Kissing the Dr (Healing Love)

He was too busy lately—too busy for me, for sex, for fun, for date night. For everything but surgery and research, and more surgery. Other than a few amazingly hot early morning make-out sessions in the kitchen, Casey didn’t have time for anything.

His expression softened and he let out a long, exhausted sigh. “I know, Megs. I know, and I’m working on it. I’m planning to talk to Suzie about getting another surgeon for my department.”

I smiled because I appreciated the effort, but I knew what would happen, and I suspected Casey knew it, too. He was just focused on getting what he wanted because through a combination of hard work, determination, and luck, he’d gotten pretty much everything he ever wanted in life. But I did plenty of fundraising for the JRMC and I knew they didn’t have the funds to add more specialists to the payroll.

An argument for another time.

“If you need to pick up anything, just let me know. I’m going the day after tomorrow. The same day as your big surgery.”

“I’ll let you know,” he said, a little distracted by something.

The door to the bakery opened and I glanced over my shoulder as another two dozen tourists entered the shop, more decamping from one of those big luxury tourist buses.

“I’ve gotta go, babe.” I stood and pressed a hard kiss to his mouth. “Love you.”

“Love you more,” he whispered softly and gave me one last kiss—a kiss so hot and so short, it only made me want more.

A lot more.

Casey

A politician. I should have known that the reason I’d left the overnight shift in my rearview mirror, the reason we had to clear an entire wing of one floor, was for a damn politician. At least he was a halfway decent politician, which lessened my anger at the privileges he’d received, and the fact that the clot I was currently removing was one hell of a beast.

Instrumental rock music played in the operating room while my team and I worked like the well-oiled machine we were. I knew everything there was to know about the blood clot in his brain, thanks to the scans and three years of medical history. So far, the politician hadn’t suffered any mental slips from the clot, but it had grown too much over the past year and he wanted it handled. Quietly.

After ninety minutes in the OR, I glanced at the clock on the wall and sighed. “Has Megan called yet?”

“No, Dr. Jackson. Not yet.”

I knew what I sounded like—an overprotective husband, and that was exactly what I was. Megan was a confident and capable woman, but she’d headed into the city for a shopping trip and my stubborn wife had insisted on bypassing interstate traffic in favor of back roads. Of course, I worried.

There was probably nothing to worry about. She’d called the trip a “pre-anniversary trip,” which meant she’d come home with a pretty dress, maybe some sexy lingerie if I was lucky. I knew I was a lucky man, getting Megan to wait for me while I was in medical school and then my residency and fellowship. Marrying Megan was the best thing I ever did, even though things were a little strained right now because of my new research and our recent upgrade to a Tier I neurosurgical facility. My career was going better than I had ever imagined, but the price was feeling too far removed from my wife.

My childhood sweetheart.

My best friend.

“How are things, Dr. Jackson?” Suzie’s voice broke through my thoughts, and I looked up before I remembered this OR didn’t have an observation deck.

“Good,” I assured her as I tried to keep my annoyance to a minimum. “It’s taking some finesse, which means it’s time-consuming, but so far, so good.”

“Excellent. I’ll let the family know.”

I grunted a response, glancing at the clock again as worry settled in my gut. The rain had started about thirty minutes ago and those back roads were prone to flooding and accidents. “Still nothing?”

“No, Doctor.”

“Dammit,” I growled and turned back to the task at hand. The sound of the rain falling outside was the perfect soundtrack for this type of precision work, but as the rainfall grew thicker and more treacherous, the knot in my belly tightened.

Three hours later and it was a downpour outside, the clot was just about removed, and Megan still hadn’t called. She should have been back in Jackson’s Ridge by now and if she was, she would have checked in to ask how the VIP surgery had gone and to gush over her new purchases.

“Call again, please.”

The nurse, to her credit, didn’t roll her eyes or protest, she just picked up my cell phone and dialed. “No answer.”

Dammit, Megan, where are you?

Five minutes later, the phone rang. “Put it on speaker, please.”

“Casey? Hey, babe, how did the surgery go?” The tension in my chest eased at the sound of her upbeat, smiling voice. “Is it a pop star?”