Healing Touch: Play Doctor, Book 2 Read online

  Lately his house echoed, reminding him of his loneliness as he paced during sleepless nights. He’d thought those would vanish once he’d reached some of his goals. But now that he’d hit both career and financial milestones, the nest egg he’d amassed rotted in his bank account with no hope of being used for something worthwhile like a vacation house for two or retirement plans or a fancy wedding or a kid’s college education fund. Without someone to share his successes with, they seemed sort of…pointless.

  Shaking himself from the gloomy thoughts, he focused on the scrap he’d torn from his notepad. What could he possibly need for his stir-fry that would start with a z?

  Zucchini!

  He nabbed a decent bottle of St-Emilion Bordeaux from the wine section on his way to the produce display at the front of the store. Didn’t it figure? A heart-shaped ass was presented to him as the woman he’d inadvertently trapped bent over to rummage through a crate of onions on the cracked linoleum.

  If he hadn’t loved this place on entering, he did now.

  Luke couldn’t say he’d ever shopped here before. The emphasis was certainly more on the product than the displays, something he found refreshing after the overly bright fluorescents of his usual megamart.

  He might have to start frequenting the place, which touted the freshest vegetables at lowest prices. After passing it a million times before—since it was on the street between Kurt’s office and his house—he’d decided to alter his routine, hoping to change his broader course. Something had to give. Soon.

  The damned adorable clientele here had lifted his spirits already. He didn’t claim to be a perfect man. Or even a decent one. No, he slowed down to relish the view as long as possible as he approached.

  As if she sensed his gaze, she made her selection then peeked over her shoulder. Maybe she always checked her back.

  Something about the momentary flicker of fear in her wide, brown eyes tugged at him. He considered saying hello, starting a conversation, yet he guessed she’d bolt the instant a stranger approached. Especially a man who looked as hungry as he must.

  Who’d hurt her? he wondered.

  She nibbled on her glossy lower lip—a natural, pale pink.

  Luke offered her a gentle smile. She ducked her head and zigzagged around a low-hanging, cheesy cardboard archway that had seen better days. The path took her the long way to the lettuce. He shook his head and resisted the urge to give chase.

  At least four different types of zucchinis were nestled at the very end of the row of pallets. The store had clearly run out of space and stuck them in the narrow lane. The awkward configuration left him surrounded by vegetables on three sides while he dug through the offering as if he could tell by osmosis which he should add to his selections. It was such tight quarters he’d had to abandon his cart at the opening, winding through the admittedly colorful and fragrant vegetables to reach the bins.

  “How the hell do you tell which one to pick?” he muttered to himself.

  Or so he thought.

  “The freshest ones still have a moist end on the stem. The skin should be a little prickly but shiny.” The woman he’d refused to stalk, despite the directive from his crotch, offered assistance in a melodious voice that made him think of candlelight and fancy silverware, instead of the basic white plates he’d eat off tonight.

  She didn’t enter the narrow section, waiting on the wide swath of linoleum outside its boundaries while he floundered. Probably she just wanted him to get the hell out of her way again.

  “Ah, thanks.” He smiled at her, using her criteria to select what he thought was a prime specimen. “What about this one?”

  She shook her head. “Almost, but no. It’s too big. The ones that are about six inches long or less have better flavor. Don’t take one that’s too fat either.”

  Luke almost swallowed his tongue. At least choking kept his crass remarks from rushing out before his better sense could filter them.

  How old are you? Ten?

  “Better?” He exchanged the vegetable for one that conformed to all of her rules.

  This time she beamed at him, and the expression transformed her from appealing to exquisite. “Perfect. Would you mind handing me one too?”

  He focused on discovering the ideal zucchini for her, shifting several layers until an exemplary summer squash appeared. Something about her encouraged him to apply himself for the first time in a while.

  Who would have thought?

  “Here. This one.” He held the best out to her. Not a single mark marred its skin, flawless like hers.

  She blanched and froze.

