Available for Early Download!

inbroussardscare_800The last of the Yearning Love series (probably) Only at TEB here

This is book three in the Yearning Love series, see the full series listing here


Sometimes the deepest wounds are the ones you can’t see.

Dr. Jean Broussard hasn’t been lucky in love. The only men who interest him are either taken or end up wanting him for his money. When Detective Ryan Calloway appears in his emergency room, he thinks he’s found the perfect man.

Ryan had spent his life alone. Enjoying his independence, he’d always preferred one night stands to anything longer. However, lately his friends’ relationship has left him feeling lonely for the first time. When he ends up being stitched together by a sexy doctor, he thinks he might’ve found the guy to break his solitary streak.

They’ll have to overcome a killer and threats on their lives before they can get on with the task of healing Ryan.


By reading any further, you are stating that you are 18 years of age, or over. If you are under the age of 18, it is necessary to exit this site.
Copyright © Amber Kell 2014. All Rights Reserved, Total-E-Ntwined Limited, T/A Totally Bound Publishing.



As they carried me through the emergency room, I tried not to inhale the smell of antiseptic and illness. I hate hospitals. It’s not just a mild dislike, but a true hatred of the buildings that harbour death and suck the money from the pockets of the living. Okay, I might be projecting, but my mother died of cancer, my father died from a heart attack and my partner died from a car accident—all inside the sterile, antiseptic walls of a hospital. I don’t have one single positive memory of any of these supposed healing facilities. Birth didn’t count since I couldn’t remember it—probably a good thing.

“I can walk,” I growled at the paramedics.

“You’re bleeding. Stay still,” Martha ordered. I frowned at the female half of the paramedic team hustling me into the emergency room. They were currently making it their mission in life to torment me with medical care whether I wanted it or not. I knew I didn’t have a life-threatening wound—the bullet had passed through my shoulder and gone out the other side.

I scowled at Martha, but my badass cop glare had little effect. She’d dealt with much worse than a grumpy, injured detective. I was probably the scary equivalent of a Chihuahua to a woman used to dealing with Pit Bulls.

Her tight smile didn’t reassure me at all. “Save it, pretty boy. I’m not leaving your side until I know you’ve been patched up. I’ve met your partner. She’d kick my ass if I left you without making sure you were seen by a doctor.”

I sighed and thumped my head back on the gurney. How could I argue with the truth? Besides, I’d never admit it, but the lights were turning a bit sparkly and my stomach was swirling crazier than a merry-go-round at a psychotic amusement park. A team of expert interrogators couldn’t pull that confession from me, though. If I could bullshit the doctor into letting me go, then I was golden. I would crawl home if necessary.

They ushered me into a small cubicle and transferred me to a hospital bed. I grunted at the jolt to my injury. The doctor might not have to dig the bullet out, but I still had to be stitched back together. Hopefully there wasn’t any muscle damage. I couldn’t feel much on my right side other than burning pain and the wetness of blood dripping down my skin. It was the pain in my head from smacking it against a dumpster that concerned me the most. If I had a concussion, they would insist on me staying the night. I clutched my ice pack tighter.

“Hello there, I’m Dr Jean Broussard.”

A deep voice had me opening my eyes to see the source. When had I closed them?

Oh. Yum!

I’d have to have more than one bullet wound in me not to notice six feet of deliciousness standing by my bed. Wide shoulders, short blond hair and grey eyes drew my attention. All the good bits were covered up in a white coat like a Christmas present waiting to be unwrapped. If I didn’t feel like crap and probably looked worse, I would’ve… Well, I wouldn’t have done anything, but I would’ve dreamed a lot. Men like the luscious doctor didn’t usually go for blue collar men like me, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be starring in a lot of jerk-off fantasies.

“Gunshot wound?” Dr Broussard asked.

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