by Jolie Day
Max nodded. “Really,” he said. “I mean, not now obviously, but I—”
“Why not?” The words were out of her mouth before Regina could stop them and she pressed her lips together as Max’s eyes widened.
“You…you really want to…seriously?”
“If…if it’s not too soon for you,” Regina said, blushing furiously.
Max held up one finger and backed away, slipping out of bed and reaching for his jeans. Regina’s heart clenched, fearing that he was about to leave her right there and then. Carol and Mary had both warned her that he might run when things got too serious, but she hadn’t believed it. Until now.
But instead of slipping them on, Max began rifling through the pockets and pulled something out with a gasp, holding it above his head as he turned back to her with a wide smile. Regina’s eyes widened at the sight of the dark blue velvet box in his hand and she placed her hands over her mouth as he inched back toward her, on his knees.
“I’ve had this ring for years,” he said. “At first, I thought that I would end up giving it to Mary, you know? Because of the whole high school sweetheart thing, but then…you know. So, I kept it, thinking that if I never gave it to any woman, at least I would have this little piece of my mother. This is her ring, by the way. She…she stopped wearing it when her brain got all…yeah.” He shook his head. “Anyway, I never thought I would feel about anybody the way I feel about you. I love you so much more than I ever thought possible, Regina Carlisle. And, if it’s not too soon for you, I would love nothing more than to be your husband.” He opened the box, offering the pear-cut diamond to her. “Will you marry me?”
Tears were filling Regina’s eyes and falling down her cheeks, her throat clogged with them so she could do nothing but nod and try to utter a single word. “Yes. Yes! I will marry you!”
Max gave her a wide, happy grin. “Great,” he said, plucking the ring out and reaching for her hand. “It can be a long engagement if you want. We don’t have to get married right away.”
“I was thinking a summer wedding, actually,” Regina chuckled, pulling him back onto the bed with her and throwing her leg over him, straddling his hips, cautiously.
“That’s…wow, that’s soon,” Max laughed.
“Too soon?”
“Not in the least,” he clarified. “I cannot wait to marry you.”
Regina smiled, pressing her lips back to his. “Me neither,” she said, before sliding down on him, her giggles turning to moans as they started another round.
*****
Regina
Carol and Brandy squealed when they saw the ring on her finger and Max rolled his eyes when his sister pinched his cheek and told him how proud she was of him. Then she started making arrangements for the wedding, which would apparently include a lot of lace and baby’s breath. He rolled his eyes and Regina laughed, wiping down the bar, pausing at the sudden sound of a motorcycle engine slowing in front of the bar.
As he coolly stepped off his shiny Harley, Brandy and Carol gazed at the sight of the rugged, muscular man in a black leather vest and pants. Removing his helmet, he revealed his dark, untamed hair and three-day stubble surrounding his sensual mouth.
As he walked into the bar, Regina couldn’t help but notice the hypnotic way his muscles flexed on his tattooed arms. When he looked at Regina, she found herself lost in his confident, green eyes.
“Hey, I’m hoping you can help me.” His smile sent a wave of heat through all three women’s bodies and Regina felt herself flush at the confidence he exuded with every step. He was tall and broad-shouldered and there was a swagger about him that she had never seen from any man she’d encountered in her lifetime. She found herself wanting to know more about him. His deep, smoky voice interrupted her thoughts.
“I’m looking for the new doctor in town. Maybe one of you ladies can point me in the right direction?” he asked, taking a stool and offering Regina that confident smile again as he leaned against the bar.
“Oh,” Regina said, feeling her cheeks warm. “Of course. The doctor’s office is, uh, three blocks down. Take a left after you exit the bar and then make a right and you should see it.”
“Thanks,” the biker said, allowing his gaze to drift slowly down to Regina’s full lips. “Maybe I’ll see ya around.” He gave her a wink and Regina fought back the bubble that rose in her throat.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice a little lower than intended. He gave her a slow, confident grin and backed off his stool.
