Submitting to the Doctor (Cowboy Doms 7)

His mouth twitched, enjoying her humor. It was so much better than her sniping or sadness. “I’m not most men and I’m checking you out as a doctor, not a lover.”

She set the tablet on the counter and lifted her sweater, her eyes on his face as she smirked, “So you’re not imagining what I look like without my bra right now?”

Sliding his eyes down, he visually caressed her white satin-covered breasts long enough to watch her nipples pucker in response. “About as much as you’re not imagining me touching you.” Her eyes flashed and she started to lower her top. Apparently she could dish it out but had trouble taking it. Or maybe she was fighting her response as hard as he was struggling to suppress the growing need to ease the pain reflected on her face with something pleasurable. He stopped her by reaching out and running his fingers over her bruised ribs. “Relax. It’s just a little harmless banter to break up the tedium.”

Lillian sucked in a deep breath as he lightly probed her black and blue ribcage. “Do you always blow so hot and cold? One minute you’re the nice, concerned doctor, the next a put-upon host and now the congenial acquaintance.”

“I could say the same about you, pet,” he answered absently as he tried to palpate her ribs without causing her too much discomfort. When he realized he let slip with another nickname, he glanced at her face, lifting one brow at her silence.

After a moment, she shrugged, saying, “Just don’t call me baby.”

“Deal. One to ten, how sore are you?”

“Maybe a four or five. I’m fine.”

He lowered his hand, replying, “You will be in a few weeks. Until then, no lifting or straining. I have aspirin, if you need it.” He plucked it out of an upper cabinet and set the bottle on the counter and then strode toward the door to shrug into his coat. “This will take a while, so rest and amuse yourself until I come back in.” Snatching up his gloves, he stepped out into bright sunshine but frigid cold air, wondering at the urge to put space between them.

Lillian scowled at the closed door. Mitchell’s parting comment had sounded more like an order than a suggestion, his clipped tone stirring up her resentment of this whole situation. When she’d teased him about getting under her clothes, she’d done so to throw him off guard, the same as her lightning quick, warm responses to his innocent touches had flustered her. The same desperate impulse to drive away and keep on going that had gripped her when she’d stumbled out of Brad’s house returned to plague her. Only she was as stuck here, with no way out as much as she had been trapped for the previous month into staying with Brad.

Liana’s smiling face popped up into Lillian’s head as she remembered their laughter as they’d tossed tinsel they’d plucked off their Christmas tree onto each other. That was the last time she’d heard Liana’s voice. A week later, Lillian had gotten the phone call from her sister’s boss telling her she’d collapsed at work and was en route to the hospital.

Blinking back tears, Lillian sat at the table and started sketching the scene in her head. During her two-week vigilance at the hospital, she’d passed the time by drawing childhood memories of the two of them, thinking they might help Liana heal when she awoke. After her twin had been moved to the care home and Brad blackmailed Lillian with threats to her beloved sister, she’d been too distraught and then too angry with him and fate to sketch any more memories.

It had been a grave mistake to let herself lean on Brad right after Liana had collapsed. She’d broken up with him because of his high-handed, possessive manner and attempts to control her, but the shock and despair of her sister’s condition had rendered her helpless to cope alone. With no other family, Brad had taken advantage of her grief and uncertainty and then revealed the true depth of his obsession with her when she’d backed away. But every snide, cutting remark, every punch, arm twist, kick and unwanted fuck had been worth it to ensure Liana didn’t suffer at his hands. Lillian still shuddered when she recalled the things he’d said he could do to her, things sure to cause tremendous pain without anyone being the wiser.

A scraping sound drew her eyes to the window as she finished a sketch of Liana reaching to place the star on a Christmas tree. She watched the snow fall away from the window, one scrape from top to bottom at a time, until enough cleared she could see Mitchell. A black Stetson covered his head and a scarf tucked around his neck was stretched over his mouth and nose, but there was no mistaking that unnerving, penetrating gaze zeroing in on her through the cleared glass. She wanted to look away, to hide from whatever he was trying to calculate from her expression but refused to back down.

