The Best Medicine

Chapter 17



TYLER WAS BRINGING PANZER TO my apartment, and they should arrive any minute. I’d rushed around for the last half hour tidying things up, but in the scheme of messes, the figurative one I was making was far worse. I had stopped at the shelter at lunch and filled out all the adoption forms. Now all there was left to do was wait. Officially, the dog was mine. And unofficially, so was Tyler.

Earlier this morning, standing in rain, I’d been so certain of my decision. Taking in the dog had seemed like the right thing to do. I’d felt a rush of altruism and good-deedliness. I was saving a life. We doctors love that sort of thing.

I’d been certain about Tyler too. The wind and the storm and his arms and his mouth. It had all proven too irresistible. Even now, the thought of him sent blood whooshing to every erogenous zone on my body.

But this afternoon, I’d taken some time to look over Chris Beaumont’s credentials, and that had caused a little whooshing as well. Everything Hilary had said about him seemed true. The only part she’d left out of her description was his dedication to charity work, his multiple awards and publications, and the fact that he was the child of two physicians, just like me. I did want to meet him. And I had every right to meet him.

Tyler and I weren’t a thing. We were hardly even a fling. Maybe I should just take my dog and say good night. For both our sakes, maybe I should end this road trip before it even began, before our emotions got tangled up in the bedsheets, and each good-bye felt like the final one.

I jumped like a hot kernel of popcorn when my doorbell rang. They were here. I was ridiculously nervous, as if the dog might reject me and not want to live here. Or even worse, he’d love it and want to stay. And so would Tyler. What was I doing?

I wiped my palms over the front of my shorts. I’d put on a sundress after work, but moments earlier had changed into navy-blue shorts. With a belt. A complicated belt. It had three prongs and two loops. If Tyler was going to get to me, he was going to have to work for it.

I breathed deep and slow, trying to recall what my yoga instructor had taught me. Then I remembered—I’d never taken yoga. That’s how rattled I was right now. I made a mental note to give yoga a try—because clearly I needed to learn its relaxation properties—and then I opened the door.

There they were, all sunshiney and happy bright. Panzer’s tail was wagging as if he knew I’d saved his life. Tyler leaned over and kissed my cheek, a natural gesture, as if we’d been easy lovers for a decade instead of virtual strangers with barely twenty hours of conversation between us. Somehow it felt like more. My left ventricle slammed twice as hard as normal against the right as the two sides tried to regulate.

I pulled the door open wider. “Come on in.”

Tyler was carrying a couple of white grocery bags. The plastic crinkled as he set them on my counter. “I have some other things for you in the car. Some dog food and bowls, stuff like that.”

Dog food? Bowls? I hadn’t thought of that. See? That’s how bad I was going to be at taking care of this animal. I wasn’t prepared for this at all. Not for any of it. But my Boy Scout was. He made two more trips in and out of my apartment, bringing in various canine necessities, including a fresh new doggy bed made of Sherpa material.

“Where do you want this?” he asked.

“Um, in my bedroom, I guess.”

His smile was equal parts sexy and playful. “Lucky dog.”

I pointed to the bedroom door, trying to look unfazed and probably failing. I followed behind him, noticing his nice, broad back in the process. “Put it in the corner, please.”

He set down the bed and patted it. Panzer strolled over, sniffed it, and then made three circles before settling down with a wumpf and a doggy sigh.

Tyler turned to me, bright and satisfied. He brushed his palms together and stood up. “Well, he’s all moved in.”

“I guess so.” I tapped my hands against my thighs. This was when I should tell him thanks very much and buh-bye. He’d done his good deed for the day, and so had I. Now I needed to nip this budding romance right in the . . . well, in the bud.

“Want some wine?” I asked instead.

Excellent, Evelyn. Alcohol is definitely the way to shore up those defenses.

