His Healing Touch
Maggie Pruitt can take care of herself, thank you very much. She doesn’t need the drool-worthy ER doctor carrying her away from her problems. Although, she is pretty impressed that he’s strong enough to carry her size fourteen muffin-topped butt away if he wanted to.
Only Maggie doesn’t want him to. She’s worked hard to make her life her own. She’s a web designer who makes her own hours, which might be twenty four hours or until she drops, whichever comes first. She has her own apartment that might feel and be empty even after living there for four years, so what. She makes enough to indulge her passion for traveling and she prefers going alone because then there’s no one to tell her they don’t want to spend hours in a museum. She has a best friend who keeps her connected to real life and can pull her away from her laptop, even if it’s just one friend it’s still a friend. She has a good life, and most days she’s fine with it. She’s been taking care of herself for years and she doesn’t need anyone’s help.
Okay, maybe just this once, and just until she can walk without crying. Besides, this is a one-time kind of thing. It’s not every day a nearly one hundred pound Rottweiler takes off on her without warning. As soon as her right ankle stops exploding in pain when she steps on it, and her left knee stops feeling like it’s being poked with a sharp object, she’s out the door.
She’s gone this long by herself, and really, she’s happier that way... really. Now, if it’s sex he’s after that’s something she’s very willing to have the doctor’s healing touch for. Besides, it won’t last long, it never does. So she’ll enjoy it until he comes to his senses and realizes he could do better.
Because, as far as everything else in her life is concerned, she’s fine. Really.
I swallow the last of my orange juice with a sigh of contentment. His mother is an amazing cook. Eyeing the unopened bottle of water, I give in. I’m opening it when Nick appears in the doorway. He’s changed into a simple white dress shirt, open at the neck, that makes his skin glow, damn, he’s beautiful. A goofy grin comes over me I can’t stop. “Hi.”
He smiles widely. “Hi, I was going to ask how you’re feeling but something tells me the painkillers have kicked in. Let me take a look at your ankle.”
“I like the painkillers.” I nod as I shake the bottle gleefully.
His laughter fills the room. Prying the bottle slowly from my hand he sets them back on the table. “I can tell. It’s okay to like them because you need them, for now. In a few days you won’t need as many. Soon you won’t be taking any painkillers.
Mournfully, I look toward the painkillers. “You’re right. Taking painkillers when you don’t need them is naughty. I’m already being naughty.”
“And how are you being naughty?”
My eyes go wide, duh, “Um hello, I’m at a hunky guy’s house I don’t know which is bad enough. Then I can’t stop staring at your dimples. I really, really like your dimples.”
He smiles widely, ah those dimples. “Amada, I think I’m going to be as sad as you will be when you stop taking your painkillers if they’ll always make you this honest and happy.”
“Hmm…they make me honest but it’s you that makes me happy.”
Eyes dark he takes a step toward me with a very intent look. Uh oh. I shift, sending the tray almost to the floor. Lightning fast reflexes keep the plate and tray from hitting the floor. He sets them on a long low dresser. Shaking he head he turns to me, “Mi amada, you could tempt a saint and I am no saint. Let me wrap your ankle back up.”