Breathless

By J. A Melville

I'd been in love with Grayson for three years

But to him, I was just a work colleague

While he shared his bed with beautiful women

I shared mine with my two feline friends

All my life, I'd battled health problems.

What better place to work than with three doctors

The problem was Dr Grayson Ryker

Every day was a challenge to not let him see how I felt

Then I got sick and he came to my rescue

A knight saving the damsel in distress

Everything changed from that moment

Dr Grayson had the best bedside manner

I saw a side of him I'd never seen before

Maybe there was more to this gorgeous man after all?

 

This book contains a mix of both Australian and American English

• Language: English
• Publisher: J. A Melville
• Release date: Jun 11, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201021214

Book preview

Chapter One

Mia

The large, sweaty man in the ill-fitting suit was coughing. With each cough, his complexion got a ruddy appearance, and his eyes looked like they were bulging out of his head. As I watched, he pulled a crumpled handkerchief from his breast pocket and dabbed furiously at his sweaty brow, before shoving it back.

With another rasping breath, the coughing started all over again. Loud, hacking coughs, as if he were trying to cough up a furball.  Hacking, mucus riddled coughs, that made me cringe with every single one.

This was hell. Trapped in a metal box of germs. All of us victims of this man and the potential disease he sprayed around with every cough, since he refused to spare us all by placing a hand over his mouth. With each cough, every one of the hairs on my body stood on end, as if they too protested the enormous lack of consideration for others, going on here. This tested my inherent fear of germs. I was the germaphobe of germaphobia. In other words, I was terrified of getting sick.

Most of my childhood had been plagued with illness. Unbelievably accident prone, I’d found ways to slice, dice, hack and graze myself. Then at 12 years of age, I’d suffered from chronic bronchitis. Over time, I’d recovered from the multitude of cuts, grazes, and the odd broken bone. I’d even recovered from the bronchitis, but it had done damage to my lungs. I couldn’t do any really vigorous exercise because I’d get out of breath easily, and I hated stairs for that reason too.

As a result, I’d become cautious. Always trying to avoid situations where I was around too many people. Desperate not to get sick because sick for me, could mean my death.

Living in a small town helped me avoid crowds of people who might infect me. Shielding me from exposure due to space and a low population. Our own natural social distancing, I guess you could say.

So, why was I here? Stuck in an elevator in the city, trying not to breathe in the droplets of mucus and saliva I was sure would be floating around this lift. Waiting for unsuspecting people to take them down into their own lungs, and spread whatever the hell the overweight, coughing man was infected with.

The irony of my situation didn’t escape me. I was in a high rise building that just happened to house the Respiratory Clinic where I had three monthly checks to see how my lung capacity was going. Grayson had referred me to this clinic. That didn’t really make this his fault, but I wanted to blame someone, besides just the coughing man, so I would be sure to voice my displeasure once I got back to the practice.

The lift seemed to be taking a lifetime to reach the foyer. Had it always been this slow? I couldn’t remember ever having to wait so long for it to reach the ground floor on any of my previous check-ups.

If the Respiratory Clinic weren’t on the seventh floor, I’d have walked up the stairs, but my lungs wouldn’t handle so many levels. I was kind of damned if I did, and damned if I didn’t.

As my dad would say, I was caught between a rock and a hard place. The elevator ride was like the lucky dip of life. If the Universe were smiling down on me, I’d make the ride up and down with only a few other people. Or at the very least, the few I shared the elevator with, would look like they weren’t harbouring some hidden disease.

Of course, elevators were a breeding ground for disease. Everyone packed in like sardines and this one was at capacity. Everyone ranging from bored looking to exhausted. Some staring blankly at the numbers above the doors as we made our way down to the ground floor.

None of those people bothered me too much. It was just him. The large man who wouldn’t stop coughing and who made no effort to cover his mouth. His face beaded with even more sweat now, which alarmed me. It was summer time sure, but we were in an airconditioned building. There was no reason for him to be sweating like that unless he was sick.

My panic rose with every level we dropped. The numbers seeming to move so slowly as I fought to keep my breathing to short,  shallow breaths.  My eyes clearly playing tricks on me as I imagined I could see the droplets in the air. Travelling out across all of us in the elevator. Landing on our hair. Our faces. Forcing us all within the confined area to breathe in whatever potential disease the man was spreading around.

I sighed with relief when the elevator stopped, and as soon as the doors slid open, I leapt out, hurrying through the foyer towards the huge glass doors. Hopefully, if I was lucky, whatever had made that man cough, wasn’t contagious.

FOUR DAYS LATER

Applying a pale pink lipstick to my lips, I studied my image in the full length mirror in the corner of my bedroom. Blue eyes stared back at me. Enhanced with an application of makeup to draw attention to them since they were my only standout feature.

My hair was blonde. A platinum blonde that was so pale, it was nearly white. It wasn’t dyed. It was natural, although I considered dying it because with my naturally pale complexion, I thought I looked like a walking corpse.

I had no idea what to do with it. It was straight. Dead straight in fact. Its only saving grace being that it was thick. I was no hair stylist and had little imagination when it came to doing something with it, so I wore it the same way every day for work.  Severely brushed back  off my face, and secured in a high ponytail.

Once I was ready, I topped up Milo and Tabitha’s food bowls, and left the house. My two rescue cats were my life. I didn’t date, and I had no interests like hobbies or going clubbing. I was too much of a germaphobe to be comfortable in a crowded club. Pressed up against a lot of sweaty bodies.

I collected books because I was an avid reader and cat figurines because I loved cats. My parents had always had cats and I’d grown up with a cat or two in my bed every night of my childhood. Even when sick with bronchitis.

