Forever Perfect: Billionaire Medical Romance (A Chance at Forever Series Book 1) Read online

  Forever Perfect

  A Chance at Forever Series

  By Lexy Timms

  Copyright 2017 by Lexy Timms

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to an actual person, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright 2017 by Lexy Timms

  Cover design by: Book Cover by Design

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews.

  A Chance at Forever Series

  Forever Perfect

  Forever Desired

  Forever Together

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  Website: http://lexytimms.wix.com/savingforever

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  Book Trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ABs_uaeEamo

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  DESCRIPTION:

  For Dr. Brant Layton, the world is meant to be as beautiful as he can sculpt it. He sees a woman’s body as a canvas upon which to work his art. But a wild, crazy, not-to-be remembered night changes everything. He lands drunk on a plane for Belize, signed on for three-week stint with Doctors International which lands him right in the lap of Dr. Melissa Bell.

  Melissa is in charge of a small clinic in the jungle which primarily cares for women suffering from abuse. Dr. Bell was hoping for a real doctor, not a raw recruit whose specialty is creating sex symbols out of the rich and famous.

  Tempers flare as both doctors fight a passion as raw and wild as the jungle surrounding them. Not every scar is as plainly visible as the one Melissa tries so desperately to hide.

  Contents

  A Chance at Forever Series

  FIND LEXY TIMMS:

  DESCRIPTION:

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  BOOK 2 Description

  Note from Author:

  SF Description:

  SF Chapter 1

  SF Chapter 2

  SF Chapter 3

  SF Chapter 4

  SF Chapter 5

  SF Chapter 6

  SF Chapter 7

  SF Chapter 8

  SF Chapter 9

  SF Chapter 10

  SF Chapter 11

  SF Chapter 12

  SF Chapter 13

  SF Chapter 14

  SF Chapter 15

  SF Chapter 16

  SF Chapter 17

  More by Lexy Timms

  Description:

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  Chapter 1

  Waiting wasn’t her strong suit. Dr. Melissa Bell crossed her arms and watched as the small plane touched down on the runway and rolled to a stop. Thankfully the resort staff were less patient than her, and so the engine hadn’t even shut off before an open bus arrived to take the passengers and their luggage to nearby cabanas and swimming pools.

  Dr. Bell and her clinic were at the end of the list of priorities—wealth came first, then charity. Although it wasn’t exactly okay, it was easier to resign oneself to being in the back seat so long as the service was free. Besides, without wealthy tourists to fly to the resort, much-needed supplies would sit rotting on the coast indefinitely. At least the current arrangement allowed for goods be shuttled to the clinic whose patrons were considerably less affluent than the overprivileged Americans wasting time gawking on the runway. Didn’t anyone care that she needed to be back before dark?

  Obviously not. Mel cooled her heels then as the well-heeled pointed at luggage and imperiously sent natives in white jackets scurrying. She caught the eye of the pilot, who had wisely stayed in his seat behind the controls as the porters profusely apologized for the heat and the bumpy air that had plagued their guests throughout the trip.

  The pilot smiled at her. It was an old joke between them. It would have been professionally awkward to laugh at the idiocy of one’s patrons, but neither could take the spectacle seriously either. He turned around and gestured to someone she couldn’t see. Mel shrugged, unsure what he meant as his hands moved in an elaborate charade that could’ve meant anything. Yet he seemed adamant about something and finally turned to beckon her over. She drove to the door of the plane as the porters finished loading guests and baggage.

  “Good Morning, Doc!”

  “Heyya, Captain Tom.” She smiled as the last of the ‘cabana buses’ slid off toward the sprawling resort. “I hope you have penicillin with you today; we’re almost out.”

  Tom gave her a sideways look. “I can’t even pronounce half the stuff I do bring to you, Mel. I gave up trying to figure out what it all is; all I know are boxes and coolers and snorers.”

  Mel waited for a moment, but apparently Tom wasn’t going to spring his own trap. She shrugged and let him have the straight line for old time’s sake. “Okay, Tom, what’s a ‘snorer’?”

  He smiled and opened the door. She could hear it from six feet away: the unmistakable sound of a chainsaw being run by a mountain lion. “What the hell is that?”

  Tom laughed. “That, Dr. Bell, is now officially your problem.” He handed her a fistful of papers with no flourish.

  She glanced at the first sheet. “A new doctor? I wasn’t told about this!”

  “Isn’t Doc Marison gone for a few weeks?”

  “Yeah, but…” She sighed. “He went home on leave to take care of some family business. But… they sent a replacement? This soon? They can’t get meds here, but a doc can be replaced without confirmation?” She shook her head. The questions were rhetorical, but still, charity worked backwards sometimes. She checked the papers again. The first sheet was emblazoned with the Doctors Overseas logo, and several rubberstamped impressions of dates and imprints and a name repeated over and over: Dr. Brant Layton.

