The Good Doctor (12 page)

“Me?”

“He feels you're his doctor, too. And he's right about that. He came to you first. I think your moral support means a lot to him.”

She chewed on her lower lip for a moment. “I guess we'll have to stay overnight. We can stay at my place. I wonder if Ryan will tell my parents about his condition this trip or wait until he's in the program.”

“He wants to see if he's accepted into the program and what the treatment entails. Like I said, he's not one hundred percent sold. Apparently he has a friend in New York, and he's thinking about staying with him overnight.”

“Do you think he'll confide in his friend?”

“I don't know.”

“I want to call him, but I'm afraid he won't be able to talk.
I guess I'll just have to wait until he calls me. Thanks for stopping to tell me.” She suddenly realized she must look a mess. There were paint splatters on her jeans and on her blouse. She might even have some on her face from painting the top of the doorway.

Peter was looking at her lips as if a dab of paint might have found its way there.

When Charlene returned to the room, she was frowning. “I can't believe the bureaucracy when I'm just trying to help kids in need.” Her cheeks were pink and she looked agitated.

“A problem?” Peter asked.

“Nothing that can't be solved, though we might not be able to open on time. I have to fill out more papers, get more approvals.” She shook her head. “All I want to do is take care of these teenagers who have no place to go and no one to turn to.”

“Why do you care so much about this?” Peter asked, looking as if he were truly interested in the answer.

After a very long look at Violet and a deep breath, Charlene turned to her stepson.

“Maybe I should leave,” Violet murmured.

“No. Stay. You know what I'm going to say, and why this is important to me.”

Peter's eyebrows arched, as if he wondered why Violet would know and he didn't.

“When I was sixteen,” Charlene said in a low voice, “I was an unwed mother and gave up my baby for adoption.”

To Peter's credit, if he was shocked by the news, he kept it well hidden. “What did you have?” he asked kindly. “A boy or a girl?”

“I had a girl. Last year we found each other through the Internet. I was going to tell you and your sisters about it soon.”

“Stacey and Linda don't know?”

“No. No one knows but your father. And Violet. We were just talking and it came out.”

“But in the past year, it didn't come out to Stacey or Linda or me?”

At that moment, Charlene looked incredibly vulnerable as she said, “I didn't know what you'd think about me after I told you.”

“You were sixteen. I imagine you didn't have much of a choice.”

Tears glistened in her eyes now. “No, I didn't.”

Quickly checking her watch, Charlene removed her smock and folded it over her arm. “I'm going to go home for a bit, get something to eat with your dad, then try to convince him to come back here with me later.” She looked at the doorway Violet had finished. “You did a great job. Just wash out your brush and put it in that bucket in the kitchen after you're through. When you leave, turn the lock on the door and close it. Give me a call sometime, and we'll have lunch together, okay?”

Violet could see that Charlene was embarrassed by what she'd told Peter, that she needed to leave to get her bearings. Now that she'd told
him,
she'd probably want to tell Stacey and Linda, too.

“Sure. I'll give you a call. This is going to be a great place, Charlene. You'll do a lot of good here.”

With a small smile and a wave, Charlene picked up her purse in the kitchen and then left.

“I'm going to wash out my brush,” Violet said and went into the kitchen.

There was an oak table with four plank-bottom chairs. Peter came in after her, pulled one out and sat down. He seemed to be lost in thought as she washed out her brush, then went back to the living room, covered her can of paint and set it aside.

Peter was still in the kitchen looking thoughtful when she'd finished. “I've never tried to get to know Charlene,” he
said without preamble. “No wonder she didn't tell me she had a child.”

Hearing the regret in his voice, Violet pulled out a chair and sat beside him. “You can still get to know her.”

“It might be too late to mend fences. All these years I think I felt, subconsciously, if I made a connection to her, I was being disloyal to my mother's memory.”

“You felt you had to preserve it because your dad didn't.”

