Mates of Destiny, Angel Chosen - Book 1
Lover of My Dreams
Childhood friends Sam, Rachel,
and Roy were inseparable—three lost souls who protected each other. When Sam’s
father threatened their futures, Rachel did what she had to do in order to
protect them all. She left.
Ten years later, Rachel retreats to the quiet of the Colorado mountains. She needs isolation from the outside world to heal from a brutal date attack.
Sam has had it with socially elite women—especially his ex-fiancée. He needs to go back to the mountains and create a home, complete with a baby or two.
When Rachel is injured, Sam is there to take care of her. He loves the way she defies him, makes him laugh, and makes him need. A future with her would be filled with love and babies.
Angelic dreams help Sam and Rachel know they’re fated to be together despite the interference of others. It will be up to Roy and his wife Paulette to help nudge fate along.
“I’ve put butterfly bandages on your arm,” he told her quietly as he taped down the gauze. “The cut wasn’t deep enough to require stitches but it won’t heal neatly without the butterfly strips,” he explained. Taking a wet cloth, he cleaned away the rest of the blood from her arm and dried it carefully with the towel beside him. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”
“I’m fine,” she answered quickly, pushing his hands away and leaning forward to get down from the bed. She needed to get away from him. She couldn’t stand the pain of being this close to him once again. She had to keep her distance. She had to stay strong even if it meant acting as if she were angry when she knew in her heart that it was because she wanted to pull Sam into her arms and never let him go. Instead she gave him one last strong shove and quickly tried to stand.
He took sharp hold of her arms and sat her back down on the bed. She was uncomfortably aware of the way that his biceps bulged as he detained her. It was painful to view his body. It was torture being so close to him that she could easily reach out and touch the washboard muscles of his stomach. She couldn’t prevent her eyes from traveling from the very attractive patch of black hair that covered his bulging pectoral muscles to follow the dark hair down the center line of his body, blushing slightly as it disappeared below his waistband to an area Rachel often dreamed about.
“Rachel, what is wrong with you?” he demanded, frustrated by her attitude.
“Nothing is wrong with me,” Rachel insisted, pushing at his chest to get him as far away from her as possible so she could get down from the bed and leave. “I just want to go back to my site.”
Sam stopped her with strong hands on her shoulders. He wasn’t hurting her but he was determined to have her remain where she was for the moment.
“If you won’t tell me where else you’re hurt I’ll be forced to conduct a complete physical examination,” he told her calmly when she refused to talk.
“Just who do you think you are?” she demanded, roughly pulling herself free from his grasp. Her eyes bore into his and was somewhat surprised by his lack of reaction.
“Dr. Sam McCoy at your service,” he told her formally, bowing slightly at the unnecessary introduction.
“Shouldn’t you be working at a hospital somewhere instead of working in a campground for the summer?” she challenged him angrily. “Why are you here?”
“Because the police are looking for me for beating up a patient who refused to answer my questions,” he answered quickly.
Rachel had to bite her cheek to keep from smiling. She had to admire his quickness—that was for sure. If she wasn’t careful he would melt her resolve very quickly. She sat back slightly, folding her arms across her chest as she faced him. She looked at him silently and knew that she was going to lose this standoff.
“I twisted my ankle,” she said finally. “That’s all.” She stressed the last word, unable to stand it if he touched her anywhere else.
He nodded and reached forward to take her two legs gently in his hands then carefully turned her and pushed her shoulder to force her to lie down on her back. He removed both sneakers and socks and examined her ankles in complete silence.
“Did you already soak your foot in the stream?” he asked her quietly when he felt the coolness of her skin.
“Contrary to popular belief, I’m not a total idiot,” she told him angrily.
He smiled slightly and looked up to face her. “I don’t think you’re a total idiot,” he protested calmly. “Only a partial idiot.”
“You’re just full of charm, aren’t you?” she asked him, turning away from him when she saw the amusement that crossed his features. She turned her head to stare up at the top of the camper and ignore him while he wrapped her ankle with a compression bandage and replaced her socks and sneakers, tying the right one loosely so as not to put any more pressure on her injured foot. He turned then and started to put away the medical supplies when he saw her trying to get down from the bed.
“Don’t put your weight on that foot,” he told her abruptly.
“And just how am I supposed to get back to my tent? Fly?” she asked him, barely able to control her temper.
Before she could stop him, he was beside her and lifting her into his arms once again. He carried her from his camper and walked the length of the campground toward her tent.
“How much do I owe you for your services, Dr. McCoy?” she asked him sarcastically.
“It’s on the house,” he said quickly, ignoring her as he carried her the remaining distance to her site.
He deposited her on the lounge chair beside her tent and straightened to look down at her. Turning, he unzipped her tent and disappeared inside it before Rachel could protest and came out with two pillows. Lifting her foot gently he placed one pillow beneath it and one pillow under the crook of her knee then took a step backward.
“Keep your foot elevated and stay off it as much as possible. If you need anything just holler. I’ll be able to hear you from my camper. Loud noises carry in the mountains.”
“Ass,” Rachel muttered, ignoring the soft laughter that her comment caused.
He turned then and started to walk away. “I’ll check on you later,” he called to her without turning around.
“Your bedside manner stinks!” Rachel called after him angrily.
Sam stopped walking as soon as the words left her mouth. He turned around and walked slowly back toward her. Rachel’s heart began to beat a little faster as she saw the way his muscular body had tensed and his blue eyes had darkened.
Flashes of another angry man lashing out and hitting her face made her chest constrict in sudden fear and pain. She held her breath as he leaned forward and placed his hands on either side of her on the arms of her chair. He stared into her eyes, his face mere inches from her own.
“Honey,” he said quietly, his voice a husky calm. “My bedside manner would leave you weak and satisfied.” He looked at her silently for a moment, his eyes sparkling with humor and certainty. He searched her face silently then stood and turned to walk away. He didn’t look back.
Copyright © 2012 Lynnette Bernard
All Rights Reserved.