow!” I turned around, took one look at him, and gasped.
Holy shit. What?!
I blinked.
What is Dr. Dreamy doing here? Is this a dream?
Maybe I didn’t really wake up?
Covering my breasts, I said, “Oh my God. What? What are you doing here?”
He reached for my towel and wrapped it around me then knelt down to immediately check my head for any injury. He’d slipped right into doctor mode. “Where does it hurt?”
Pointing to an area on the front of my skull, I said, “Here.”
My nipples hardened at the closeness of his body.
He rubbed his finger along the area. “There doesn’t seem to be a bump. I think you’ll live.”
We both sat on the floor, our backs against the tub.
I repeated, “What are you doing here?”
“I live here, apparently.”
Realization hit.
“It’s you? You’re Simon? Calliope’s friend?”
“Yes. And believe me when I say I had no clue I was moving into your house. She refers to you as Bridge, not Bridget and never told me your last name, so I couldn’t even put two and two together. This is just as much a shock to me as it is to you.”
“Then how did you recognize me so fast? I wasn’t even facing you.”
“You were down on the ground with your buttocks in the air. I would recognize that arse anywhere.”
Utter embarrassment consumed me. “Oh, really…”
“Your derriere precedes you, luv.” He laughed. “Anyway, the door to the loo was open. I had come to introduce myself and make some tea. What were you doing on the ground?”
“I’m prone to fainting, particularly when I spend too much time in heated water. I was unconscious for probably a few minutes. When I came to, I was doing a yoga pose Calliope taught me to help regulate myself before standing.” A visual of what I must have looked like from the rear came to mind. He probably saw my asshole, too. “Oh my God. I’m mortified.”
“It’s not like I haven’t seen your backside before.”
“Yes, but what else did you see? Everything happened so fast when I turned around.”
“Bridget, relax. Are you forgetting I see naked bodies all day long?”
British Bedmate (A Series of Standalone Novels) Page 1