Delivering Her Secret Read online

  Table of Contents

  Delivering Her Secret

  Copyright

  Description

  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

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Epilogue

  Thank you

  Last-Chance

  Throttle

  Beauty and the Billionaire

  More by Kira Blakely

  About the Author

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  Copyright © 2017 by AG Media, LLC, a representative of Kira Blakely.

  All rights reserved.

  AG Media, LLC owns exclusive rights to all content herein. 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 AG Media, LLC, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  I suck at bedside manner, and this small town is driving me fu@king crazy.

  Until Charlie walks into my office.

  The picture perfect small-town girl.

  Ebony hair, full curves, and virginity all wrapped up in one irresistible package.

  I’m rude, arrogant, and I say whatever I want.

  We couldn’t be more opposite.

  And I couldn’t be more turned on.

  We have one week together before my job takes me to another state.

  So I’ll play the good doctor.

  Check her pulse with my stethoscope.

  Make her say AHHH with my large tongue depressor.

  Now, she’s carrying a secret.

  Our secret.

  It could ruin her in this small town, and cost me my career.

  But I’ll be damned if I’ll let her carry it alone.

  This is a full length novel. About 280 pages. There are three bonus stories included for you to enjoy!

  Chapter 1

  Houston

  This chick had a walk that could set the world on fire.

  Good thing I was flameproof.

  I held the door to my office open and observed her. Shy, sweet, raven curls framed her heart-shaped face, and sapphire eyes sparkled back at me. She was an angel. A fucking angel.

  She swayed by me, her blue cotton dress with a little toothpaste stain on the strap. A temptation all by itself. So natural, no makeup, and a slight pink tinge to her cheeks.

  “Take a seat,” I said, and gestured to the chair in front of the mahogany desk. The desk that wasn’t my desk.

  My visit to Summit Springs had been inspired by my mother. A short stopover to visit her before I headed out to Alaska the next morning, and somehow, this had happened. Doctor Henman was a family friend, and my mom knew how to twist my arm.

  “Please, darling, his patients need your help. I know it’s not delivering babies, but it’s still people.” Her beseeching tone swam through my memory.

  It was a favor, and I’d be on my way in the morning. No big deal.

  I could handle a couple rich hypochondriacs. But can you handle her?

  I shut the office door with a click and the woman, the one who had my dick twitching for attention, jerked in her seat.

  She’d jerk like that on my cock too. Couple it with a moan. Maybe a soft sigh or ten.

  Jesus, down boy.

  This never happened.

  I’d never been great with people. A couple of my colleagues had compared me to that dude from House—code for “you’re an asshole.”

  Women… that was another story. They were putty in my hands, but I didn’t play often.

  No time for bullshit relationships and fuck-ups.

  I circled the desk and sat down opposite her and flicked open the folder Natalie, Doctor Henman’s receptionist, had placed on my desk.

  Finally, the angel raised her head and caught my gaze. She sucked in a breath, eyes widened. “Hey-lo,” she said.

  “Halo?” I asked.

  “What? No, I—hello, I meant. It was—I tried to say hey and hello at the same time.” Two pink spots appeared in her cheeks.

  Fucking adorable. Dangerously adorable. I tightened up all over and forced the thoughts away. Get a grip, dickhead. You’re a professional. “Well, heylo to you, too,” I said. “What seems to be the problem Miss…Stinson?”

  “Charlie,” she said, and dragged her teeth across that plump bottom lip. “Charlie, please.”

  Vague recognition flitted through my thoughts and off again. A memory from the party I’d attended last night, but no, it couldn’t be.

  “I, this is a really sensitive subject for me, Doctor Henman.”

  “Pope,” I said. “Houston Pope. Henman’s got appendicitis.” All the words came out tight and rough. If the fucker hadn’t come down with it, I wouldn’t be here. I’d be delivering babies in Alaska, jump-starting a sharp upswing in my career trajectory – it’d taken me five months to get a license there, for fuck’s sake.

  “Oh, Doctor Pope, OK,” she said. “I didn’t think to ask. Oh, that’s not important.” She came over all pink again. Pink as a rose, pink as those lips. Fuck it, pink as her cunt would be after I’d finished with her.

  Don’t! I distracted myself, focused on the picture of Henman’s happy little family on the desk. Him, his wife, and their grinning kid. A happy family. Just like the one I’d never had and never would.

  I inhaled through my teeth, forced a smile that probably came off wolfish. “What is important, Charlie?” I asked, and switched my attention to the file and the notes within, again. It was her first time at the doctor’s in this tiny, rich ass town. “You still haven’t told me why you’re in my office. And it seems you haven’t told the receptionist, either.”

  “I, OK. Well, I want a prescription for the pill.”

  Fuck. Me.

  That shouldn’t turn me on, but it did. She wanted the pill. She wanted to fuck. No, no, that’s not necessarily true. Maybe she has acne.

  Yeah, in her twenties, smooth-skinned and fucking gorgeous, but the pill was for acne.

