Healing the Quarterback (Wildhorse Ranch Brothers Book 2) Read online

  "Nice to see you again, Dr. Rose." He tipped his hat to her as she joined him on the porch. "Hope my half-brother isn't giving you too much trouble."

  "Oh, he definitely is." Dylan shifted her bag up one shoulder. "How is the patient?

  "Resting." Trevor seemed amused by her disbelieving look. "I'm guessing he won't show it to anyone but family, but all this traveling back and forth to the hospital takes a lot out of him."

  "Thanks for your report," Dylan said. She leaned around Trevor to peek through the screen door. Charlie waved to her from the couch; he was far enough inside the living room that she assumed he couldn't overhear them. "I'm sure the drinking doesn't help matters."

  "Thank you for bringing him home the other night," Trevor added.

  "Don't worry about it. I'm sure you don't have time in your schedule to babysit." Fortunately, that's what I'm paid for, Dylan thought darkly.

  "No ma'am," Trevor agreed. His serious mouth tugged slightly in the beginning stages of a grin. "We're lucky to have you."

  Dylan noticed for the first time that there were two mugs of coffee steaming on the porch railing. Trevor plucked them up and started down the steps past her. "I'll be out on the property for the rest of the evening. You need anything, Charlie knows how to holler for me. No, I don't mean actually holler," Trevor said when he noticed Dylan's incredulous look. "Either of you feel free to call me on my cell."

  "Right. Got it." She grinned. "Thanks, Trevor." Rest of the evening, huh? She watched the cowboy's lanky figure stroll off toward the distant cabin. What sort of midnight chores does Wildhorse Ranch require?

  "Trevor's off to knock boots with Sabrina," Charlie supplied as soon as the screen door banged shut behind her. He reclined upright on the couch, his leg iced and elevated on the coffee table. "Guess it's just you and me, Doc."

  "Who's Sabrina?" Dylan asked, ignoring his closing comment. She was all too aware of just how much their one-on-one session was already living up to its name.

  "Wildhorse's glamping coordinator. Trevor's girlfriend. She's fun. Loves to bend the rules and drive my brother crazy. You wouldn't like her."

  "I think it might surprise you who I like."

  Yikes. She shouldn't have said that. Charlie's bright blue eyes fixed on her like a kid who had just been offered a fat piece of cake. He struggled to rise as she passed him on the couch.

  "You brought the popcorn? Need me to show you around the kitchen?" he volunteered.

  "I think I've got it." Dylan laid a hand on his shoulder, signaling him to stay in place. "You sit tight. Let me know if there's anything I can get for you while I'm up."

  "How about a beer?" Charlie called after her hopefully.

  Dylan chuckled and shook her head. "I'll let you have one beer. Because I see you've been using your crutches again, and you deserve a reward."

  "Speaking of rewards, I hope you like westerns," Charlie mentioned as he wagged the DVD case at her.

  Dylan returned moments later with a bowl of popcorn and two frosty bottles of beer. She passed one to Charlie and settled onto the couch beside him.

  "You and your brother seem to have a good relationship," she said. "And I'd be lying if I said it didn't give me renewed confidence knowing he's around to help you."

  "I don't need help," Charlie grumbled.

  "Then why am I here?"

  "Because I invited you."

  Dylan rolled her eyes.

  "I trust the crutches aren't just for show this evening?" she probed as she passed him the popcorn. "They'll really help you get around. More than that, they'll help you heal quicker. I'm willing to compromise if you promise you'll use them at home."

  "I promise."

  "And no stairs aside from the ones out front. Those are small enough you won't risk injuring yourself—it'll actually be a good workout for your ACL. But I want you using the wheelchair ramp and elevators at the hospital. How are you showering?"

  "Want to find out?"

  "Charlie," Dylan hissed. "I'm serious! You run the biggest risk of aggravating it again in the bathroom. If you'd just…"

  His arm slipped down off the couch and around her shoulders, and Dylan clamped her mouth shut. "Relax," he murmured. "Enjoy the movie. At the very least enjoy your popcorn."

