Chapter Twelve
T he second Drew’s mouth connected with Peyton’s, all thoughts of how badly his attempts at keeping her from harm were going evaporated from his brain. All he could think of was how much he wanted her.
The first touch of his lips to hers had been tentative, needing to make sure he hadn’t misread the hunger in her gaze. But when she opened to him and swayed toward him, he reached for the back of her head and deepened the kiss. She tasted as good as she smelled. Better. Like honey.
One of her small, strong hands gripped his shirt, and the other skimmed his jaw, holding his face as he was holding her head. Their tongues met with an electric jolt that exploded through him.
Peyton moaned as if feeling the effects of the kiss as much as he was. She kissed the same way she did everything, with a zest and joy that pulled him to her.
Wanting to pull her to him in actuality, he reached for her shoulder. Peyton instantly shied away, breaking off their kiss with a sharp inhale.
Realization hit him like a cold dunk in a water trough. He’d grabbed hold of her injured arm. He released her and pulled back.
“Shit, Peyton, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. Really. I guess we both got a little carried away.”
Was she regretting the kiss? Drew ran a hand over his face and tried to get a grip on the desire she’d unleashed in him. What had he been thinking? “No, really. I’m sorry. You’re hurt. Which is why I knocked on your door in the first place.”
One side of her delectable mouth kicked up. “Instead of just lurking outside?”
“I’m sorry about that, too, but—”
“Drew, it’s okay. You don’t have to keep apologizing. I’m sure my dad is paying you a lot to keep me—”
“Whoa, hang on.” Anger, instant and hot, swept through him. “I am not being paid by your father to—” He stopped himself just as abruptly as he’d stopped her.
Technically, her father, or at least her family’s business, was indeed paying him. As long as the Hallidays were going to provide money to run the sports medicine clinic, they were his bosses. He was crossing so many lines just by being here with her, let alone wanting her. Not to mention the lines he’d drawn for himself to keep his heart safe. It was Peyton’s nature to put herself at risk. No way could he fall for someone he might lose like he’d lost his mother.
He quickly stood and took a step back from her. He kept his gaze fastened on her bruised and swollen arm to keep from being derailed again by her sweet mouth or warm gaze. “I better get back to the arena.” Even though Drew knew full well that Doc didn’t want him there as long as Peyton was here. But with her in pajamas and tending to her injury, Drew was confident she wouldn’t get up to any more trouble. “Keep icing that arm, and if it isn’t better in the morning, come by the clinic, and we’ll take a closer look at it.”
“I will. Thanks,” she said flatly. She didn’t move, just sat watching him as he picked up his hat and moved to the door.
He hesitated with his hand on the latch, wanting to say more, feeling as though he should, but having no idea what to say. It was a simple fact that he just didn’t have enough experience dealing with kissing women he shouldn’t have kissed. Burying himself in his studies had always been the simpler, safer choice.
Peyton said, “Thanks for coming to check on me. But don’t worry, I’m fine.” She sounded as though she’d said those exact same words a thousand times.
Drew glanced back at her, finally meeting her hazel gaze. She revealed nothing.
With a curt nod, he opened the trailer door and left, the taste of her still on his lips.
*
The second the trailer door snicked closed behind Drew, Peyton slumped back against the padded bench seat. Why had she kissed Dr. Andrew Neisson? Or had he kissed her? She couldn’t remember.
And who, exactly, had initiated the kiss didn’t really matter, considering they had both kissed each other back. Peyton’s skin, as well as other things, were still tingling from the feel of Drew’s lips on hers.
She pushed herself up off the bench and went to her bed. Flopping down, she grabbed up the ice pack she’d set aside when Drew had knocked on the door. But instead of putting the pack back on her shoulder, she settled it on her forehead. When that didn’t cool her down, she put it against her upper chest.
What had she been thinking? It was one thing to mess with one of her father’s lackies, especially the ones tasked with keeping her on the kind of short leash he preferred. She knew her dad did it out of love, but the older she became the harder it was to tolerate.
But what had just happened with Drew had been stupid. She’d known that she was attracted to him, so she should have never let him into the trailer. Who would have guessed such a cold fish, as Sammie had called him, would turn out to be so hot?
And who would have guessed how much she was starting to like him?