Tyler stepped a little closer. His gaze dropped to my mouth and lingered so long it nearly felt like a kiss. I wondered if anyone had ever burst into flames from the heat of his stare. Something indefinable about him set off reactions in me I’d never felt before. I understood biology well enough, but none of this made sense. It was like when I’d tried ice-skating as a child and had no control over where my feet went. No control over the slip-slide of my body. The lack of certainty over where I was headed felt like falling. Endlessly.

He took another slow step and rested his hands on my hips, tugging me gently toward him. I had the resistance of a magnet.

“Wine sounds good.” His voice had gone all husky, in that I’m-about-to-kiss-you-blissful tone.

Run away. I should run away.

My head knew it, but the message went no farther. My hands eased up his arms and slipped naturally around his shoulders, drawing him near when I should be doing just the opposite. Wherever we were headed was a dead-end road. There was no future for the two of us. But Tyler Connelly seemed like a worthy destination all on his own. An all-inclusive resort, and suddenly I needed a vacation.

I lifted up on my toes, rubbing against him as I rose and enjoying his sharp intake of breath. I wasn’t completely without wiles.

“We should have wine,” I whispered, my lips so close to his I could already taste him.

He nodded. “Later.” He hands moved fast, wrapping all the way around me until I was tight in his embrace, and then he kissed me, thoroughly.

All the certainty I’d felt this morning came crashing back, a tidal wave of desire nearly drowning me. I wanted him. All of him. It had been two years—two years since I’d been kissed at all, and a lifetime since I’d been kissed so well.

This was about to become a very, very good night.

Light from the setting sun cast golden rays around the room, creating patterns across the bed as I pulled Tyler toward it.

Yes, we should have wine first.

I knew that.

I was familiar with the protocol. A little wine. A little conversation. A little bob and weave while we pretended this wasn’t a sure thing. But we’d done that, in our way, and my partner didn’t seem to mind the rush.


As soon as the backs of my legs tapped against the edge of the mattress, down we went. I’m not sure if he pushed or I pulled, but it didn’t really matter. Kisses scattered everywhere. He grazed his mouth across my neck, pressing here and there, biting just a little. I arched to grant him access gladly. The bed creaked as we moved, as if even my furniture was out of practice, but Tyler skimmed his warm hands over my warmer skin, and knowledge I hadn’t used in a while all came rushing back. This was just like riding a bike. Only so much better. I tugged his T-shirt up and over his head and thought my pulse might exceed my heart’s ability.

Tyler in a shirt was a delicious vision.

Tyler without one was a work of art.

Impatient now, I pushed at his shoulders to roll him to his back. He laughed, but his humor turned into a throaty growl as I kissed my way from his navel up toward his chest. His hands tangled in my hair, tugging, caressing. I was alive, in the moment, with every nerve ending in my body shouting to be touched.

Pheromones didn’t care about tomorrow. They didn’t care about education or employment or age. Their only job was clearly defined, and ours were working overtime.

Tyler let me have my way for a minute, but then I was on my back again as he tugged at my intricate belt. I should’ve worn the sundress.

“Damn it, Evie. Is this thing locked?”

I giggled low, a sexy, sultry purr I’d never heard from my own throat before.

“It only unlocks if you brought protection. Please tell me you brought protection along with all those dog toys.”

“I brought protection.”

“Thank God.”

Tyler laughed at my demonstrable relief, and so did I. Then I reached down to help him set me free of the belt, and free of any residual reservations.

Laughter faded as tussling gave way to rolling waves, and flutters turned to long, sure strokes. I was hyperfocused on sensations, giving and receiving. I was happy.

And then I was soaring.

And then I was blissful.

And then I was laughing, because when all was said and done, when the loving was over and our pulses had returned to almost normal, Tyler lifted his tranquil face from my shoulder and said, “Now will you go out with me?”



“What’s this tattoo supposed to mean?” I traced my fingertips over Tyler’s deltoid as we lingered under the covers of my bed. The markings on his arm were a little harder to make out now that the sun had set sometime during the midst of round two.

Tyler tucked his other arm up under the pillow as we faced each other.

