by Score, Lucy
One inch of beautiful, dirty pleasure.
“I still don’t know if I can give you more than this,” she whispered.
His eyes bored into hers. “I’ll take whatever you can give me, Mackenzie.”
That was all she could ask for.
His fingers flexed into her hips hard enough to leave prints. But she was in control. Knowing he watched her, she slid down, taking more and more of him in one slow, smooth move. Linc bowed up from the bed as the last inch found its way inside her. She could feel him filling her, feel him almost in her belly.
She gave a teasing rock of her hips.
“I’m seeing stars, Dreamy.”
The sweet again sprinkled in with the dirty. Was there anything sexier than that?
“You haven’t seen anything yet,” she promised and began to move. Rocking slowly at first, then steadily building speed. The thick slide of him in and out, veins and ridges, impossibly smooth, hot skin. He was custom-made to fuck her.
Linc ran his hands over her torso, pausing to pay special attention to her breasts.
“Get down here,” he commanded.
She complied, folding over him as he wrapped one strong arm around her. It felt so good to be this close to him. Safe and wild all at once.
He used his other hand to cup her breast and bring it to his mouth. The pleasure of his mouth on her, his cock in her, gave her too much to feel. And no way to stop and think.
She was a mass of sensation. On a quest for pleasure.
He picked up the pace, hammering into her. Her thighs quivered, and those delicate inner muscles trembled. He wasn’t kidding about more orgasms. He was about to fuck a second one out of her.
He murmured dark and dirty things against her breasts while sucking and kissing.
She gave herself over to the frenzied rhythm, forgetting about the need for control. Now she required something else. Something that was blooming in her belly like a nuclear explosion.
He grunted softly against the flesh of her breast. Her nipple growing impossibly harder in his mouth.
She opened her legs wider, letting him pummel into her, his hips thrusting in an incessant rhythm.
It was starting. She could feel it drawing up from her toes, burning everything in its path.
She spasmed around his dick, and he growled. “That’s right, Mackenzie.”
He said her name as he drove her relentlessly toward an orgasm.
“Do you want more?” he asked, his voice gravelly.
“What more is there?” She ended on a cry as her body balanced on the precipice. The abyss. All she had to do was fall. But…
Linc’s finger found her ass, slipped into the cleft, and pressed against her.
“No one’s ever made me want like this before,” he ground out.
“God,” she hissed.
“Hang on to me, Dreamy. I’ve got you.”
His finger slid into her at the same time as a particularly masterful thrust grazed some pleasure button deep inside her. His tongue laved her nipple.
They both exploded together.
He went rigid under her, teeth gritted, jaw clenched, pouring himself into the condom while Mack closed around him like a fist. And they came like that, rocking and shuddering, trembling as their releases ripped through their bodies, decimating them.
30
Mack whistled as she let herself in through the back door of the clinic.
She was early. The first one to arrive, which was fine with her. She dropped the skinny vanilla latte and the Earl Grey with extra cream at the front desk for Tuesday and Freida. The cappuccino went on Russell’s organized desk.
She took her own green tea into her office and flicked on the lights.
Since she was alone, she cranked the volume on the elderly computer speakers and played the song she’d woken up with in her head.
Warbling along with Freddie Mercury to “Somebody to Love,” she collapsed into the chair, delighted at the variety of sore muscles making themselves known to her.
She’d had sex. Amazing sex. With a guy she really liked. And she’d woken up, crammed into her own bed on filthy ash-streaked sheets, between man and dog. They’d worked out together. Weights, push-ups, sit-ups. And over breakfast, Linc had filled her in on the call last night.
It felt…nice. She felt happy. The slate had been cleared. The playing field was even.
Linc knew she wasn’t looking for permanent. She knew he was. They were at cross-purposes and honest about it. They could make this work. Whatever this was.
Of course, she was going to have to be careful to keep her distance. She definitely couldn’t see him two nights in a row. That would send the wrong message. Stay in control, and everyone could have a good time.
It was going to be a very good day.
The chair had feelings about her positivity. It tipped abruptly. There was no time to catch herself as she pitched backward, her feet flipping up over her head as she and the chair landed hard.
She stared up at her walking boot and ceiling. And started to laugh.
They found her like that.
“Is she drunk?” Freida asked from the doorway.
“The beverages. The music. The laughing. She’s not drunk,” Tuesday insisted. “Dr. Mack got laid.”
“Up we go,” Russell said, pulling Mack to her feet.
She stumbled over her walking boot. “I swear I’m not drunk.”
“Look at her face,” Tuesday said in a gleeful mock whisper. “She’s so smug and satisfied. So dewy.”
“Had to be Chief Reed,” Freida predicted. “Nice to know you two made up.”
“Good for you,” Russell said, beaming at her.
“I’m very uncomfortable right now,” Mack said.
“Honey, you should be after a night with Chief Reed.” Freida was in full-on spirit fingers mode.
“Go easy on her, ladies,” Russell insisted. “Mackenzie is new to this kind of dysfunctional workplace intimacy.”
