The Healing Touch - Anniversary Edition (A Manwhore Series Book 3) Read online

  The only problem? He knew it and used it to his advantage. All his brothers were like that, though. Well, except for Viktor. He was always on the lookout for “the one.” She wished Dimitri would be more like his brother. That way she wouldn’t have to hear all about the crazy things women did to get his attention. They had no clue he could give two shits about their shenanigans. He just wanted in their pants, and once he became bored, he tossed them aside like yesterday’s first draft.

  So why shouldn’t she think he would discard her as easily as he did all the others? Once her usefulness ran out, what other reason could he have for sticking around?

  “Well, why can’t you go?” He sat on her couch, and she winced when it barely fit him. He looked pristine next to the faded fabric, making her want him here even less.

  How to tell him she was terrified of going outside her door? It was an irrational fear and one she had to face, according to her therapist. Dr. Gainey didn’t simply medicate the patient and let them go on as they were. She subscribed to the doctrine of treatment that made patients face their fears head-on along with the medication. You had to retrain your brain, so to speak, and the only way to do that was to go out there and perform the task the brain thought it couldn’t handle. Becca wasn’t ready to do that yet, though. She might not ever be.

  “Why do you even need someone to go with you?” Better to go on the offensive before he started in with the dimples and the pleases. She was a sucker for those, and he knew it.

  “Because I do.” His eyes took on that bullheaded, stubborn look she hadn’t seen since she was fifteen, but oh, did she remember it, and remember it well. It was the same look he gave her every day in high school when she refused to speak to him. He’d gotten his way then too.

  “Then take Chrissy, or Kathy, or…what the hell is her name?” She could never keep them straight. This latest one had lasted longer than the others, though.

  “Charlene.”

  “Whatever.” She shrugged. “Take your flavor of the week with you.”

  “Flavor of the week?” He tilted his head, thinking. “That’s a good description. I’m using it in my next book.”

  Becca leaned against the sink and crossed her arms. “Well, take her.”

  “Can’t, Krasivaya. I sent her packing last week.”

  That was a new word. She’d have to look it up later. It used to frustrate her to no end when he’d carried on the conversation in Russian just to piss her off. It was one of the methods he’d used to get her to talk to him in high school. She’d been curious enough to start looking words up. It turned into a game of sorts, but it helped her more than she’d ever told him.

  “I’m sure you’ve got a new trollop waving you down on all sides. Take one of them.”

  “No, I don’t.” His face turned serious. “I want—no, I need you to go, Becca.”

  “Why me?”

  “Because you’re the only person I trust.”

  Not what she’d expected to hear. Did he worry someone would dip into the money bag and rob him blind? If that was the case, he needed to invest in new women with actual morals, not his loose floozies.

  She pulled down two coffee mugs and dug out a half gallon of milk from the fridge. “Are you worried about theft? Just take credit cards, and you’ll be fine with whomever.”

  Dimitri nearly swallowed his tongue when she bent over in the fridge and her short nightshirt rode up her ass, revealing a pair of very lacy pink panties. When the fuck had she morphed into a sexy nymph?

  Rebecca wasn’t one for video chat. She always preferred texting or phone calls, so he’d barely seen her over the last few years.

  But he was seeing her now.

  Sweet Jesus, the girl had grown up. He’d noticed that long blonde hair flying in all directions, her face flushed and her breathing a little winded—a just-fucked look if ever there was one. It made him wonder if she’d been busy before he’d started pounding on her…on her door. Pounding on her door. God. He needed to stop this. It was Becca, not his, what did she call it? Flavor of the week. She was Becca, not his flavor of the week.

  Didn’t stop him from appreciating the fine ass she had on display or the fact she was braless. That hadn’t escaped his attention either. It was starting to make him uncomfortable, and if he stood up right now, it wouldn’t be his legs that were the problem, but an entirely different part of his anatomy. One she wouldn’t appreciate.

  “It’s not theft.” He watched her pour the coffee and add the barest hint of milk to hers before gesturing to his own. He shook his head. He drank coffee as black as he could get it.

  “Then what is it, D?” She sounded genuinely confused.

  “Why won’t you even talk about going with me?” He knew he was going to have to open up about his disability, as the physical therapist called it, but he dreaded it. No one really knew how bad it was, outside of his doctors. Not even his family. He’d flown back out to LA as soon as the neurosurgeon in Boston gave him the all-clear to travel. His weakness was not something he wanted to come clean about with anyone.

  She came around the bar, holding both cups of coffee. Her boobs bounced, and he found himself watching them as she walked. Shit, when did she grow boobs? Wasn’t she flat-chested? Or maybe she’d just worn clothes that hid her glorious figure? Shit, shit, shit. He needed to get his eyes off her chest before she realized what he was doing.

  “I think the real question is why you dodged my question.” She thrust the mug at him, and he took it, trying his best not to notice her breasts, which were now at eye level with him. “What’s going on, D?”

  Dimitri cracked his neck to relieve the tension. The woman never did let him by with shit. She knew him better than even his brothers.

