Shoulder to Lean On Read online

  Table of Contents

  Dear Reader,

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader,

  ALSO AVAILABLE BY MORGAN MALONE

  Text copyright ©2017 by the Author.

  This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Roxanne St. Claire. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original Barefoot Bay remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Roxanne St. Claire, or their affiliates or licensors.

  For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds

  Shoulder to Lean On

  by

  Morgan Malone

  Dear Reader—from Roxanne St. Claire

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader—from Morgan

  Also Available by Morgan Malone

  Shoulder to Lean On

  Edited and interior format by Deelylah Mullin

  Cover Art by Kris Norris

  Digital ASIN:

  Published by Morgan Malone

  Digital Release – February 2017

  Dear Reader,

  Welcome to Barefoot Bay Kindle Worlds, a place for authors to write their own stories set in the tropical paradise that I created! For these books, I have only provided the setting of Mimosa Key and a cast of characters from my popular Barefoot Bay series. That’s it! I haven’t contributed to the plotting, writing, or editing of Shoulder To Lean On. This book is entirely the work of author Morgan Malone, a terrific author I’m sure my readers will love.

  Morgan gives us a silver fox hero, a damaged heroine, and a forbidden romance that I can never resist. I’m pretty sure this love story will be just what the doctor ordered…especially if he looks like this doctor. Enjoy!

  Roxanne St. Claire

  PS. If you’d like to read all of the Barefoot Bay Kindle Worlds novels, or would like to explore the possibility of writing your own book set in my world, stop by www.roxannestclaire.com for details!

  Dedication

  To the real Dr. Hottie Rock Star who saved both my shoulders so I could continue to write.

  Doc, this one’s for you with gratitude and a big hug.

  And for MLH. Always.

  Chapter One

  “Unbutton the top few buttons on your blouse and slip it off your shoulder.” Levi’s lean, tan fingers pushed the soft silk fabric down her arm. The skin was creamy and smooth until he touched her, his fingers leaving a trail of goosebumps from her throat to her elbow. She turned her head away from him, exposing the long pale length of her neck, as he stepped closer. His words were soft yet firm.

  “I’m going to lift your arm, don’t help me. I’ll move it where I want it to go.” One strong hand grasped her wrist while the other settled on the curve of her shoulder, his fingers barely touching the black lace strap of her bra. Her breath was a sharp intake in the quiet room, her back straightening, and a faint pink blush creeping up her cheeks as he lifted her arm.

  Damn. At the touch of her skin, he felt a slight tremor in his hands and more than a slight movement in a more troublesome appendage. He had never reacted like this before, ever. Lowering her arm, Levi quickly stepped away, turning to the chair on the other side of the small room. Once he was seated, he faced her again.

  “You can cover your shoulder now. I’ve seen all I need to see.” He picked up his tablet from the counter and began entering information. “Your incisions have healed very nicely. Dr. Fein did a great job. The scars will be very faint, almost unnoticeable. Your range of movement is not bad for 100 days out from surgery. I’m going to release you for physical therapy as of tomorrow. We have an excellent facility upstairs and I will send your prescription up to them unless you have someone else in mind.”

  Levi glanced up from his notes at the woman sitting on the examination table across from him. She was tall and lithe, with incredibly long legs encased in slim sand-colored linen slacks; her feet tucked into soft black ballet flats. He could not see her face, as she deliberately fastened the top three buttons on the loose black silk tunic she wore. She was a study in neutrals, beige and black. And ivory. Pale white skin and even paler blonde hair, cut short and spiked up and around her head, giving her a fey look reminiscent of Peter Pan. Thankfully, the blouse now covered the alabaster skin of her shoulder and collarbone. He felt the tension in his groin ease a bit. Until she looked up at him, catching him staring at her, pinning him with her stormy gray eyes. Now it was his turn to suck in a breath. She was, quite simply, the most stunning woman he had ever seen.

  “No, I don’t have…I don’t know anyone here. Upstairs will be fine. Are there any women physical therapists? I’d prefer a woman.” Her eyes shifted back to him, as if searching his face for…condemnation?

  Her voice was soft and breathy, as if she couldn’t quite find the will to speak to him. Her gaze darted away from Levi, looking everywhere but at him, as she spoke.

  What is she afraid of? Levi nodded his head as he scrolled through the patient notes on the tablet. Was she a victim of domestic violence? He saw the word assault in the brief referral notes from New York. Well, hell, that’s why she’s so skittish.

  “Yes, I’d recommend Cory. She is excellent. I send most of my rotator cuff patients to her. She’ll have you back to normal in two months, if you see her twice a week and do all the exercises at home. You’ve been doing the pendulum swings and circles?”

  Her blonde head moved affirmatively but her eyes were cast down again. She reached for the heavy, black orthopedic sling she’d been wearing when he entered the exam room.

  “No.”

