Bad Medicine (Wolf Love Book 4) Read online

  With shaky hands, I clean up and turn off the shower. Getting out is an exercise in control, since my legs are weakened by my orgasm. I towel off, wondering if I can talk her into meeting me when I eat during my shift. Would she think I’m desperate if I wanted to be with her so soon after our first kiss? But I am desperate. For her. Not in a weird, criminal way. Hopefully in a John Cusack, stereo-over-my-head way.

  I’ve thought about calling her hundreds of times. I did text. When I woke up, I wrote that I hoped the rest of her shift was good. That sounds casual, right? But the instant I sent it, I realized how it was too soon, how it might be too pushy. I don’t know. It might be too much because I already know what I feel for her is too much.

  She couldn’t possibly feel the same for me. She’s so…smart, intelligent, funny, sometimes silly but in such a good way, tough, stubborn, and a born fighter. I can tell she’s a good person in that she has that look that nothing she’s done she regrets to the point where it keeps her up at night. Or maybe she can hide that better than most. But more than likely, she’s just an amazing woman. And probably the kind of girl who has had few sexual interactions. Maybe with some long-term dick of an ex-boyfriend who still calls her and still wants her, and I’ll have to tear off his fucking head.

  Jesus Christ, has my imagination taken control of my thinking or what?

  I walk through my bedroom naked because living alone I can do that sort of thing. Plus, after that intense orgasm, my dick is bothered with anything touching it. Too bad, Bone Ranger, I internally tell my cock, and, yes, that’s what I call it. Bone Ranger needs underwear, preferably boxer briefs since I’ll be fantasizing about Asha today. For her, I might need to think of a better name for Bone Ranger. Something nice so as not to scare her. Steve. Is that a nice name? Seems like the kind of guy you can rely on, who won’t scare you. Someone who would do your taxes for you, you know?

  But glancing down, I know my soon-to-be Steve has scared many a woman. Well, intimidated. I’m not exactly small. When I was young, I thought that was cool as fuck. I’m still young at twenty-nine, but I’ve learned a lot since then. Like the fact that nice girls really are freaked out about big dicks. Sure, they might be up for the challenge, but they think I’m nothing serious. And throughout my life, I’ve never worried about that. Until Asha. I want her to think of me as reliable. Nice. Clean. Even though my fantasies about her are getting dirtier and dirtier. I want her to think we can date, get to know each other, and before she finds out I’m scum, maybe I can…I don’t know…make her fall in love with me.

  Holy fuck, I’m in so much trouble with this girl. Er, woman. Doctor. Jesus, she’s so extraordinary I can’t even describe her without sounding like an idiot.

  Bone Ranger and I have a talk about the boxer briefs, and after a few tense seconds he’s okay with clothes again. I’m pulling up my black scrub pants when someone knocks on my door. It’s six-ten. In the evening. Not exactly late, but I’m new here and haven’t had anyone just stop by before.

  I catch a glimpse of myself in the glass pane of a window as I walk to my door. I didn’t put a shirt on and my scar from when I tried to save six men from their blown-apart Humvee is still, two years later, massive and pink. It doesn’t help that my tattoos are like a before and after picture. Before: inked skin, where you can tell what the tattoo is or what it says. After: shiny new flesh, exhibiting garbled tats and healed suture marks because that’s what happens when you run into an IED that isn’t finished maiming your buddies.

  I look like I could join the Russian mafia. And I used to like my look. Now I wonder what the hell Asha sees in me. I’m too rough. I’m too scarred. I’m not good enough.

  I try to push those thoughts aside. Asha’s smart. She’ll figure that out soon enough. So, why not take the pretty little doctor on some dinner dates in the meantime? Kiss her a little. Or a lot. She’ll see what a shit I am and then dump me, and you know what? I’ll still be the better for it. Because I will have spent time with quite possibly the world’s best woman. So, yeah, it’ll suck when she dumps me, but worth it.

  Before I open the door, I think if it could be my landlord or a neighbor knocking. Shit, what if it’s my sister? She said she was thinking of moving here. I’ve been trying to talk her into Laramie since the second I landed in this cowboy city. I like the small-town vibe to it, like people still give a damn.

