Mount Mercy

by Helena Newbury

  “Why are you interested in me?” Her voice was pleading.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” I frowned. I got that she was shy and awkward, but how had all the other guys in this place missed her? I thought about how she’d looked a few moments ago when I’d chased her through the crowd to the door. She’d slipped between people and they’d barely noticed she was there….

  Something twisted in my chest. She hid. She was so used to hiding, she was almost invisible.

  She looked at the floor again.

  I put two fingers under her chin and pressed it back up. No you don’t. As soon as her eyes met mine, I saw the pain there. She was as alone as I was and too shy to reach out to anyone, and these idiots couldn’t see what was right in front of them. That protective urge rose up in me again. I didn’t just want to fuck her, I wanted to wrap her up in my arms and protect her, make her happy. But that was crazy. I couldn’t have that with anyone, not anymore. All I was good for was—

  I faltered. Shit! I suddenly saw what it would do to her, if I talked her into bed and then moved on the next day.

  I dropped my hand from her chin as if burned.

  “I have to go,” she muttered.

  I was thinking fast. “Beckett, wait—”

  But she was gone, slipping through the crowd towards the door.

  I looked down at the hand that had held her chin. It suddenly looked so big and clumsy. I’d thought getting her into bed would be fun for both of us: just some hot, casual sex. But now...no way could I do that to her. If I strolled out in the morning and moved on to someone else, like I always did, it would tear her apart.

  I couldn’t just fuck her. But I couldn’t forget her, either. What the hell am I going to do?

  11

  Amy

  I STUMBLED out of the tavern and the night engulfed me, cold air and darkness bathing my cheeks, hiding my blushes. My whole body was throbbing with heat. How does he do that to me?

  By the time I’d walked the length of the street, I was pulling my leather jacket tight around myself. The temperature was definitely dropping. Maybe the bad weather in Denver was heading our way. But that heat was still strumming inside me. The memory of his hands on me, the way his eyes had focused on my lips….

  I live in a basement apartment: some people hate the idea of being below ground but to me, it’s snug. And the building is old enough that it has a real fireplace where I can have a log fire. It’s cozy, especially sitting beside it sewing—

  Yes, I do embroidery. Look, I know, okay? Krista finds it hilarious too. But I got into it a few years ago as a way to relax and I couldn’t stop. It suits me: dexterity and focus. I’ve done cushions and throws and a huge, king-size comforter for my bed...there’s something nice about lining my nest with soft things. I just sometimes wish I wasn’t there alone.

  Stupid. Like anyone would seek domestic bliss with me. Certainly not Corrigan. He’d been to the Congo, Libya...the man lived for danger. Even here in the US, they said he always chose hospitals right in the worst areas of big cities. His life was gunshot wounds and gang violence. The quiet of Mount Mercy must be killing him.

  Tonight, because I hadn’t been home to set a fire, the place was freezing. I hit the bathroom, stripped off everything but my panties, pulled on a nightshirt, and dived into bed. I hate being cold, especially in bed, so I have three blankets on top of the comforter. Even so, I sometimes wake up in the early hours, unable to really get warm. My dad used to say that some people, like us, just run cold. Of course, he had my mom to keep him warm.

  Tonight, the sheets were freezing. Every time I shifted position, a new part of me touched icy cotton and made me wince. I wound up lying perfectly still, staring up at the ceiling with just my eyes and nose showing above the blankets.

  Dominic. Corrigan.

  His name was an incantation, some Irish folk magic full of hard ms and rolling rs. It rippled down my spine and made me twist and buck, despite the touch of the cold sheets. The room was dark and that made it easier to imagine him there, standing over the bed. Those incredible eyes just a glint in the darkness, those arrogant lips twisting into a smirk….

  There was absolutely no way I could get involved with him. But now, alone in the darkness, with no one watching, all the heat that had been building between us all day could finally come out. The brief blast of cold as he lifted the covers and slid into bed with me and sealed them back around us, trapping us in a warm little cavern.

  With the other men I’d been with, sex hadn’t been great. I’d been too shy to ask for what I wanted and they’d assumed someone timid like me would want it slow and gentle. In reality, that wasn’t what I fantasized about at all. Corrigan, though...he was different. He’d be utterly ruthless in seeking out what made me come. He’d command me to tell him.

  Command. I kept thinking about the way he said Beckett.

  My ass began to grind against the sheets as I imagined big, warm hands gliding up and down my inner thighs.