Mack laughed. She’d bonded fiercely with her crew on the bird that had crash-landed in the dirt and dust in the middle of the damn desert in Afghanistan. And she’d spent most of her career surrounded by soldiers who’d never heard the phrase “don’t kiss and tell.” But this was something different.
“We’re just happy for you,” Tuesday promised. She had her hair woven into some complex side-part braid thing that looked like it had walked off a Pinterest board. “And thank you for the latte.”
“Heard that fire was a doozy last night. But no fatalities, thanks to your manfriend,” Freida mused.
“Maybe think about ordering a new chair?” Russell suggested as he herded Freida and Tuesday out her door. “And thank you for the coffee.”
Left alone with Freddy Mercury, Mack kicked the chair before righting it. She weighed her options and then sat gingerly, avoiding the backrest while she reviewed the appointments scheduled for today.
* * *
Six-year-old Dalton McDowell presented with a fever that had started earlier in the week and spiked overnight.
“We took him to urgent care on Tuesday night,” his mother, a harried woman in a misbuttoned white cardigan, explained. “They said it was most likely strep and gave us a prescription, but he’s not getting any better. And last night he threw up.”
The poor kid was shivering in his little hoodie. “Let’s take a look. Dalton, buddy, do you have any pain?”
His eyes were red, she noted.
He shrugged listlessly. “I threw up a lot,” he said.
“Have you been hungry?”
He shrugged again.
“He doesn’t have his usual appetite. He hasn’t asked for a snack in days,” Mrs. McDowell reported.
“Let’s check your temperature, okay?”
He nodded and sat slump-shouldered while Mack slid the thermometer in his mouth. She turned to the laptop and made a few notes. “Has he been around anyone else with similar symptoms?”
“I haven’t heard
about anything going around school, and I would. The parents in his class are pretty tight, and when one of them gets the stomach bug, we all prepare for it.”
Mack skimmed the patient record and caught the note at the very bottom. Interesting.
“Have you guys been camping lately?” she asked, turning back to the boy.
Dalton’s mom smiled through her anxiety. “This weekend. All five of us in one tent. We went hiking, didn’t we, bud?”
He nodded, and the thermometer beeped.
104.2.
She felt the quiet revving of her brain as it made a tentative connection. That last medical journal that she’d restlessly skimmed before she picked up the novel last night.
“I know you’re probably pretty cold, but I need to take a look at your arms and your feet. So can we take your sweatshirt and shoes off for a minute? You can put them right back on,” she promised.
“I guess,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.
“This is so unlike him,” his mom said in a low voice. “I’m worried it’s something serious.”
Together, she and Mrs. McDowell pulled off the sweatshirt, sneakers, and socks.
He shivered as Mack skimmed her hands over the boy’s arms and turned his palms up to look at them. She did the same with his feet.
No rash.
“Do you remember getting bitten by anything while you were camping?” she asked him, handing him back his sweatshirt. Rather than putting it on, Dalton used it as a blanket and laid down on the exam table.
“We all had some mosquito bites,” Mrs. McDowell reported. “We forgot the bug spray the first night and had to send Dad home for it, didn’t we?” She shifted her attention back to Mack. “You don’t think this is some kind of West Nile, do you?”
“I’m thinking it might be tick-borne,” Mack said, pulling an adult gown out of the cabinet and draping it over the boy. He drew it around him like a cape.
“Like Lyme disease?” the mother asked, wide-eyed.
“Mrs. McDowell, have you heard of Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever?”
“Rocky Mountain what?”
“Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever. It’s a bacterial infection caused by a tick bite. It’s rare but on the rise. Most people who get it don’t even remember getting bitten. Most people also present with a rash.”
“Dalton doesn’t have a rash.”
“There’s a small percentage of patients that don’t get it, and that makes it much harder to diagnose. But I’m betting one of those bites wasn’t a mosquito. Your son is very sick.”
Mrs. McDowell wrapped her arms around her son as if she could protect him from the bacteria that swam through his system. “Oh, God. What do we do?”
“You did the right thing bringing him in,” Mack said, standing up. “We’re going to start a course of oral antibiotics right now, and then I’m sending you over to the emergency department. I want Dalton monitored. Okay?”
“Is he going to be okay?” she asked.
“If I have anything to say about it, he will be.”
Mack didn’t feel good about making Mrs. McDowell drive herself, so she put mother and son in her SUV, swung by the pharmacy, poured the first dose into the boy’s mouth herself, and sped to Keppler Medical Center’s emergency department, calling the ED on her way in.
When she pulled up in front of the doors, Dr. Ling was standing by with her white coat flapping in the breeze and a pair of orderlies ready with a stretcher. Mrs. McDowell paled.
“You want them taking this seriously,” Mack said, squeezing her hand. “This is a good thing. Freida called your husband, and he’s on his way. Your mom will get the kids off the bus.”
Glassy-eyed, Mrs. McDowell nodded and climbed out. She hurried along behind the stretcher that held her little boy.
Mack parked the car and went inside.
31
By the time Mack got back to the office, it was late afternoon, and Dalton McDowell was going to be just fine. Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever wouldn’t be confirmed by the lab tests for a while, but Dr. Ling—after a quick internet search—agreed with the diagnosis.
