Her Cocky Doctors (A MFM Menage Romance) (The Cocky Series Book 1)

by Tara Crescent

  Well, that’s a whole lot of ice-water on my raging hormones. Then again, Declan just winked at me. Hello, mixed messages.

  And this is why you stay in your room, working on an article or reading smutty books on your phone, Lana. That’s also why you’ve never been picked up at a bar.

  Hailey flirts like it’s second nature to her. Me? I’m far more awkward. “Umm, sure thing,” I murmur, bending down to grab the handbag that I unceremoniously shoved under the table when we walked in. I pull my trusty spiral-bound notebook out and open it to the first free page. A sheet of paper flutters to the ground. “What’s her number?”

  Declan doesn’t reply right away. He bends to pick up the sheet, and my heart stops beating.

  Because he’s holding my Sex Bucket List in his hands.

  And judging from the way his eyes widen, he’s reading it.

  Ouch.

  A slow smile spreads across his face. “Writers are far more interesting than I would have imagined,” he says, handing the sheet to Blake, who takes it from him with a raised eyebrow. “Don’t you think, Blake?”

  My cheeks go hot with embarrassment.

  Blake scans the list and looks up, his eyes dancing with merriment. “You have threesomes on here twice,” he points out.

  My only option is to tough it out. I lift my head up and look steadily at the two men. “Can I have my list back?”

  “Of course.” Blake hands it to me. “And if you’re interested in crossing items off your bucket list,” he says, his voice silky-smooth, “Declan and I are happy to help you out.”

  Work-Lana would decline, sternly reminding herself that she’s here for a story and nothing else.

  I’m tired of Work-Lana. She never has any fun. A devil-may-care attitude fills me. These guys want to up the ante? I’m in. “Yeah right,” I scoff. “Sure. You’re all gung-ho now, but any suggestion of your swords touching and I bet you twenty bucks that you’ll run away in panic.”

  Declan wordlessly takes a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet and sets it on the table.

  “You’re joking,” I say flatly.

  Blake chuckles. “What’s the matter, Lana? You don’t think we can live up to your expectations?” He winks at me. “I promise you; we’ll work hard to rise to the challenge.”

  Bad puns. I know I’m not dreaming—there’s no way my imagination could produce a pun that groan-worthy—but it does nothing to make them less attractive in my eyes. Evidently, my dry spell has been more desert-like than I’ve realized.

  “Tell you what,” Declan’s voice cuts in. “We don’t have to jump into the deep end of the pool. You want to kiss a guy at a bar, right?” He spreads his hands wide. “Here we are.”

  He doesn’t think I’m going to do it. Neither of them does.

  Lifting my chin up, I grope for my purse and pull a twenty-dollar bill out, secretly thankful I had the good sense to go to the ATM before I left Portland. Then I lean forward and wrap my fingers around Blake’s shirt. I know why I pick him—he seems less dangerous.

  Of course, the moment I breathe in the scent of him, a faint cologne, laced with beer and masculinity, I change my mind. My heart starts beating in my chest at the smoldering, heated expression in his eyes. “What a good idea this is,” he says softly, closing the gap between our lips.

  And he kisses me.

  His hand curls around the back of my neck, drawing me in. His tongue traces the outline of my lips, and then he deepens the kiss.

  Smart-Lana makes one last effort to inject some common sense into the proceedings. This is a dreadful idea. You don’t know these men at all.

  I don’t care. My fingers run over his chest and over his biceps, feeling those rock-hard muscles. The blood pounds in my veins, and I open my mouth to his exploring tongue. My insides throb as he kisses me, slowly, as if he has all the time in the world.

  This is surreal.

  “Ahem.” We’re interrupted when the bartender clears his throat, looking acutely embarrassed. “Sorry, man,” he apologizes to Blake. “I don’t mean to cock block you, but it’s closing time.”

  I slide back to my seat, still in a haze of lust. “But it’s just eleven,” I hear Declan say.

  The bartender laughs. “It’s a small town,” he says. “There aren’t enough people to be open until midnight, let alone two. You guys want separate checks?”

  “Yes,” I reply. “No,” both guys say at the same time.