His gaze was sad when it met hers. “I suppose that's true.”

“I don't think it's ever too late to mend fences, especially if that's what you both want. And I don't think Charlene has held any grudges.”

“That in itself is amazing.”

“You can't make someone love you if he or she doesn't want to love you. The only thing you can do is let go and wait.”

His gaze fell on her and lingered. “How did you get so smart?”

“A long time ago I went looking for love and thought I'd found it. I hadn't. Now I think I can spot the genuine emotion.”

“Long ago. Was that one man in particular?”

If she told Peter about her past, would he think less of her? Or would it tighten their bond? They
did
have one, whether they wanted it or not. “It was a boy, not a man,” she confided quietly.

“What happened?” In his eyes there was a real need to know, and she realized she couldn't keep anything from him. “I told you I was lonely as a teenager.”

“All that testosterone in the house,” he suggested with a small smile.

“That was definitely part of it.”

“And your parents were involved in their own lives.”

“You know how it is when you're a teenager. You don't want to need them or depend on them, and you give them that impression. Yet, deep down, you really do.”

When he nodded, she realized he did know. After all, he'd lost a parent, and the other one had moved on before Peter was ready. “I was only fifteen. But I thought I was old enough for anything I wanted to do. Then a football player asked me out. It developed into a lot more than a soda and a hamburger. A few weeks later when I missed a period, I knew how stupid I'd been.” She watched Peter's expression for his reaction.

“Or been taken advantage of,” he muttered. His green eyes were piercingly intent as he waited for her story.

“It was my own fault. My mother had given me The Talk. I don't know if I was rebelling, or just wanted someone of my own so badly I didn't care. I still kept everything to myself. I thought if I hid my condition for long enough, no one could do anything about it. I don't know what I thought I was going to do with a baby, but I did want it. I was in my third month when I collapsed one weekend. My mother found me and rushed me to the hospital.”

Taking a breath, she searched Peter's face. There was no judgment there—just compassion. “I had an ectopic pregnancy and it ruptured. After surgery I found out how much my mom and dad and my brothers really did love me. They helped me through it. My mom and I had long talks about important things. I decided I wanted to accelerate my education so I could get through high school quicker, and she found me a tutor.” Violet smiled. “Then she came home with career counseling questionnaires and I made up my mind I wanted to be a doctor.”

“I see why you can understand how much Charlene wants to help teenagers in crises.”

With Peter sitting so close, Violet could smell his cologne and see lines of fatigue around his eyes. She could feel his curiosity about her life, and what she'd become. She could also feel the hum of sexual tension that always seemed to surround them and made her nerve endings tingle.

After a long pause, Peter asked, “What would you have done if you'd have gotten pregnant in med school?”

During the time she'd known Peter, she realized he didn't ask idle questions. “I would have kept the baby. I could never give up a child.” There were shadows in Peter's eyes that came from doubts. “Do you believe me?”

Leaning away from her, as if their magnetic pull toward each other was too potent and he'd kiss her if he didn't, he frowned. “You're a Fortune. You could have hired a nanny. You could have gone on with your life either way.”

“I
never
would have hired a nanny. My brothers and I had a nanny until I was about ten, and I hated it.”

“You said you were thinking about adopting Celeste. If you do that, would you hire someone to take care of her?”

Peter was fishing, giving her some type of pop quiz, and she didn't know if she was passing the test. Resenting his questions now, she answered, “I'm not sure. I would probably hire a housekeeper to help.”

“Celeste will need one-on-one care for a while. A housekeeper won't be a solution to that.”

“I don't have all the answers yet, Peter.”

“You're going to have to have answers before you make a decision about Celeste.”

Suddenly he stood, took her hand and tugged her up. “Do you have plans for tonight?”

“No,” she responded flatly, bothered by his questions.

“Then come home with me. I want to show you something.”

Come home with me.