  Deductive powers of a genius, Pope.

  “I see,” I replied, at last. “That’s simple enough.” I opened Henman’s drawer and withdrew his pad, grabbed a pen from the holder on the edge of the desk.

  “It’s not like that,” she said, her voice strangled up.

  “Like what?”

  Charlie worked her hands in her lap, scrunched up the dress and released it, scrunched and released it. “I’m not, I don’t want the pill because I’m some crazed sex maniac. I’ve never done anything like that before. I just want it because—”

  “You don’t have to tell me,” I replied, and waved the pen at her. “I don’t want to know.”

  She stiffened, and this time it was redness that spread across her décolletage, up her neck, and onto her face. A rash of anger, no doubt.

  “Oh,” C
harlie said.

  A virgin. She was a virgin who wanted a prescription for the pill. Did that mean she was looking to lose it? I happened to know a guy who could help with that. All night long he’d help with that.

  But no, I had to leave tomorrow and—

  “Doctor Pope? Are you going to give me the prescription or not?” Charlie asked. “You’ve been staring into space for the past minute.”

  “Have I?” I slanted a smile at her and clicked the pen. “What are your needs?”

  “My n-needs?” The anger hadn’t waned, but her eyes widened. What the hell did she think I meant? That I’d bend her over my desk and take her right here? Satisfy her every desire, pound that sweet, innocence right out of her and make her mine.

  Don’t tempt me.

  “There are several different types of contraceptive,” I started. “There’s the pill, an IUD, the chip, there’s an anti-spermi—”

  “The pill!” Charlie yelped.

  I chuckled low.

  “What’s funny, doctor?” She glared at me, her eyebrows drawn toward each other. She was adorable even in her anger. Maybe it was her size. She was a miniature woman. I’d overwhelm her so easily, make her quake and groan.

  “Nothing in particular, Miss Stinson. I’m amused by the situation, that’s all. Let’s talk about the different types of the pill and figure out which best suits your needs. Are you particularly hormonal?”

  “Hormonal!”

  “Yes,” I replied. “Hormones are produced in the—”

  “I know what hormones are,” she hissed.

  I laughed again, equally soft, but this time without removing my gaze from hers. I let it wander a little lower, and she shifted in her seat, squirmed actually. “I wasn’t suggesting you didn’t. I simply asked—”

  “If I was hormonal. Like I’m a horny teenager or something.”

  “That wasn’t my implication,” I replied, evenly. God, wouldn’t that be nice. A horny Charlie scraping her fingers down my back.

  Seriously, did Doctor Henman’s receptionist spike my coffee this morning? I hadn’t had this many dirty thoughts in a row since…fuck it, since I’d been a hormonal teenager.

  “Then what was your implication?” Charlie asked. She was a dog with a bone, now, furious at the imagined slight. On any other woman it would’ve irritated the living fuck out of me, but not her.

  Not this angel with her curves and her mixed-up words. And that walk.

  Tension lived in the space between us. It curled around my torso, iron bars squeezing tight. Her chest rose and fell, rose and fell, and I worked hard to find the outline of her nipples. They grazed the fabric, trapped. They deserved liberation, for Christ’s sake.

  “There are different types of pills. Combination pills, which contain two hormones,” I said, and raised the appropriate amount of fingers. “Estrogen and progestin, and mini-pills, which contain only progestin. The mini-pill is often given to women who are breastfeeding and—”

  “Then why did you ask me if I was hormonal?”

  I blinked. I wasn’t accustomed to interruptions. Usually, people listened and shut the fuck up when I spoke.

  “If you have a heavy flow or mood swings, that’s good for me to know. I’ll be able to prescribe you a pill to help with that. Natazia, for instance, is proven to help with a heavy menstrual cycle.”

  She colored brighter with every consecutive word, tucked strands of those dark locks behind her ear. “Oh,” she said, again. Her lips forming that little circle was perfection.

  “So, could you tell me what I want to know?”

  “I’m not heavy,” she said.

  I admired her again, the parts I could see.

  Christ, I couldn’t proposition this woman in my office, no matter how much I wanted to. I wasn’t that type of scumbag. I wasn’t any type of scumbag, but something about her had intoxicated me. Or my dick. Yeah, just my dick. That was all.

  “All right, and do you have particularly bad mood swings at that time of the month?”

  “I just wanted something that will…Look, I’ve never had sex before, and I’m only telling you this because you’re a doctor and I trust doctors,” Charlie said. “I figure that I’m getting to the age where I should, god, this is awkward, where I should start looking for someone to be with, and if I’m going to do that then, naturally…”

  “Sex will follow,” I replied.

  She nodded and swallowed, hard. “Yeah. So, better to be safe than sorry.”

  “Good. I admire a sense of responsibility in a woman.”

  “Wow, thank you. Should I stand up and do a little dance too? Do you want to check the strength of my teeth?” She lurched out of her seat, tone dripping sarcasm. “Should I turn in a circle on the spot?”

