Submitting to the Doctor (Cowboy Doms 7)

As if, he snorted. No one, least of all him believed their unsubstantiated, wild accusations. Brad was never without a line of women waiting to jump at the chance to enter into an affair with one of the city’s most successful, wealthiest doctors and the few who were awarded the privilege each thought she would be the one he would keep. He could see Brad getting frustrated with a woman who refused to walk away without causing a scene when he was done with her, but a few bruises didn’t add up to assault.

But attacking his brother with enough surprise and force to leave him with a debilitating head wound was battery, and unforgivable in his book. No way would he return home without destroying those pictures first. He refused to let her drag Brad’s good name and reputation through the mud because she couldn’t accept he was done with her. She needed to pay for her sins. He would have to get hold of her phone somehow, as that was the next logical device where he would find anything. Assuming she carried it with her, he needed to take care plotting his next step. Breaking in again would be the easy part considering the quick way he’d manipulated the flimsy lock tonight without leaving a trace. Entering the residence while she was sleeping increased the risk to him and his career, but what other choice did she leave him?

Unfortunately, time was not on his side. Between the two-day drive here and the days of tracking her whereabouts, he didn’t have the luxury of waiting. If Bryan could get in tomorrow night, grab her phone and get out quick, Lillian would never suspect or hear a thing. With luck, she’d think she lost her cell, he could dispose of it and the photos and return to Utah to assist Brad in filing a complaint he would ensure resulted in charges.

As long as everything went according to plan.

Mitchell spent Sunday resisting the urge to check on Lillian, reminding himself she was fine when he left her last night. That determined independence continued to annoy him when he was in Dom mode as much as he admired the strength it took to make her way alone in the world. After the numerous cases of abuse he’d seen come through the emergency room over the years, he had gotten a good idea of how difficult it was for women to walk away from such toxic relationships. He still didn’t know much about Lillian’s circumstances, and that was on him. He hadn’t pushed, figuring first, they wouldn’t see each other again after she left the cabin and second, when they did, their opposing personalities and desires would prevent any type of relationship from forming.

It was hard to admit he was wrong, and this morning, even more difficult to acknowledge he hadn’t a clue where to go from here. The temptation to kiss her and reluctance to walk away last night were additional signs he should take the time for soul-searching before going forward. Was he ready and willing to explore taking their odd pairing further than any other relationship since losing Abbie? And if so, how to get Lillian on board with the idea remained an obstacle.

To take his mind off the promise of her acceptance of what she’d not only witnessed last night but everything he’d put her through, he trudged up to the attic to go through Abbie’s things, a chore he’d put off for too long. Opening the door to the musty odor, he flicked on the light, his eyes landing on her wedding dress hanging in the corner. Padding over to it, he fingered the lacey cream satin, picturing her shy smile as she’d walked toward him down the aisle. The memories could still produce a small pang and there would always be a small corner of his heart just for her and the special bond they had shared as both husband and wife and Dom/sub.

Would he really accept anything less in another relationship? Lillian’s flashing eyes and taunting smirks replaced Abbie’s downcast subservience and soft smiles of pleasure at doing his bidding. Lillian would challenge him, and maybe, since he had traded the everyday stress of sixty-hour workweeks as the head ER physician and trauma surgeon at a large hospital for the less time-consuming, mentally straining job of family practitioner, he would find the change stimulating. But would Lillian?

Mitchell took the dress off the rack and folded it up. Grabbing an empty box, he started gathering other items he had stashed up here when he moved in, at the time, still unable to let go of anything. With luck, bringing closure to one part of his life would help decide which path to take toward a possible new beginning.

Lillian took off early Sunday morning, enjoyed a big breakfast at the diner and visiting with people she was still getting to know. By the time she left, the sun shone high in the sky, the temperature already hitting the fifty-degree mark. She drove to the city park, acres of trees surrounding a small lake she discovered a few days ago. The picnic tables were empty but a few kids played on the playground and several people were taking advantage of the nice day to follow the walking path that wound in and out of the woods. Paddleboats sat docked but she could picture them in use during the summer months. After taking several pictures, she sat at a table with her sketch pad, sighing as she opened it to the picture of Liana she’d drawn at Mitchell’s cabin.

As always, sorrow threatened to bring her down, just like this morning when she’d first awoken and wanted to talk to Liana about her tumultuous feelings over surrendering to Mitchell and his sexual preferences. It wasn’t the first time and, God help her, she hoped it wouldn’t be the last. She could call Nan or Avery to talk out her confusion, but as welcoming and encouraging as her new friends were, they lacked the years of knowing her better than anyone else and the insight her special bond with her twin had offered.

“What do you say, sis? Is it time to pack up and go? Out of sight, out of mind, that’s all I need to get over this weird infatuation, right?” The picture didn’t answer, her mumblings drawing curious looks from a couple walking by and an immediate, painful twinge. The longer she stayed in Willow Springs, the more she wanted to stick around. Flipping the page over, she eyed the sketch of Mitchell and her heart turned over, proof she didn’t need her sister to tell her she didn’t want to go. Not yet.

