The Doctor (Nashville Neighborhood, #1)

by Nikki Sloane

In the series of pictures we’d taken before our senior prom, there was a shot of Preston and his dad, and my friends drooled over Dr. Lowe. I’d made fun of them, but I understood. My boyfriend’s dad wasn’t just attractive—he was fucking hot.

The second time he’d seen me doing something he shouldn’t have.

“Well, I’m thankful either way. Sorry about interrupting whatever that was you were doing a minute ago.” His light teasing brought on fresh embarrassment, and I pulled my shoulders back. “Hey, I couldn’t help it. I really like Joven.” “I agree they’re good, but they don’t,” his smile widened, “give me seizures.”

There’d been concern for my near-fall in his expression seconds ago, but it evaporated as his hold on me tensed. Something gathered in his brown eyes—something that looked a hell of a lot like heat. The muscles running along his jaw tightened and flexed. I had to be imagining it. There was no way he was looking at me like he was thinking about sliding his hands around my back and drawing me closer. My body hummed from the contact, and the buzz grew louder and more frantic the longer we remained motionless. His embrace put me far more off-balance than tripping on the rug had. We were standing too close, but he was magnetic. The pull toward him was a force I struggled to overcome, even when I knew I had to.

What was he sorry for? Keeping me from falling? Touching me? Or the way he’d stared at me like Preston used to, with a gaze that teemed with desire?

I’d had impure thoughts about Dr. Lowe before. I couldn’t help myself and tried not to feel guilty about them. They were just harmless fantasies, I’d justified, and were kept safe in my own mind. Any shame over thinking about my boyfriend’s dad was about to be moot anyway.

I’d let him fuck me while I thought no one was watching, but I’d been wrong. As Preston’s tempo increased, I’d turned my head to the side and saw a figure at the window.

Dr. Lowe vanished from view the moment our gazes locked, and Preston mistook my gasp of surprise as pleasure, too into the moment to think it’d be anything else. I didn’t tell him what I’d seen, and Dr. Lowe never said a word about it. Not to me, and probably not to his son either. He was excellent at pretending it hadn’t happened. But I wondered how long he’d stood at the window. How much of my naked body had he seen, writhing on the deck chair? Should I have felt unease? Disgust? I didn’t. All I felt was odd and jittery, like I’d been left under a heat lamp too long. Whenever I thought about it, my skin glowed hot and was stretched too tight.

“Our next-door neighbor got divorced, and now she wants my dad. Bad. Up until today, she’s been trying to seduce him with baked goods.” He squeezed tight, and it felt constricting. “Hey. How come you don’t bake stuff for me anymore?”

“I didn’t come over to have sex with you.” He shot me a confused look. “Then, why did you?”

“I’ve watched the way he treats you, and it’s not right. He’s at a point in his life where he’s extremely selfish, and he’s not going to get better. Not for a while.” Dr. Lowe’s expression was resigned. “Not until he learns to stop taking things for granted, and I’m unfortunately speaking from experience. When I was his age, I was the same way.”

“I don’t want to see either of you get hurt, but I think that’s bound to happen, no matter what you do. I’m probably going to walk out of this room regretting I said any of this, but I want to be clear, this is on him, not you.”

“You’re a great girl, Cassidy, and frankly, you deserve more than my son can give right now.”

“I’m sorry.” Confusion flooded Dr. Lowe’s face. “For what?” I shrugged. “I don’t know. That I couldn’t make it work.” He looked at me like I was being silly. “Don’t do that. This isn’t your fault. Things don’t work out sometimes, and that’s just life.”

“It sucks. I feel like I broke up with you too.” The second it was out of my mouth, I wanted it back. His eyes went wide. “I mean,” I sputtered, “because we won’t see each other again after this. Like, do we say goodbye?”

“Is it weird to say I’m going to miss you?” Dr. Lowe’s face was heartbreaking, and the gravel in his voice matched. “No, not at all. I’m going to miss you too.”

His warm palm was on the small of my back, and once again, the contact of it against my skin left me breathless. He moved, shifting the position subtly, as if settling me into his embrace, and unexpected pleasure jolted through me. It was instantly followed by a wave of shame. He was only offering advice and comfort. This was the most inappropriate time to get turned on.

His look was intense. Wild. It announced he was considering doing something very, very bad.

When his gaze slid down to my parted lips, I knew we were doomed, and the worst part was I didn’t care. I wanted it to happen. I tilted my chin up to meet him as he lowered his mouth to mine.

My skimpy swimsuit was still wet, and the air conditioning was blowing on us from a vent overhead, but the tremble that shook my shoulders had nothing to do with that. It wasn’t the cause of my hardened nipples jutting out beneath the triangles of my bikini top either. Dr. Lowe was.

