S.O.S. (Doctor Drama Book 3) Read online

  S.O.S

  Amanda Faye

  Acknowledgment

  This story is fueled by a soundtrack of Rihanna and a steady stream of Lucifer fanfiction. I want to give huge thanks to Kathy Jackson and Amber Dilks for reading and rereading this as I worked the kinks out of this baby.

  I want to thank Ben and Rashaan, the best work boyfriends a girl could have, for keeping me entertained with a steady stream of sports trash talk combined with dirty talk that would make a pro blush. Every time I put something down on paper, you inspired me to up my game for next time.

  Thank you to Kathy and Sabrina for the constant nagging about why I wasn't done yet and to my ever faithful husband, Thomas, who both complained that I wasn't moving fast enough, then complained when I sat down to write. Thanks, love, for keeping me on my toes.

  Prologue

  Emma

  “Dr. Logan Taylor, plastics.”

  I look at the hand stretched out in front of me, then allow my eyes to travel up the man to whom it belongs.

  Logan Taylor is a beautiful looking specimen. He’s six foot at least, maybe an inch or two taller. He’s got an athletic shape with strong, broad shoulders and a trim waist. Instead of wearing the full stuffy suit, so many of the men at the conference are wearing; he’s in a form-fitting light blue dress shirt, stretched tight against his muscled chest, open at his collar, neatly tucked into grey dress slacks. Flicking my eyes quickly to his other hand, I see that his hand is bare of a wedding ring. Though, that’s no indication these days.

  His hair is what some would consider fashionably long, but my mother would say needed a trim. Either way, it’s cut and styled in a current fashion and does beautiful things for his bone structure. His eyes, when I finally make contact with them, are a gorgeous rich brown, lighter as you move away from the iris, and I get a burst of butterflies flapping around in my belly. His cheekbones are prominent, and he has an ‘I simply forgot to shave today’ amount of stubble along his jawline. His nose is slightly too large for his face, but in my opinion, that only adds to his attractiveness. Plastics is undoubtedly the right specialty for him because he looks like someone built him from clay.

  I wonder what his subspecialty is? You don’t see very many plastic surgeons at conferences on pain management in pediatric surgery. I’m in general surgery, so at least I work with children on a fairly regular basis. Mainly teenagers, but still. The only reason I’m here is that Darcy, my pediatric surgeon brother, couldn’t come himself. That, and I thought a weekend on a beach would do me some good.

  “Emma Adams, General.”

  He smiles when I say my name, and it turns his facial expression from an intense physician to a rakish troublemaker. My ovaries give a wave at the grin spread across his face. Trouble is exactly what he is.

  I place my hand in his and am pleasantly surprised at the firmness of his handshake. Most men pussyfoot when they have to shake a woman’s hand. Even in today’s age, when women hold as much power as men do, male surgeons tend to look down on the fairer sex. Having a twin brother, I was raised with the opinion that I can do anything he can do, and do it better, and I have the awards and degrees to prove it.

  I open my mouth to ask more about him, but the speakers emit the ‘ding ding’ sound throughout the conference center to let us know the current panel is starting. Like a gentleman of old, he moves aside with a little bow and makes an ushering motion with his arms, indicating that I should go before him.

  When I pass him by, it’s like walking through a cloud of electricity, and I feel my pulse kick up a notch as I sense him fall into place behind. The hair on the back of my neck rises, and I know that Dr. Logan Taylor is at this very moment checking out my ass. Without a conscious decision, I put a little extra swing into my hips. It’s been a good long while since a man looked at me that way, and it sends a spark of pride rushing up my extremities. My favorite blue pencil skirt is tight in all the right places, thanks to my tailor at home, and I know the cut of the skirt makes my ass look phat instead of just plain fat. Or so, Joe used to tell me.

  I push the unexpected thought of my recent ex-boyfriend out of my mind: him, and all of the resulting depression that comes with him.

