Love on the Night Shift

by Radclyffe

  Blaise remembered the knee-jerk reaction, but that was over quickly, as soon as she saw Grady. Maybe, just maybe, some of what she’d tried to bury had resurfaced and colored her judgment. But she hadn’t been completely irrational, either. Some of her reactions had been accurate. “I think I told you once before that overly confident, super-charming, sexually aggressive women are just not my type.”

  “Well, viewed that way, I can’t argue. But you could also think of them as strong, attentive, and just plain old sexy,” Abby said. “The opposite side of those first impressions.”

  “Are you trying to talk her up to me for some reason?” Blaise asked, deflecting as best she could since she had no argument there either. Grady was confident and capable, perceptive and sensitive, and damned attractive. And Blaise liked all of that very much.

  “Maybe I’m just pointing out she’s got some stellar qualities.” Abby shrugged. “But mostly—and even though I haven’t known you a long time, I like to think I know you pretty well—I’ve never seen you react this way to anyone. And maybe you don’t notice, but there have been plenty of people who have been trying to get your attention.”

  Blaise felt the blush. “Who?”

  “Rakelle in the OR, Taisha in the lab, and Juan from radiology.”

  “I think you’re imagining things.” Blaise would have noticed if someone was interested. Wouldn’t she?

  “I hear what you’re thinking.” Abby poked her arm. “I think you’ve conditioned yourself not to notice. But you noticed Grady, and you noticed her noticing you. That says to me there’s a connection there that matters. Those don’t come along very often, and when you click with someone, it’s worth exploring.”

  “I hardly know the woman,” Blaise protested, knowing it sounded thin even as she said it.

  Abby rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on. That’s another one of those excuses people make when they’re afraid of what they feel. We can talk to someone for a year and never know anything about them, or spend a night with them, talking about things that really matter, and learn more. Feel more. Which is it?”

  “You should’ve been a psychiatrist or something.”

  “God forbid,” Abby said. “I’m far too meddling for that. I’d be trying to solve everyone’s problems instead of letting them work to their own conclusions. Fortunately, you don’t need a psychiatrist. You just need me.”

  “All right,” Blaise said, “you’re right, and I’ve known it almost from the start. We connected. More than that. Grady opened doors I’ve kept firmly closed for a long time, and that’s what I’m not sure I want to face.” She took a breath. “Being vulnerable is scary. And disruptive. I’ve worked very hard to have a safe, stable life.”

  “I think I understand that. Especially when you have a child. I spent a lot of years thinking only about Blake, avoiding complicating relationships, and I don’t regret a second of it. I know you feel the same way about Taylor. But sometimes, we’re better parents when we let other things into our life. If they’re the right things. The right people.”

  “How do you know what’s right?” Blaise stared down at her hands. “I’m a little bit afraid of how much I might feel. And maybe I’m wrong.”

  “All the more reason to find out. Because it might be wonderful.”

  “I’m not much of a risk taker anymore,” Blaise said.

  “And I don’t blame you, but from where I’m sitting, Grady looks like a pretty good risk. I’ve seen the way she looks at you. She’s seriously smitten.”

  “Smitten,” Blaise said softly and shook her head. That pretty much described her. “I’m having breakfast with her this morning. I promise I’ll try to be open to new experiences.”

  “Well, that’s one way of putting it. Here’s to new experiences.” Abby stood and threaded her arm around Blaise’s waist as they headed down toward the parking lot. “Trust yourself. You’ll know what’s right.”

  Trust herself. The words echoed in her head all the way home.

  Could she? Wasn’t it finally time?

  When she walked in the house, the scent of coffee drew her to the kitchen. Taylor munched on toast as she packed her lunch.

  “Hi,” Taylor mumbled, waving a crust at the toast on the table. “Still warm.”

  “Thanks.” Blaise kissed her on the cheek but passed on the toast. Too many butterflies to eat. “Everything okay?”

  “Mom,” Taylor said, stuffing a bag of chips into her backpack. “I texted you when I went to bed last night, and I’ve been up for exactly”—she looked at the wall clock—“eighteen minutes. There’s nothing new.”

  “A lot can happen in eighteen minutes,” Blaise said lightly.