*
Drew had intended to go straight from Peyton’s trailer to the arena, but he needed to walk off the lust coursing through his veins first, so he’d wandered around the rows of competitors and stock contractors’ RVs, trailers, and campers.
Keep one bronc rider safe, that was all he had to do to ensure the security of the sports medicine clinic. To ensure his future.
Having fun with her, holding her hand, sliding her down his body when all he’d needed to do was set her on the ground, kissing her… He rubbed the back of his neck. He could lose everything he’d worked for all these years with such foolishness.
He needed to find a different way to fulfill his so-called assignment. He tilted his head back as if inspiration might come from the star-studded night sky. It didn’t. No huge surprise. He blew out a breath and looked around him, noticing for the first time that his wandering had taken him down the row where the large Buckin’ TV RV was parked. There were a lot of lights on inside, and he could hear what sounded like a television. Though the rodeo was still going, the women’s exhibition rides were over. It wasn’t surprising that the crew had returned to their RV.
An idea actually did occur to him, though he seriously doubted it was heaven sent. Mostly because he intended to lie. He would tell Natalie that he planned to use his authority through sports medicine to pull Peyton from the exhibition because of the injury to her arm.
Drew strode to the RV’s door and knocked before he changed his mind. The sound man opened the door, raising his brows at Drew.
“Is Natalie available?” Drew asked.
“Who are you?” The guy apparently didn’t recognize Drew in the poor light.
“Dr. Drew Neisson.” He threw in the doctor so he wouldn’t be mistaken for some reality television wannabe. Though frankly he couldn’t imagine there were many here in the Pineville rodeo community.
Natalie called from within the recreational vehicle, “Is that Peyton’s babysitter, Phil?”
This time the sound guy—Phil—lifted a single questioning brow at Drew.
“It is,” Drew answered.
Phil leaned back and yelled to Natalie, “Yep.”
“Get him in here,” Natalie responded.
Drew was ushered into the plush RV where nearly every horizontal space was occupied by some sort of video recording or editing equipment. Natalie and the cameraman were seated at the dinette table staring at a monitor.
Without looking up, the executive producer waved him to her. “Perfect timing. Come here and sit down. We’re just putting together an extended segment on Miss Halliday. And I need you to sign this waiver.” She slid a piece of paper along the table in front of an unoccupied spot on the U-shaped dinette bench. Then she slapped a pen on top of it.
Drew sat down and moved the pen aside. “A waiver for what?”
“For us to use your image and name on the show.”
Drew set the pen back on top of the paper and pushed them both away from him. “No thanks.” He seriously doubted Peyton’s family would appreciate him using the assignment they’d given him, through Doc, for a chance to be on television. Nor would his own grandfather.
She shot him a perturbed look, then returned her attention to the monitor. “Maybe you’ll change your mind after you see this.” She turned the monitor so he could see it. To the cameraman she said, “Wind it back to the beginning of the segment and turn up the sound.”
On the screen appeared a still shot of a smiling Peyton standing in an arena with hands in the air in clear jubilation, obviously celebrating a successful bronc ride and looking incredibly beautiful. The image morphed into a photo of Peyton as a child—an adorable, radiant, definitely joyful kid—and a voice-over by Natalie telling the story of Peyton Halliday, youngest grandchild of billionaire Harold Halliday.
A doted upon golden child, Peyton’s life had almost taken a tragic turn at the age of ten when she had to undergo open-heart surgery. But because she is a fighter, Peyton overcame her childhood illness and went on to be a daredevil of the first order. The screen was then filled with images of Peyton riding a dirt bike, climbing out of a race car, and dangling from a hang-glider. The piece ended with the footage of Peyton’s ride on the sheep, including her hitting the pen fencing with a teeth-rattling force, then Drew leaning over her with his hand on her shoulder.
Drew realized he had gotten off easy in regard to the extracurricular activities Peyton had wanted to try while here in Pineville. More importantly, he now had a better understanding for why her family had been willing to pay out a huge chunk of cash in exchange for her safety.
When the piece ended, Natalie asked, “What do you think?”
“Why did she have to have the surgery?” Drew asked instead of giving his opinion of the blatantly salacious segment. They were definitely going for the poor-little-rich-girl angle.