“Just my dad’s initials with some extra swirls.”

My euphoria dimmed. I wished I hadn’t asked him, but the topic was out there now.

“That’s sweet. How old were you when he died?” I rested my palm against the ink.

“Sixteen. Grant and I both got them the day after the funeral. My mom was furious.”

“Because it’s your father’s initials?” Surprise pitched my voice upward.

He gave a tiny shake of his head, as much as the pillow would allow. “No. No, of course not. When we explained that’s what they were, she cried. But she was still mad as hell because she hates tattoos. Plus we took Scotty with us, and he was only ten.” He said that last part as if it were inconsequential.

“Ten? What kind of place would agree to give a tattoo to a ten-year-old?”

Tyler smiled, a lazy, sleepy smile. One weighted down by memory. “None, as it turns out. They almost wouldn’t do mine except Grant knew the guy.” A wistful sigh escaped him, and I recognized the longing. The missing of someone who was out of reach, as my father had often been. In a strange way, this was something we had in common, although my father’s absence had been voluntary.

I leaned over and kissed his arm, right over the markings. It was a sentimental thing to do, really not my style, but tonight I was giving in to all my feminine instincts, and in that moment, I wanted to kiss his tattoo.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, his voice a little gruff and abrupt.

I let my head fall back to the pillow. “I am, now that you mention it, but I don’t have much to eat here.”

“Jasper’s delivers. We could order something from there. Or get a pizza.”

Pizza delivery. On a Friday night. With a guy and my dog. This should feel utterly average and mundane, but my heart brightened like the lighting of a sparkler. I wasn’t going to question why. I was enjoying myself. No sense in ruining it with overanalysis.

“Sure. Pizza sounds good.”

We each reached around to find our scattered clothing. My shirt was on top of the covers, so I pulled it on, skipping my bra, which seemed acceptable under the circumstances. My shorts were on the floor. I grabbed them next as Tyler found his boxers and pulled them on, followed by his jeans. But my underwear was AWOL. I looked up at the ceiling fan. Maybe it had landed there, since our disrobing had been a little frantic. But no. No underwear up there.

I slid my hand around under the sheets.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

I felt my cheeks heat up. “I can’t find my underwear.”

Tyler walked around to the other side of the bed and gave a little chuckle. “Um, were these them?”

He pulled a wad of shredded pink satin from Panzer’s mouth.

Yes. Those were them.

“Panzer. Bad dog.”

He wagged his tail as soon as I looked at him. Obedience training was going to have a steep learning curve for the two of us.

Tyler laughed harder. “I think these are done for.” He carried my soggy, chewed-up underwear by his index finger into the bathroom, and I heard them go into the trash basket just before he shut the door. I slid from the bed and grabbed a fresh pair of panties from the drawer, pulling them on, along with my shorts. I tried to fix my hair in the mirror above my dresser, but there was no repairing it.

“So, pizza it is,” Tyler said as he came from the bathroom a minute later and we walked into the other room.

Panzer wandered out with us, yawning as if he’d been the one exerting himself. I tossed him a rawhide from the counter. He picked it up and took it over to the other side of the room to gnaw.

“Wish I’d given him that half an hour ago,” I said.

Tyler smiled as he dialed his phone. He ordered us food while I unpacked the last bag of dog stuff.

“So you should walk him at least once a day, but twice is even better. I can help with that,” Tyler said as soon as he’d hung up.

The offer was thoughtful, and not unexpected, but the sense that we’d agreed to joint custody of this dog created a pressure in my chest. It wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable, just . . . foreign.

“Do I need to walk him every time he has to pee?”

“Not a long walk. But he’ll need to go outside a couple of times a day. You’ve had dogs before, right?”

I shook my head. “No.”

His motions stilled. He looked stunned, as if I’d just exposed my Borg implant.

“Never? What kind of a miserable childhood did you have?”

His tangible disbelief made me laugh, and the pressure went away.