  The bartender moves away. Declan surveys me with hungry eyes. “You could kiss two strangers at a bar,” he suggests. “Or, you could invite us to your room.” His voice lowers. “Invite us to your room, Lana,” he urges softly. “You won’t regret it.”

  Oh, I doubt that. No matter how hard I want to pretend, I know I’m not good at casual sex. I get attached. Feelings happen.

  I’m in Goat for two months, tops. Blake, going by what I heard earlier, is here for a month, and Declan could leave at any moment. Common sense comes rushing back in. “I’m sorry,” I mutter, not meeting their eyes. “I shouldn’t have led you on. I’m going to leave.”

  Then I flee across the street and make a beeline for my room.

  No. More. Beer.

  Ever.

  4

  Blake:

  The next morning, I wake up early and go to see Aunt Elvira. She’s eating breakfast on the patio and smiles warmly when she sees me. “Blake, you’re here. I wasn’t sure when you were getting in.”

  I kiss her cheek. “We got in yesterday afternoon.”

  “We?” She raises her eyebrow. “Are you seeing someone?”

  “Nope, I brought Declan.”

  Her smile dims when she finds out it isn’t a girlfriend, but she cheers up when I mention Declan, as I knew she would. Declan and Aunt Elvira get along like a house on fire. “Where is that boy?” she asks.

  “He’s still in bed,” I reply. “You know Declan. He’s not a morning person.”

  She chuckles. “No, he’s not. Do you want some coffee?”

  “Don’t get up.” I was in Goat for Christmas, and Aunt Elvira had been recovering from a bout of flu that had left her weak and drained. I’m delighted to see that she’s looking a lot sprier now, but I still don’t want her overexerting herself. “I know where everything is.”

  I go into the kitchen to pour myself a cup of coffee and rejoin my great-aunt on the patio. “What’s new with you, Aunt Elvira? What’s happening in town?”

  She chuckles. “This is Goat. There’s always something happening, but none of it is very important. Lots of new people in town though, which is always good for the local businesses. Never mind that; tell me what’s going on with you.”

  “Well, I injected Botox into a lot of beautiful women the last six months.”

  She frowns at me. “When are you going to settle down, Blake?” she demands. “When was the last time you were in one place for more than six months?”

  “I can’t remember.”

  She carefully butters her toast and adds a thin layer of ginger marmalade, and my heart catches at that simple gesture. My parents were in a deeply-unhappy marriage. Growing up, my happiest memories are of spending my summers in Goat, eating breakfast with Elvira, wandering through the woods with the neighborhood boys, helping Marla with her bed-and-breakfast… I lean back in my chair, feeling the sun’s warmth on my face. “This is home, Aunt Elvira,” I say quietly. “Nowhere else comes close.”

  Her expression softens. “I don’t know why you insist on staying at Marla’s place,” she says. “There’s plenty of room here. For Declan too.”

  I chuckle. “I’ll drive you crazy in ten minutes,” I reply. “Besides, I’m too old to be sneaking girls into my aunt’s house.”

  She snorts. “Kids. You think I didn’t know what you were up to?”

  I give her a fond look. “You keep your illusions. I’ll keep mine.” Talking about women, my thoughts return to last night, to the beautiful, intriguing Lana Davey and her bucket list. When she’d lea
ned over, giving me an eyeful of her round, squeezable breasts—all natural and fucking perfect—and grabbed my collar, she’d definitely taken me by surprise.

  And that kiss… Thinking about her soft lips parting under mine sends an uncomfortable shot of arousal through my groin. Settle down, Thorpe. You don’t want to sport a semi in front of Aunt Elvira.

  With difficulty, I put the dark-haired woman out of my mind and return my focus to the conversation. “I don’t know what you’re going to do all month,” my aunt is saying. “Goat’s not that entertaining.”

  Lana’s sex bucket list will keep me entertained.

  If Declan and I can convince her to let us help.

  I intend to give it my best shot.

  Declan is talking to two guys in the dining room when I get back. As soon as he sees me, he waves me over. “Blake,” he says, “This is Dr. George Rhodes and Dr. Ted Swanson. They run a clinic in town.”