  Before I was really aware of what I was doing, my panties were tangling around my ankles and then they were lost in the bed.

  I could almost feel the weight of him, pressing the mattress down between my legs. His knees spreading mine. His hand cupping my pussy—

  I drew in my breath. I had my hand down between my thighs but it was his fingers I felt teasing me, stroking me, his fingertips that started to nudge inside, finding me hot and shamefully wet. I stared up into the darkness and saw him, eyes gleaming down at me, the light from the window catching the edges of his broad shoulders and the hard slabs of his chest.

  And then he was leaning down to kiss me, burying his fingers in my hair as his lips sought me out and claimed me, spreading me and exploring me, his thumbs stroking my cheeks. And I felt the first touch of his cock on my inner thigh, throbbing and ready and God, so thick and hot. I panted through the kiss, my ass grinding in circles on the bed in anticipation, and I felt him smile.

  He lowered himself atop me, his hips sliding up between my thighs to open me more, his big body pinning mine. I felt the touch of the arrow-shaped head of his cock against my slickened lips and my breathing sped up.

  He nudged against me, teasing me, once, twice...and then—

  My head rocked back against the pillow at the glorious, silken stretch of him entering me. Hot and thick and unstoppable, plunging deep and God, I was soaked, he’d be able to feel how wet I was for him. He went deep, right up to the hilt, and I clawed at the muscles of his back as he filled me completely. He stopped for a second, and I panted, looking down the length of our bodies as the covers slid down his back. The hard cheeks of his ass were just visible in the room’s dim light, my pale thighs spread wide around them. The proof that he was buried inside me.

  He began to move, a slow drumbeat under the music he whispered in my ear. Irish silver that told me to let go, that took away all the shyness and set me free. Each silken push sent pleasure spiraling out through my body until I was twisting and gasping, grabbing at the sheets. As he started to thrust faster, it all started to spill out: all the need I’d been bottling up, all the fantasies I thought I should be ashamed of. My knees rose either side of him and I started to claw at his back, then his ass, pulling him in deeper and grinding up against him.

  I panted as we kissed, our mouths open and urgent. God, he was as out of control as me, his whole body hard with lust, his hips slamming between my thighs. The pleasure built and built, hot ripples spreading out from my groin, crashing together and filling me up. Come for me, he panted, his lips just touching my ear.

  And I did, the climax a wave that lifted and carried me. My back arched, my heels dug into the mattress and I shuddered and rocked against him, calling out his name.

  When the pleasure finally died away, I came back to myself. I was lying in my bed, knees wide, my fingers sticky with my juices, my whole body gleaming with sweat. I could feel my cheeks flush red in the darkness.

  I rolled onto my side and burrowed down into t
he now-warm bed. How the hell did that get so out of control? But I knew the answer to that: Corrigan. He woke something in me, something I couldn’t fight. How am I going to look him in the eye tomorrow?

  And what would happen when I did?

  12

  Dominic

  THE NEXT MORNING, the sky was still blue, but the temperature had dropped by a full ten degrees and my rented pickup grumbled before finally rumbling into life. I was a little slow to get going, too. I’d had another restless night, this time thinking about Beckett.

  I liked her more than I wanted to admit. I’d never thought I’d meet another woman who I liked in that way, after Chrissy, but I liked Amy Beckett. It wasn’t that they were the same: they couldn’t be more different and maybe that’s why she’d blindsided me. I hadn’t known I wanted someone like that.

  I wanted to get her the hell out of that OR and show her the world. It wasn’t fair that she was hiding away. She deserved a life. She needed to be fed ice cream in a park on a really hot day, my arms wrapped around her from behind as we sat on a blanket. She needed to go swimming in the sea, both of us riding the waves as we kicked around in the surf. She needed to go walking in the forest early on a misty morning, freezing in silence as we saw a deer. She needed... me.

  Except I couldn’t give her any of that. There’s a reason I keep it shallow, keep it simple. I can’t have anything else. Not without Chrissy and Rachel.

  I couldn’t just sleep with her and I couldn’t have a relationship with her. Around four in the morning, I’d finally reached a conclusion. The only thing to do from now on was to avoid Beckett completely.

  When I pulled into the cafe on Main Street to grab breakfast, the locals were shaking their heads and muttering about the bad weather in Denver...and that it might head our way. “Could be a long day at the hospital,” the old lady behind the counter warned me. “I recommend the Behemoth. In case you don’t get to eat again for a while.”