  She looked up, as if startled by the harsh tone in his voice. He stood and moved toward her. “You don’t need the sling anymore. Just don’t be lifting anything heavier than a wine glass with that arm. Wait. Are you still taking pain meds? If that’s the case, don’t lift anything heavier than a small glass of orange juice.” His hand brushed hers as he reached for the sling.

  She blushed again but there was a faint smile teasing at her wide mouth. “How about a cup of coffee? I hate orange juice!”

  “Shhh. Don’t say that too loud. Remember you’re in Florida now; it’s nigh on to treason to diss our state drink.” A wry chuckle escaped him, causing a smile to spread across her face.

  Her cheeks turned as pink as the faint blush on her lips. Amusement spread to her stormy gray eyes, softening them to an almost lilac hue.

  “I’m well aware of where I am, Doctor. It took me long enough to get here from New York.” She shrugged. “I drove down from New York last week, as soon as Dr. Fein gave me the okay. It took me three days.”

  “I’m not surprised, but why didn’t you fly? That’s a long drive from the City to Naples.”

  “I’m
staying here for awhile and I wanted to bring more than would fit into a checked bag and a carry-on. And I knew I would need a car to get around. I just bought one and drove it here so I could get used to driving again.” Once more, her eyes darted away from his face.

  “Well, that’s a hell of an adventure for someone with an arm in a sling. Are you okay? Any other aches and pains from the drive?”

  She shrugged again, lifting her elegant shoulders and sighing. Her eyes finally met his. “I’m fine, thank you for asking. Dr. Fein gave me a light sling to wear while I drove so I could steady the wheel with my left hand, especially while I was shifting gears.”

  “What? You haven’t driven in awhile, your left arm is in a sling, and you buy a car with a stick shift?” He whistled long and low at her chutzpah. “What did you buy?”

  “My dream car. Fire engine red Mustang convertible with white leather seats, white top.” She finally gave him a full-on grin, her whole face lighting up.

  “Well, Ms. Anderson, that is one fine car. Glad to hear you are driving your dream. Incentive to get that left arm strong and flexible as soon as possible.” Levi reached out to shake her hand. He felt a spark at the touch. Again, the color rose on her cheeks. She looked like she had felt something too, but quickly withdrew her hand.

  “I’ll see you back here in about thirty days, just to check on your progress. Cory will keep me updated with weekly reports. Please call if you have any questions or there are any problems. You might want to keep a few of those pain pills for the first sessions of PT. Cut them in half and you should be okay for most everything Cory will throw at you.”

  She slid off the examination table, carefully avoiding touching him. “Thank you, Dr. Gould. I’ll see you in a month.” She had started for the door, when he reached out to stop her. She froze at his touch on her arm.

  “You forgot the PT prescription and the appointment slip. Just give it to one of the ladies at the desk out front and they’ll get you scheduled.” Levi placed the papers in her hand and then she was gone.

  ****

  Ella made it as far as the parking lot before the shakes took over. Grabbing the driver’s door handle to her car with her right hand, she steadied herself as tremors swept through her. It will pass. Please God, it will pass. A whimper escaped her lips. The plaintive sound was enough to snap her out of her panic attack. What the hell am I doing? A grown woman whimpering like a beaten dog? No way! She had not been comfortable with the touch of a strange man since the assault. Even doctors made her nervous, except Dr. Fein, whom she had known for years through her family. She still froze at the touch of an unfamiliar person and had only recently been able to control the frightened shakes that would inevitably follow.

  “Snap out of it, woman! You are better than this. You are going to be fine,” she scolded herself as she unlocked the car, climbed inside, and awkwardly deposited her bag on the passenger seat. The physical and mental effort took so much out of her that her head fell forward to rest momentarily on the steering wheel. Taking deep calming breaths, she finally managed to stop shaking. Looking up, she caught her reflection in the rear view mirror. As always, the sight of her new look startled her. Gone was the long honey blonde hair, twisted in a messy topknot. Gone was the purple eyeliner that brought out the lilac in her eyes and the red lipstick that turned her wide mouth into a scarlet slash of passion. Her too-sharp cheekbones lacked the year-round color that had blessed her face from her daily runs through Central Park. She still looked ill. She looked like an invalid.

  Tearing her gaze away from the visage she no longer recognized, Ella scanned the parking lot. It was fairly quiet for a Tuesday morning. She caught herself in mid-thought and snickered. The town was dead by Manhattan standards. She counted three people walking to their cars, one medical mini-van discharging an elderly man at the front door of the gleaming white building she had just exited, and two women in scrubs carrying pizza boxes hurrying across the lot. Through the passenger window, she could see gulls circling and the glimmer of sunlight on the turquoise waters of the Gulf of Mexico.

  “Florida! I’m in goddamn Florida in January just like the yentas Grammy hangs with! I should have just moved into her condo in West Palm and taken up mah-jongg!” But, she had to admit to herself, the bright sun, balmy breeze, and red burst of flowers that were everywhere were a damn sight better than the slush-covered, frozen streets she had left just five days ago. Shivering from the remembered cold, she wrapped her good arm across her chest, pulling her newly freed left arm into a self-embrace.