  Mel bit her lip, trying to decide if this was a good thing or not. The last temporary replacement had lasted all of twelve hours before falling into what would have been a lawsuit back in the States, and even here had required profuse apologies and a rather large payout to replace several sheep and a bicycle. “All it says here is ‘surgeon,’ but they’re not saying what kind.”

  “There’s more than one kind?”

  “Tom!”

  “Listen, Doc,” Tom said with a gleam in his eye, “I just drive. I’ll load up your boxes and bags and coolers, but
he’s your problem.”

  “Does that noise stop? What is it?” It didn’t sound normal. Or human.

  “Him. His snoring got so bad the other passengers started a round of singing just to try to drown him out. One hundred bottles of aged scotch on the bar. I had a woman with a $300 hairdo—she was very clear how much it cost—who decided to mess it up just to get some silence underneath the biggest pair of headphones on board.”

  “Asleep?”

  “And drunk.” Tom walked past her, to the back of the plane where the hatch was for the luggage. “You can smell it on him. Funny thing was, none of the others were bothered by the smell of the booze. Apparently, reeking of the stuff goes without comment so long as the vintage is good, but snoring is a sin.” He shook his head and mumbled under his breath, “I will never understand the rich.”

  Mel was no longer listening. Her stomach clenched as she turned and stomped over to the jeep, jaw set so tight it was a wonder it didn’t snap under the pressure. Drunk? No way in hell was she getting involved in that kind of mess again. If some rich do-gooder type thought this was some free vacation, then he had a very rude awakening in store. She reached into her backpack, pulled out the bottle of water she’d been sipping, and made her way down the aisle of the plane, pausing only as a particularly loud exhalation filled the tiny space. “Headphones? Even a Led Zeppelin concert couldn’t drown this out.”

  In the rearmost seat, a figure lay prone against the wall.

  For a moment, Mel paused.

  He was rather good-looking, if she was honest with herself. Lean, athletic, tall if those legs were any indication. She had to take a moment to admire him as she would a painting or sculpture, an acknowledgement of something finely crafted.

  Then he snored again. And the fumes hit her in a wave. Teeth gritted, and breathing through her mouth, she returned the favor by emptying her water bottle over his head.

  At least the guy had good reflexes.

  Dr. Layton woke with the speed of lightning. He promptly cracked his head on the overhead compartment and was apparently unaware he was still wearing a seatbelt. The sudden slam back into the seat was a powerful reminder.

  He sat still a moment, blinking uncertainly. Very cautiously, with all the care of a man not certain whether his limbs were still attached, reached around her, grabbing an air-sick bag from the seat in front of him. He held it for a moment, as if unsure how to use it.

  “Are you going to…” she started to ask, but he waved her down.

  He seemed to be concentrating on something far off, or perhaps he was negotiating terms with his stomach. Slowly, the air-sick bag made its way back to the other seat, still pristine.

  Dr. Layton, surgeon of unknown specialty, looked up at her from a depth she could only guess at, and in a small voice said, “Ow.”

  “Ow, indeed.” She frowned. “Well, Dr. Layton, I trust you’re at least sober when you operate. Grab whatever things you brought with you and let’s go. I have to get these supplies where they’ll do some good.”

  He stared in her general direction; from the way he blinked again, and kept tilting his head to one side, she guessed his eyes weren’t focusing very well. All the same, he seemed to zero in on her face…which he studied with a look of rapt wonder usually reserved for fine works of art. Or a second-chance two-point conversion if your tastes ran more toward football.

  “You’re beautiful,” he whispered. “A little work on the nose, maybe, but your cheekbones…”

  It was her turn to blink as the blood flowed fast into her face. “Dr. LAYTON!”

  “Don’t yell.” He gripped his head, as if to prevent it from falling off and rolling under the seat in front of him.

  Mel counted to ten and turned and stomped out of the plan, trying to shake the memories that plagued her. At least he didn’t reek of it. Regardless of what Tom had said, the wealthy patrons of the resort wouldn’t have put up with that in their plane.

  Standing on the tarmac, she seethed for a moment and looked around. Satisfied that no one was watching, she put her hand to her nose and checked it for…

  “Oh, for heavens…” She forced her arm to back to her side and forced the thought from her mind. There was absolutely nothing wrong with her nose, for Pete’s sake. It hadn’t been broken; it was straight and rather petite. “Stop that,” she admonished herself sharply, trying not to look at her reflection in the window of the small plane. Instead, she busied herself with examining the crates and various packages that Tom had so far unearthed from the hold. Thank God Tom himself seemed to be busy with a particularly heavy crate and hadn’t noticed her momentary vanity. He’d never let her live it down.