  “What? It’s not good?” He tipped his head.

  “It’s great. Sorry, I just—can’t go in there.” She waved her hand between the enormous boxes of produce.

  “Ah, no worries.” He didn’t pry. He’d never met someone who was lachanophobic but he knew rare and unusual things existed in this fucked-up world. Maybe she was afraid of one of the other vegetables or the creepy crawly things that could easily be hiding in the cracks after stowing away on the organic haul. More likely, of being too close to a man, especially one as tall as he was. He tried to slouch, making himself as unimposing as possible.

  “Here you go.” He slipped the zucchini into a plastic bag and handed it to her at arm’s length.

  “Thank you.” She shot him a sad smile laced with something that looked like regret then bolted while he wrapped up his find the same way.

  “You’re welcome,” he murmured to her retreating back. If she’d stuck around a moment or two longer, he might have asked her to share the meal he was about to prepare. Then maybe he’d have had a reason to really try to get the recipe right.

  Crossing the last thing off his list, he wandered toward the checkout lines. Only two were open. Of course, he slid behind the skittish woman, who had her eyes glued to the green numbers flashing prices as the cashier rang her up.

  Her slender shoulders tensed when he encroached on her territory. So he pretended to read trashy stories from tabloids housed at the back of the queue space. Not that he gave a shit about Tom Cruise’s supposed two-headed alien baby.

  She relaxed visibly when he shuffled far enough away to guarantee her unhindered exit route. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her take a few bills from her wallet, along with an impressive bunch of coupons and a loyalty savings card.

  “Would you like to add five dollars for the Elembreth Women’s Shelter?” the cashier asked by rote.

  “What will the total be with the donation?” The woman riffled through her purse for another single and some change.

  “Twenty-six dollars and forty-three cents.”

  She paused, eyeing her purchases. A small sigh passed her lips as she plucked a bag of mini candy bars from the assortment, leaving only essentials behind. “Would you mind restocking these for me?”

  “No problem. Not many people say yes. But I’ve heard that place is good. The owner here…she says she owes them everything.”

  “I believe it.” The woman glanced over at Luke as if afraid he might be annoyed by her brief delay. “How about now?”

  His heart melted when she handed over all her cash to cover the bill, getting only a few coins in return.

  Wanting to say something, he couldn’t find the words.

  A part of him roared for him to reach out. To stop her from leaving. Ask her on a date, though he could tell she wasn’t really available, regardless of whatever her relationship status might be.

  She packed and collected her reusable canvas totes then left the store, with him still staring after her. When she stopped on the corner outside, waiting for the light to change, the cashier cleared her throat.

  “Plastic bags okay for you, sir?”

  “Yeah, that’s fine.” He acted before he could think better of it, snatching the candy off the shelf and passing it over the scanner, which beeped brightly as it registered the bar code on the treat. “Go ahead and ring up the rest of this stuff. I’l
l be right back.”

  Luke dashed out the door.

  The zucchini expert, on constant alert, must have sensed him nearing. She flinched at his hasty approach.

  He stopped short, closing the gap one step at a time, the bag of chocolate replacing boring zucchini in his outstretched hand.

  “For your help.” He willed her to take it.

  She bit her lip, hesitated, then shrugged a loop of material off her shoulder, opening one of her bags.

  After tucking the candy inside, Luke backpedaled slowly. He didn’t take his warm gaze from hers. “Thanks.”

  That dazzling smile made a reappearance a moment before the light changed and she trotted across the street as if her burdens weighed nothing. Three or four times, she whipped her stare over her shoulder as if verifying he didn’t intend to tail her.

  He wondered if she shopped at VegVana often as he resumed his place in line, ignoring the dirty look from the guy behind him. He could learn to love this food group if necessary.

  “That was really sweet.” The cashier fluttered her lashes at him. All he saw was the memory of soft brown eyes and a riot of long, wavy hair.

  “Yes, she was,” he sighed.