She spent another hour at the park drawing and then returned to the ap

artment to paint. Nan called, asking how she was handling her first BDSM scene, her concern reminding Lillian of everyone’s unconditional acceptance of her into their close-knit group of friends. “Like you’ve been telling me, Doctor Mitchell is a hard man to resist,” she’d admitted. She didn’t mention embracing the physical responses to his sexual control was easy compared to the dent her acceptance put in her sworn independent nature. She couldn’t have it both ways – a sexually submissive desire while keeping her liberated views – could she? Wasn’t that at the root of her constant indecision since meeting Mitchell?

Between the time Lillian fixed dinner and turned in for the night, the answer to that question still evaded her. But as she drifted to sleep, there was no doubt how much time she spent that day craving to see Mitchell and hear his deep voice issuing more of those sexual demands she couldn’t resist.

Bryan waited another fifteen minutes after the lights went out in both the house and garage apartment before making a stealthy return back up the side steps and crouching to work the flimsy lock again. Clamping his cigarette between his lips, he slid the credit card between the door and lock, grateful the people in this backwoods town were dumb enough to leave themselves vulnerable to such break-ins. At least something was going his way.

A hall night light shed just enough illumination for him to make out the lowered Murphy bed and Lillian’s sleeping form, something he hadn’t counted on. His smoke might awaken her, but if he put it out, the ashes would leave evidence of his presence. Moving fast while keeping quiet wasn’t easy but he refused to back out now. He found her purse sitting next to the painting easel propped in front of the window. Keeping low, he searched the bag, gripped the phone and sidled back out the door, never noticing the ashes that dropped onto the turpentine-soaked rag next to the paints.

A faint, familiar odor tickled Lillian’s nose and throat several groggy minutes before the crackle of fire and wisps of smoke awoke her other senses. Coughing, she blinked open watery eyes to see flames licking up the window curtains and spreading to the ceiling. Shocked terror galvanized her into action as she threw herself from the bed and stumbled toward the door. She was halfway there when Mitchell flung it open, bare-chested and barefoot, gripping a fire extinguisher in one hand as he yanked her out with the other.

“Get downstairs,” he barked before entering the room with the fire-dousing spray already spewing from the canister.

Lillian dashed down the stairs and was greeted with the wail of sirens disturbing the quiet residential street. Wearing nothing but a thigh length sleep shirt and panties, she stood to the side, shivering as a volunteer fire truck pulled to the curb and a sheriff’s cruiser behind it. One of the young firemen tossed her a blanket as the deputy approached her with his hand out.

“Ma’am. Why don’t you sit in my vehicle while we get this under control and then you can give me a statement.”

Too shook up and cold to say anything, she nodded and slid into the still running SUV, savoring the heat as she watched with dread. An hour passed in which firemen dragged a hose up the stairs and aimed another hose spray at the side of the garage, working to contain the blaze still sparking inside the apartment. At one point, one of them had carried out several of her paintings and stacked them on the front porch of the house before trotting back up. Sheriff Grayson arrived thirty minutes ago and joined Mitchell upstairs, her worry for everyone increasing the longer it took to get the fire under control.

With a sigh of relief, Lillian finally saw the firemen rolling up their hoses and tromping down the stairs from the blackened garage. Mitchell’s soot darkened face looked as grim as Grayson’s as they came toward the cruiser. Opening the door, Mitchell took her hand, tugging her out as she noticed the plastic sack clutched in his other hand.

“Come inside, pet. We need to talk.”

That, along with the questions and concern crossing both men’s faces caused Lillian’s throat to clog with anxiety. Holding the blanket closed with her other hand, worry kept her silent until Mitchell opened the front door. “What’s wrong?” she asked as soon as she entered his house for the first time.

“Sit down.” He led her into a living room and pointed to a leather sectional in front of a brick fireplace. Setting the bag on the floor, he said, “I managed to grab your purse, some clothing and the bank bag that was stashed under it. Everything left reeks too much of smoke to salvage.”

“Thanks.” Flicking a glance toward the sheriff, whose rigid, arms-crossed stance made her nervous, she asked, “What happened? Was it the furnace?” The look they exchanged didn’t promise an easy explanation and spiked up her anxiety another notch. Mitchell leaned against the fireplace, his biceps bulging as he too crossed his arms. Before tonight, the only time she’d seen him bare chested had been at the cabin, when she eyed his complete nakedness as he turned from the fire and lust had tempered her grief for a short span. But right now, with her nerves shot, his overbearing, overprotective stance and intent gaze was working for her.

“The fire started by your paint supplies, the rags next to your easel,” Grayson said. “Turpentine is highly flammable.”

Lillian jumped to her feet, her body taut with denial. “Those are kept in a metal bucket and never near a furnace, or even a vent. And I don’t smoke. You have to be wrong.” Because if he wasn’t, that meant she was responsible for the destruction of Mitchell’s property, and she couldn’t bear that.

“Lillian, you’re not to blame.” Mitchell’s sharp rebuttal drew her stricken gaze. “Before turning in, did you lock the door?”