Call on Me by Roni Loren
I’ve also included two special previews for you after that. One is from Break Me Down, the upcoming novella about Pike’s friend Gibson, and the other is a peek at the first book in my brand-new Pleasure Principle series, Off the Clock. I’m really excited to share both with you!
Also, if you haven’t gotten the chance yet and want to read more about Devon (Oakley’s brother) and Hunter to see how they first fell in love, check out their story in Yours All Along, now available from InterMix!
As you can see, I love writing about the minor characters who appear in my books. So if there’s ever anyone you’re wondering about and would like to see in a future story, feel free to let me know! I can be reached here: roniloren.com/contact.
Happy reading!
Roni
ONE
He hated New Year’s Eve. Hated it. Fucking drunk drivers and icy roads. Theo yanked his surgical gloves off and tossed them in the bin with a curse. The bloodied gloves disappeared beneath the slamming lid, and he ignored the twisting knot in his gut.
“Dr. Montgomery.” The resident’s voice was tentative as he poked his head into the small room, like he was expecting Theo to take a swing at him. “The family’s asking—”
Theo held up a hand without looking his way. “I’ll handle it. Just give me a minute to get cleaned up.”
“Do you want me to call the chaplain?”
Theo went to the sink, scrubbing with scalding hot water. “Go ahead. But don’t let him go out there until I deliver the news. They’ll fall apart if they see him first.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
The resident slipped out of the room, and Theo turned off the water and braced himself on the sink. He could still hear the heart monitor going monotone in the trauma room—flatlining. We’ve lost her, Doctor. None of their resuscitation attempts had worked. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence in the ER. This was his job. But the woman had had hair the color of his former wife’s. Gold tinged with auburn. No. Gold and auburn tinged with blood.
Sweat gathered on the back of his neck and that cold, sick feeling washed over him. He’d been calm and focused in surgery, had flipped that internal switch that let him shut everything out but the patient’s needs and the tasks at hand. But now memories were trying to take over. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, centering himself. There was no time for this. The husband and daughter of the woman were huddled in the waiting room, waiting for news of both her and the teenage son who’d been in the car when it’d been struck by a pickup truck. The boy would be okay. His mom would not. Was not.
Theo took a deep inhale, pulled his surgical cap off, and headed into the waiting room. Other doctors and staff quietly acknowledged him as he passed by. News had traveled quickly. Most days all these residents wished they were in his shoes—top trauma surgeon in the region, head of the department. But right now, the guy cleaning the bathrooms wouldn’t want to trade spots with him. The only thing worse than losing a patient was delivering the news to the people who loved that person.
He pushed through the swinging doors that led to the waiting area. The place was packed—crying children, people coughing, family members lined up at the desk to ask how much longer they’d have to wait. Faces turned his way, everyone hoping they’d be called in next. But he wasn’t going to be able to offer any of them relief right now. He took a turn down a separate hallway where they brought the waiting families of serious cases, offering them some privacy and quiet. There were a few separate families in the line of small alcoves, but he spotted the family he was looking for instantly. The daughter was curled up against her dad, looking younger than the preteen she was, her eyes red-rimmed. Her father had his hand on her hair, trying to soothe her, trying to be strong for her. God, this fucking sucked. Some idiot had decided to drink too much and not call a cab, and now Theo had to tell a little girl her mom wasn’t coming back.
Days like this, he wished he’d gone for that engineering degree instead of to med school.
The husband’s eyes locked with Theo’s—hopeful at first and then … not. Families always knew. No matter how stoic Theo kept his face, you couldn’t hide the aura of death on you. It stayed with you like a film that clung to your skin.
“Doc—” the man asked, standing up.
“Your son is in recovery and is going to be okay. His leg is broken, and we had to give him a transfusion, but you’ll be able to see him when he wakes up.”
The man’s breath whooshed out in relief. “Thank God.” Then he looked up. “And Brenda?”
Theo shook his head. “I’m very sorry, Mr. Allen. We did everything we could, but she’d lost too much blood by the time she got here. Her heart couldn’t take it.”
The man didn’t shout, didn’t scream. Instead he simply crumpled to the floor like a marionette whose strings had been cut and buried his face in his hands. “Oh, God.”
The little girl hurried to her father’s side, the word no falling off her lips over and over. She wrapped her arms around her dad and began to sob. Theo closed his eyes, wishing he could reach out and offer something, anything, to make it better, but what was there to do or say? When it’d happened to him, the doctor had put a hand on his shoulder and told him his wife was at peace now. Theo had wanted to attack the guy. The gesture had felt so useless, so trite. A pat on the shoulder was for when your team didn’t win the game, not when you lose the woman you love. He wouldn’t do that to someone else. Some of the residents and nurses thought he was cold, but this was his version of compassion.
He leaned out of the doorway and motioned for the chaplain, who’d been standing in the hallway. Father Bentley came out, his face full of his special brand of kindness. “Mr. Allen, I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Mr. Allen stiffened and then got to his feet in an awkward rush. Theo saw the anger flare in his eyes before the words came out. He jabbed his finger to Theo’s chest and stepped close. “You let her die! They told me you were the best. What did you do?! Why didn’t you save her?”