  “I got this. I can do this. It’s not like I’ve been exiled to the ends of the earth. I’m just in Florida. Just until April. I can do anything for three months.” Grimacing, Ella remembered the harrowing weeks since the surgery on her left shoulder. Strapped into a heavy black sling and support, she’d spent part of the time in the hospital, then a rehab center. After a brief respite at her parents’ house, she had hunkered down in her apartment, existing on take-out deliveries and meals dropped off by her faithful friend and agent, Penelope.

  Her stomach started growling. “I’d kill for a Rueben! Maybe that place by the intersection serves an early lunch. I can do that. I can do that.” She repeated the words like a mantra as she put the car in gear and pulled out of the lot onto Harbor Drive, heading for the four corners at the center of the small island she would be calling home for the foreseeable future. But as she made the turn onto Center Street, the now all too familiar exhaustion began creeping up on her. Passing the Twisted Pelican, the restaurant she’d been considering, she continued up the road to the Casa Blanca Resort and Spa. Driving past the main parking lot in front of the three-story hotel, Ella made her way to the last of the Moroccan-inspired villas along the narrow lane curving near the beach.

  Rockrose was the northernmost of the villas and the most secluded. Ella was grateful that there was no one around to see her climb awkwardly out of the Mustang. Even though she was right-handed, she was still learning how much she had relied upon her left hand and arm before her surgery and long recuperation. But she was a damn sight better than she had been even two weeks ago when she abruptly decided to abandon New York City, family, friends, and career to escape to Florida.

  “But I’m nowhere near fighting shape,” Ella muttered as she unlocked the front door to the blessed air-conditioned interior of the beautiful villa. Even the short walk from her car to the door had left her a little breathless. She made her way to the kitchen and tossed her bag on the counter. Her hand was shaking slightly as she reached into the refrigerator for a cold bottle of water. Remembering the doctor’s instructions, she carefully picked up the water bottle with her left hand. The cool weight felt good in her hand but she definitely felt a twinge in her newly reconstructed shoulder. And she needed her right hand to twist the cap off the familiar green bottle of Evian. One step at a time.

  Gulping the refreshing liquid, she looked around the gorgeously appointed kitchen. Everything in the villa was top of the line, first-class. She might be hiding out and licking her wounds but no one said she had to live in a hovel while she recreated her career. And her life.

  A T-shirt and yoga pants beckoned, so Ella wandered into the bedroom to strip off the elegant silk tunic and linen slacks. And the damn uncomfortable underwire bra. For over three months, she had been clothed in hospital gowns, tank tops and loose sweatshirts. She had even made the drive from NYC to Florida wearing a cami under a turtleneck under a hoodie. No bra.

  Pulling the black lace contraption down to her waist, she managed to twist the back to the front and get it unhooked. “I can’t wait until I can hook a bra again. Not that I really need one anymore.” She avoided the full-length mirror and shimmied into a ratty Albany Law School grey T-shirt. No need to stare at her reflection. She felt the changes in her body every time she moved. Her weight was way down. Her boobs had been reduced to the size they were at the start of high school, and she could count her ribs. She still had a tush, thanks to genetics more
than anything else. The bubble butt she’d inherited from Grammy, her father’s mother, had not deserted her but it had shrunk. No muscle tone left at all but the physical therapists in rehab had assured her that once she was able to exercise again, the muscles she had been so proud of would return—as would some of her curves.

  Tomorrow. She was grateful the receptionist had made her an eight o’clock appointment with Cory the next morning. Ella knew she would be hurting tomorrow afternoon. But it was the good kind of hurting, the healing kind. The I’m getting my strength back and no one is ever going to knock me down again kind of strength. Picking up the black lace bra—instrument of torture—from the bed, Ella felt herself blush again. Tucking the lingerie in the top drawer of the elegant dresser, she laughed to herself. I wonder what Dr. Hottie Rock Star would have thought if I’d showed up in this outfit instead of my good clothes. Damn, I’m glad I decided to dress like I wasn’t one of the homeless today.

  Just thinking about him warmed her up. Taking a long sip of the sparkling water, she ambled over to the glass doors leading to the patio and the pool. Needing some fresh air, she slid them open and stepped out on the cool stone surface. Dr. Hottie Rock Star! Ha! The nurse at the Albany office of NY-Ortho had been right. She’d told her the orthopedic surgeon who handled shoulders at their Florida office, FL-Ortho, was so good-looking the staff was almost certain that some women showed up with shoulder injuries just to get in to see him. “I’m not saying that they hurt themselves on purpose, but they get a lot of minor injuries that the patient, the female patient, is sure requires surgery!” Dr. Fein’s nurse, Helen, had warned her as she wrote out the referral forms and prescriptions for Ella to take to Florida to complete her recovery. “You’ll only see him once or twice probably. He just needs to check you after you get there and release you for physical therapy. Then he’ll give you a thirty-day re-check and you might need another thirty days. After that, you’ll be back in New York and you can follow-up here if required.”