Doctor Charmer (Doctors of Eastport General)

28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Reggie

M y words of encouragement to Sarah as she heads to the hospital to meet with HR are quick. Louise, looking to get everything in order for the New Year, ordered her to return to the hospital to start the process right away.

My head still swims with the image of Ivy snuggled up with Dr. Harriman. It was part of the plan we devised but seeing her like that with another man plays tricks with my mind.

Sarah’s car barely pulls away before I’m on the move. I stride between a minivan and a pickup truck and press the fob to my car. Two seconds later, it starts, and I’m on the move when my phone buzzes.

“Did it work?” Ivy’s words echo through the Bose speakers in my car with a frantic energy that makes me wish she was sitting next to me.

“Where are you?” I ask, too amped to recall the details of the remainder of the plan.

“Headed to the café in Westport to meet with you and debrief,” she says, concern dripping in her voice. “What’s going on?”

“Scratch that plan. Meet me at my condo.” The words come out as a possessive demand, and I bite my tongue. “Please. I need to see you, to hold you, to kiss you. I need you.” Desperation. I hear them in every syllable that leaves my mouth. A foreign sound that I always envisioned would come across as weak. Instead, I feel the complete opposite.

“Did seeing me in the arms of another man get a certain someone all hot and bothered?” She disarms me with a flirty response that is a perfect counterpoint.

I twist the steering wheel, speeding around an Amazon delivery truck. “I think we both know the answer to that question.”

“We do. And I like it. So, all I had to do to get you to drop your charming playboy demeanor and tell me straightaway what you want was to have another man show some interest in me? If I had known that I would have done this days ago.”

My condo complex comes into view, yet I don’t slow down. “Get your cute bottom over here, and I’ll show you what I want. Straightaway.” I pull into my reserved spot and undo my seat belt. “Don’t bother to knock. I’ll leave the door open.”

Her giggle fills the cabin of my car, extracting a silly grin on my face. “You’ve got me good, Ivy.”

“Good,” she continues to tease. “Sounds like you got it bad. I can work with bad. Be there in five.”

She disconnects, and I exit the car, her words playing on repeat in my head. She’s right. I got it bad.

***

Hand on the back of her head, lips smashed together, Ivy barely has time to step through the door before I’m on her. Her handbag falls to the ground, and I press her up against the back of the door.

She arches her back, and I tug at the sleeves of her winter coat. It falls next to the handbag. I lead her toward the couch, leaving a trail of gloves, scarves, and sweaters. By the time we fall backward on the couch, her blouse is half-opened, and both of us are panting.

“Someone missed me.” She places a kiss on my nose, her fiery eyes torching me. Burn, baby, burn.

“You have no idea.”

She flips on top of me, fingernails scratching across my chest as she pops the buttons from my shirt. “Then tell me. Is this about me or your hatred of Dr. Harriman?”

I lift up on my elbows, our noses tapping, “I’m sure I would feel just as worked up seeing any man touch you like that.”

“Hmmm.” She cups my face, her stare so intense it feels as if she’s looking directly into my soul. “Show me.” She removes her hand, the warmth of her touch remaining.

Lips locked, everything becomes a blur. I inhale her scent, flowers and sweetness, and I want it to inhale it all at once. She grabs my wrists, pinning them to the couch. “I’m in charge here,” she says, reminding me she always is. Dr. Harriman may have thought he was leading her on, but she was the one in control every step of the way. It’s the only reason I agreed to her dangerous plan. Her words to me at the time: I’ve dealt like men like Harriman all my life. Being a woman in America teaches you to grow up fast.

“ Now, tell me again all the things you want to do to me?” She’s deliciously adorable, a sexy, smart, confident wonder that sets my heart racing with thoughts I’ve rarely envisioned.

She releases my wrists, and I wrap my hands around her curvy hips. “First. Let’s take this to the bedroom…” I rise slowly from the couch, lifting her. She wraps her legs around me as I stand, and a stolen kiss is my reward. She nuzzles her head into my chest. “I can’t wait to…” My hospital pager beeps on the coffee table in front of us, and my feet halt.

I’m suspended. Not on duty. Not on the call list.

That’s strange.