  The coffee tasted delicious. She lived in a shithole, had secondhand furniture, and yet allowed herself damn good coffee? Her priorities were all screwed up.

  How to tell her about his disability? She knew about the incident, but not the details. No one outside his family knew all the details. Dimitri knew his feelings were irrational, but it didn’t keep him from feeling embarrassed and ashamed of the fact he could barely walk anymore.

  She sat down in her ugly brown chair and sipped her own coffee. A light sigh floated to him as she savored her first taste. Her small, pink tongue darted out to retrieve any lost liquid.

  Fuck. He was getting harder. Maybe taking Becca with him wasn’t the best idea. He’d end up screwing her, and it would ruin everything. He knew himself all too well. The one thing he didn’t want to fuck up was his friendship with Becca.

  “Dimitri?”

  His gaze snapped up to her face when he heard the irritation in her voice. She’d seen exactly where his eyes were, and she looked pissed. Dammit. Coming here was a bad idea. It put all sorts of new thoughts in his head, thoughts his dick couldn’t or wouldn’t ignore.

  “Either tell me why you’re insisting I go with you or get the hell out. I don’t have time for you to sit here and drool. They’re just boobs. All women have them.”

  Not like that, they didn’t. He blinked, trying to clear the sudden lust that crept up on him. He didn’t need his dick thinking for him. He needed Becca, and his damn dick would have to ignore his own desires for once.

  “You remember I told you about that shit that went down in Boston with Kade and his wife?”

  Becca nodded. He’d told her a little about it, but not much. She’d wondered if there was more to the story than he’d told her. She could ignore his roving eyes for a minute for this. It was something he did without even realizing it. She’d decided that after watching him for a year. Any girl he met, his eyes hit her boobs first. It was just Dimitri.

  Not that she was about to tell him his eyes made her nipples hard. If she gave him that much, he’d take a mile, and she would not end up as one of his women. That was a notch he wasn’t going to get near placing on the proverbial bedpost.

  “My injuries were more serious than I told anyone.” He took an
other sip, and she settled back to hear him out. “The neurotoxin dart hit me directly in my spine, or near enough that it did severe nerve damage to my legs. I’m doing physical therapy three times a week to try to regain the strength in them.”

  “You’re walking fine, Dimitri.” She’d seen him waltz in and make himself at home. Surely, he couldn’t have walked up three flights of stairs if he was that bad off.

  “How long did it take me to sit, and have I moved since I sat?”

  Well, come to think of it, he’d sat down as soon as he came in. Her gaze shifted to his legs. At first, she’d thought he was only playing up his injuries, but the man she knew wouldn’t lie about something like this. All her anger deflated and was replaced by concern. “How bad is it?”

  “Bad enough that walking up those stairs caused a shit storm of pain. I may not be able to stand up for a bit.”

  This had to be killing him. Dimitri was a very active person, always outdoors hiking, camping, rock climbing. Losing even partial use of his legs would be debilitating to a man like him.

  “Don’t pity me, Becca.”

  His voice came out low, rough, and angry. Goosebumps broke out over her skin. Ignoring her reaction to him, she hurried to reassure him. “It’s not pity, D. I promise. I guess I’m sad because you’re sad. Comes with the title of best friend.”

  His lips tilted in that half smile she loved. It made his dimple stand out.

  “I love you, Becca. You know that?”

  She laughed. “Yeah, I know, but you have to. No one else would put up with your shit.”

  “I don’t think I like this new foul mouth of yours. Or maybe I do. It’s hot.”

  She laughed, knowing he didn’t mean anything by it. He would never see her like he did one of his bimbos.

  “Drink your coffee before it gets cold. I still don’t see why this requires me going with you. You’ll be sitting most of the time, and you can have the hotel staff cart your books to and from the room.”

  “No, you’re the only person I trust with this. I don’t want it getting out on social media, and if I have to have help, people are going to start asking questions.”

  “And me helping you won’t make them ask questions?”

  “No. You’re my PA. No one would think twice about you helping me.”

  He’d gotten obstinate and mulish again. And then it dawned on her in a flash of clarity. He was afraid. But of what?

  “Dimitri.” She set her cup down and leaned forward. “I don’t understand why you need me specifically. Any woman would be glad to help you.”

  “Yes, but any woman might go and run her mouth about my condition.”

  “Make me understand why you are terrified of your secret getting out. It’s not something you did to yourself, nothing to be embarrassed about, and certainly nothing to be ashamed of. What’s the big deal?”

  He let out a frustrated sigh and put his own mug down. It never ceased to amaze her how a man who could sometimes churn out a book a month struggled to find ways to express his own feelings.

  “How would it look, Becca, if readers found out? I’m supposed to personify the men in my books. People read my books because of what I look like. If they see me as anything less than whole…” He stopped speaking, his head drooping.

  “I call bullshit.” She felt heat rush up to her cheeks, but in anger this time. “People read your books not because of what you look like, but because of the story. So what if you can’t walk so well? No one is going to care.”

  “But I care.” His words were so low she almost missed them.

  “Dimitri, you have a pretty face and a body to drool over, but again, so what? Men like that are a dime a dozen. What you do with words? That’s special. Your words touch people’s hearts. That’s why they buy your books, not because you’re man candy.”

