Catching Preeya (Paradise South Book 3) Read Free Page A

tattle tale until a fist to the nose in fifth grade made an impression—and so had the calm, cool, and collected surgeon who’d fixed him up. So although most had expected him to become a cop, a lawyer, or a judge, he’d become a surgeon, and a pediatric specialist, to boot.
    But now his practice was lost, his local reputation destroyed. And until the medical board made its decision, Stanton had recommended that Ben take an extended leave of absence from the hospital. Doctors Without Borders had been Ben’s saving grace for the past year, and he couldn’t wait for his next mission, this time just south of the border.
    For now, though, and without Jamie by his side, he’d have to suffer through. She’d been his perfect counterbalance, the gentle stream to his stubborn rock. He sighed and focused on the hovering clouds through the boardroom’s skylights.
    Stanton cleared his throat, pulling Ben back to the present, to the huge conference table, familiar faces staring back at him. His in-laws , in particular, glared more than they stared.
    A snicker escaped Ben’s lips. Stanton jabbed him in his ribs, but Ben ignored the reprimand and let his mind jump back in time to the looks on Jamie’s folks’ faces when he’d told them that he’d be marrying their daughter. “Yes, immediately after high school graduation.” As always, no games—no tiptoeing or dancing around it. And he’d made it happen. Because he and Jamie had been meant to be. Forever.
    Forever.
    Well, even a doctor can be wrong.
    But for a solid decade plus two years, he’d been right. No doubt in his mind, in his heart, or in his soul. He’d called it. They’d started a wonderful life together. And he’d do it all over again. To experience that level of depth and height with another person—yeah, he’d do it again.
    All of it.
    Even and especially now, damn it, with those vile words flying over and around his head from across the mahogany table, making him sick, his white-knuckled fists in plain sight on top of his notepad that was blank except for Stanton’s scribbled warning to “Keep cool.”
    Fine, damn it . But he’d make them eat their words. Their vile accusations. The review board, the hospital directors, the legal teams, and his former in-laws —all of them. Because he knew their words were just colorless shreds of recycled paper floating on air with no hope of landing on solid ground.
    *
    Preeya’s throat hurt from yelling, but her stomach had settled a bit.
    “Everything okay in there?” a female voice, assertive yet muffled, piped through the door.
    Preeya pulled the sheet she’d stolen back from Josh up to her chin.
    Josh shoved his head farther under the pillow, then grumbled and belched at the same time.
    Jesus, really? Like she needed any more convincing?
    “Hey, Josh. You hear me?” From outside the door, not so muffled anymore.
    “What the fuck is it, Dawn?” Josh shouted.
    Dawn? A pissed-off girlfriend, or, holy crap, his wife? Was he married and didn’t say? Oh, wouldn’t that make this all so much better. Preeya shivered with dread.
    Snoring resumed.
    “Josh!” Preeya shook his shoulder. “Who the hell is the woman at the door?”
    “Fucking band manager,” he muttered. “Lesbian, hard ass, on my dick all the fucking time to keep me, you know, on it.” His words, stifled but clear enough.
    Bang, bang, bang.
    “Hey! Answer me or I’m coming in. You remember what happened last time, Josh?”
    Naked and sicker to her stomach now, Preeya really wanted to be gone before this stranger broke down the door. “What happened last time?” Preeya shot.
    “I flushed his entire stash is what happened.”
    Jesus, was her ear to the door?
    “Remember, Joshie boy? Cost you a good few grand or so, eh? You know I’ll do it again. Don’t give a shit if you have the shakes onstage, either.”
    Preeya watched Josh’s nostrils flare between the pillows still tight around his chiseled cheekbones. But he didn’t budge or