  I shake their hands, thinking privately that the two doctors look like aging Casanovas. “Is the clinic new?” I ask them. “I’ve been visiting Goat for years, and I’ve never heard of it.”

  One of the doctors—Ted Swanson—nods. “We’ve been here about eighteen months,” he says. “There’s been more demand than we expected, to be honest, which brings me to the reason we’re here.” He gives his partner a careful look.

  “Yes, well—” George Rhodes clears his throat. “We’ve been running flat out without a break, and we really need one. When I found out that two doctors were staying at the Nanny Goat, it was like fate was giving us a nudge.”

  Declan gets to the point faster than Rhodes and Swanson. “They want us to fill in while they’re away for the next month.”

  “Exactly,” Ted Swanson says eagerly. “The work isn’t too strenuous. The clinic is only open three evenings a week. Thursday through Saturday, which will still give you four days to enjoy your time off.”

  I exchange a glance with Declan. Part of me is tempted by the offer. I do consider Goat home. If there’s one place in the world I wouldn’t mind settling down in, it’d be in this oddly-named small town that holds so many happy memories for me. I didn’t think that Goat was large enough to support an independent medical practice, but if what Aunt Elvira said this morning was true, the town’s getting larger. Filling in for these two doctors is a way for me to assess whether I could stay longer.

  I’m not going to lie—I’m getting tired of bouncing around from one place to the other. Friday night, when Declan was talking about the Congo, I’d been envious of the clarity of his purpose. While my college roommate is saving lives, I’m staving off wrinkles. It isn’t a good comparison.

  My twenties are behind me. I’m almost thirty-five, and I’m ready to commit to something.

  I’m getting a sketchy vibe from these doctors. They’re nervous and twitchy, and neither of them really meets our eyes. Something’s off. Doctors don’t take spur-of-the-moment vacations, and locums are arranged well in advance. Everything about them is setting off red flags in my mind, but I throw caution to the wind.

  “Okay, I’ll do it,” I announce. “How long do you want me to fill in for?”

  Declan shrugs his shoulders. “Sure, I’m in too,” he says. “Being on vacation for weeks on end sounds tempting, but by the time the weekend’s up, I’ll be itching to do some real work.”

  “That’s excellent,” George Rhodes says, his air of relief palpable. “Thank you so much, Doctors. I really appreciate you helping out. Now, we’ve cleared our schedules for the day, so the first day you’ll see patients is next Thursday. Our admin, Rhonda Sawyer is a wealth of knowledge. I’ll tell her to expect you.” He pulls a business card out of his wallet. “My personal phone number is on there. Call me if you need anything, anything at all.”

  Declan frowns at the two men. “You’re not going to be at your clinic to show us around?” he asks. “This is really unorthodox.”

  “No, no, not at all,” Dr. Swanson cuts in hastily. “Trust me, you’re in very capable hands with Rhonda.” He smiles nervously. “Well, we’ll be off. Thank you again, Doctors. We’ll see you in four weeks.”

  As I watch them hurry out of the Nanny Goat, get into a red sports-car and speed off, I start to wonder what the heck we’ve got ourselves into.

  5

  Lana:

  I hide in my room most of Sunday morning, mortified at my behavior last night. I can talk a good game, but I’m usually smart enough not to follow through, but I don’t know what came over me yesterday. I can’t believe I kissed Blake.

  And I can’t believe I didn’t kiss Declan.

  After a couple of hours though, I start to get hungry. I missed breakfast since I wanted to avoid Declan and Blake, which meant I had to pass up on the cinnamon apple pancakes Marla was serving in the dining room. Sigh.

  This is ridiculous, Lana. You can’t avoid them forever.

  I can’t avoid them at all. Last night, I’d discovered that the guys are occupying the two rooms next to mine. I’m going to run into them sooner or later, and I just need to put on my big-girl panties and deal with it.

  It was just one kiss, Lana. No biggie.

  Getting dressed, I head out in search of sustenance. To my everlasting gratitude, I don’t run into the guys on my way out.