Natalie said, “I was hoping you could tell me. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that you, a medical professional, were hired to keep an eye on her.”
Neither did Drew. But as a medical professional, he wasn’t about to even speculate about Peyton’s health, either current or past. “I’m obviously bound by HIPAA. Didn’t she have to sign a medical release form when she auditioned to join the exhibition tour?”
“She did. One that allows us to reveal any medical issues of note. Which is how we learned about the open-heart surgery. And to be frank, it was why we picked her to be on the show out of the dozens of applicants.”
The cameraman muttered, “Though her being a billionaire oil tycoon’s granddaughter would have been enough to get her chosen.”
Nat waved him off in a yeah-yeah way. “I mean, who rides broncs after going through something like open-heart surgery?”
Someone who wants to really live, Drew thought.
Nat shook her head, not with concern, but with pure reality TV glee.
No wonder Peyton was forever trying to ditch the television producer. To Natalie, Peyton was just something to exploit. Drew found himself growing angry. It was time to go.
Straight back to Peyton to get some very important questions answered.
*
Peyton was hitting the rewind button for the second time on the sci-fi movie she was trying to watch, but her mind kept wandering to the lips of a certain cowboy when a forceful knock on her trailer door made her jump. Since Drew had said he was returning to the arena, Sammie, or maybe some of the other girls, must be coming to check on her.
A warmth born of unexpected friendship filled Peyton despite the ice pack balanced on her shoulder and upper arm. She’d join the Buckin’ TV cast for adventure but had found so much more.
“Come on in,” she hollered, knowing she hadn’t locked the door after Drew had left. If only she had made popcorn. But her mind had been firmly stuck on a different sort of snack thanks to Drew Neisson.
She heard the door click open, but instead of Sammie or Beth or any of the other girls flitting into the trailer, all hair and chatter, the man who had been dominating her thoughts stepped inside and instantly made the space smaller.
She just stared at him. Had he come to check her arm again? To apologize again? Or to kiss her some more? She wasn’t too proud to admit she hoped for the latter.
The icy look in his eyes made her think he’d returned for none of those reasons.
She sat frozen on her bed, the movie still playing on her computer sitting on her lap as he strode toward her. His gaze never leaving her face, Drew came to her bedside, then sat down, his hip pressed hard against hers.
She raised her brows high at him. What was he doing? His expression did not match his actions.
Still not saying a word, Drew dropped his gaze to her chest, making her skin prickle. Then he reached a hand toward the neckline of her sleep tee, and Peyton reflexively pressed herself back against her stacked pillows.
He paused. “Can I see?”
God, she hated this part. He appeared to know though, so there wasn’t much point in refusing. She gave a short nod.
She watched in what seemed to her like slow motion as he hooked his index finger in the banded neckline of her T-shirt and gently eased it down, stretching it until he’d exposed her cleavage.
And her scar.
She looked up, and her gaze collided with his.
Yep, he knew.
She asked, “How?”
“Natalie.” He lifted his other hand and ran his index and middle finger over the still faintly ridged scar.
The closed incision had flattened and faded considerably in the past fifteen years, but it remained obvious proof that she’d had her chest cracked open.
His gaze remaining on the scar and seemingly oblivious to the fact his knuckles were also brushing the inner curve of her breasts, he continued, “She’d wanted me to sign a release form so she could use the footage they shot of me checking on you in the sheep pen.”
Peyton latched on to the distraction from his touch. “Did you sign it?”
He lifted his gaze to meet hers again. “No. I didn’t.” He removed his fingers from her chest and raised the neck of her T-shirt to where it belonged. Then he settled his hands on his muscular thighs. “I did watch the segment on you that they were in the process of editing, however.”
Regret washing over her, Peyton closed her computer and set it aside. “I should have never accurately filled out that medical waiver.”
Drew shifted on the bed to face her more fully. “That would have been dumb, Peyton, considering what the waiver was for.”
“I know”—she huffed—“but I should have known Nat would use what was on it in the show. What exactly did she include in the segment?”
“Some photos of you as a child, before…”—he raised a hand and pointed at her chest—“and several as a teenager doing…a lot.” He shook his head as if bemused. “She does a voice-over where she says you had open-heart surgery as a ten-year-old.”