  It would be just like Zoe to surprise me by showing up on my doorstep to let me know she needs help unpacking. I smile, thinking of ruffling up her hair after I hug her to death, and open the door.

  “Asha.” My voice is dry. Rough. Almost breathless.

  God, I want to kiss her. I want her in my arms and almost reach out to do that, but I stop and look at her.

  She looks so tired, but also wired. There are dark half-moons under her huge and round brown eyes, but they’re sparkling. A lot. She’s biting her lip, looking worried. But when she sees my chest, my arms, her expression shifts to something else entirely. She blinks slowly, looking surprised and, if I can hope for as much, a little desire glimmering through her orbs.

  “Ryder, I—” She stops, tilting her head at my scars. “That looks like you had surgery.”

  God, I like her. Her medical mind is whirling with information about my body. She probably knows more about what happened to me than I do, just by looking at me.

  I grab her hand, something I really like doing, and pull her in. “Get in here. It’s cold.” Although it’s March and has been a little warmer than usual, or so the people tell me, it’s cool and damp this evening, and I thought it might have snowed while I’d been sleeping.

  As she’s entering my apartment, she shakes free from my hold on her but steps closer, her inspection of my scars not at all done. Fuck, I like her close. She’s wearing a black hoodie with a giant purple scarf wrapped around her a million times and her green scrubs. Her bun is even messier, and I want to take her glasses off and clean them for her.

  She gently places cold fingertips against my scar at the side of my ribs. “You were on a tube?” She’s talking about the fact that I had a chest tube in me after my lung collapsed.

  I nod, while she briefly glances up but then back at my side. I even try to move my arm a little out of her way, because I fucking love her this close. I love to smell her. I grew up in Indiana, not a lot special there. Except my grandmother lived close to a bee apiary. The owners loved their bees and goats and made this soap that smelled like clover honey—sweet yet still floral. That’s Asha. I want to sniff her, take in her scent, cradle her, and treat her like she’s a fragile rose bud. And then bite her. Fuck, it confuses me how I feel about her.

  “What happened?” she asks on a whisper.

  I tell her about stumbling into the Humvee, how the IED wasn’t done, how I don’t remember much after that. Her nimble fingers inspect all the former stitch sites.

  “I count at least forty sutures. No, there’s more.”

  “Doc said I had forty-six.”

  She winces. “Must have hurt. Badly.”

  I shrug. “I’m okay.”

  She looks up, studying me.

  The dark circles under her eyes make me worried for her. “You sleep at all during your shift?”

  She slowly nods. “I might have gotten a few hours in. Are you going back to work?”

  I nod, telling her about the schedule mix-up, then I say, “You need to sleep, baby.” Shit. I said it again. Baby. And this time, she notices. I know she does because her face alters, she’s even more curious about me, studying me harder.

  “Sleep? Never heard of it before.”

  I smile.

  “You’re probably wondering why I’m here.”

  I can’t believe it, but I was in such shock she was here, I hadn’t thought why. Fuck, is she going to dump me already? Not that we’re dating or anything. But if she is here to break off our non-dating relationship, maybe now would be a good time. I’m already too attached. I like her so much. And the more time a
round her, I’m sure, the more I’ll like her and think even stupider thoughts, like hoping she could fall for a schmuck like me.

  She looks around at my small apartment and Spartan-like furniture. Yeah, my place isn’t much, white walls and beige carpet and a couch with a few chairs, Neil’s beanbag for whenever he visits, a TV, and down the hallway is a guest room with almost nothing in it, and my bedroom with my big bed and my computers. I don’t do decorating, except there is an Army-issued blanket on the couch. It’s amazing people don’t ask me to decorate professionally, right?

  “I—ah. Well, I was thinking—”

  I don’t want her thinking. I want more time to…kiss her, get to know her, play out this fantasy of mine. Just a few days. Okay, I’ll settle for one.

  So I do something that’s pushy and probably foolish too. When she turns back to me, her big brown eyes seeming to search mine as she struggles to find the right words, I lower my head and kiss her. I’m rushing and not quite on target, but I find my way more squarely on her lips, where she’s instantly kissing me back.