The words reverberated off the walls and linoleum floors, echoing all around them and banging around in Theo’s head. Theo didn’t move. He could handle the collateral rage that sometimes got thrown his way in tragedies, knew it wasn’t personal. But for some reason the man’s words punched right through the doors Theo kept the bad shit behind. Flashes of that night so long ago flickered across his vision. Theo calling Lori’s name, all of his medical training going to hell as his wife lay trapped and broken in the car. Lori begging him to help her, not to let her die.
Theo swallowed hard and then when that didn’t work, cleared his throat. “Mr. Allen, this is Father Bentley. He’ll be here if you need anything.”
“I need my fucking wife!” the man shouted, his voice wrecked with grief.
The words sliced like daggers, and Theo simply nodded. “I know.”
And he did.
Theo stepped away, leaving the family with the chaplain, and strode back toward the swinging doors, calling for one of his residents to go assist Father Bentley. Theo couldn’t be that guy right now. The panic was trying to grab him, the memories rolling fresh even though seven years had passed. Son of a bitch. He didn’t do this anymore. He’d mastered the panic attacks in the first year after the accident. But tonight, the past refused to stay quiet. He made a swift journey to his office to change his clothes and grab his things. He needed to get out of here before anyone saw him rattled. That would be completely unacceptable.
But even though he was exhausted after the twelve-hour shift, the thought of going home held no appeal. The demons were snapping at his feet, and he only knew one surefire way to shut them up. Oblivion. The sun would be up soon. A new year. But the same old monsters.
He got in his car and headed onto the open road.
TWO
“You heading out, chica?”
Maggie looked over her shoulder as she tugged down the zipper of her leather boots, weariness settling into her bones. She’d thought switching to a
Janessa leaned in the doorway with a sly smile. “Might want to rethink that and find a second wind.”
“Why is that? And don’t tell me it’s for girls’ night in the employee bar. Last time I agreed to that, I had a hangover for like two days.”
She laughed. “Lightweight. And no, it’s not that. It’s better. Guess which sexy doctor just walked in and is asking for you?”
Maggie paused, the zipper squeezing beneath her fingers and her stomach giving a little twist. “Seriously? He hasn’t been here in months. I thought after last time …”
“The front desk told him that you weren’t taking clients anymore and had moved into training, but you know how he is. He didn’t exactly accept that answer, wants to talk to you first.”
“Shit.” She yanked her zipper back up. She’d already taken her hair down from the severe twist she wore here at The Ranch, but that couldn’t be helped. There’d be no getting it back in place. She finger-combed her hair and checked her reflection in the mirror to make sure her makeup hadn’t smeared.
“You are so adorable,” Janessa teased. “The other dommes want a crack at the doc because he’s so damn smug. They want to put him in his place. But you actually have a thing for him, don’t you?”
Maggie ran her fingertips under her eyes to clean up her eyeliner. “I do not get things for my clients.”
Okay, so maybe once upon a time she’d had a thing for Theo—or Theodore as she called him when he was in her dungeon. It was hard not to. The man was gorgeous, brilliant … and intense. Seeing such a stoic, powerful man submit to her flipped all of her switches. But she’d been stupid enough to think that what was developing between them over their sessions together was something real. Like some big-time doctor from the city would be interested in a small-town artsy chick. Please. She knew better than to get attached to anyone who was paying her money to dominate them. But it had happened. And when she’d crossed the line and gone beyond the physical and asked him a personal question—he’d said his safe word so fast she’d gotten whiplash. The man who could take a beating that would make even the toughest subs weep for mercy had safed out on a simple request of, “Tell me why you look so sad today.”
“Well, the guy you do not have a thing for is in Room C,” Janessa said.
“Thanks.” Maggie adjusted her corset, made sure everything was still in place, and then crossed the dressing area to move past Janessa. But her friend put a hand on her arm. Maggie halted. “What’s wrong?”
Janessa smoothed her lip-gloss. “Just a little advice, Mags. Don’t forget that your decision to stop taking clients was yours. If that’s really what you want, don’t let the doctor sweet-talk you into breaking your rules.”
Maggie laughed. “Sweet-talk? I think Dr. Theodore Montgomery is literally incapable of saying anything that would be deemed sweet. But I hear you. Thanks.”
Janessa nodded. Maggie could tell her friend was in mentor mode now. Janessa had been her original trainer here, so though she was only a few years older than Maggie, Maggie had learned a lot from her about how to be a domme.
Once Maggie got into the cool air of the hallway, she took a deep breath and straightened her spine. Confidence always. That’s how she walked around here—even if she didn’t feel it all the time. And with Theo, she’d have to have all that armor in place because sometimes seeing him made her want to dissolve into the nerves of a swoony teenager. Even on his knees, the man was intimidating as hell.