He was twenty years older than I was. My boyfriend’s—ex-boyfriend’s—father. What was wrong with me? With us? We had to look insane. He had me pressed against the wall hard enough my swimsuit left damp triangle shapes on his shirt.

“I’m going to keep going,” he took a shallow breath, “unless you tell me to stop.”

“Cassidy.” He looked pained. “What just happened . . .” For the first time, he didn’t appear to know what to say. I stared up at him, unable to do anything but breathe shallow breaths. “It was my fault,” he said.

He hadn’t coerced or persuaded me. I’d kissed him. The whole thing had been mutual.

“My fault,” he repeated. “You say that to Preston when you tell him about this.”

“You haven’t told him,” he said in a low voice, “about what I did.” “What we did,” I corrected, “and I’m not going to.” Why did he look upset? Wasn’t he supposed to be relieved? “Why?” “Because it won’t change what happened. All it’s going to do is hurt him, and the way things are between you two . . .” I didn’t want or need to say that Preston’s relationship with his father was fragile. “I don’t want to jeopardize what you have.”

“I don’t want to hurt him. And telling him what we did?” I shook my head. “I can deal with it if he hates me. But not you.”

“What are you doing?” I shrieked. Preston wore a look of pure confusion. “Come on. They’re playing the game. They don’t care what we get up to in here.” Did he think I was shrugging him off because I was embarrassed his friends might hear us? “Have you lost your mind? We broke up.” He scowled. “You were serious about that shit?” “Yes.” Very much yes.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Since I had my forehead pressed against his collarbone, he couldn’t see me twist my face into displeasure. “Don’t. It’s not your fault.” “I know, but I’m sorry anyway.”

I was greedy. I knew it was selfish and wrong to want his embrace, but I did regardless. It felt like I belonged here.

“I’ve been waiting here, washing the same damn dish for the last five minutes, hoping when you came back upstairs, I’d find an excuse to talk to you. We need to, Cassidy.”

I was certain I’d do pretty much whatever he said, as long as his arms were around me and the buzz from his kiss lingered on my lips.

“I can’t stop thinking about what would have happened if the hospital hadn’t called.”

The scenes that had played out in my mind over the last nine days were dirty and wrong. More fantasies, ones that had me putting a hand down my pajama pants late at night just to relieve the ache.

“We have to stop,” he said. But he made no effort to release me. “I know.” “We can’t do this.”

The struggle in his eyes made it clear he was losing whatever fight the sensible side of him was waging. “Shit.” He yanked the towel off his shoulder and tossed it down on the island countertop. “I don’t know which is worse. How wrong this is, or the fact I can’t stop.” His voice dipped so low, it was barely audible. “I shouldn’t, but—fuck, I want you.”

I pressed into him, like I could burrow deep into his chest. “Dr. Lowe.” His embrace hardened, locking me tightly with bars made of muscle and bone. “Greg.” The word was a plea and an order. “Say it.” I tipped my chin up and peered into his eyes. Saying his name would be permission. It’d break the feeble lock we’d put on our restraint, unleashing everything. Uttering it would be a promise of more. I swallowed a breath and found my voice. “Greg.”

“I’m going to put my hand down your pants unless you stop me,” he uttered in my ear.

Subconsciously, I knew Preston and his friends were downstairs, and how terrible this would be if we were caught. There were consequences, and Greg’s were much worse than my own. But it wasn’t revenge that allowed him to undo the metal snap of my shorts with a silent click, or drop my zipper, one slow tooth at a time. I didn’t care about my ex-boyfriend. Every nerve ending in my body clamored for the man before me.

“Stop me,” he whispered. “Please. Tell me you want to stop.”

He was begging me like it was his only way out, but I wasn’t in control any more than he was. How could I tell him to stop? I wanted him to do it. I needed him to.

“Do it,” I whispered. “I want you to.” Surprised pleasure snapped through him. “Yeah?”

I reveled in the wrongness of Greg.

I’d only orgasmed a few times with Preston, and I’d felt weirdly embarrassed about it. Enough that whenever it happened, I did my best to stay quiet and not let on. I wasn’t comfortable having him watch me when I was so vulnerable and out of control.

“Feel how much I fucking want you, Cassidy. Please say yes.”

How was it possible this gorgeous man wanted me, when he shouldn’t?

“If I kiss you,” he said, “that’s it. I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

“Stop me,” he said, making it clear this was my last chance. I bit down on my bottom lip and gave the tiniest shake of my head. “Fuck.” He whispered it as he began to drag the panties down and nuzzled his face into the cradle of my lap.

“The noises you make,” he whispered, “they’re driving me crazy.”

Claiming me. It made me want more. I shouldn’t, but I wanted all of him. This thought was my undoing.