  My heart speeds up, and I’m so happy she’s kissing me in return. Her full lips move in time with mine. Placing my hands on her waist, I push her as I walk through my sparse living room, down the hallway where I slide my tongue in her mouth, and find my bedroom. Her hands are on my shoulders, rubbing up and down from my deltoids to my neck. I think she might like my shoulders, and I’m glad I worked out before this. I’m breathing hard by the time I have her in my room, wondering what the fuck I’m doing.

  I lean away to kiss her neck, but her purple scarf is in my way. Instead, I find her ear, and lick the lobe then suck in the tiny piece of flesh, making her moan. Her hands flitter down to my pecs, almost making me gasp. God, I like her touch. Her cool hands against my molten skin.

  I straighten and glance down at her as she’s flattening her hands against me.

  She gives me a gorgeous, shy smile. “I—I was going to say I don’t know what I’m doing here. I just wanted to see you.”

  I moan and lean down for another kiss. “I’m glad you did.”

  “You are?” She’s kissing me between what we say to each other. It’s sweet and somehow erotic too. Maybe because I pushed her in my bedroom, it’s got me thinking about undressing her, about fulfilling my masturbation fantasies.

  But it’s too soon. Too fast. I want to take my time with Asha. I want to savor every moment before she gets rid of me.

  I nod and find an end to her scarf and start unwinding the thing. “I’m real glad.”

  “Me too.” Her voice is feather soft and going straight to my cock. I kind of hate it when it used to be my favorite appendage. But it’s getting in the way. I want to get to know Asha. It wants to be inside her, and I seriously doubt she’ll let me push things that far. Although, she is in my bedroom.

  God, what am I doing?

  I finally have her scarf off her little neck and try to fold it carefully and place it on one of my bureaus. Looking down at her, I want to kiss her until she begs me to take off her clothes. I want her sweating and delirious from lust. I want her to arch her back and murmur how she wants me inside her.

  Yeah, Bone Ranger is roaring in my head.

  But for once, I’m not going to let him take the lead.

  I like Asha. A lot. I respect the hell out of her.

  I’m going to do things differently.

  I pick her up, and her breath hitches. She giggles while she wraps an arm around my neck.

  “What are we doing?” She’s breathless and, fuck, if her voice isn’t egging Bone Ranger, er, Steve, to not be the stand-up guy I know we can be.

  After placing her on my bed, sitting up, I genuflect before her, because, fuck yeah, I admire her so much I’m reverent. She’s this beautiful little star in my bedroom, and I’m not going to fuck up by being a handsy octopus who dry humps her to succumb to whatever the hell Bone Ranger wants to do.

  As I take off one of her athletic shoes, I say, “You’re going to sleep, Asha.”

  “I am?” She sounds disappointed and so is Steve. He’s not such a good guy after all.

  “Yeah.” I take off her other shoe and stand, guiding her under my covers after she’s taken off her giant hoodie.

  I would call in sick if I thought I could fuck her. I would lose my job to be inside this gorgeous woman. I’d do whatever it took. But for once I’m going to be the good guy, the kind of man she deserves.

  “My hair,” she says as she sits up a little and starts taking bobby pins out. Her voice gives her away. She’s bone tired. The kind of tired where if I had kissed her and pushed her into my bed with me on top of her, she’d want to go to sleep. She’s exhausted and rightfully so. She’s worked so hard. And she needs sleep.

  I take each of the pins and place them on my nightstand, right beside the clock. It takes a couple minutes, but she has her hair free from its confines and is wild and black and looks like a beautiful storm I want to tangle my hands into, nuzzle my nose against to smell her. Her floral-honey scent is stronger with her hair loose and crazy all over my sheets and pillow as she settles back down under my covers.

  “Your pillow smells like you,” she says dreamily and with a big smile as she places her glasses close to the bobby pins.

  Something happens to my heart when she says that, as if she’s happy my pillow smells like me. My heart hurts but feels good. It’s kind of like when Neil was born, how happy I was and how I ached for that little guy.

