Doctor O: A Friends to Lovers Romance

by Ash Harlow

  “I wanted to look that little fuck of a dealer in the eye when I bought his drugs, and make sure he understood what a lowlife piece of scum I thought he was.”

  “And Annabelle filmed it.”

  I nodded. “I had no idea. I don’t know if she already had her plan worked out to blackmail me, or if she did it for the hell of it. We made buying trips to Auckland three times before things fell apart. Rocco was having psychotic episodes, becoming increasingly paranoid. I worried, but Annabelle assured me the doctor said we were doing the right thing, and we just had to hold it together a bit longer. I should have been more involved in his care, but Annabelle appeared to be so capable. I trusted her.

  “At the start, I’d come home and find them listening to music, reading, playing chess. Sometimes Rocco verged on manic, ranting about something he’d read, or seen in a movie. Mostly, though, they were content to just hang around the house. In an odd way, we started to feel like a family.”

  I couldn’t even recall that feeling now, my disgust for Annabelle was so acute.

  “I was overseas on business when it happened. We’d settled into the sort of routine that meant I felt comfortable leaving them. Somehow, Rocco got hold of the pin number for the safe where we kept the drugs. I got a panicked call from Annabelle. Rocco was missing and the drugs were gone. He was found by hunters a week later up in the forest. It was the middle of winter and he’d stayed up there through atrocious weather. His body was so compromised from his drug use he didn’t stand a chance of being able to survive in the cold.”

  The story never got easier with retelling. I studied a place on the wall above Darcy’s head as I breathed through my anger and grief.

  “I’m truly sorry, Oliver. You did your best to keep him safe.”

  “Yeah, I know. The addiction killed him, blah, blah, blah. Annabelle was there to comfort me. I have to believe that her grief was genuine.”

  “Yet she’s willing to blackmail you with that video. Wait, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry, it’s none of my business.”

  “It affects us, so in a way, it is. I guess she’s desperate. Come here, I need you.”

  She folded into me, absorbing my remnants of pain and hiding her own. Her reaction to the video was so intense I was certain her own demon had been prodded, and I wanted to know what shape that took.

  “Is there anything you want to say?” I asked.

  I felt her preparatory breath, and right then, her phone chimed. She jerked out of my arms as she reached for it on the windowsill. “Luther wants us back.”

  Of course. He’d kept my phone so he’d sent his message to Darcy’s. “We’d better go. He’s working on this for me. I’m sure you don’t want to be involved, but I’d like you to come back to the house.”

  “I’ll stay here. I need time to think.”

  “You can think with me.” I backed her against the door. “Tell me what’s troubling you.” I was prepared to do anything to reconnect us because right now she had some wall up that I’d happily scale or knock down, anything but leave her crouching behind it.

  She hadn’t done her makeup before she left the house, but her hair was pinned up in an elegant knot in preparation for the function we were no longer attending. I kept her against the door with my knee outside her hip, my hand on the other side, forearm against the curve that swept from her neck to her shoulder. A wave of desire surged in my groin and I intended to show her just how much she meant to me.

  I tugged at the pins in her hair, and she winced, ducking her head when one caught, but I carried on until her hair tumbled free past her shoulders. All the time she watched me, eyes guarded, lips pressed tight as if preventing a secret from slipping out.

  “What are you doing?” she asked as I pushed my fingers through her hair and held her head firmly against the door.

  “Reminding you who I am. No secrets, Darcy. You don’t have to hide from me.” I tilted her head back until her neck was taut and the throb of her pulse exposed to my mouth. My lips covered it, my tongue stroking its rapid beat as I grazed her skin with my teeth. I kissed up her neck, along her jaw and she turned to meet my mouth. “Tell me what’s wrong,” I said against her lips.

  “Be careful,” she warned.

  “I am. But if I believe you’re hiding something, I’ll always wonder what it is.”

  “I want you.”