She made her way down the hallway and opened up the door to Room C. Usually when Maggie saw him, he was already stripped down to his boxer briefs. He had a hard limit about nudity, so she’d never seen him completely bared, but today wasn’t a session, so he was in dark jeans and a gray henley, black hair just a little past time for a haircut. He hadn’t noticed the door crack open, so she took a moment to enjoy the view. That man always made her want to paint. Her fingers itched to map the hard lines of him with her brush, color in the dark shadows and the way the light fell on his face.
Tonight, he was sitting on one of the benches, forearms on thighs, hands loosely clasped between his knees. To most, he’d look relaxed, like he was simply waiting. But Maggie had studied him enough to recognize the tension in him. She’d call this painting Storm Behind Glass.
She stepped inside and he peered up at the sound of her heels clicking on the concrete. He didn’t smile. He never did. But the flicker of relief in his eyes was its own reward. “Mistress.”
“Theodore.” She shut the door behind her with a click. “This is unexpected.”
“I know.” His focus flicked to her loose hair. “I apologize if I interrupted anything.”
The feel of his gaze on her heated her more than it should. He always looked as if he was studying each little thing and analyzing it, filing it away in some data bank. She crossed her arms over her chest in an attempt to look annoyed even though all she really wanted to do was ask him what was wrong, why he was here, why a man who was so regimented would show up unannounced. “You interrupted me going home. I hope you have a good reason.”
He sat up straighter, his eyes meeting hers with a businesslike air. “I would like a session. I know you’re not taking clients anymore, but I’m willing to pay whatever you need to make it worth your time, mistress.”
She frowned. She didn’t deny that she’d taken money for her services. But when he said it that way, it made her sound like a hooker. Like she was just holding out for a better price. She didn’t sleep with clients. She didn’t kiss them. They didn’t get to touch her. She administered pain, humiliation, whatever their kink was, but some things were still her own. And she didn’t appreciate him making it sound like she could be bought out of a decision she’d made. “There are other dommes working tonight. Throw your money at one of them.”
Frown lines appeared around his mouth. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to insult you, mistress. It’s just, I’m not interested in other dommes. I came here for you.”
She ignored the little flutter of he-likes-me-best! pleasure that gave her. Focus, Maggie. “I’m not taking clients anymore does not mean ‘I’m not taking clients unless they pay me enough.’”
There was a flicker in his gaze—worry. It looked out of place on him. “Mistress, please make an exception.”
“Why?”
He looked away, jaw tightening.
She took a few steps forward until she was right in front of him and snapped her fingers, the sound echoing in the cavernous room. “If you expect me to consider it, you will look at me and tell me why.”
He turned his head toward her—the fight within him visible in the tense lines of his face. He was a proud man, one who was used to everyone deferring to him, but his submissive streak ran deep. He wanted to fight. He wanted to please. “I had a bad day at work and could use a distraction.”
She kept her expression smooth even though a little surge of victory went through her that he’d actually given her an answer. “Tell me why it was so bad.”
His jaw twitched. The request was razor close to the one that had made him use his safe word last time. She braced herself for him to bail. Instead he said, “Tell me why you stopped taking clients.”
Her lips curved. “You’re not the one who gets to make the commands in here, Theodore. But maybe if you comply with mine, I’ll consider answering.”
He sent her a steely look—one that she’d normally happily punish him for—but she hadn’t agreed to play with him, so she couldn’t go there. Their gazes held for a long moment, a silent war, but finall
Maggie’s lungs squeezed tight, all the breath whooshing out of her. “That’s awful, Theo. I’m sorry.”
He shifted, obviously uncomfortable with her sympathy. “Part of the job, mistress. We all have our own ways of dealing with it.”
And his was getting the hell beat out of him by her. She didn’t blame him. If she had to face that kind of thing every day, she may need those memories beaten out of her, too. But that didn’t mean she could do this.
She grabbed a chair from the side of the room and pulled it over so she could sit in front of him instead of looming over him. What she was going to say wasn’t coming from Maggie the domme but Maggie the woman. “Thank you for telling me. I stopped taking clients because a guy got angry one night when I wouldn’t perform according to his wishes, and he backhanded me, split my lip.”
Theo’s attention snapped upward, fire in his eyes. “Someone hurt you? Who the fuck was he?”
The fierceness in the words took her breath for a second—the cool doctor looking like he could turn violent offender on her behalf if he got the guy’s name. She wet her lips. “Who it was doesn’t matter. The staff jumped in immediately. I wasn’t hurt badly, just a little shaken. And a lot pissed. The guy was banned from the premises. But after that, I decided I didn’t want to take money for this anymore. I never did this to be a performer in someone’s play. And it was beginning to feel like that’s what it had become. So now I know that when I scene, I’m doing it for me and the person I’m with. It’s real.” The last part slipped out and she winced inwardly. “Not that what we did together wasn’t real—”
He lifted a hand. “I’m well aware I was paying you for a service, mistress. I didn’t assume it was anything more than that.”
No, apparently it was her job to weave fantasies that their business arrangement was more. She blew out a breath, unsure what to say.