  “Huh?”

  “You’re acting like I’m a horse or something. Like I’m up for sale.”

  “That’s not appropriate,” I replied, and stood, as well, the pen dropping from my fingertips. It hit the desk and rolled, left a little ink mark on Henman’s desk pad.

  “The way you’ve been looking at me for the past five minutes isn’t appropriate,” she replied. “And neither are the questions you’ve asked. I—you know what, never mind. I’ll wait until the other doctor comes back.”

  “Miss Stinson,” I said. “If I’ve made you feel uncomfortable, I apologize.”

  “You haven’t,” she snapped.

  “Then what’s the problem?” I walked around the desk and up to her, not too close. I truly didn’t want her uncomfortable. I was gone tomorrow, and whatever attraction I held for her would have to stay behind in Summit Springs.

  Charlie trembled and looked up at me. “Nothing.”

  “You don’t like the way I looked at you,” I breathed.

  “I, I did.”

  “And that’s the problem,” I said, still not touching her. Still not even thinking about it. Ain’t that a fucking lie?

  “Goodbye, Doctor Pope.” Charlie spun on her heel and marched for the door, swaying those hips again, then wrenched it open and slipped out into the hall without a backward glance.

  Good god, what the fuck had just happened?

  It’d been the weirdest, most tense conversation I’d ever had with a patient, and I’d dealt with women in labor on an almost daily basis for the past five years.

  Today, however, had been nothing but whiny rich folks with ear aches or requests for references to specialists, most of them hinting at a need for plastic surgery. They were all convinced they were either dying or needed to look better doing it.

  Apart from Charlie.

  My breath of fresh air, who’d just gusted out of sight.

  Fuck, none of this mattered. Not one moment of Summit Springs or all the dickwads in it.

  The desk phone trilled behind me, and I stalked over to it and snatched the black receiver from its cradle. “What is it this time? Conjunctivitis? An outbreak of Ebola?”

  “Doctor Pope,” Natalie said, in nasal tones. “I’ve got a little boy here who seems to have a broken arm.”

  “A broken—” I squeezed my eyes shut. Christ, almighty. Who’d bring a broken-armed child to a doctor and not an emergency room?

  “His mother is insisting, Doctor. She says she saw you this morning for a mole, and you’re the only one she’ll trust with her child’s health.”

  The mole lady, oh fuck. She’d had a mole on her ass and moaned her way through the inspection. Was the kid’s arm even broken?

  Another pause. “The child is crying. Shall I send him in, Doctor?”

  “No, Natalie, leave him out there to heal naturally.”

  A gravid silence.

  “Of course, send him in.” I slammed the phone down a little harder than necessary.

  Back to work for the day. Back to my little grindstone. Tomorrow, I’d be gone, and all thoughts of curvy brunettes would be erased. Good.

  Chapter 2

  Charlie

  “With all due respect, if you’re not g
oing to obey the rules of the school and actually listen to the parents, then you shouldn’t be teaching here.” One of the moms stood just inside my classroom door, her hand clamped down on her squirming five-year-old son’s shoulder.

  Oh boy.

  I forced my go-to teacher smile—tired, but kind—and inhaled through my nose. Relax, Charlie. You can’t afford to lose this job. You don’t want to lose the job. The kids are amazing. You can handle—

  “Did you or did you not feed my child a banana yesterday?” The mom, Melissa, jerked her son forward a step. “Look at him! He’s pale. He came home feeling nauseated last night, and I want answers.”

  Chadley—an abominable name combination of Chad and Bradley—wrinkled his little button nose and squinted up at his mom. “I’m fine, Mommy. I just had bubbles in my tummy.”

  “I very clearly stated on his admission form that I don’t want him to eat any bananas.” Melissa pointed a perfectly manicured nail at me, her tennis bracelet sparkling by the light of the fluorescents overhead. “No bananas, no cherries. Nothing with grapes, either. Grapes trigger his asthma.”

  That makes sense, right?

  Mommy dearest took a measured step forward, the grinding of her teeth louder than the squeals and laughter from the playground outside. “And definitely no fish. We’re going vegan.” She sniffed. “How old are you?”

  Well, what’s that got to do with the price of… bananas?

  “Twenty-three,” I replied, as politely as humanly possible. It really wasn’t any of her business how old I was. My age didn’t restrict me from doing a good job here.

  “Young,” she said. “This is why I requested an older teacher for Chadley.”

  “Melissa, I assure you, your son’s dietary needs are well cared for,” I said. “We would never do anything to cause him any harm.”

  The woman’s lips, caked in pink gloss—probably MAC makeup—writhed. “Fine. But if he comes home feeling ill again, you and I are going to have a serious talk about your future at this school. In fact, I’ve already mentioned this lapse to Principal Henrietta.”

  My stomach sank. Oh, god. Principal Henrietta struck all kinds of terror into my heart. Not only did she hold my future at Daisy Oaks Kindergarten in her palm, but she had the temperament of a pressure cooker.