  “I know. I want you, too. But you’re deflecting. Trust me. This won’t break us.” I dragged her skirt up her thighs, and shoved her panties low. I gripped her pussy, slipping a finger between her folds. “You’re soaked. Tell me to stop.”

  “Don’t stop.”

  She reached for the button on my jeans but I pushed her hands away. “Put your hands around my neck.”

  “I want you, Oliver,” she repeated.

  She had me. I was hers. But, she had to trust me as much as I had to know who she was. I freed my cock, pulled one of her legs over my hip and entered her in a single, deep thrust. A harsh sound burst from her throat.

  “Is this what you want?” I asked, feeling her tighten over me.

  “Make me yours.”

  I took her mouth, our tongues entwining as I thrust into her tight heat. She urged me on, harder, faster, rubbing against me as I pulled out and slammed into her, over and over. It was a fast, furious fuck. A connection and a release of the tension of the past hour. She came with her head against my shoulder, her teeth biting into my flesh through my shirt. I lost control and followed seconds later, as she said my name over and over, like a prayer.

  26 ~ DARCY

  Between us we dragged in air with harsh breaths as we recovered. Oliver held me against his hard, comforting body, tugging my clothing back into place. His mouth moved against my temple as he spoke.

  “We’re going home now, and we’re going to figure this shit out. You have to believe what I told you, Darcy.”

  I did believe him. Every word. But I struggled to find the right response when I had so much to say. I’d spent three years living with an addict. I knew every ugly side of addiction. I knew the lies, the self-obsession, and the way hurt piled upon hurt every time Rob insisted he’d cleaned up, only to start using again. But that experience didn’t figure in the things I should have explained to Oliver. I felt the words would choke me if I attempted to get them out.

  Two men featured in Annabelle’s video. Oliver and Rob.

  The more I’d come to know the world of addicts, dealers and meth cooks, the more I’d suspected Rob was dealing, because in the early days our money wasn’t being drained to support his habit. That didn’t happen until later.

  My guilty mind continued to chant Oliver’s words. I wanted to look that little fuck of a dealer in the eye when I bought his drugs, and make sure he understood what a lowlife piece of scum I thought he was.

  I was certain that if I told him I’d spent three years in a relationship with that ‘lowlife piece of scum’ we were finished.

  Oliver kept a tight hold on my hand as we walked back to his home. The entire way I tried to formulate a confession but by the time we reached the house I’d given myself a temporary reprieve. Oliver had enough on his mind, dealing with Annabelle’s demands. Now wasn’t the time to add my drama to the mix.

  Luther met us at the door.

  “Are you good, Darcy?”

  “Sure, thanks.” Luther being civil just made the situation more unnerving.

  We settled in the living room. Oliver still had hold of my hand as if I’d run away.

  “Right. I’ve drafted this to send to Annabelle,” Luther said, passing a single-page document to Oliver. “It will buy us time. I’ve got my guy digging through her past. You can be sure someone like her won’t have a sparkling background.”

  Oliver and I read it together. He dropped it on the coffee table, rubbing his mouth. “You’ve threatened her with the cops. Is that wise? What if she calls your bluff and beats us there?”

  “She won’t. We have evidence of her trying t
o blackmail you. All she has is a shitty video of you buying something from a stranger. Sure, it looks like a drug deal, but we can argue it’s fundraising candy and nobody could prove us wrong.”

  “Okay. Go for it.”

  “Good, I’m sending it now. You can pour the drinks.”

  Oliver finally released my hand. “What can I get you?” he asked.

  I wanted a drink. Something strong. Something that would bite, and burn as I swallowed. Something that would create a radiating ball of heat in my chest that would make me gasp. But I didn’t trust myself with anything that would lower my guard. I might have conquered the truth-drug effect of post-climax endorphins, but if I added alcohol, I’d be vulnerable.

  Luther was too clever. He’d spot the weakness and take me by the hand directly to the confessional booth.

  “You know, I’m pretty wiped out,” I said. “I think I’ll leave you guys to it and take a bath.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I nodded.

  “You’re staying here tonight?”