  Taking a seat towards the back, I’m not surprised in the least when a specific plastic surgeon slides into place next to me. The smirk on his face makes me unexpectedly giggle, and I slap a hand over my mouth as the few other attendees around us turn towards me. My whole body is tingling, and I feel light and playful for the first time in ages. Less than five minutes in his presence and something about this man has me twittering like a teenager.

  ◆◆◆

  The session is over, and I didn’t pay attention to any of it. Logan brought out a notepad, and we spent the entire hour writing notes back and forth like in high school. When the lights come back on, and the crowd starts to disperse, he writes one more note, rips it out of the pad, then slowly puts it into my jacket pocket. Without another word, he stretches most deliciously, then gets up and starts to join the crowd. With a backward glance, he winks at me, then disappears into the group of people.

  When I pull the note out of my pocket, it only says two things.

  Rm 422, 8 p.m.

  Chapter 1

  Emma

  “Apparently he’s single. His wife left him a few months ago.”

  “How do you know that already? The man’s barely been here a day.”

  “Her loss is our gain. Remind me to send her a thank you note.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up; he’s only here for three months.”

  “All I need is a few hours.”

  “Is it some sort of rule that all plastic surgeons are gorgeous?”

  “I have a friend from college who works at his old hospital."

  I pass a group of nurses on my way to the locker room at the end of the day and catch a glimpse of their gossip. Everywhere I’ve turned today has been the same thing. The female population of the hospital has gone into overdrive at the arrival of the temp covering Noah’s service while he and Lizzy are overseas.

  I haven’t gotten a look at him myself yet, but judging by the reaction of the single half of our staff, and not a few of the married ones as well, he must be some sort of Norse God. Frankly, it's already getting on my nerves.

  I push open the door to the locker room and see that it's blessedly quiet, except for Lizzy at the lockers.

  “I still can’t believe you’re taking two toddlers with you to a third world country," I huff in her direction.

  I don’t know why I keep harping on about it. It’s not like I’m going to be able to talk her out of it the night before they leave, but I still can’t wrap my mind around it. Lizzy rolls her eyes at me and lets out a good-natured chuckle. She’s going through her locker and divvying up all the snacks and such that won’t be good when she gets back in three months.

  “First of all, we’re not taking two toddlers. We’re taking one toddler and a six-year-old. Second of all, it’s not a third world country. You make it sound like we’re going to be dropped into the middle of the jungle with a blow gun and a pack of sunscreen and left to fend for ourselves. We’re doing a three-month volunteer stint at a refugee clinic. Which you very well know. So stop trying to make it sound like we’re off cavorting with Amazonian tribes. Besides that, Noah’s parents and one of my brothers are all coming with us. It’s not too late for you to come too. They are desperate for good medical help over there.”

  She’s got one hand on her hip and is waiting for my response with a smirk on her face. This isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation in the past few weeks.

  “And you know I can’t do that. Darcy would never survive without one of
us here to keep his ego in check. Besides, I have no desire to take Brandon to a refugee camp. One of two things would happen, neither of them good. One, he’d see all the pain and suffering, and then refuse to leave swearing that we had to stay and help. You know how sensitive he is. Two, he’d see the kids running around like packs of wild animals, and again, refuse to leave. Next thing I know, I’m living out of a tent for the rest of my life. No, thanks.”

  She laughs good-naturedly, knowing the truth in my words. My son is almost nine and has an old soul, according to his grandmother. I think he’s got a physician’s soul and can’t stand to see others in pain.

  “Anyway. Have you seen the new guy yet? It’s all anyone seems able to talk about today.”

  “Yeah, I met him a few days ago. Noah picked him up from the airport. They’re in surgery now. One last test before Noah hands off his duties for three months. We’re supposed to have dinner with him tonight to go over any last-minute questions he may have. You know, Noah, even though Dr. Kleise is still here, he’s nervous about leaving his department in the hands of anybody except himself.”