I ignore it and carry Ivy toward the bedroom when the pager buzzes again. “One second.” I whisper an apology, and she unwraps her legs from around me, lowering her feet to the floor. I retrieve the pager and pause when I see the number. Angie.

No way Sarah has met with HR already and my suspension is being lifted. Which means something’s wrong.

I scan the room in search of my cell phone and realize I left it in the bedroom, right next to the lit candles I prepared for Ivy while I waited for her to arrive. I rush through the room, pushing open the door, Ivy right behind me.

“Is everything alright?” she calls out behind me.

I scoop up my phone, swipe, and press Call. “Will know in a second.” I toss the line over my shoulder as I wait for it to connect.

“Sorry for the page. I called your cell first.” Angie starts right in.

“It was in the other room. What’s going on?”

“Is Ivy with you?”

I nod, even though she can’t see me. “Yeah. What’s this about?” My mind races ahead. If she’s asking for Ivy, it might be about the exam I had Angie perform. I told Angie to be thorough. Did she find something worse than the flexor strain?

“Put me on speaker.” I wave to Ivy, who is staring at the candles, the champagne glasses on my dresser, and the bottle of white wine next to it. When she reads my face, the whimsical look falls from hers.

“You’re on speaker.”

“Ivy, this is Dr. Carmichael. You need to come back to the hospital. Griffin is suffering from internal bleeding, and he’s on his way into surgery. Chelsea is freaking out and could use a little hand holding.” Angie is direct to the point. She’s delivering the facts fast and direct.

Ivy only allows herself the briefest of seconds to process, her hands pressing to her heart before she’s ready to act. “I’m on my way.” She shifts to protector-of-others mode, and I get a glimpse of what she must’ve been like on the scene of the accident. Never allows herself to process her feelings. Focused on others. She marches next to the duffel bag containing her sweat suit. She begins stripping in front of me, not wanting to waste the precious seconds it might take to pop into the bathroom.

“I’ll drive you,” I volunteer.

“You can’t,” Angie shouts. “You’re suspended. You can’t come to the hospital.”

“I’d like to see them try to stop me,” I grit back disconnecting the call. I catch Ivy’s glance, a look of concern and appreciation.

“You don’t have…” I don’t let her complete the thought.

“Where you go, I go. You’re protective of your kids. And I’m protective of you. If you continue to argue with me, I’ll toss you over my shoulder caveman style.”

She shrugs and unzips the duffel bag. “Where’s my sweat suit?” she asks, and I point to the dresser drawers.

“I sent them out for laundry when you went to meet with Angie at the hospital.” She crosses the room and pulls open the drawers. She had been living out of bags in the hospital the last few days, rushing back to the hotel to grab things, quickly changing in strange bathrooms.

“That was like two hours ago.” I hear the awe in her voice, and I forget how privileged a life I lead.

“It’s not like I washed the clothes by the river using rocks. We have one-hour dry cleaning in the lobby.”

She tugs the sweatshirt from the top of the pile, looking at it as if it’s part of a magic act.

“I know we talked about getting your stuff from the hotel. You had a lot going on, and I had nothing but time. I checked you out of the hotel and brought your stuff here.”

She slips on the sweatshirt, drops to the edge of my bed, and puts on the sweatpants. I match her, moving with urgency, slipping out of my dress outfit into jeans and a hoodie.

I walk over to the bed just as she’s tying her sneaker. “Ready?”

She hops to her feet, wiping a tear from her eye.

“Griffin is in good hands.” I fall back on the hospital mantra, and she presses her head into my chest, squeezing me tight.

“I know,” she says, tipping up and placing a quick ghost kiss on my lips. “These are tears of joy. For what you did with my clothes. For making me feel welcome. Wanted.” Her lower lip quivers, and I know she wants to say more, but we are running out of time. “For you.” She hesitates, an internal battle, but her protective nature is already pulling her toward caring for her kids. I tug her by her hand toward the door when she drops my hand, turning to rush back into the bedroom.

Leaning over, she blows out the candles. Another subtle reminder of who she is, coolheaded in the middle of chaos. That’s usually my role and this is another reminder of how far off kilter I’ve become. It’s good to have someone looking out for me.

She rushes back to me, hands back in mine, a quick kiss on my lips. “To be continued. All of this.”