  This time it was a question rather than a statement.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Oliver stood and pulled me to my feet. “This will be gone in the morning. We’ll be laughing about it next week.”

  Luther’s phone dinged. He picked it up and grinned. “Bullseye.”

  “Already?” Oliver asked.

  “Yep. Message from Annabelle: You cunt.” He snorted. “I never realized she was so eloquent.”

  Oliver’s phone chimed. “Looks like I got one, too. Let’s see.” He swiped the screen. “You’re going to regret this.”

  Luther rolled his eyes. “You’re not, but she will. I’m not leaving her alone now, Oli, until she fucks off back to the sewer she crawled out of, and takes all of her shit with her.”

  I’d made it to the door that would take me down the hallway toward our room and the bathroom when Luther stopped me.

  “Stay and celebrate with us, Darcy,” Luther said. He really was making an effort.

  “Thanks, but I’m beat.” Even though his invitation sounded genuine, he was still a terrier.

  I filled the tub, loading it with the bath salts I hoped would soothe me. I’d just slipped into the water when Oliver appeared in the bathroom. Fully clothed, fully stunning.

  “I brought you tea, unless you’ve changed your mind and you’d like something stronger.”

  Even weary, I wished Luther wasn’t here and that Oliver would join me in the bath. I wanted him to invigorate and heal me with that abundance of highly charged energy that seemed to flow from him and fill every corner of the room. He placed the tea on a low shelf and sat on the bath’s edge.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “Good, I’m relaxed.”

  “That bath’s hot. Look how pink you are.” He soaked a sponge in the water, raised it, then squeezed, making a pattern over me with the stream of water. Across my chest, over each breast, concentrating on my nipples until that they turned into hard pebbles of desire. “All pink, and beautiful, and hurt,” he said, dipping the sponge into the bathwater again. I didn’t realize until then how attuned I’d become to the notes in his voice. The way it changed when he was aroused, or doing business, or making a joke. No matter what the iteration, his voice never failed to affect me. Right now I was raw, and his tone, smoothed with empathy, threatened to crack me open.

  I lowered my eyes from his stunning face and concentrated on the stream of water as he directed the flow, back and forth, like a hypnotist’s watch chain.

  “I want to know what you’re hiding, Darcy. Not now, not tonight.” Trickle, trickle. “Soon, though.”

  My heart thumped so hard I thought he would see it fighting the constraints of my chest.

  “My mother rejected my love. Annabelle betrayed my trust.”

  Such an expressive voice, yet it gave away none of the emotion that you’d expect with statements like that.

  Trickle, trickle.

  “Rejection and betrayal are the ingredients in a recipe to create an asshole,” he continued smoothly. “So, my revenge is to not be that asshole.”

  I held my breath, hoping his revelations wouldn’t slay me.

  “When I tell you that I trust you, I believe you won’t make me regret it. I expect you to believe you can trust me, too. That’s a lot to ask, but I think we’re worth it.”

  It was difficult to swallow past the thick lump in my throat. I wished I was a big enough person to exact the same type of revenge Oliver managed.

  He wrung out the sponge and placed it on the shelf. “This is getting cold,” he said, passing me the mug of tea. “Enjoy your bath.”

  I stopped him at the door. “Oliver…” I could tell him in a rush. Say it fast, without logical construction. A jumble of words that would slow him down while he unraveled them into sensible order. He’d have questions that would help me make sense of my story, and if he trusted me, he’d believe me.

  He shook his head. “Enjoy your bath.”

  I woke when he came to bed, smelling of whisky peat, leather and cigars. The near day-old growth of his beard scratched my cheek, and the way he cradled me in the secure curve of his body put me right back to sleep again.

  When I woke for the second time, the sun was rising across my body and I was alone. Through the bank of windows I could see down to the river. Oliver and Luther were standing on the jetty tending a net.

  I pulled on some clothes and met them as they walked across the lawn. Two magnificent men. They brimmed with confidence and achievement when the events of the previous evening were a fresh bruise blooming across my emotions.