“I hope you’re not sick,” Carol said, practically mooning over the mysterious man. “Because that would be a damn shame.”
“No,” he replied with a laugh. “I’m not sick. I’m just passing through with a message from a friend.” He gave Carol a wink, making her knees practically buckle. “See ya.”
He smiled one last time and made for the exit, while Regina, Carol, and Brandy watched him, eyes wide and faces pink with attraction. Carol bit her lip and nudged Brandy, whose mouth gaped, her eyes glued south of his beltline. The women giggled and wondered if they would ever see the man’s handsome face—or other assets—again.
THE END
Marc “Angel Face” Kelly is a hot bad boy biker on the run. He is the embodiment of pure, erotic masculinity—what every woman dreams of. On an undercover mission to find the new doctor in town, Marc stumbles across something completely unexpected in Lauren Stanton. Will he be able to complete the task assigned, or will he take a chance and save the one woman who has kindled feelings he’s never experienced before?
Find out in Jolie Day’s new romantic suspense novel titled SCORE: Hell’s Seven MC Biker Romance.
From the moment I lay eyes on her, I know that I have to have her. But once you’ve had somebody as hot as Lauren Stanton, how do you give that up? How do you walk away? Especially when she says she’s in trouble and she needs your help?
Reading Sample:
The sand was still warm under her toes as Lauren Stanton started the short walk back to her house, perched just a few hundred feet from where the brilliant blue ocean kissed the shore. This was the part of her day she loved best; her walk on the beach. She tried to go as early as possible, when the sun was still high in the sky, the sky bright blue and dotted with cotton candy clouds. Her dog—a gorgeous, strawberry-blonde golden retriever named Emma—would splash around in the water while Lauren enjoyed the view and occasionally threw her favorite tennis ball, laughing at Emma’s puppy-like demeanor as she shot off like a cannon after the toy.
When it looked like the sun was about to start its descent, Lauren pushed herself to her feet and grabbed her flip flops at her side, brushing the sand off of her backside and whistling for Emma to heel. And, like the good girl she was, the golden would race back to stand at her feet, tail wagging as her belly dripped salty sea water and her smiling mouth held tightly to her ball. Then they walked together to the back steps of Lauren’s beach house, Emma bumping her head against her best friend’s hip for scratches behind the ear.
Like every other day, Lauren took her time on the walk back, luxuriating in the warmth of the sand under her feet, the grittiness as it smoothed her heels and slid up into the cracks between her toes, the spray as she kicked it with every single step she took. There was a strange sense of safety in these tiny grains of sand. For a couple of hours every day, it was like the beach erased every single scar on her body, forming her into a new person.
It usually only lasted until she returned home, however; when she had to get back to work.
Lauren spent her mornings in the town of Slightuckett, RI, far from the city she used to know—or any cities, really—and acted as one of the only doctors within a five-mile radius. She treated citizens of all ages, and was well-known here, even after only a couple of years where most of the town people had lived here all their lives.
She would see her patients in line at the grocery store and ask about how their children or spouses were feeling. She knew everybody by name and they
knew her as “Dr. Stanton.” A few lucky ones got to know her as Lauren. But nobody knew about her past, which she kept close to her chest, hidden away deep inside her, behind polite smiles and chitchat.
Her clinic opened at half-past six AM and Lauren often found herself working the early morning shift, which she didn’t mind in the least. She was the only person, doctor or nurse, that didn’t have children to take care of in the early mornings—unless you counted Emma, who had to be fed and walked before sunrise—or a spouse to spend those last moments of nightlight with before the sun broke through and forced them both from the warmth of their bed.