  “Well, nothing has this morning. I gotta go.”

  Taylor headed out the door, and Blaise called after her, “Have a good day. Let me know what you’re doing after school.”

  “I know, I know,” Taylor called back.

  Smiling to herself, Blaise hurried upstairs and hopped into the shower. Ten minutes later, she stood in front of the bathroom vanity, trying to decide what to do with her face. She didn’t want to look as if she was dressing for a date.

  Except she was, wasn’t she. This was a date. No, an assignation. Because Grady’s implications had been clear.

  Grady had mentioned kisses. And kisses very often led to something else, especially between two consenting adults who had been dancing around their attraction since the first minute they looked at each other.

  She brushed on a lick of mascara, applied a touch of lipstick, and met her own gaze in the mirror.

  “Own up to it, Richelieu. You want a new experience. And what could be so bad about that?”

  Refusing to answer her own question, she made sure she wore the sexiest panties she owned, which weren’t all that sexy but at least they were low-cut and had a little hint of lace to match her black bra, shimmied into tight black jeans, and finished with a deep green silk shirt. Could be construed as casual, but she was hoping for sexy. Maybe.

  Black flats, and she was ready to go. As she walked out the door, she made herself a promise. For the next few hours she was going to turn off the censor in her head that constantly counseled caution. She hadn’t done that in more than a decade.

  * * *

  Grady watched the clock and paced. She checked her phone. No texts. That meant Blaise was still coming, didn’t it? She ran through possible breakfast choices, considering her serviceable but somewhat limited repertoire of cooking skills, and finally decided she should just wait for Blaise to choose. She wasn’t even hungry. Well, she was hungry, starving, really, but food was the last thing on her mind. A steady diet of fantasy and snippets of remembered kisses ambushing her out of the blue wasn’t enough to quell the constant chorus of need that welled up every time she thought of Blaise.

  She was pretty sure kisses would be on the menu today, though. She’d said that out loud, and Blaise hadn’t said no. In fact, for a couple seconds there, it looked as if Blaise was going to say even more. The look in her eyes had signaled more.

  Grady’d practiced about all the restraint she had at her command, and reserves were running low. The best solution she could figure was space if she wanted to respect Blaise’s go-slow request. Like real physical distance. Her kitchen was about fifteen feet wide, one of those big ones that ran the back of the house. Not enough space—a football field wouldn’t be big enough. Not the way she was feeling. A glimpse of Blaise left her good intentions in tatters. There was always the back porch, a semipublic spot. Her kitchen opened onto the porch with stairs that led down to a nice fenced-in yard. It was also completely empty—no table or chairs. No help.

  But thinking about the porch took her mind off the bedroom, which just so happened to be between the front door and the kitchen, opening off the hall that ran from the front of the house to the back, shotgun style. No way to get to the kitchen without passing the bedroom.

  The doorbell rang, and she jumped. Right…distance, space, patien
ce. None of which she had in abundance. She hurried through to the front of her second-floor apartment, grateful that there were no neighbors above her and whoever lived below was gone for the day. Her front door opened off another porch, this one overlooking the street. Glancing out the front window, she caught sight of Blaise standing just outside her door, and Grady instantly forgot her mantra of self-control. The sun shone onto the porch from behind Blaise. Her hair was down, instead of the way she usually wore it pinned up at work, and shimmered with golden highlights as a light breeze lifted strands about her face. When she raised a hand to push aside the stray locks, the gesture was so quintessentially female, Grady’s stomach tightened.

  A tiny frown appeared between Blaise’s brows, and the doorbell sounded again.

  Grady yanked the door open. “Sorry. I was…admiring you.”

  Blaise tilted her head, gave her a quizzical look. “Do you realize you say the oddest things?”

  “I wasn’t aware of that until I met you.” Grady extended her hand. “Come on in.”

  Blaise hesitated for the merest second, still absorbing the look in Grady’s eyes. Part wonder, part dark swirling desire that matched the sensation pulsing in her depths. If she stepped over the threshold, there’d be no turning back. Not in this moment. Grady waited, hardly seeming to breathe. Blaise took her hand and followed her inside.