  “The hunters have returned with breakfast,” Luther said, lifting the lid off a cooler to show the flounder they’d netted in the river.

  There were half a dozen in the bin. Oliver came behind me as I bent to look, slipping an arm around my waist. He was soaked below the waist, as was Luther, from wading through the river dragging the net between them.

  “Good morning, beautiful.” He kissed my jaw and tugged at my earring with his teeth.

  I met his mouth with mine, waiting for Luther to tell us to get a room, or knock it off, but our show of affection didn’t bother him.

  I broke the kiss and pulled away from Oliver. “You’re wet.”

  “I am. Are you?” He grinned. “I was so fucking hard when I woke, I didn’t want to leave you. But last night Luther suggested you’d probably never had Waitapu flounder for breakfast, and seeing as the tide was ideal, we should get you some. I must have had too much to drink because I agreed. Forgive me. We’ll fuck later.”

  “I’ll keep you to that,” I said, laughing. I glanced at Luther who was cleaning the fish on a rustic-looking slab of wood propped up on a trestle. “His attitude toward me has changed. If this keeps up, I might even start to like him.”

  “He trusts you. It’s taken a while, but once you’re in his circle he’ll want to nanny you the way he does me.”

  I’d never before thought of trust as a burden, but at that moment it weighed heavily on me.

  “Do you want me to cook the fish?”

  “That’s all prepped, come and see.”

  Oliver led me back down to the river where a small, ancient cast-iron oven was embedded in an alcove carved into a rock. He opened the door, blasting us with heat. “Luther doesn’t sleep a lot, so he’s been stoking this since dawn. We’ll wrap the fish with some lemon and it’ll be done in minutes. You can make some of your amazing coffee while I have a quick shower.”

  As we crossed the lawn I wondered at this life Oliver had. It was filled with work, and friends, and comfort balanced with the pain he’d experienced. I carried the sins of association like a time-bomb in my back pocket. One bad move, one indiscreet comment, and that thing was going to blow.

  I sat at breakfast as if I didn’t have a secret bobbing in my throat. We talked about the fish, it truly was stunning, before the conversation shifted to my coffee-making skills.
My secret pulsed. I offered to make more coffee.

  “You’re right, Oli. This one’s a keeper,” Luther said as I went to the kitchen and fired up the machine. When I returned, balancing mugs on a tray, Luther was drawing battle plans in a tight scrawl down the outside margin of the morning paper.

  “I have every fucking eventuality covered. Annabelle is going to wish she never stepped foot in this country.”

  “Has she called—”

  Oliver cut me off. “Ignore him. Luther is an over achiever.”

  “I can leave you guys to business, if you want.” The lightness in my voice belied the heaviness I felt. I wanted to leave them. I needed time to think, to really absorb what had happened yesterday. The bath, Oliver’s kindness, the fresh fish for breakfast, were all a balm that temporarily made things okay. But the things I hid grew larger the closer they moved to the surface, and I needed time alone to make a decision as to how I’d deal with them.

  I pushed back from the table and started gathering things, a flurry of plates and condiments that I piled onto the tray. I spoke as fast as I stacked. “I’m going to head back to the cottage. I have a lot of work to do. Luther, there are contracts I need arranged for the artists. The agency was going to send mock-ups of artwork for the tickets and programs. I’m behind on compiling—”

  Oliver stilled my hand. “Slow down. It’s okay. Go and work. I’ll call you in a couple of hours.”

  27 ~ OLIVER

  “I have to go to Auckland for two days,” I told Darcy. We’d just walked into the house after a tiring day where we’d seen too little of each other. The Auckland trip was planned long ago, and I was pissed off at having to leave Darcy so soon after the events of the weekend. I didn’t trust Annabelle, or that she’d backed off so easily, which meant I wasn’t at all comfortable about leaving Darcy alone. Luther said he’d watch out for her, and I knew he would. But, if Annabelle had more reveals up her sleeve, I wanted to be at Darcy’s side no matter which direction the attack came from.