Climbing into my little red Mazda 3, I pulled out of the driveway and headed for the Practice. It only took ten minutes to get to there by car, and as I pulled up in the carpark, Richard was just backing his Audi into his allocated parking space in the undercover area that the doctors had.  

Marcus and Grayson’s cars were already parked there. They were always early on the first Monday of the month. Two Mondays of the month were allocated as immunisation day and the place was usually packed with new mothers for the first few hours of the day. It was first in, first served, so the waiting room was always at capacity just after we opened the doors.

Once I’d parked and walked inside via the back entrance, I paused as I did most days in the small staff room to check my appearance in the little mirror that hung on the wall.

We had ten minutes before we opened, so after I’d checked my appearance, I set about getting the coffee machine up and running.

I was a coffee addict. When I say addict, I was a two cup a day gal, which if you wanted to get technical, probably didn’t earn me the title of addict. Still, I considered myself one all the same since I couldn’t start my day until I’d consumed at least one strong brew.

While I worked on it, I heard the sound of voices and approaching footsteps. It was always the same routine for them. Creatures of habit, they too couldn’t begin their days without coffee. Even though it was the same every morning, I still braced myself for their arrival. They weren’t just coming for the coffee though. They were after the cookies, or whatever baked delight I’d made for them.  

Chapter Two

Mia

There were three doctors at the practice. Dr Marcus Sheldon. He was the oldest doctor here at 62. He’d opened the practice alone twenty something years ago. He was the doctor I saw as a child, so he knew my history.

I loved him. He was a good kind man. He reminded me of Santa Clause with his white hair and beard. Although his beard was trimmed neatly. Not long like Santa’s. He had light blue eyes and no shortage of laughter lines on his face. Marcus was the kind of man you felt comfortable coming to see and sharing your problems with.

Dr Richard Sheldon was the first doctor, Marcus invited to join his practice. Richard had been here around twelve years now. He was tall and reed thin. Salt and pepper dark hair that he was losing the battle with. It was thinning on top, but he still had enough to wear it swept over to one side, but not a comb over. At 58, he was the second oldest doctor here, and he too was popular with the locals.

Hot on their heels, and laughing at something Richard had said, was Grayson. Dr Grayson Ryker. The baby of the group at 35.

Tall, handsome, and sexy. The man I’d loved for the last three years since he joined the practice, and the man who was completely unobtainable to me.

My hungry eyes devoured every gorgeous inch of him, and it was a lot of inches to devour. At 6 feet three inches he towered over me, even in my heels. He was the tallest of the three doctors actually.

He looked like he’d been plucked from the cover of a romance book. Wide shoulders, narrow waist, lean hips, and strong thighs. On those odd occasions when he’d have his shirt sleeves rolled back, he had strong forearms and biceps like I’d never seen on a doctor before, and I probably wouldn’t see again.

His face was enough to make the Gods weep. High cheekbones. Hair that was a rich chocolate colour with streaks of a dirty blond which I’m sure was natural and not from a bottle. So thick, I swear my fingers itched to tunnel their way through it.

He wore it swept back. Long on top. Probably too long. That’s why within minutes of his arrival at the practice each day, half of it had fallen forward and hung low over his forehead.

Not that messy way either. It fell like it had been styledI for a modelling shoot. It was so damn unfair that a man could be as perfect to look at, as Grayson was.

He somehow managed to maintain that permanent few days growth look on his face too. Technically, it was too short for a beard, but too long for a five o’clock shadow. It was like the rest of him. Sexy as hell, and the naughty part of me I kept tucked away out of sight, wondered what it would feel like to have that stubble on his face, brushing against the tender skin on my inner thighs.

Then there was his complexion. No pasty washed out looks for him. He was blessed with that permanently tanned look. In a place like Tasmania where it could be cold more months of the year than not, pale was more the norm here.

His patients had always asked him where he’d been on holidays. Assuming the sun kissed look he had, was from lazing on the beach of an exotic island. It wasn’t though. It was all him. Well, him and the Spanish blood his mother had. I’d seen photos of her. She was still stunning, even in her 60’s. Clearly the family were blessed with excellent genes.  

His eyes were an anomaly. In some light they appeared grey. The kind of grey that matched the clouds on a rainy day, but then in other light, they had a hazel look to them.  It baffled me that they could appear so different depending on the light, and even after working with the man for a little over three years, I couldn’t tell you exactly what colour they were.

Those strange eyes met mine briefly, and he smiled, before turning back to Marcus and Richard. All beginning their usual daily routine of dropping off their bags and belongings into the row of lockers. Then helping themselves to some of the chocolate chip cookies I’d made.  

I received a kiss on the cheek from all three, which was their standard method of thanking me for the cookies. As always, when Grayson got close to me, I tensed, my nostrils breathing in that divine aftershave he wore. Typically when the man was perfection in every other way, of course he’d also wear the perfect aftershave that had the power to bring a gal to her knees. I know mine trembled each time, and it took all my self-control not to end up a puddle at his feet.

Only once they’d all left the staffroom to head to their respective rooms, did I breathe a sigh of relief. Being in the same room as Grayson always tested me. It was both an agony and an ecstasy to be around him. I wanted him desperately. I loved him with an intensity that was futile.

He could never be mine. I wasn’t his type. He’d had several girlfriends in the time I’d known him, and I’d seen them too. Tall, leggy. Not an ounce of fat on them anywhere. Having had to deal with some when they dropped in at the practice, it was safe to say that Grayson probably wasn’t seeing them for their stimulating conversation.

They all possessed the same attributes. Apart from being tall and skinny. They were well endowered. Not always what nature had given them. Clearly there had been some enhancement done, but what did it matter when they had the attention of the most gorgeous man I’d ever laid eyes on?

He clearly preferred brunettes too as every one of them had long, dark hair. Every one of them had tiny waists,