She liked the sound of that. She liked the
idea
of it even more. If she went home with Peter tonight…

She'd handle one emotion at a time and hope her heart was leading her in the right direction.

A
fter Violet followed Peter home in her car, he put on a pot of coffee and motioned her to the sofa in the great room. She was curious about what he wanted to show her. More than that, she admitted to herself, she loved being with him.

Loved being with him?

All right. She was falling in love with him.

Crossing to the cupboard in the entertainment center, he crouched down and pulled out two photo albums. When he returned to where Violet was sitting, he lowered himself beside her and placed them on her lap. “Take a look at these,” he said, his face very serious.

As soon as she began paging through them, she recognized Peter and his two sisters. In the first ones, he looked to be about five, Linda and Stacey merely toddlers. With them, she noticed the same kind-expressioned woman whom she'd seen in the pictures in his curio cabinet the first night she'd been
here with Ryan. His father must have been taking the pictures because he was only in a few of them. As she watched Peter and Stacey and Linda grow before her eyes, she remembered her own childhood with her brothers.

After Peter turned around eight, there were other children in the photos on and off. Although the core family stayed the same, other kids came and went. There were at least six different ones.

“Are these the foster children your mother and dad took in?”

“Some of them.” He pointed to each one and named them. “They live all over the U.S. and the world now. My mom cared for each one of them as if they were her own, no matter how long they stayed with us. Some were here a month, some over a year. She never worked outside the home, but her work was so important. These kids could have ended up on the streets or in abusive situations. No matter how tight money was, somehow she always stretched it.”

Violet heard the subtle message he was giving her—he wanted to marry a woman whose only concern was her family. She didn't feel he was being chauvinistic about it, simply that that was what was right for him. But she didn't know if he was being realistic.

“Taking care of children is important, but work and careers matter, too, Peter. If a woman is talented and educated in some area, should she give that up to have a family?”

Raking his hand through his hair, he studied her for a long time. “I don't know. I just know the kind of hours I work and the amount of love and care and attention children need. Even if I never get married, when I retire, I want to take in foster kids.”

His green eyes seemed to be asking her a deep, important question.

“That's a wonderful idea. So many kids need a good home. Because of the surgery I had with the ectopic pregnancy, I
could have trouble conceiving.” As she watched his expression she went on, “I guess that's another reason I'm considering adopting Celeste and why when I'm ready to have a family, I would consider adopting more kids.”

“Having children of my own isn't a big deal,” he admitted in a husky tone.

Violet hadn't realized she was holding her breath, waiting for his response. Now, as his hands slid under her hair and his thumb caressed her cheek, she felt as if she could melt right there on the sofa. So much was right between her and Peter. Yet she wasn't sure she was the type of woman he wanted or needed.

“I can't seem to stay away from you.” He didn't sound at all happy about that.

Suddenly, everything about Peter tempted her unbearably. After they'd come in, he'd removed his suit coat and tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt. She could see a whorl of chest hair, and her fingers tingled to feel his skin under it.

“When you look at me like that, Violet, you're asking to be kissed.”

“When you look at me like that,” she returned, “I want you to kiss me.”

His low groan when he covered her mouth with his told her he'd lost his battle of resisting the chemistry between them. The hunger in his kiss told her he was embracing it wholeheartedly. Yet as his tongue teased her lips open, as he pushed inside and took her, she knew this encounter was about a lot more than chemistry and attraction. Neither of them wanted a shallow fling. She guessed neither of them was
capable
of a shallow fling. Everything about Peter's desire for her and her response to it was serious. However, the seriousness didn't erase questions and elusive answers.

Along with the intimate motion of Peter's tongue, he touched her…touched her in ways she'd never been touched before. Not intimately at first, but infinitely tender. While his tongue awakened every erotic desire she could imagine, his hands stroked her hair. After a few exquisite seconds, Peter's large hands slid to her shoulders, then to the buttons on her blouse. When he began unfastening them, she found herself pulling his shirt from his trousers.