“I had a perfectly acceptable childhood, but I was busy with school, and piano lessons, and science camp. You know, the usual stuff.” I cleared a space off the folding table that served as my dining room and part-time home office.

“Science camp? I think your concept of the usual stuff might be different than mine.” He tossed two more dog toys on the floor. There were already five of them lying around for Panzer to choose from. Apparently dogs liked things scattered.


“Why, what was your usual stuff?” I asked.

Tyler hadn’t put his shirt back on, and I watched the muscles of his back flex as he reached into a kitchen cabinet to pull out some plates. Even now, in the midst of my postcoital satisfaction, I felt my body responding. Just a little pizza break, then I’d be taking Mr. Connelly back to bed.

“Well, around here it was mostly swimming, fishing, waterskiing. My dad ran a charter fishing company, so Grant and I spent our summers working on the boat.”

I set a stack of medical journals on the floor. “Charter fishing company? That’s interesting.”

Tyler put the plates on the table and came around behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. “Yep,” he said, kissing the side of my neck.

“Stop that.” I tilted my head and pressed back against him precisely so he wouldn’t stop. If I’d thought that a little sex would ease the longing he’d stirred up in me, I was wrong. Very, very wrong. His touch had only thrown gasoline onto a banked fire, and now I had a real inferno raging. I wanted him now more than ever.

His breath was warm against my skin. “How sturdy is that folding table?” he teased.

Not sturdy enough for what I had in mind. But that would have to wait. Using every ounce of will, I twisted away from him.

“The pizza will be here any minute. Behave yourself.” I playfully pushed at his arms. “And put on a shirt. Your chest is distracting me.”

His laughter was another warm caress. “Then you’ll have to put on a bra, because, trust me, your chest is pretty distracting too.”

He reached out, but I evaded him.

“Let’s talk about something else. Do you play any musical instruments?”

Tyler burst out laughing. “What?”

I was so confused by all his testosterone, I wasn’t making any sense. I have no idea where that gem of a question came from. All I knew was I needed to dial down the sexy factor or we’d be naked again when the pizza arrived.

“It’s a legitimate question. I mean, don’t you think we should get to know each other a little better? Now that we have, you know, known each other.”

His head bobbed. “OK. Fair enough. I play a little guitar, but badly. Do you still play piano?”

I found the corkscrew and set it on the counter. “I haven’t played in years. I never really enjoyed it, but my parents insisted because it’s good for manual dexterity. They started grooming me to be a surgeon by the time I could sit up.”

He picked up the corkscrew and looked around for the bottle of wine. “What would you have become if you weren’t a doctor?”

I stood still and let the question roll around in my befuddled mind. I’m not sure I’d ever given it any thought before.

“Evie?”

“I don’t know. I’m thinking.”

His brows lifted. “So, you’ve always been certain that’s what you would do with your life?”

“I guess. I mean, I had a certain level of expectation to live up to. Both my parents are surgeons, so it came pretty naturally to me. What made you decide to be an EMT?”

“Necessity.”

Necessity? What kind of an answer was that? I was about to ask him, but he opened the refrigerator door and frowned. “Where is all your food? There’s nothing in here except butter and olives.”

I stepped up behind him and pointed.

“And yogurt. And wine. See?”

He bent lower. “And yogurt and wine, but where’s the rest?”

He squinted as if there were some highly suspicious reason for my lack of produce, and pulled out the chilled bottle of chardonnay.

“I hate to grocery shop. I usually eat at the hospital.”

“OK, well, I’m going to write down the number to Jasper’s. Call over there next time you’re hungry and somebody will bring you something to eat.”

God, he was sweet. And thoughtful, and generous. I could gobble him up with a spoon.

This was a problem. A big, big problem, but I could hardly play surprised. Tyler Connelly had been adorável since the first moment I’d seen him snoring on that stretcher. Now that I’d had him in my bed, it would be tough to settle for someone else. But I couldn’t let my head be ruled by my hormones. If I did, I’d never find myself a decent husband.