  The large bright living room held minimal furniture, all of it quite functional but not exactly matched in any particular style, colorful rugs of different designs and textures scattered about, shades the only window treatments, walls bare.

  “I haven’t done a lot of decorating,” Grady said a bit apologetically.

  “It looks like you’ve got all the essentials,” Blaise said.

  “Um, the kitchen’s back here. I thought I’d make whatever you wanted.”

  “Did you?” Blaise said softly as they walked down the hall.

  Grady slowed, turning so she was facing Blaise, her back to the kitchen. She wasn’t working any plan now, wasn’t reining herself in, wasn’t running from—or toward—anything. She was standing in the sunlight with a beautiful, amazing woman right now—in this moment. And she knew exactly what she wanted. “Anything. Whatever you want.”

  Blaise’s lips parted ever so slightly, and she studied Grady’s face in that way she had of reading beneath the surface, speaking volumes without words.

  “How much time do we have?” Blaise asked.

  Grady swallowed. “Today? Three or four hours. After that? As long as you want.”

  Blaise’s smile was part wistful, part temptress. She pressed her hand to Grady’s cheek, her fingers lightly brushing along her cheekbone, diving ever so lightly into the hair at her temple. “You know, if you let me make all the decisions, you might be at a disadvantage.”

  “I don’t think so.” Grady sucked in a breath. Her heart was hammering. She’d never felt so unsure of herself in her life, and so certain at the same time. Her only recourse was honesty. “I want you. You’re all I can think about. I’ve lost count of the hours and minutes and seconds I’ve thought about you. If I have to wait to kiss you, to touch you, I will, but I can’t promise I won’t bother you every chance I get.”

  Blaise laughed and the hint of shadow in her eyes cleared like clouds disappearing in a summer breeze. “I’ve discovered I rather like it when you bother me. The last thing I feel is annoyed.”

  “What do you feel?” Grady asked.

  “Desirable, desired. Wanted. And even better than all of that,” Blaise mused, “appreciated. Seen.”

  “You’re all those things, Blaise, for me.”

  “But right now, Grady,” Blaise said softly, “what I really want?”

  “Anything,” Grady repeated urgently.

  “I want to be touched.” Blaise slipped her hand behind Grady’s neck. “By you.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  I want to be touched…by you.

  Blaise’s words severed the tethers of Grady’s restraint with the swift, pure slash of a scalpel blade. Grady’s heart pounded so fiercely she couldn’t hear, could scarcely breathe. Reason fled, but every other sense was honed to a razor’s edge. Blaise’s eyes, a misty blue like the sky on a hot summer morning after the last wisps of clouds had blown away, held hers, languorous and beckoning. Blaise’s lips, flushed a deep rose, parted slightly, and her breath whispered across Grady’s cheek in featherlight invitation. With a soft groan of blessed surrender, Grady slipped her fingers into Blaise’s hair and cradled her head, angling her face to hers as she lowered her mouth to kiss her.

  At the barest touch of Grady’s lips, Blaise surged into Grady’s arms, lacing her fingers at the nape of Grady’s neck, her embrace breathtakingly possessive. Grady gasped as Blaise’s tongue swept between her lips, demanding entrance, claiming her with swift, urgent strokes.

  Grady meant to go slow, one careful step at a time, pacing herself to match Blaise’s tempo, following Blaise’s lead, but Blaise’s hands on her skin, Blaise’s breasts pressed to hers, Blaise’s kiss—urgent and hot—burned through her like a wildfire sweeping across a barren plain. Grady’s thighs trembled, and she stumbled back a step until her shoulders hit the wall, grateful for the support when her bones turned to jelly. Blaise cleaved to her, hands sweeping over her shoulders, down her chest, relentless and electrifying.

  “Blaise,” Grady gasped, “what—”

  “Bedroom,” Blaise said, nibbling on Grady’s mouth. Blaise reached between them, yanked Grady’s shirt free of her waistband, and slipped her hand underneath, her fingers hot on Grady’s skin.