Tearing his mouth from hers, he stared into her eyes. “I want you, Violet. I want you more than I ever thought possible.”

She wanted him, too. Permanently. Absolutely. Irrevocably. Her mouth was dry, her throat clogged, and she couldn't seem to find any words. Passion had never taken hold of her this forcefully and overwhelmingly before. In fact, she realized now, she'd never known true passion before. Not like this.

Reaching for the placket of his shirt, she unbuttoned the buttons quickly. He finished hers. As she shrugged out of her blouse, he shrugged out of his shirt. They couldn't take their eyes from each other.

With excruciating slowness, he traced the cup of her bra and she shivered. “I've imagined you naked,” he said in a ragged voice.

Reaching out, she flattened her palms on his chest, then ran her thumbs over his nipples. “I've touched you naked in my dreams.”

Then she slid her hand down the middle of his chest, and he closed his eyes. Boldly she reached for his belt buckle and unfastened it.

But when her hand went to his fly, he covered it with his. “You'd better let me do that.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to give you pleasure before I'm beyond my limits.”

The idea of Peter beyond his limits excited her and aroused her even more fully. As his arms went around her to unfasten her bra, he kissed her cheek and teased her ear with his lips.

“Peter,” she moaned.

“What?” Her bra unfastened now, he slipped the straps from her shoulders and cupped her breasts in his palms.

“You're making me…crazy,” she said on a ragged breath.

“You've been doing that to me since the first moment I met you. Let's get the rest of your clothes off.”

He did that and shucked his, too. Then they were in each other's arms again.

Peter's scent was pure male. His muscles were so taut and well-defined, his desire for her hot and heavy and enveloping. Within moments he had her lying on her back on the sofa. He fished in his pants pockets for his wallet, prepared himself with a condom and stretched on top of her. But he didn't hurry to join them. He was prolonging their pleasure until they were
both
at their limit.

As he kissed her breasts, his tongue laving her nipples, she could feel the connection in her womb. Her skin glistened as he kissed lower, and she became more restless, knowing she needed more, not wanting his kisses to end, but searching for the fulfillment only he could provide.

“Peter, I'm ready.”

“I'm going to make sure,” came his deep growl.

Moving still lower, his tongue teased her stomach, and her hands laced in his short, thick hair. She wanted him in her arms. She wanted to feel his body tight against hers. But she couldn't stop him now. He was giving her so much pleasure she almost couldn't stand it.

When he reached her navel, his tongue flicked around it until she murmured his name. He looked up at her and grinned at her, asking, “More?”

“I don't know if I can handle much more,” she answered shakily.

“Oh, I think you can handle a lot more.”

The promise in his voice scared her. What if she didn't respond to him? What if nothing he did brought her to climax? “Peter, it doesn't matter. I mean, if nothing happens, it's not your fault. I'm just not very responsive.”

“Hogwash.”

“Hogwash?” She almost smiled at him.

“I would have used something stronger but it didn't seem appropriate right now. You're a passionate woman, Violet. Your kisses have been the closest thing I've ever felt to a cyclone hitting me. So I'm not going to believe that you have a problem responding.”

“I just wanted you to know—”

“Oh, I know. I know you're going to enjoy this.” Then his tongue and his lips went lower still.

When he caressed her thighs, she felt wild and wanton. As he kissed above the nest of her hair, then with infinite slowness separated the petals of her womanhood and kissed there, too, she could hardly catch her breath. She could hardly remember her name.

And she'd been afraid she wouldn't respond to him?

Peter's mouth was hot and wet. In a few moments she was reaching for his shoulders, gasping in pleasure, amazed by the wondrously erotic sensations coursing through her. So this was an orgasm. This was what rocketing to the moon felt like. This was what loving a man and accepting pleasure from him was all about.

He didn't give her time to savor the tingles. He didn't give her time to think about what came next. Instead, he rose above her, propping a forearm on either side of her, his body long and lean and glistening.