  I can’t help the scoff that slips out through my lips. That’s how I ended up at that pediatric conference a few months ago. Darcy is afraid if he leaves the hospital for more than a few hours at a time, the whole place will fall apart without him. Not that that turned out so bad after all. I feel my nipples tighten at the thought of my brief but an intense weekend at the resort in Mexico. As covertly as I can, I press the heel of my hands against my breasts, trying to soothe the sudden ache there.

  I haven’t had sex since that last night of the conference. Partly because the opportunity hasn’t presented itself, and partly because I’m afraid nothing will live up to the memory.

  “I know. You don’t see me freaking out about leaving. I didn’t bring in any specialists to help cover my service. I just shoved Sean into my desk chair and told him that if there was even one scrap of paper out of place when I got back, I didn’t care if he helped train me or not, he’d be dealing with nothing other than the stomach flu and bowel impactions for a month.”

  With a final motion, she slams her locker shut and turns to face me head-on.

  “Is he as good looking as they all say?”

  “He’s pretty hot. I’ll give him that. Not as hot as Noah, but then, who is? Come on, get dressed. You can come with us to dinner. Meet the new guy yourself.”

  Brandon is at a friend’s house tonight, so I don’t have any reason to rush home. But still.

  “I don’t know, Lizzy. I have an early morning tomorrow.”

  “Oh, come on. You’ve barely done anything since Hixson left. It’s our last night here. Come with us and check out the new guy.”

  She moves to stop in front of me and pulls on both of my hands, trying to urge me up off of the couch with a pouty face. It’s amusing because I have almost six inches and fifty pounds on her. Lizzy has a tiny body and a personality large enough to fill an auditorium. It’s what makes it so hard to say no to her.

  “Pleeeeease?”

  “Sure, fine. Maybe then I can see what all the fuss is about.”

  I roll my eyes as she does a little happy dance, then haul my ass up off of the couch.

  I grab my clothes out of my locker and change into a pair of jeans and a pink long-sleeved shirt. My polka dot bra can be seen through the thin fabric in spots, and I can hear my mother’s lecturing tone in my head, but I stopped caring about what people thought a long time ago. Or I stopped admitting I cared at any rate. Anyway, I’m of the opinion that you don’t wear a polka dot bra unless you want it to be seen. I take a moment to admire myself in the mirror, and inwardly cringe at the extra forty pounds I’m carrying around, but again, decide I really don’t care. If it comes down to being fashionably skinny or eating cheesecake, I’m going to choose the cheesecake every time, speaking of which.

  “Where are we going for dinner? I’m starving.”

  “I think Noah said something about the bar. Better to get him introduced to it now. He’ll probably be spending a lot of time there.”

  Due to their closeness to the hospital, most of the staff eat half of their meals either at the bar down the street or the twenty-four-hour diner directly next to it. It depends on the time of day and the amount of alcohol the day you had requires.

  One more time, I’m on the couch, this time to pull my boots on instead of my work sneakers. It’s in the twenties outside, and the news said we should expect more snow tonight — nothing unusual for Denver in the wintertime but irritating non the less. I live just a few miles away from the hospital, in a house my brother Darcy and I bought together. Now Brandon and I share it with my soul sister Charlotte and her children. During good weather, it takes me fifteen minutes to get to and from work, but in the snow, that can double easy.

  Lizzy’s bouncing up and down on her toes, mumbling about how slow I move without someone bleeding out in front of me. I don’t know what the hurry is, it’s not like Noah’s here anyway, but I suppose she does have a lot on her plate right now. I see her tapping her thumb against each of her fingers in turn, then repeating the process, and I feel a surge of guilt for giving her a hard time tonight. It’s a calming technique she picked up in therapy, and I feel like an ass for not realizing how stressful this must all be for her.

  “I’m coming. I’m coming, take a chill pill. I’m sorry.”