  Grady twitched, a white haze searing her awareness until only Blaise remained. Blindly, she flailed with one arm, found the partially open door to her bedroom just inches away, and shoved it wide. Blaise clutched her shoulders, her mouth still molded to Grady’s, and dragged her over the threshold. Grady stumbled for a second, a drowning woman suddenly tossed onto a foreign shore, searching for steady ground. The open window beside her bed allowed the morning air, fresh and brisk, to carry in the scent of pine and roses, and Blaise came into stunning focus. Hazy eyes in an unforgettable face, her pupils wide and dark, her cheeks flushed. A pulse rippled in Blaise’s throat, skittering beneath the creamy column.

  “Blaise,” Grady croaked, her throat tight with need. “Are you—”

  “Yes, yes, God, yes.” Blaise pushed Grady across the room, somehow managing to keep kissing her. “I’m sure. God. You’re gorgeous.”

  Blaise pulled away when they reached the bed, the covers still turned down from that morning, and fumbled at the buttons on Grady’s shirt. “Why couldn’t you be wearing a T-shirt or something.”

  Laughing unsteadily, Grady left Blaise to work on her shirt while she unbuttoned Blaise’s. She pushed the silk from her shoulders along with the straps of her bra, and in an instant, or what felt like a heartbeat, Blaise’s breasts were bare. She was pretty sure her heart stopped for a few beats. Blaise’s breasts glowed pink with arousal, her nipples a darker rose, taut and tight.

  “Incredible,” Grady murmured, spreading her hands on Blaise’s back, stroking down the slope of soft skin and firm muscles to the dip at the base of her spine. Blaise threw her head back, lifting her breasts in silent offering. Vision clouding, Grady answered with her hands and her mouth. Holding Blaise tight to the curve of her body, she cupped Blaise’s breast and took a nipple into her mouth, teasing lightly with her tongue, grazing with her teeth. Blaise gave a little incoherent cry and gripped her shoulders, digging into the muscles. Blaise’s need arrowed deep into Grady’s core.

  “Yes,” Blaise said again, pressing her breast more firmly into Grady’s mouth, “just like that.”

  Grady slid her hand from Blaise’s back and unbuttoned Blaise’s pants. When she fumbled at the zipper and muttered a curse against Blaise’s warm, pliant flesh, Blaise laughed and pushed her hand aside. In an instant, Blaise pushed her clothing down and kicked free as she cradled Grady’s head in h
er palm, urging her to continue lavishing kisses on her breasts. Guided by the insistent pressure of Blaise’s hand, Grady moved from one breast to the other, fondling and teasing. How many eons passed she had no idea and didn’t care. She would have stayed there until nightfall, but Blaise finally pushed her backward again. When her legs hit the bed, she toppled onto her back and Blaise followed, straddling her hips, naked and glorious.

  Grady’d lost her shirt somewhere in the last few steps to the bed, and when Blaise opened her pants, she hardly noticed. Blaise was naked. Naked and astride her and flushed with arousal. Grady struggled to breathe, trying to take in all of her magnificence at once, and failing. She reached for Blaise’s breasts again, and Blaise grabbed her hands instead, intertwining their fingers. Blaise smiled down at her, her hair draping her face in a shimmering golden curtain.

  “You can’t keep doing that,” Blaise said breathlessly. “It feels too good…and…” She leaned down, her hair brushing Grady’s cheeks as she kissed her. A deep, slow, thorough kiss that left Grady reeling. If she’d been standing, she might’ve fallen. “It’s been too long, and I don’t want to come yet.”

  Grady groaned. “You’re killing me.”

  Blaise’s smile was triumphant. “Oh. Not yet, I’m not.” She leaned back, brushing her sex over Grady’s belly. “But maybe soon.”

  “Don’t hurry,” Grady muttered, clasping Blaise’s hips. “I love looking at you.”

  “Mm. Me too.” Blaise trailed her fingers along Grady’s collarbones, down the center of her chest, and circled her breasts. Blaise had a fleeting, fragmented thought, that she’d never touched a woman, wanted a woman this way, but she couldn’t focus enough to think beyond that. All she could see was Grady.

  When she caressed Grady’s breasts and stroked the smooth planes of her abdomen, Grady arched beneath her, pressing a thigh between hers. The soft fabric of Grady’s pants brushed over her clitoris and triggered showers of pleasure. Gasping, Blaise cupped Grady’s breasts and rubbed her thumbs over Grady’s small tight nipples.