  He kept his eyes trained forward on the flickering screen. After a moment, Dylan sighed and sank back despite herself. She had managed to put another long day behind her, and this…this felt nice. When was the last time she had shut her brain off and thought about something other than work?

  Excluding thoughts of Charlie, of course. It felt too much like a soon-to-be-illicit dream, sitting there beside him, with his arm draped across her shoulders. They both had an awareness of it. They both knew what he was doing, of this Dylan was certain. But what did it say about her that she remained? How much could she risk letting on—and how much did he already know? Every offhand comment, every little maneuver Charlie made felt smooth as perfectly manufactured butter. Was any of it real, or was it the only way he knew how to conduct himself around women?

  Dylan hated that she found him charming. She was just as bad as everyone else who enabled him. And yet, she couldn't deny that a part of her enjoyed his company. Charlie was funny and interesting and unpredictable. As much as he kept her constantly on her toes at work, Dylan couldn't deny that she enjoyed the challenge—as well as the challenge their warring personalities brought to every interaction.

  God, she’d bet sex with Charlie would be mind-blowing.

  Dylan shook her head so violently that her hair hit Charlie in the face. He chuckled and reached between them to brush it aside. "Hate the movie that much?"

  "No, actually I…love westerns." She tried to ignore the stroke of his fingers and missed it the moment they were gone again.

  "Trevor told me to invite you over for a free riding lesson some time," Charlie mentioned as he sat back. "If you're not too much of a city girl to consider it."

  "Offer accepted," she said. "I could use a hobby out here in the Bend to help me unwind."

  "I noticed." Charlie grinned, but it wasn't his usual lascivious smirk. Dylan chanced a smile back and felt warmer for it. "And I didn't mean what I said about Sabrina earlier. I think the two of you'd get along famously."

  "Yeah?"

  "Yeah. I should know."

  "Because you know famous?" she guessed.

  "Because you and I get along great, and don't pretend we don't."

  Dylan blew a dark wisp of hair out of her eyes and grabbed for the popcorn. She could pretend a lot of things by the light of day; hell, she could pretend everything if she had to, and she was confident no one would be the wiser…except maybe Charlie himself.

  But she was secure and sheltered here beneath his arm, and in the darkness, she felt like she didn't have to pretend so hard. She would let it be what it was, and in the morning, she would get back to fending off his advances. It was their choreography, their performance for his management and her supervisors. Here, removed from prying eyes and obligations, she might finally feel content to sit it all out in the wings with him.

  "This is nice," Charlie said. He turned to look at her. "No offense, but I think you're actually less…uptight outside the hospital."

  "I'm not uptight," Dylan said defensively. "I'm just…strict."

  "Uh-huh."

  "And even if I wasn't, Lockhart General is a strict setting. There's no room to mess around." She turned toward him, and was surprised to find him so near. Had he inched closer when she wasn't looking? The heat radiating off him was like a furnace. She might burn up if she got too close, but she couldn't retreat now without attracting notice. Dylan straightened instead, trying to sit a little taller than his armpit. "But you knew that already," she pointed out. "I assumed that's why you don't like it there."

  "What makes you think I don't like the hospital?" Charlie asked her. The question felt strangely pointed. The easy smile never left his face, but something behind his eyes flickered. Somethi
ng painful.

  Maybe it was time to change things up. Maybe it was time for her to inject some levity into the proceedings. Dylan snorted and distracted them both by snatching the beer out of his hand. She had already finished hers. "Come on. All those rules? Applying to you?" She took a quick swig and passed the bottle back. "You must be going crazy. Everyone on your management team seems to think I'm the one keeping you in line, but I think we both know that's bullshit. I think you're keeping a low profile for now, but you're just biding your time, trying to think of the best way to give the system your middle finger."

  "I am," he admitted, "but that's not why I hate Lockhart General."

  "So you do hate it. Specifically."

  "Watch the movie," he commanded. He thrust the bowl of popcorn back at her, and Dylan had to react quickly to prevent it from falling. As soon as she had secured it and looked up again, she realized it had been his own distraction tactic. While she was messing with the bowl, Charlie had slid himself closer to her. They now occupied the same cushion of the couch; his immense, rock-hard thigh brushed against hers. Dylan blinked incredulously at the size disparity. She had seen plenty of gladiator-sized athletes in her career, but never from this angle. Certainly never this close.