And then his head moved in an almost imperceptible nod, as if he’d been checking up on her and affirmed she was doing his bidding by resting and drawing. She slid her eyes away from the window, a curl of resentment forming a knot in her stomach. He’s a doctor, I should cut him some slack. Maybe she would if she hadn’t been forced to endure another doctor’s insufferable dictates for weeks. Mitchell’s tendency to order instead of ask might stem from medical concern, but she didn’t care. The part of her that still trembled whenever she thought of Brad’s retribution when she didn’t meet his demands insisted she retaliate.

With no thought in mind except to venture outside in a small show of rebellion, Lillian tried not to think about her aching face and ribs as she tugged on her boots after Mitchell moved away from the window. Snatching her coat off the rack, she buttoned up and pulled on her gloves, figuring she wouldn’t mind if the cold air numbed her face. Opening the door, she shielded her eyes against the glare of bright sunshine bouncing off a field of winter white.

The sou

nd of an ax cutting through wood resonated from around the side and Lillian trudged through several feet of snow to spy on her host, admiring the glistening icicles dangling from frozen tree limbs. Peeking around the corner, she spotted Mitchell, now coatless, lifting an ax above his head and bringing it down in the center of a propped-up log, his strong swing splitting the wood in two. Okay, he is worth staring at, she admitted as his shoulder and back muscles bunched under the brown flannel shirt. Snug jeans emphasized the clench of taut buttocks as he replaced the split pieces with another hefty log. He was just as eye-catching now as last night when she’d seen his naked body silhouetted by the glowing fire. She might have been groggy with lingering exhaustion, but she’d been awake enough to appreciate the mouthwatering, pussy spasming view.

Lillian shook her head, admitting he was right; her thoughts about him jumped back and forth as much as his treatment of her. For two days, ever since she’d fled Brad’s house, got in her car and just drove, she’d been operating on remote control. She still had no destination in mind for when she left here and didn’t want to think ahead to the bleak future without Liana. Living for the moment was all she cared to do right now, and the sudden urge to have some fun with the good doctor took hold.

Squatting down, she scooped up a wad of snow and formed a snowball, intent on showing Mitchell she was perfectly capable of deciding how much rest or inactivity she could handle. She was bruised and sore, nothing she didn’t have experience with even if this was the first time Brad had unleashed such uncontrolled anger on her and aimed for her ribs and face. She hoped the gash on his head she’d inflicted pained him as much as what she suffered.

Taking aim, she let loose with the snowball, wincing at the pull around her upper torso. The extra discomfort was worth it when Mitchell spun around in surprise and glared at her.

“Knock it off, Lillian,” he growled as she scooped up another wad of snow in her gloved hands. “You’re supposed to be resting.”

“I don’t need to rest. I slept twelve hours between yesterday and this morning.” She shivered as he fisted his hands on those lean hips and his hazel eyes darkened to almost solid brown. She was learning to detect his mood by the color of his eyes and that look was becoming familiar, as was her heated response to his deep, demanding tone.

“I think I’m better qualified to know what you need to do. Now put that down and get back inside,” he ordered.

Oh, no, neither that dictate nor her body’s strange reaction was acceptable, leaving her only one way to retaliate. “Tsk, tsk, Doc, you’re getting bossy again.” Lobbing the snowball, she hit him in the chest. The disbelief on his face was comical until he came toward her with stealthy purpose.

Sparring with Mitchell helped keep her mind off her plight better than anything else thus far. Laughing, she held out a hand, as if that would hold him back. “You have to be nice, I’m hurt, remember?”

“You just said you were fine,” he reminded her in a voice soft as silk, moving through the knee-high pileup much faster and easier than she.

Lillian backed away with a shiver, her pulse leaping as he closed the distance between them before she could reach the door. In her clumsy haste, she lost her footing and went down, the snow softening her fall but chilling her to the bone as the back of her bare head dampened. Mitchell came down on top of her, bracing on his arms, a small grin replacing the stern slash of his mouth.

“Serves you right for disobeying me.”

Lillian’s breath stalled and her heart thudded against her chest as Mitchell’s face looming above her blurred into Brad’s, his words hurling her back to the last time Brad’s threats forced her to endure his possession. For a few seconds, the same sense of humiliation, throat-tightening despair and white-hot fury clouded her mind. Refusing to give in to the panicked distress threatening her composure, she snapped back as quickly as she’d tumbled down that rabbit hole, Mitchell’s whiplash voice helping her to refocus on the present.