Which was correct, but not what she wanted to be known for. Not at all.
“So, what was it?” Drew asked softly.
Of course, he’d want to know the details. Peyton absently rubbed at the scar. “Patent foramen ovale.”
“PFO,” he murmured. “Not fun.”
She nodded. A little hole between the left and right atria of her heart. A little hole capable of big problems. “I was born with it, obviously, but they didn’t find it until I was ten.”
“Do you know if they stitched or patched it?”
“Patch. My mom and dad are terrified I’ll tear it.”
Drew shook his head. “Assuming your docs knew what they were doing, I wouldn’t worry about that.”
“I guarantee my parents, as well as my grandparents, made sure I had the best in the field.”
Drew nodded as if he completely understood, and she was reminded that he was from a family where money wasn’t an issue, also. He must know that money also couldn’t buy peace of mind when a loved one was sick or injured.
Feeling she might have an ally, for once, Peyton continued, “My entire family thinks the only way to keep me healthy is to treat me like a china doll, despite what the doctors told them. My brothers, in particular, would be happiest if I was kept locked away, with no real life at all.”
Drew reached out a hand and adjusted the ice pack on her shoulder, squeezing it as if testing if she needed fresh ice or not. “You can’t blame them. It’s very hard on a family when someone they love is sick or injured.” He said it as if he had personal experience. Undoubtedly, as a doctor, even one not yet finished with his training, he’d encountered plenty of distressed family members of sick—or more likely in the rodeo world, injured—people.
Apparently not liking the feel of her ice pack, he plucked it from her arm and pushed off from the bed. He opened the small trailer’s little refrigerator and opened the freezer shelf, finding the bag of ice she kept stuffed inside. He dumped the partially melted ice from the bag into the sink.
While he refilled the ice bag, he asked, “When was the last time you saw your heart surgeon?”
She sighed. Here it came. The moment people found out about her heart she ceased being just Peyton and became Peyton’s leaky heart. “Seeing as the operation was fifteen years ago, and he was the most experienced in his field at the time, my surgeon has long since retired.”
“Of course.” Drew came back to her, screwing the cap on the now full ice bag. “You must have been referred to someone else though.”
She rolled her eyes to the trailer ceiling. “Yes.”
“And?”
Her exasperation growing, she met his blue eyes squarely. “And do you really think my family would let me go without having a checkup before I left town?”
He shrugged. “They did insist that you were watched over by someone from sports medicine.” He sat down again on the edge of the bed, his hips nestled against hers, and gingerly returned the ice bag to her shoulder. He took the time to position it so that the bruised part of her upper arm would be iced, also.
She watched his intent, handsome face. So handsome. So serious. His concern was genuine, as if he really cared. “But not to be my doctor, Drew.”
His gaze jumped to hers. “Trust me, I don’t want to be your doctor, Peyton.” His gaze dropped to her mouth.
The heart in question started pounding in Peyton’s chest. She’d never wanted to be kissed by a man so badly in her entire life.
But instead of kissing her again, he said, “I think I better go.”
“Do you?”
His gaze met hers again. How could she have ever thought him cold? Fire danced in his blue eyes, hypnotic with a heady mix of need and passion.
“Yes. Because of your arm.”
She didn’t believe him. “Just my arm?”
He smiled. Peyton decided she wanted to make him smile a lot more.
“Yes. I need to go.” But instead of standing again, he leaned toward her and captured her mouth with his.
This time his kiss was less tentative and more…claiming. Definitely more certain. He kissed her hard and deeply and as if he intended to kiss her a whole hell of a lot more.
Peyton loved it. She reached for him to pull him closer, but he broke off the kiss and moved away. She felt the loss all the way to the bottoms of her bare soles.
Standing, he repeated, “I have to go. Keep that ice on your arm, and we’ll see how it looks in the morning.”
“But you are not my doctor, Drew.”
He smiled again. “No, ma’am. I am not your doctor.” He retrieved his hat from the table, replaced it on his head, then tugged on the brim by way of goodbye before leaving her trailer.
Peyton dropped her head back on the pillows. Oh boy. She didn’t just like that guy. She liked him a lot . And she wanted him. The most cautious guy around. And a doctor to boot.
She covered her face with a pillow and stifled a scream of frustration.