  “Damn. Two nice people in a row. That’s gotta be a record.” The woman pouted when he didn’t respond to her flirtations. “Have a nice day.”

  “You too. And I think I just did.”

  He slotted his purchases into the saddlebags of his motorcycle, whistling.

  It’d been a long damn time since he’d felt like this. A bag of candy was a small price to pay for hope.

  Maybe cooking would become his new favorite pastime after all.

  Chapter Three

  Brielle Norris hated the trembles zipping along her legs from hips to toes. Pretty soon her knees would knock together beneath the airy bohemian skirt she’d opted for this afternoon. Ridiculous. It was as if she strolled through the Arctic instead of the blazing summer heat she’d endured on the bus ride across town. Three parkas wouldn’t have kept her from shivering.

  Just thinking about spilling her guts to a stranger had her doing an about-face, spinning on her heel in the marble foyer of the high-rise building she’d been referred to by the operator of the university’s anonymous health services hotline. She couldn’t believe she’d actually found the guts to call the toll-free number. Or for that matter, that she’d tucked the business card with the info into the pocket of her clean, secondhand black slacks a day earlier. She’d found it in a Plexiglas holder beside the sink in the bathroom of her new office.

  Hell, it’d taken her almost seven weeks of working in Elembreth University’s Science Department—and more than a dozen failed attempts—to find the nerve to shut herself in the tiny, no-stall deathtrap at all. But she’d done it. And the literature boasting free mental health support had seemed like a sign.

  She couldn’t live impaired forever. At least, she didn’t want to.

  Coworkers were starting to wonder. She slipped out to the fast-food joint across the street multiple times a day. They couldn’t know she didn’t have a real addiction to trans fats so much as she had to use their large, bright facilities. Returning with something off the dollar menu justified her trip, and eased her guilt for using the restrooms, without denting her tight budget.

  Brielle couldn’t afford to lose her job as a student services coordinator, even if the title was a fancy way to describe something that felt like a glorified gofer.

  Brielle was fairly sure she’d only gotten the position because they were desperate. Two women had gone on maternity leave. At the same time, a guy had quit to run away with his boyfriend to some remote South Pacific island, where they intended to live the good life as pool boys at a glamorous resort. She wished she were that bold.

  With no experience and no qualifications to recommend her, it seemed like she’d fallen into the right place at the right time. Maybe Fate had decided to give her a break. Brielle worked hard and learned fast, no matter how trivial the tasks they assigned her, but she knew only too well that sometimes her quirks were more than normal people could comprehend or tolerate.

  Sometimes putting up with her weirdness was too much to ask.

  Like it had been for Brad.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she gripped the handrail on the inside of a tiny wedge of the revolving door. It spun around on the boundary of the building she had intended to flee from. Quitting was not an option. Not if she hoped to change her future. She committed herself to going all the way around instead of taking the easy way out by collapsing on the sidewalk, no closer to ending the horrible ride filled with fear her life had become. She clung to the shiny bar until she escaped…right back inside the lobby of the tower of terror.

  Why the hell couldn’t they have a regular, old-fashioned door?

  Enough running. Enough sacrifice.

  She needed help to stop the cycle of pain she’d allowed to dominate her universe for far too long. Playing the victim had never suited her.

  When she popped into the pristine, air-conditioned heaven—or hell—for the second time in less than a minute, the receptionist, who might have worked here since the building opened in 1952, gave her a wan smile. “Back again so soon? How can I help you, dear?”

  “I have an appointment with Dr. Malone and Associates.” She tried not to wince when the lady nodded as if to say, No kidding, you could really use a shrink or twelve.

  “No need to be nervous. Luke’s offices are on the top floor. Just wait until you see the view from up there. He’s— Er, I mean, it’s gorgeous.” She tossed Brielle a conspiratorial wink that made her guilty for thinking such harsh thoughts about the other woman. Maybe she needed to add paranoia to the list of ailments she sought treatment for.

