Dr. Stud Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Extended Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  EPILOGUE

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Extended Epilogue

  Dr. Stud

  Jess Bentley

  Copyright © 2018 by Jess Bentley

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  1. Preface

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Extended Epilogue

  PREFACE

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  EPILOGUE

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  Preface

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Extended Epilogue

  Deleted Scene

  About the Author

  Also by Jess Bentley

  Preface

  Joe (Joanna)

  I’m sure it’s my dad or one of his crew coming to ask me a question, so I sweep across the living room in my bare feet, flinging the door open with a smile. And I’m frozen on the spot, not sure what to say.

  “I got your prescription,” Dr. Warner explains with a tense smile, holding up a small pharmacy bag. His broad, muscular frame shadows the door, showing off its angular shape.

  “Oh, of course,” I mutter, holding open the screen door with my palm. “And you brought it here?”

  He squints, his eyes darting to my bare toes and then back up again.

  “You probably forgot that we do house calls,” he explains, his voice friendly enough. “I know that’s probably not a thing anymore in the big city.”

  “Um… would you like to come in?” I offer, trying to remember my regular manners.

  “Thanks,” he murmurs, walking past me. As his body moves past mine, I get a whiff of his office: antiseptic, wood-scented, deeply masculine. My hand reaches out to steady myself as I go woozy again.

  “Hey, are you all right?” he asks, steadying me under my elbows. His gaze sweeps over me from top to bottom, inspecting me. Examining me.

  “I’m not used to this heat anymore,” I explain. “But thank you for bringing the prescription. I have so much to do… I’m sure I would have forgotten.”

  He guides me to the sofa and pushes me gently, indicating that I should sit down. He disappears into the kitchen and I hear the refrigerator door open. In moments he reappears with two glasses of sweet tea. I didn’t even make that, so I have to assume my mother was here stocking the fridge at some point.

  “Drink this slowly,” he directs me, his features concerned but analytical.

  I do as he says, because I can’t think of a reason not to. The tea coats my tongue in sweetness, cooling my core immediately.

  “I’m fine, really,” I insist. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

  “The gallery,” he nods.

  I notice he’s not drinking his tea. He’s watching everything I do, probably taking my pulse with his mind or something. Somehow, just having a professional in the room makes me feel a little less anxious.

  “It’s just a lot of work. More work than I was expecting,” I explain. “I mean, it’s all under control now. There’s a whole crew getting it done. But I just need to stay on top of it and make sure everything goes all right.”

  “That’s a lot of responsibility,” he remarks.

  “It’s my job,” I snap defensively. “It’s what I do every day.”

  He raises his eyebrows and leans back. A smirk twists the corners of his mouth.

  “You really are
very tense,” he repeats. “I can help you with that.”

  Silence douses the room like a light going out. I force myself to breathe.

  I am only here for nine more days, I remind myself. Nine days, and then I am gone.

  “It’s never worked before,” I venture, clearing my throat. “Are you sure you can actually do it?”

  He smiles, his cheeks crinkling confidently.

  “I am 100 percent certain,” he nods. “Are you telling me there is some kind of problem?”

  “I don’t want to come back to your office,” I say in a rush, ignoring his question. “I don’t want to create… gossip. I don’t want the whole town talking about how I started coming to your office over and over again, okay?”

  His eyebrows go up. “Over and over again? Is that what you think we’re talking about here?”

  I’m not sure if he’s teasing me, so I decide to just plow on and say what I want to say. Why did I say over and over again? I am not really sure.

  “The point is I don’t want people to gossip about me. People in this town gossip. You know that.”

  “I do,” he nods.

  “And I’m only here for a little while. Nine days.”

  “Understood,” he confirms.

  “I mean, I’ve never done anything like this before,” I say quickly, aware that I am beginning to babble. “I don’t know what to say. I mean, I don’t want this on my insurance or anything. But I understand you have a valuable… treatment. Something that could help me relax or whatever. And since I’m leaving soon, I just thought—”

  “Joanna,” he interrupts me.

  “Joe!” I correct him immediately, incensed.

  He shakes his head. “I’m not going to call you Joe,” he announces. “That’s not your name around these parts, all right? Jen says you’re called JoJo. I can call you that, or Joanna. Your choice.”

  My breath catches in my throat. The audacity of this man! Absolute chauvinism. Florida-brand chauvinism, pure and simple.

  And yet, what of it? Of all the things that have gone sideways in the last couple days, is being called by my name some big tragedy? There are bigger hills to die on.

  “Joanna will be fine,” I growl.

  “Perfect,” he smiles. “So it sounds like we have a treatment plan outlined?”

  “An absolutely no-strings treatment plan?” I add, narrowing my eyes at him.

  “Completely,” he affirms.

  Despite my irritation, I appreciate the attention and the affirmation. That’s more of that doctor-patient training, I suppose. Whenever he praises me, no matter how small, I respond like a puppy.

  “Okay, well, I guess I was a little tense in your office this afternoon,” I admit.

  He crosses his arms over his chest, raising his eyebrows. His hair sweeps over his face lightly, a bit of a country boy look. I’ve gotten used to staring into the faces of men whose hair has been glued into complete submission. This looks more like something I might like to touch. Eventually. I mean I don’t see us holding hands or mussing each other’s hair.

  “A little tense?” he jokes. “You ran out of my office like your ass was on fire.”

  “Oh? Is that your clinical diagnosis? Ass on fire?”