“Lift your knees,” he suggested.

As she did, he entered her. It was a long, smooth thrust that had her wrapping her legs around him. They were joined in the most intimate way a man and woman could be joined. She felt the lingering tingles building into another explosion as he slowly withdrew then drove into her again, faster and deeper. He knew exactly what he was doing because each time he withdrew, each time he united with her again, he pushed her higher and higher into erotic sensation that made stars dance in front of her eyes.

Her nails dug into his shoulders. “Peter, it's so wonderful.”

“Yes, it is,” he agreed, and then kissed her—a full, open-mouthed kiss that was greedy and masterful and thoroughly intoxicating.

She held on to him as he took her on a journey with him—a journey through a dark universe. As he shifted, she cried out because the pleasure was so erotic. Then she called his name again as an incredible climax began to build, stronger, higher, more encompassing than the first. It swept over her and shook her until a thousand stars burst in front of her eyes. Poised on the edge of the sublime, then toppling over that edge, she called Peter's name. His body went taut, and she felt his control finally crumble as he thrust into her and shuddered over and over again.

He lay on top of her until they were both breathing more normally, then he shifted his legs to the floor and sat on the edge of the sofa, catching his breath. She sat up, suddenly realizing exactly what they'd done.

Turning toward her, his hand covering hers, he intertwined their fingers.

Before either of them could speak, a Samba melody came from Violet's purse that was sitting on the coffee table—her cell phone.

“I'd better get that. It could be Ryan or my parents.”

Peter didn't argue the point, and she wondered if he was glad for some time to think about what had just happened. He motioned to the bathroom and disappeared down the hall.

When she opened her phone and answered with a shaky hello, Miles asked, “Where are you?”

“It's nice to hear from you, too, bro.”

She heard Miles's weary sigh. “We were worried. We've been waiting for you to come back.”

“We?”

“Jessica, Clyde and me. We need to discuss something with you.”

“What? It can't wait till morning?”

“You won't be back until morning?”

Glancing down the hall, she responded, “I didn't say that.” She didn't know how Peter was feeling right now, exactly what making love had meant to him. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

“A barbecue. Clyde and Jessica want to give one and invite everybody they care about. They got the idea when Dad called. He and Mom are flying in tomorrow for a visit before they go on vacation in New Orleans.”

“How long are they staying?”

“Just two or three days. Dad wants to talk to Ryan and I think Mom just wants to welcome Jessica into the family again. So we're making plans for a barbecue tomorrow night. Will you be free?”

“I'll make sure I'm free. We can talk about it at breakfast.”

“At 6:00 a.m.?” Miles was an early riser.

Violet groaned. “I'll be there. Does it have to be six?”

He chuckled. “It has to be six. It's the only way I can get everything in I have to do. Ranches don't run themselves.” His voice turned sober again. “So you'll be home soon?”

Peter had returned to the room and now pulled on his trousers.

“Yes, soon. Go to bed, Miles. I don't need a keeper.”

After a grunt from her brother, and an “I'll see you at breakfast,” he hung up.

Now, feeling self-conscious about her nakedness, Violet closed her phone and dropped it once more into her purse.

“The brother brigade looking for you?” Peter asked, still shirtless and abominably sexy.

“You could say that. Sometimes I feel as if they want me to give them an itinerary before I go anywhere, do anything or see anyone.”

“They probably do.”

Quickly she slipped into her bra and fastened it, then added her blouse. The silence between her and Peter filled the room.

“You're thinking about what that meant, aren't you?” Peter asked as she drew up her panties and stepped into her jeans.

“Aren't you?”

“It's probably better if we don't dissect it.”

“Maybe if we dissect it, we won't repeat it.”

Taking her by the shoulders, Peter studied her for a few long moments, then slid his hands into her hair, brought her face close to his and murmured, “Once wasn't nearly enough.”