  But didn’t it freaking figure? Top floor.

  “The elevators are right over there, around the corner.” The receptionist waved a manicured nail, decked out in sensible taupe polish, in the direction most of the foot traffic seemed to flow toward.

  “Where are the stairs?” Brielle had her limits. And the tight enclosure of the door had nearly done her in. No way could she handle being stuck in a brass box for the eternity it would take to reach the summit of this ivory tower just to see the honorable, and apparently sexy, Dr. Luke Malone.

  It didn’t matter how damn good he was.

  “Honey, that’s twenty-six floors up.” The receptionist stopped chuckling when she realized Brielle didn’t join in. “You know, they’re real long flights of steps. These ceilings are high.”

  Brielle simply waited, tapping her foot.

  “All right, have it your way. I’ll call and let them know you’ll be a few minutes. Go down the hall then turn left after the Ficus tree.”

  Brielle nodded. She hurried off before she could change her mind again.

  The heavy metal door clanged shut as she began her trek. Somewhere around the fourteenth floor she began to wonder if the elevator would have been so terrible. The thought alone had her breathing double time. She slowed to avoid turning into a sweaty mess by the time she reached the summit. Good thing she had experience sneaking down the fire escape when her father had gotten drunk enough not to notice. The skill had likely saved her life as a teenager. Plus, her apartment complex’s super hadn’t taken the Out of Order sign off the hazard they called an elevator since she’d moved in to her modest third-floor flat six months ago.

  Probably for years before that.

  Grocery shopping had become a strategic test as she picked up a bag or two of supplies on the way home each day to avoid the logistical nightmare posed by a boatload of packages. If she ditched the bus a stop early, she passed right by VegVana and the general grocery store next door to it. From there, the walk and climb weren’t so bad. Plus, she saved the money others might have paid in gym fees.

  Without purchases to lug today, the giant blue numbers painted on the cement walls ticked off the floors she passed at a steady pace. Exertion distracted her from the tumu
lt of emotions bouncing around in her core.

  Could she really do this?

  Brielle huffed out a sigh when the enormous 26 on the door in front of her came into view. She took a few deep breaths on the landing, then exited the stairwell. A stroll to peek at the office wouldn’t hurt anything. No one said she had to go inside.

  A squeak escaped her when she nearly barreled into a tall man who occupied a lot of space in the hallway. He rested his shoulder on the wall, arms folded over his broad chest and feet crossed at the ankles. His suit fit like a glove, highlighting his trim waist and the long lines of his torso. A quick twist allowed him to check the shiny silver watch gracing his wrist.

  “Under ten minutes. Not too shabby,” he admitted. “Sometimes my friend Kurt and I race. But not after lunch out. Especially not after gyros from the street meat truck that comes on Wednesdays. We’ve learned that lesson the hard way.”

  At his rambling, a laugh bubbled up from beneath the layers of worry, doubt and tension stratified endlessly inside her. Maybe she wasn’t the only nervous one in Dr. Malone’s lair. “Yeah, that doesn’t sound like a great idea.”

  Grateful, she lifted her gaze, then stumbled back when she recognized the candy man from VegVana. “You! What are you doing here?”

  Had he followed her? Panic clawed at her throat for a moment. Until he clarified.

  “Ah, sorry. I should have officially introduced myself. I’m Dr. Luke Malone.” He slowly extended one of his big hands. Not in a grab for hers, but in invitation. It stayed steady, allowing her to decide if she should accept it or not.

  Everything about him gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the skylights. His almost too-long, blond hair, his dazzling white teeth and cuff links she’d swear were studded with diamonds. The only thing ruining the effect was an out-of-place goatee, drastically darker than the rest of his gilded perfection.

  Brielle swallowed hard and stared. Part of her jumped for joy at seeing him again, especially now. Another sliver screamed at her to run. Something about him mesmerized her, and that couldn’t be good. She’d trained herself to keep her wits handy when it came to men.