  I walk down the main street, admiring the town. Goat is surprisingly charming. The main street has wrought iron lamps and colorful flower baskets overflowing with pink geraniums. The town’s really embraced their strange name. I pass an antique store named the Old Goat, a hairdresser named Goatee and a diner cleverly titled Goat Morning.

  Diners have coffee. Score.

  Pushing the front door open, I enter. There’s hardly anyone inside. “Sit anywhere, dear,” the woman behind the breakfast bar calls out. “I’ll bring you a menu in a second. You want coffee?”

  “Yes please.”

  I choose a spot by the window, and she brings me a large mug of coffee. “You’re staying at Marla’s, aren’t you?” she asks as she waits for me to scan the menu. “I heard you’re a writer.”

  Small towns. The pace of life might be slower, but the gossip moves lightning quick. Of course, as a reporter, I’m counting on it. Time to start finding sources for my story. “I am,” I admit, looking up at her and smiling. “Unfortunately, I overslept this morning and missed the cinnamon apple pancakes.”

  She laughs. “Well, I’m not competing with Marla, mind you, but we make a pretty good pecan-banana French toast here.”

  Mmm. “Sign me up,” I say promptly.

  The coffee is hot and strong, and the French toast is delicious. Two middle-aged women walk in while I devour my meal, one dressed in a bright green shirt that reminds me of Hailey’s outfit, and the other in a more discreet beige. They take their seats at the bar. For want of anything better to do, I idly listen in on their conversation. “I can’t believe her,” Beige-Woman hisses to my waitress. “I know they’ve been having problems, but still…”

  “Are you sure she went to them?” The waitress shakes her head sadly. “That Lettie. She was always so impulsive.”

  “Oh, she went to them all right,” Green-Shirt-Lady says grimly. “Rhonda told me. What I want to know is, does Michael know?”

  “I hope not.” Beige-Woman shudders. “Can you imagine what would happen to the doctors if he found out his wife was visiting them? He’d be walking into their clinic with a sawed-off shotgun.”

  “Don’t say that.” The woman behind the counter—who I’m calling French-Toast-Lady, for want of a better name—looks horrified.

  My ears perk up. They’re talking about the two doctors I’m here to investigate, and it appears that not everyone in town adores the Clinic of Love. Good to know.

  French-Toast-Lady must feel the weight of my gaze on her because she looks up. “More coffee, dear?” she asks. I shake my head before I have time to think, and then curse myself inwardly. My plate is empty. Had I asked for more coffee, I could have lingered and listened in o
n their conversation, but now, I have no excuses to stay.

  Still, my morning hasn’t been in vain. That French toast was delicious.

  I go for a walk after my meal, partly to work off the calories and partly to explore the neighborhood. The Clinic of Love is located down a side street, in a small, nondescript gray one-story building. There’s a very small sign on the door, but apart from that, the clinic is doing nothing to call attention to itself.

  For obvious reasons.

  I’m tempted to go inside and make an appointment, but I don’t need John’s voice in my head to tell me it’s a bad idea. I’m a stranger in town. I don’t want to set off any suspicions. For the next few days, I need to focus on blending in.

  What are you going to do with yourself until then, Lana?

  There is the Sex Bucket List. Not to mention my two ridiculously sexy hotel-mates.

  Bad idea, sweetheart.

  Work-Lana’s right. This is a nice, relaxing assignment. I might even embrace my cover story and write a book. Can cats solve crime? Time to do some research into cozy mysteries.

  Of course, I get to do no such thing, because there’s an email from John waiting for me when I get back. “Our website is a bit thin on content,” he writes. “Since you’re in the area, can you do a story on the small towns in and around Mt. Hood? Art galleries, ice-cream shops, that kind of thing? I need five thousand words by Wednesday.”

  I should have known. If I protest, John will remind me that I wanted to do fluff pieces, and he’ll ignore that I wanted to write lifestyle instead of investigative pieces, not in addition to.

  So much for my relaxing assignment.

  I don’t run into Blake and Declan until later that evening. Blake’s lounging on an outdoor sectional sofa, a bottle of beer in his hand, and Declan’s tending to something on the barbecue. Declan sees me first. “Lana,” he calls out, lifting his hand up in a wave. “Want to join us for dinner?”