Very few patients came in during the opening hours, anyway. The ones that did usually needed a dose of medication that they weren’t allowed to keep in their own home and had to be administered by Lauren or whatever nurse was unlucky enough to be scheduled at the same time. The real rush began at ten, when parents came in with flu-stricken children, or tiny babies and toddlers that needed their checkups. There were a few regulars that showed up; seniors with arthritis or respiratory issues; college students coming in for free condoms or to receive their monthly notes for birth control, or just to take advantage of their school-paid insurance plans, which allowed visits every two weeks for anything they needed, at no extra cost to them.
By the time Lauren’s shift was over, at two in the afternoon, she could feel the blisters on her feet, the scars burning under her clothing, injuries that had long faded giving her aches like they’d been left there last week. The office was a ten-minute walk from her beach house and the beach was less than two more, but the second Lauren stepped foot on the warm, early afternoon sand, she felt the stress melt away. The tension was always gone from her shoulders by the first time she threw Emma’s ball in the direction of the ocean.
Today had been no different, of course, but Lauren couldn’t help but feel as if something was…missing. She tried to shake the feeling off as she ascended the steps to her cozy beach house. It was tinier than most that lined the coast, but that was just fine with her. Perfect, actually. Why buy a house with all that space when you didn’t need it?
Her current home had everything she needed and nothing more; a bedroom with a balcony overlooking the ocean, a kitchen just big enough to fit all her utensils, pots, pans, and appliances, with an attached dining room, a sitting room with a fireplace and bookshelves built into the walls, and a fence around the front of the property, keeping trespassers out. Even better, Lauren could see anybody approaching her house from the windows in her sitting room. The view was clear enough that anybody who so much as turned the corner was visible to her, nearly any time of day.
As she reached the deck behind her house, Lauren tossed her flip flops under her patio table and stretched her limbs, smiling contently as the light ocean breeze and the sound of waves lapping against the shore. She was done treating patients for the day, but a pile of paperwork awaited her on the table, held down by a couple of heavy medical journals she often took home with her from work. This is where she came after her beach walks; an attempt to balance her work life and her after-hours relaxation.
Before, when she was still living in an apartment and dragging herself through the door at all hours of the night, she might have poured herself a glass or two of wine while she pored over the papers at her kitchen table, her feet propped up as her eyes and pen scanned over words that she was too tired to read.
But that was before Slightuckett; before working at the clinic and living among people who all knew her name and smiled as they passed her on the street; before Emma; before…it.
Lauren shuddered and it wasn’t because of the wind on the bare skin of her arms. She shook any thoughts of cities and concrete and dim streetlights out of her mind as she sat down with Emma at her feet, nibbling on her toy. There was a cooler next to the table and Lauren reached inside for a bottle of water, cracking it open and taking a long, refreshing sip.
She hadn’t had wine in nearly three years now. Nor had she had anything else with the ability to make her lower her defenses. And, she’d vowed, she never would again.
Emma nuzzled her ankle and Lauren reached down, scratching that spot behind her ear that made the retriever arch into her touch, her tail thumping on the hardwood floor of the deck. She’d gotten Emma not long after she arrived in Rhode Island, from the daughter of one of her deceased patients.
Mrs. Pollack had been sick with Dementia for a long time, her mind deteriorating to the point that she was never allowed to be left alone. The last time she’d come to see Lauren, she hadn’t even known who her daughter, Claire, was. Nor did she have any idea who Lauren was. Every few minutes, she asked who they were and where she was, not recognizing her surroundings in the slightest. Claire Johnson had held her hand as tightly as possible as she continued to remind her mother, over and over again, that they were at the doctor.
Lauren heard the words, “Am I sick?” more times than she’d been able to count that last day. Most Dementia patients didn’t last longer than half a decade, but Mrs. Pollack had started showing symptoms over a decade ago and had gotten into drug trials from the get-go. Her daughter had done everything she could to keep her mother healthy. She took her for walks around their neighborhood, telling her stories of when she was a child, hoping to keep her mother’s memory fresh, but soon even the most advanced and hopeful of medications stopped working.