  He shrugs. Every time he moves, I can see the width of his shoulders. He really doesn’t look like a doctor. He looks like an actor playing a doctor.

  “I’ll bet you I am not like any doctor you ever met.”

  I nod, curious if he’s reading my mind or what. Is that another doctor trick?

  “So… I thought maybe you could—”

  He holds up his hand, cutting me off in midsentence. My lips snap back together as though I am a puppet and he just pulled my strings taut.

  “I know exactly what you need,” he tells me in a firm voice that leaves no room for negotiation. “Just lie down on the couch, please.”

  Trembling, I do as he says.

  Chapter 2

  Joe

  A few months before...

  Popping the collar on my trenchcoat, I stuff my hands in my pockets and dash into the crosswalk, hurrying against the rain. It wasn’t supposed to be a full-on downpour. It was supposed to be a light rain, the kind that would curl my hair just a little bit. The kind that meant I got to wear this great vintage trench, with the buckled belt that I tied so sassily around my waist.

  “Shit,” I mutter as puddle water sloshes into my peep-toe heel. “Just great.”

  My hand automatically twitches toward the strand of hair that’s tickling my eyebrow, but I know if I touch it now I will just make it worse. There is a fine line between damply tousled and pathetically half drowned. I hope I make it there in time.

  Everybody on the sidewalk gives me that glance, that drive-by sort of scrutiny that you get in Manhattan. We are all a little suspicious around here. It’s as though you’re always taking a snapshot of everyone you see on the street, just in case you need to pick them out of a lineup later.

  But I notice that no one looks particularly alarmed, nor particularly offended. So I haven’t gotten too waterlogged yet, I hope.

  I can feel my wet skin scraping against my shoe. I better get off my feet soon or I’m going to have blisters the size of half dollars. Flexing my toes, I try to minimize the squelching sound and lengthen my stride. Not sure that will do me any good, but it can’t hurt at this point.

  Yellow taxis hiss by, dangerously close to the gutter and those menacing puddles of water that could splash up on me at any time. I want to get away from the street side, but there are too many pedestrians in the way. Even when it is raining, the sidewalks are crowded with people. This city is insane. And yet, I do love it.

  “Smoke, sugar?” a voice asks me, sudden and too close. Automatically I flinch away and feel an immediate hand on my elbow, wrenching me back. For a moment I’m suspended between hurling myself toward the street and being jerked back by this hand, this too-strong grip around my arm. Instinctually, I draw breath to scream.

  “Don’t fall now, baby girl,” the voice says, sweet and low and confident. I glance up to see the rain-streaked cheeks of a dark-skinned, broad-shouldered woman. She gives me a half smile, revealing a gap between her teeth on one side.

  Something about her makes me relax and instead of trying to hurl myself into traffic, I let her nudge me back onto the sidewalk.

  “What did you say?” I stammer, confused.

  “You got any smokes, baby?” she drawls, her voice thick and unhurried. She seems just a little bit too relaxed, if I’m honest. She is not trying to get out of the rain. Not shielding herself in any way. It’s as though she doesn’t even realize the rain is happening. As I look up at her, I’m momentarily fascinated by the drops of water that march along the curly strands of hair that frame her face.

  “No… I don’t smoke,” I explain, pulling away gently so I can resume my progress down the sidewalk.

  She finally releases my arm and raises her hand in a three-fingered wave.

  “That’s all right, cupcake,” she purrs. “Don’t even think about it. You go on and have a nice night.”

  “Um, okay then,” I smile, already turning around. In moments she’s behind me, and I realize I’ll probably never see her again. I don’t live in this neighborhood. That was just one of the million one-off Manhattan encounters I will have before I’m through. Just drive-bys, like I said. Ships in the night and whatnot.

  The bar sign is somehow nautical, but also minimalist. These days, it seems like everybody is going for the unexpected fusion of cultures, hoping to discover the next big thing. The latest trend. I duck into the doorway, shaking my shoulders like a St. Bernard to repel the rain and allowing my fingers to pluck at my hair until I am reassured it is still in the shape I left it.

  Inside is a bit of a sensory shock. Instead of tables, there are glowing columns with people around them, leaning attractively on their elbows. Instead of chairs, there are more cubes artfully scattered about. Yet the walls are decorated
with large seascapes, so large I’m practically seasick. I feel my hands go out as though to maintain my balance.

  “Hey, there she is!” I hear a voice exclaim. “Joe! Sweetie!”

  Smiling, I head toward the voice before I actually see them. There are a bunch of cubes arranged in a semicircle around a huge glass plug that has to be at least four feet in diameter. That thing must weigh a ton.

  “Sorry I’m so late,” I shrug as I pass the bar, noting that there is not a mirror that I can quickly check myself in. I’m just going to have to wing it, I guess.

  “Oh, you’re not late,” Desi rolls her eyes. “Holly is late! Oh my God I love your coat!”

  I wrinkle my nose and smile, watching everybody glance over at my coat. I knew when I found it that I had really scored something. It fit perfectly even though it has to be at least eighty years old or something.

  I ignore my best friend, Didi, as she rolls her eyes and instead allow Hannah to pluck at my sleeve.

  “What is this?” she marvels. “Is it… I mean, seriously, what is it?”

  “Oh, it’s oilskin,” I reply breezily, as though I encounter these sorts of things every day. “Just a vintage find. You like it?”