  "Relax," Charlie muttered. His eyes were trained on the flickering television. "I'm not going to try anything. I just like flirting with you."

  "That's very reassuring," Dylan said. "And, I'm sure you already know, inappropriate."

  "Wouldn't do it otherwise."

  The cushion she leaned against moved a little. His hand dangled casually over her shoulder, his fingers nearly grazing the top of her breast. He was definitely pushing the boundaries of their doctor-patient relationship, but it felt more like a challenge than anything. She had to show Charlie that she wouldn't let him get away with anything. Dylan turned to him again and pretended not to notice their intimate arrangement.

  "Do you take anything seriously?" she mused aloud. She was genuinely curious.

  "I take one thing seriously," Charlie admitted.

  "Let me guess. Football?"

  "Bingo."

  "I don't believe you." Dylan laughed at the stunned look on his face. "I mean, of course I believe you take football seriously. I don't believe it's the only thing you take seriously."

  "Then you'd be the first," Charlie said. "C'mon. You can't deny that when you look at me, you see a—"

  "Jock?" she supplied.

  "A total sex god, an unrepentant ladies' man with great comedic timing. Fun as hell to be around, but not exactly the guy you take home to Mom."

  "Maybe that's just what you want the world to see," Dylan suggested. "Or at least, what your management team wants the world to see. You don't have to live up to the hype if you don't want to."

  "Don't I?"

  "Not with me you don't."

  The living room lapsed into a silence punctuated only by the rambling talk of the cowboys on screen. The tension Dylan thought she had been successfully slicing through with every quick comment flooded back in. Had she broken through their superficial exchange, only to say the wrong thing?

  Charlie grimaced, and she became instantly alert. "What? What is it? Your knee?" Her heart fluttered in panic. What had aggravated it? She hadn't felt him move it—then again, they sat so closely, it was more than possible that she had moved in a way that…

  "No, Doc. Not my knee. I just realized I might be out of conversation topics. I'm used to talking football, when I'm not engaged in…other activities."

  "Uh-huh." She thinned her mouth, suppressing a smile to let him know she didn't believe him. The corner of Charlie's own mouth hitched up.

  "Don't believe me?"

  "I don't doubt that the…sensational sexual profile is a lie. But I doubt you don't have more to talk about than sex and football," she said. "In fact, I know firsthand that there's so much more to you. Like it or not, I think I'm coming to understand you better, Charlie Wild."

  "You're not the only one thinking that, and it's only been a week." He looked at her like she was a wonder, something unexpected that had crept up on him while he had been too busy crafting his next innuendo. Dylan loved the quality of Charlie's gaze and tried not to squirm beneath it—or even breathe—for fear of interrupting whatever private revelation was coming to him.

  God, didn't every girl dream of catching a man off guard and making him see her as if she was the first one worthy of love he had ever laid eyes on? That's the way Charlie Wild looked at her.

  They both broke eye contact in the same moment. Dylan shifted against him and cleared her throat; when that didn't prove effective in forcing her heart back down where it belonged, she filled her mouth with popcorn. She felt the hand Charlie had draped across her right shoulder playing idly with her hair. She didn't think he even noticed he was doing it, and she said nothing to draw attention to the fact.

  "More?" Charlie rattled the popcorn bowl at her. They had already reduced its contents to kernels.

  "You know me too well." Any other woman would probably express more sheepishness at the vice, but if there was one thing Charlie Wild had known about Dylan from day one, it was that she consumed popcorn like she was running out of time. "But I'll get it," she stated as she rose.

  Charlie pulled a face. "No. You're my guest. You sit your ass back down."

  "Something tells me you don't usually talk to your guests that way. And anyway, if I'm anything, I'm your doctor," she reminded him. Dylan held her hand out for the bowl, and Charlie held it away from her. He forced her into a surprise retreat as he stood. "Charlie, I mean it. I don't want you aggravating that leg any more than you've already—"

  The knee gave beneath him, and he pitched forward as if on some cosmic cue. Dylan held her hands out to catch him instinctively, but there was no way she would be able to support him if he went down fully. A man of Charlie's size probably knew as much. Maybe it was his effort to stop himself from careening forward and crushing her completely that made him drop the bowl and twist to fall back on the couch instead. Dylan already had her hands on him; he didn't allow her any time to release. She fell forward and collapsed on top of him.