  In the meantime, Mel heard her new surgeon stumble through the plane. He must have bumped into every seat and struck his head more than once, but at least he was moving. She heard him gasp as the full sunlight of Belize at noon slammed into his bloodshot eyes.

  “Holy shit.” It was a quiet statement of fact, not the explosion it could have been. “Where the hell am I?” His voice rose a little at the end of the sentence.

  Mel turned to look at him quizzically. She straightened, hands curling into fists until she could feel her short nails digging into her palms. This idiot was worse than a child. “Where do you think you are, Doctor? You’re right where you volunteered to be. You signed on for Belize. Here you are.”

  “BELIZE?!”

  Mel nodded. That was the explosion she’d been waiting for.

  “Wait a sec… Where’s Belize?”

  “Central America.” Mel smiled sweetly.

  “What do you mean? Like Kansas?” He looked pointedly at the jungle on the other side of the tarmac. “I thought that was all wheat.”

  “Between Mexico and South America,” Mel explained, “on the corner of Guatemala and Honduras.”

  She hadn’t thought he could get any paler. She was interested to note she’d been wrong.

  “I’m going to die.”

  “Someday, but perhaps you can delay that for a few weeks.”

  “Wait… Wait… Freddy went to Belize with Jessica. I’m pretty sure…”

  “There you go. A three-week vacation, Doctor.” She handed him the sheaf of paperwork, smiling as he squinted against the glare of the sun on the page and what had to be some impressive pounding of his head.

  “Holy shit.” His eyes darted back and forth as he read, fingers tightening on the sheaf of papers until they slowly crumpled in his hands. “Holy…”

  “Shit?” she filled in for him helpfully.

  “Yeah, that.” He looked up from the page. “Listen, Miss…”

  “Bell. Dr. Melissa Bell.”

  “Well, Dr. Melissa Bell, there’s been a mistake here.”

  “I’m well aware. Knew before I woke you, Dr. Layton.”

  “I don’t remember signing this.” He waved the papers at her until she grabbed them just to get them out of her face.

  “Are you saying that your signature was forged?” she asked, flipping to a rather large and somewhat loopy signature on the bottom of page three.

  “No…”

  “Is that your name?”

  “Well, yes, but…”

  “You’re one of the lucky ones then; you’re only assigned for three weeks and then it’s back to the golf course and Saturdays off. You must be a specialist, Doctor; general surgeons are usually assigned for three months.”

  “Three weeks! I can’t stay here three weeks! I have a business to run, I have surgeries scheduled! I’m leaving NOW, not in three weeks, not in three days, BLOODY NOW!”

  Mel flipped through the papers to the last page, studied it, and pointed out a paragraph to her now very distressed surgeon. “You might want to read that part, since you obviously didn’t read it before you signed it.”

  Cautiously, as though handling a serpent, deadly spider, or a legal summons, he read the paragraph, partly aloud. “I agree that defaulting on my agreement will mean substantial penalties and or… jail tim
e? You can’t put me in prison!”

  “No, I can’t.” Mel agreed. “But they can!” She tapped the paper pointedly. “You see, Doctor, you’d be in violation of your contract, meaning they would have try to find someone to replace you, leaving us all in the lurch.”

  “Wha… I…” he spluttered and finally decided on, “I need to make a call.” He dug into his pockets, pulling out a phone so new and state of the art she was sure it could run rings around the computer system she’d fought for over the last year.

  The difference between her old computer and his new phone was that her computer didn’t need a cell signal. The hotel had a satellite uplink, but that was reserved for paying guests.

  “I don’t have a signal.” He looked at her as though it was violation of the natural laws of physics to not have a cell signal.

  “There’s a phone at the clinic. You can use it on your break.”

  His mouth open and closed a few times. It seemed that the good doctor had finally run out of words. She watched as he stretched and held his head gingerly, looking around at the encroaching jungle, wincing with each movement. Thankfully Tom had already placed several crates in the back of the Jeep, and was busy tying them down. Mel shook her head and busied herself with adding on the smaller packages and boxes in whatever space was left. It was going to be a tight fit, but then she hadn’t planned on bringing six feet or so of useless cargo for this particular trip. Speaking of whom…

  Dr. Layton half-turned, and even from here she could see that his face had visibly relaxed. For a moment, Mel thought he’d come to terms with his predicament until she realized he was looking at the resort.

  He gave a low appreciative whistle. “Wow. Very nice. I’d underestimated this place.”

  “I’m so glad,” Mel muttered, signing the form Tom handed to her releasing custody of all baggage into her care. They exchanged glances, but even Tom’s mischievous smile couldn’t lift her spirits. This doctor was going to be a pain in the ass. She was almost tempted to send him back on the plane and tell him to get lost. However, they needed a doctor; whatever kind of surgeon he was, it would do. “Get in.” She pointed to the Jeep.