  She could see he didn’t believe her. The man had serious self-esteem issues. How had she missed this? All these years, and she’d never seen it, but it was staring her in the face. He honestly believed what he wrote didn’t matter. He really thought it was all about his face.

  His nostrils flared. “Becca, I can’t make you understand, but I’m terrified to go and that people will find out. Please come with me. You’re the only person I trust to do this for me. Please.”

  Well, hell. He was giving her the puppy dog eyes. She felt like a shit saying no, but it was too much. She hadn’t been outside this apartment in two years.

  “I can’t.”

  Becca squirmed under Dimitri’s probing stare, but she didn’t back down.

  He wanted to shake her. He’d bared his soul to her, told her his deepest, darkest fear. That he wasn’t good enough, that it was only about what he looked like, the kind of man he personified. And she still said no.

  “We’re friends, aren’t we? Best friends?”

  She nodded, eyes downcast so she didn’t have to look at him. Oh, hell no. “Eyes up, Rebecca. You give me your eyes when you spew your own bullshit.”

  He expected every emotion from spitting mad to regret, but not all-out fear. Her pupils were dilated, panicked. When she jumped up and staggered back, he stood himself. What was wrong?

  She shook her head, eyes going wilder every second. Her breathing picked up, and she backed away from him slowly.

  “Don’t ask me that, Dimitri. I can’t…I just…I can’t. Please.”

  She turned and ran down the hall. He was left bewildered and listening to the sound of a door slamming.

  What the fuck just happened?

  Chapter Three

  By the time she hit her bedroom, the walls started crowding in on her, and her breathing became nothing more than a futile attempt to pull air into oxygen-starved lungs. Spots began to dance in front of her eyes. This was one of her more severe attacks. She tried to get to the nightstand where her inhaler lay. It would force her lungs to work. Only her knees buckled well before she got that far. Crawling, she made her way across the floor, praying she didn’t pass out.

  There was a knock at the door, and she panicked more. Dimitri couldn’t see her like this. She felt embarrassed and ashamed of her anxiety. Dimitri didn’t know anything about it. She’d hidden it from him as much as he’d hidden his injury from his fans. As she tried to claw her way up the nightstand, she finally understood why he didn’t want anyone to know. He had to be as embarrassed as she felt right now.

  “You okay, Becca?”

  He sounded concerned. She opened her mouth to try to form the words to reassure him, but only a loud gasp struggled its way out. Becca knew she’d black out soon if she couldn’t reach the damn inhaler. This had only happened once before, and thankfully, she’d been at her shrink’s. It was the last appointment she’d ever gone to. From that point on, she refused to leave her apartment. Her therapist agreed to Zoom meetings for her therapy sessions.

  Dimitri showing up on her doorstep, demanding she go because he trusted her, made her anxiety hit the boiling point. She did want to help him. She wanted to be able to go to his signing with him, smile, help where he needed her to. Because they were friends, and friends did shit for each other.

  But she couldn’t do it. Her anxiety wouldn’t let her. And she hated it. Hated herself for not being able to do something this simple without the panic gnawing at her.

  She fell, unable to find the inhaler from her half-crouched position on the floor. This was so bad. If he came in here and found her like this, it would lead to questions—questions she didn’t want to answer.

  To her horror, the door opened, and Dimitri walked in. She couldn’t see him, but she heard him walking toward the bed. “Becca?”

  When he found her lying on the floor, barely breathing, she saw the panic on his face. He rushed to her and dropped down. “What’s wrong?”

  “Inhaler,” she managed to wheeze out and pointed to the nightstand.

  He found it then helped her sit so she could pull the lifesaving medicine into her lungs. Almost instant relief. Her lungs opened,
and she started to drag air in. Dimitri hauled her up so they were both sitting on the bed, his hand stroking her back in soothing circles as she worked to breathe.

  “What’s wrong, Krasivaya?”

  “Panic attack.”

  Dimitri wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. A panic attack? What the hell caused her to have a panic attack? He had no clue they were like this. His papa suffered from them, but he’d never witnessed one. It was jarring, to say the least.

  “What can I do?” He felt helpless. It was yet another thing he wasn’t used to but was being forced to accept, thanks to his legs.

  She shook her head. Not knowing what else to do, Dimitri sat with her and rubbed her back for over an hour. It took her that long to finally calm down. Her head landed on his shoulder. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, sweetheart. Want to tell me what brought that on?”

  “You.”

  “Me?” What the hell had he done to cause her to have a panic attack?

  She tilted her head and looked up at him, incredulous. “You’re not serious?”

  “I wouldn’t have asked if I knew.”

  “You really are dumb sometimes.”

  For once, he was going to agree with her because he had no clue what he’d done.

  “Dimitri, I told you I couldn’t go with you. This is why I can’t go. I get panic attacks even thinking about all the crowds, the people. This is what happens to me.”

  Well, damn. He really was a dumbass. Not once did the thought of him asking her to go cross his mind as the reason for her panic attack. No wonder she’d quit. This was serious shit.