  "See!" She exclaimed in anguish. Charlie's hands came up, probably on football instinct, to clasp her securely to his chest. His touch set her inner alarm bells off, but she didn't move off him immediately; she was afraid of jostling his knee. No getting up off the patient until she figured out exactly how they were entangled. "I told you! You need to stay off your…your…"

  Charlie's hand slid down her waist to press against the small of her back. Dylan arched her spine in response to the touch. Almost immediately, she knew she shouldn't have done that. She could feel the outline of Charlie's erection swelling against her thigh.

  The length of his cock was absolutely dizzying. She didn't dare glance down to gauge how wide it was. It certainly felt as if it matched the rest of his proportions. It strained against the front of his pants like a battering ram about to burst free at any moment.

  There was no pretending she didn't know it was there. Judging by the hooded look in Charlie's eyes, he wasn't in the mood to pretend, either. Dylan propped her forearm against his chest, trying to reestablish some boundaries above the belt.

  "You need to start listening to me," she murmured.

  "You need to learn to stop talking," he said. His other hand slid up to tangle in her hair, and Dylan arched into him even more, like a cat being stroked. His fingers tightened, and white sparks of pleasure-pain erupted along the back of her neck and skull.

  "God, you're so fucking beautiful," Charlie groaned beneath her. "You have no idea what looking at you does to me."

  "Stop talking," Dylan advised.

  Charlie stopped talking. He yanked her down in one forceful move, and Dylan went. Their lips crashed together in a single hot collision, their tongues slithering and tangling. There was no warm-up, no romantic working up to a deepened kiss—with the way their bodies were aligned, any illusio
n of chasteness was long gone. Her hungry mouth made up for lost time, seeking an outlet for the incredible sensation overwhelming her from below.

  Dylan had never been shy when it came to hooking up. Reserved, maybe, and cautious, but once the gloves were off, she was all-in. She knew her body and thrilled at the opportunity to let Charlie know it also. Even as she pressed forward into his kiss, she reached behind her and guided his hand down the curve of her ass, craving the intimate heat of his touch. She had caught him staring at her ass so often, she had started to feel naked without his hands on her. It was only now, in the moment, that she could finally admit what being around Charlie Wild for extended periods of time did to her.

  "Holy shit," Charlie growled appreciatively into her mouth. Dylan claimed that as a victory. He clenched his massive hand down. His fingers were so long they wrapped around the back of her thigh and pressed her between her legs. She bucked her hips involuntarily with a gasp. It was as if he had flirted with pressing the button that would set her off completely. Her underwear was already starting to cling to her, damp and getting damper. She doubted Charlie could feel what he was doing to her through the additional layer of her jeans, but he might have easily guessed. Her brain wasn't steering her body, not anymore. She couldn't tell where she ended and he began clearly enough to guess who was driving at this point.

  Charlie's fervent lips found the pulse in her throat. He pushed back against every throb, thrusting with his tongue and teasing with his teeth. He was marking her—was there anyone at work or in the whole of Lockhart Bend who wouldn't suspect it was his handiwork? Dylan grasped for the thought and lost it the next instant when Charlie's hips came up off the couch beneath her. She was practically riding him like a horse.

  "Ah!" Dylan gasped wildly. One of Charlie's hands—she couldn't keep track of which—slid up her shirt to cup one breast over her bra. She had never thought of her chest as particularly small, but the immensity of his palm dwarfed her. His hand skated to the side, gathering up both of her breasts in his greedy grasp, squeezing them together. Her nipples strained to be free of the constrictive fabric of her bra. Every inch of her body yearned to experience Charlie's bold touches. The enormous bulge in his pants served as a reminder of what awaited her every time she brushed up against it. She knew it was only a matter of moments before she would be in direct contact with Charlie's cock. They didn't have to hurry this; they had all the time in the—