Emma was a rescue from the local shelter, and a last-ditch attempt at keeping her mother happy and alive. Claire had heard that dogs had some kind of inexplicable healing power and she’d taken Mrs. Pollack to the pound, hoping that the karma of saving the life of one of those dogs would outweigh the Dementia that had by then firmly set into her mother’s mind. Mrs. Pollack had fallen in love with Emma from the first second she saw the young dog, smiling up at her from inside a cramped cage, her brown eyes big and hopeful, her tongue lolling out of her mouth.
For three years, Emma was Mrs. Pollack’s companion. She kept her company on the days that Claire couldn’t stay home to watch her, kept her calm when she didn’t recognize her nurses, kept her healthy for longer than any doctor—Lauren included—could have predicted. Mrs. Pollack lived a year longer than anybody thought she would.
After her funeral, which Lauren attended out of respect for the sweet old lady, Claire had approached with Emma on a leash, tears in her eyes.
“I can’t keep her,” she said, looking down at the dog, whose tail no longer wagged. “Just looking at her reminds me of my mother and she’s…” She trailed off, her voice choking as she dabbed her eyes with a tissue. “She misses my mother, too. She looks out the window all day long, as if Mom’s just at the doctor’s, about to come home any minute. She won’t eat or sleep or…” She took another deep breath. “The vet said that a change of scenery might be best for her, but I don’t want to take her to the pound, you know?” Lauren nodded in understanding. “So I was wondering if you might possibly have any room for her in your life.”
A year earlier, Lauren might have said no. She worked long hours in a hospital and could barely remember to buy food for herself, let alone do it for a pet. Any pet that she owned when living in her cramped little apartment in New York would have been miserable, no doubt about it.
But one look into Emma’s eyes and she was a goner. The poor girl had no idea what was going on; all she knew was that her best friend had gone somewhere and wasn’t likely to come back. All she knew was that she was sad and Mrs. Pollack wasn’t there to comfort her.
Lauren had taken the leash and, from that day on, Emma was hers. She has never regretted that decision. Not once.
Especially not as Emma laps at her fingers and nudges her leg, before settling her warm, furry chin on Lauren’s foot underneath the table. The weight of her friend’s head is a comfort as Lauren started in on her paperwork, drowning out the world as she focused on the words on the page.
It was the familiar roar of an engine that had her falling out of her chair, the paper in h
er hand crumpling as her fingers squeezed around it. Her arms raised above her head as she fell into a fetal position on the ground and her heart pounded a punishing rhythm against her ribcage as she tried to make herself as small as possible, her knees pressed firmly to her chest. Beside her, Emma jumped to alert immediately and began to sniff around, looking for the threat to her master’s safety that had affected her so.
When the obedient dog found nothing in sight, she began to bark, which startled Lauren even further, causing her to curl into an even tighter ball before she looked up at her dog, who was facing away from her and clawing at the sliding glass doors that led into their house.
“Emma, no,” Lauren hissed, her eyes beginning to scan the beach for any signs of a familiar nightmare.
But he couldn’t have actually found her. Could he? They promised her she’d be safe. That so long as she stayed hidden, nobody would ever harm her, ever again. Least of all, him.
But who were any of them kidding? There was no safe place from somebody like that. Not after he’d done what he did to her. It was bound to happen sooner or later, wasn’t it?
Lauren’s eyes scanned the inside of the house, which was beginning to darken as the sun set behind her. From the deck, she could see clear to the front door (another great thing about this place); all three locks were in place and there was no other way to reach her unless you went through one of the other properties and walked the quarter-mile through the sand dunes.
Still, the roar of the engine—which was beginning to sound like the growl of a dying creature—gave her pause before she stood. She brushed off her bruised knees, slipped into her flip flops, and reached for the door, sliding it open and stepping into the cool house. She still had the crumpled form in her hand and she gave thanks that she’d placed the medical journals back on the ones that she hadn’t started to fill out yet, lest they all get lost in the wind.