They pushed doxycycline into the kid, and Mack stayed with Mrs. McDowell until her husband sprinted into the emergency department still in his septic tank cleaning jumpsuit. While the staff was all for supporting small businesses, the smell was overwhelming, and Dr. Ling forced him to change into a set of scrubs.
Mack frowned when she pulled into the clinic’s parking lot and found it empty.
They hadn’t had any appointments after three today, but there was always work to do. She parked and walked up to the back door. While digging for her keys, the paper taped to the window caught her eye. It was a terrible sketch of a fake prescription.
Patient Name: Mackenzie O’Neil
Take one early Friday closing and meet the team at Remo’s for celebratory drinks.
Refills: As many as needed.
She laughed and peeled the paper off the glass.
Shaking her head, she folded it neatly and stowed it in her bag. It was a good day. But that didn’t mean she should kick off early. There was work and…
Why the hell not? It was a beautiful fall Friday afternoon, and she’d made a great save.
She’d earned a little fun, dammit.
She pulled out her phone and dialed before she could remind herself that she wasn’t going to see him tonight. Just because she was inviting him out didn’t mean she had to spend the night with him. Inconsistency was the key to a good fling. It kept the expectations low.
“Dreamy.” Linc’s voice was like honey.
“Doing anything important, Hotshot?” she asked.
“Nothing that can’t be finished later.”
“Feel like meeting me for a celebratory drink at Remo’s?”
“Absolutely. Give me ten. What are we celebrating?”
She bit her lip, then grinned. “Friday.”
He chuckled softly. “I’ll meet you there.”
She felt a warm rush of something good flood through her. “Can’t wait.”
* * *
Dunnigan and Associates had commandeered half of Remo’s otherwise empty bar. It was still early. But her crew made up for the lack of numbers with noise level. When Mack walked in the door, they cheered.
“Come get your on-the-house round, Dr. Mack,” Sophie called from behind the bar.
“What is all this?” Mack asked, gimping up to the bar and sliding onto the stool they’d saved for her. She pointed to a new IPA on draft.
“You saved a life today,” Tuesday said, clapping her hands. She had a tall, skinny glass of what Mack assumed was some sort of low-carb alcohol in front of her.
“You’re a hero!” Freida said, hefting up her frozen margarita.
“To Dr. O’Neil, lifesaver,” Russell said, holding up his red wine.
Sophie slid Mack’s beer to her. Reluctantly, she raised it. “To Friday afternoons.”
“Cheers!”
“We looked it up after you left,” Tuesday bubbled.
“I’d never even heard of it,” Freida added.
“People die from this. Especially when they don’t present with the rash. How did you know?” Tuesday squeaked.
“I remembered it from a medical journal article. Cases are on the rise. Global warming. More ticks. Sometimes there’s no rash.”
Freida thumped her on the back. “This was almost better than firefighter physical day.”
Tuesday gasped. “OMG. I just realized. You’re like that grumpy, mean doctor on that old show. He walked with a limp, too!”
Mack guessed it was at least her second low-carb alcoholic beverage. “Unlike House, I’m not addicted to Vicodin. Just to make that clear.”
Tuesday thought that was hilarious and nearly fell off her stool.
“Congratulations, doc,” Sophie said, sliding her a food menu. “Better get some bar food in Tuesday before she goes for round three.”
They ordered quesadillas and French
fries. Because why not?
While Tuesday and Freida hurried off to attack the jukebox, Russell slid over to the stool next to her.
“I would have missed it,” he admitted. “If that boy had walked into my exam room instead of yours, he might not have made it through the weekend.”
Mack pushed the thought aside. “It’s not a big deal,” she said. They were doctors. It was what they were trained for.
“It’s the biggest deal for that family. Remember that,” he said.
She nodded. “I remembered to check the patient notes. They’re big into camping. Camping equals bug bites.”
“I’m very proud of you, Mackenzie,” he said.
She didn’t want it to matter. Didn’t think it should matter. But it did anyway. She felt it again, that brightness in her chest. “Thanks, Russell.”
“It looks like someone else thinks pretty highly of you,” he said, tilting his glass in the direction of the door.
Lincoln Reed in well-worn jeans and a tight gray t-shirt strolled her way with his eyes on her and that charming little smirk on his face.
Thunk thunk.
Her heart got in on the excitement with an uneven limp. Just leftover hormones, she told herself. Nothing complicated.
“Hey there, Dreamy,” Linc said.
She expected him to take the empty stool next to her, but instead he walked right up to her and slid his hands up her jaw and into her hair. He laid a kiss on her that stole her breath and her train of thought.
“Woo! Is it just me or is it gettin’ hot in here?” Sophie called from the other end of the bar, where she fanned herself with a menu.
It was definitely not just Sophie.
The kiss left Mack flush-cheeked and speechless for a beat.
“Hey,” she breathed finally when her words returned.
“Oooooh,” Freida crooned, sloshing margarita over the rim of her glass.
Linc grinned, and Mack felt her mouth following his lead.
“How was your day?” he asked.
“Dr. Mack saved a life today,” Sophie said, sliding a beer at Linc.