  “Your bed is huge. I suppose you need it this big. You’re a big dude.”

  I silently chuckle. “A big dude?”

  Her lids are blinking a lot. She’s fighting her exhaustion, but she does glance at me, a drunk smile in place. “Yeah. How tall are you?”

  “Six-four.”

  “I’m five-four. You’re exactly a foot taller than me. How much do you weigh?”

  “Two-thirty-five.”

  “You know I’m not ever going to tell you how much I weigh.” She laughs.

  “You’re the perfect weight, I’m sure.”

  Her lids had been closed but they flicker open, her smile softens even more. “I didn’t think you’d be so sweet.”

  I wince. “I’m not sweet.”

  “You are to me.” She snuggles under my covers.

  “Nah.”

  She giggles as her lids close again.

  “I’m getting you some water.”

  “Ryder?” Her eyes open and she reaches out for my hand, which is always there for her, holding her. “How long is your shift?”

  “Twelve hours.”

  “I might wake up before it’s over. I don’t sleep for very long. I’m, what they call, a troubled sleeper.” She rolls her eyes like she’s bothered by this term.

  “Stay as long as you like, whether you’re awake or asleep.”

  “You’d let me stay at your place? When you’re at work? What if I sneak around and snoop through your things?”

  I shrug. “You’re welcome to. I don’t have much to snoop through, though.”

  “You’re an open book?”

  I’m falling for you, pretty little doctor, but I’ll never tell you that. I’ve never fallen before, and I’ll never tell you that, either. I’m scared when this is over, when you wise up and see me for who I am, the poor kid who used to be a thief, the man who doesn’t have a savings account, the man who isn’t good enough for you, I’ll be hurting. I’ll be hurting bad. But I’ll never let you see that or know it. Because no matter how hard I fall, no matter what happens between us, I want this. I want you. I want you to sleep in my bed. And I want you to sleep beside me, although that might never happen. But I want you, just a sliver of you, in my life right now, no matter how much I’ll be hurting later, because I know you make me feel good when I worried no one ever would. You make me a better man, a better person.

  “Yeah,” I finally answer, my voice a growl. “An open book.”

  She smiles yet again, her lids shuttering close
d. “I’m sorry I’m so sleepy.”

  “You need sleep, Asha. Don’t feel sorry about that.”

  She sighs. “Don’t tell me what to do or feel.”

  “Okay, feisty one.”

  She smiles with her eyes closed. “Could you please leave the hall light on and the door open?”

  “Sure. I’m getting you that water now.”

  “Ryder?” She squeezes my hand, but this time her eyes stay closed. “Thanks for letting me sleep in your big bed.”

  “Anytime.”

  She snuggles in even more, removing her hand from mine. Like a creep, I watch her as she nestles into my bedding and sleep starts taking over. Fuck, if she isn’t the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen. Sure, some idiots out there would disagree with me. But she’s not just beautiful with her delicate features and her wide eyes and pouty pink lips, but more than that, she’s brilliant and kind. She’s the sweet one.

  I manage to leave my bedroom, feeling like something tangible is yanking me back to her. Filling a glass with tap water, I wish I had bottled. I wish I was the kind of guy who buys bottled water and stores it in my fridge. But I’m not. I wish I had more to pamper her with.

  While working tonight, I’ll think of ways to pamper her. I’ll think of—I suppose this is wooing like the old days. When a man gets creative to win the attention of a beautiful damsel. I’m not one for creativity, but my sister is. I can call her and I know she’ll scream with excitement at the prospect of helping me think of ways to woo Asha for as long as possible. Yeah, that’s a good plan. Thank god I have an amazing sister. I hope she moves here. I hate thinking of her living in one of the little towns in the San Bernardino Valley. I can’t even remember what the name of her town is called, since she moves so often, trying to find cheaper and cheaper rent. Yucaipa? Something like that.

  She’s writing for a blog, which doesn’t make very much money, and I wish life wasn’t so tough for her. Here, the cost of living is considerably less. And she can still do her blog stuff. I can find out what exactly she’s writing, since she’s always been a little mysterious about it. I can keep an eye on her and Neil, and they can meet Asha, and…