  “No, I’m sorry. I’m just anxious. You know how I get. There’s just still so much to get done before we go to the airport tomorrow. I really don’t want to waste time taking this guy out tonight, to be honest, but you know Noah.” She shrugs, but she’s right, I do know Noah. Something about that rich boy upbringing he got gave him a severe control complex. He won’t want to leave unless he knows he has someone as good as himself here to cover for him.

  Her phone goes off, and she swipes across the screen before putting it back in her pocket.

  “It’s Noah. They’re done talking to the family. Says to go ahead and meet them at the bar.”

  Standing, I put on my coat and watch as she hikes an overly full book bag onto her shoulders. Without further ado, I follow her out of the locker room.

  Chapter 2

  Emma

  Next Episode Dr. Dre Snoop Dog

  I step out into the open space, and it’s like I’ve stepped into a lightning storm. Noah is walking down the hallway, and next to him, I can only assume, is the new plastic surgeon.

  Holy Shit. I look around to see if maybe he’s a figment of my imagination, but no, almost every person in the hallway has stopped to watch their approach — expressions on the floor range from enjoyment of the view to hunger to predatory. Women are licking their lips and picturing what he looks like naked. The guys are calculating the odds that he’s gay or at least bi, or if he’s going to steal their girl. In my mind, their normal strides have slowed down to the strut walk you see hot guys do in movies, and the chorus from The Next Episode with Dr. Dre has started spewing from the loudspeakers.

  I was right about his height. Noah is 6’3, and the man beside him is only an inch or two shorter. Noah is broader by far, but even in the scrubs, you can see every muscle move and clench as they make their way towards us. If Noah is a linebacker, then this man is a quarterback.

  His hair is loose around his face but has obviously been recently released from his capture in a scrub cap. Messy. Pullable. Where several months ago I felt like he needed a haircut, now I’m of the opinion he should never cut his hair again. It pisses me off that just out of surgery, his hair looks better than mine does at the beginning of the day. Or maybe it's not that it looks better but looks like he’s just been fucked, and he liked it.

  Sweet Jesus, my knees go weak as memories flood me.

  I look around again to see where I could run and hide, but I’m stuck — cornered like a wild animal. Never before have I felt so trapped inside the walls of the hospital.

  I must have made some sound, because Lizzy starts gig
gling beside me, watching my budding panic attack with amusement. She's probably mistaking it for an appreciation of the view in front of us. Together, the boys do make a delicious buffet.

  “So Em, think he’s as good looking as they say?”

  My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my gut. I think I might honest to God swoon. Then horror overtakes me. This can’t be happening. The whole point of one night with a stranger was what happens in Mexico stays in Mexico.

  They’re on us now, and Noah bends to give Lizzy a kiss on her cheek. I see the recognition flare in his eyes and twitch my head quickly side to side, praying he gets the hint.

  “Emma, this is Dr. Logan Taylor. Formerly of East Side Medical in New York, he’ll be covering my service for the next three months while we’re in Ghana. Logan, Dr. Emma Adams. Emma's another lifer, been here since our intern year. She’s in general.”

  I square my shoulders and reach out my hand, the way any stranger would to a fellow stranger. I ignore the holes he’s boring into me with his eyes, and the smirk etched across his face. Ignore the way my crotch clenches in memory of the things he did to me — the things we did together.

  “Nice to meet you, Logan. I hope everyone’s made you feel welcome.” By which I mean, if you give any indication that I let you debase me like a two-dollar whore and loved every second of it, I’ll hunt you down and cut your balls off.

  Thank goodness he takes the hint and reaches out to shake my hand with nothing but that grin on his face. His hand is well manicured and smooth. Not that I would expect anything less from a plastic surgeon. His touch is different than the time I shook his hand before, and when he pulls away, his fingers linger across my skin. When his fingertips graze across my palm, my body responds immediately, breaking out into goosebumps. My nipples are so hard they hurt.