  I shrugged. I’ll try anything once. “Hit me.”

  The Behemoth turned out to be a foot-long hot sandwich. The cafe started with a French baguette, brown and crunchy on the outside, soft and white inside. They flattened it out, then sliced it open and filled it with sliced sausage, fried onions and diced potato, all dripping in gravy. Then they wrapped the whole thing in waxed paper and served it with a super-size takeout cup of coffee. I ate it one-handed as I drove the rest of the way to the hospital and it was wonderful: rich, spicy sausage, the tang of golden fried onion, piping hot chunks of potato and that amazing gravy soaking the bread.

  I was still sipping my coffee when I walked into the ER. Taylor, my med student, was already there, taking off a woolly hat and combing her long, blonde hair out with her fingers while she watched a wall-mounted TV. I still couldn’t get over how young she was. “Could get bad, if that comes our way,” she said, nodding at the screen. A forlorn reporter stood in front of an intersection in Denver, hugging her coat around her as a howling wind plastered her with snow. The caption said it was ten degrees. That doesn’t sound so bad. Then I remembered this was America, and they used Fahrenheit. Christ, that’s minus twelve!

  “Nice coat,” said Taylor.

  I’d forgotten I was wearing it. It was a big orange parka I’d bought years ago in Chicago when we had a really cold winter. It was kind of ridiculous, hugely thick with a furry hood and way too many zippers and toggles. But Chrissy had loved it. She’d kept stealing it on weekends: she’d sit on our house’s little balcony, curled up on the chair with my coat wrapped around her like a blanket and her hands warmed by a hot cup of coffee and she’d look so damn cute….

  I took a deep breath and pushed the memories back down inside. “What have we got?” I grunted.

  “Ten year-old with a broken arm,” said Taylor. She led the way to an exam room.

  The kid—Alex—was dressed for school. Just from the amount of pain he was in as I gingerly examined his arm, I could tell it was a messy break from twisting or bending, not a clean snap. “How’d you do it?” I asked.

  His dad answered for him. “Running in the house.” He was in a fancy suit and his eyes kept gravitating back to the screen of his phone.

  I looked at the kid again. I couldn’t see much more than blond curls because his eyes stayed permanently on the floor, avoiding confrontation. I’d seen a lot of kids like that. A suspicion started to grow in my mind, sickening and cold.

  “500 miligrams acetaminophen IV for the pain,” I told Taylor. Then I turned to Alex’s dad and shook my head. “X-Ray’s backed up,” I lied. “Could be two, three hours.”

  “Oh, fucking great,” the dad snapped. “I’m late for work already!”

  “Ms. Taylor can show you a quieter place, if you need to make some calls,” I said helpfully.

  He sighed and nodded, then followed Taylor without even a backward glance at Alex. As soon as he was gone, I turned to the kid. “That true?” I asked gently. “Were you running in the house?”

  He hesitated. Nodded. But he still wouldn’t look at me. And there was something about the way he was sitting, hunched forward as if he didn’t want the chair to press into his back. The suspicion was growing and spreading, chilling me... but at its center was a hot pulse of anger. “You hurt your back when you fall?” I asked.

  He shook his head.

  I struggled to keep my voice casual. “Let me take a look, just in case.”

  For the first time, he looked up and his eyes were wide with fear.

  The suspicion became a certainty. “Just in case,” I said again.

  13

  Amy

  I HAD TO walk to work because I’d left my car at the hospital the night before, but it meant I could stop at the bakery on the way. I grabbed croissants, Danishes and coffee for the OR staff. I just wished I’d put on a thicker coat: it was much, much colder today and I was shivering by the time I reached work.

  Upstairs, Krista pounced on me as soon as I came out of the elevator. “Bless you, Amy.” She grabbed a Danish and a coffee. “Sooo?”

  I flushed. “So what?”

  “So what happened? Everyone saw you and Corrigan in Krüger’s.”

  “Nothing! We were just talking!”

  Krista cupped my cheek in one hand, stared intently into my eyes and brushed her thumb across my lips.

  “What are you doing?!” I squeaked, trying not to drop the rest of the coffees.

  “Nothing. Just talking. This is how people just talk, isn’t it?”

  I huffed and knocked her hand away. “Okay, okay! He’s...interested. He says he’s interested.”

  “Of course he’s interested! So what happened?”

  “Nothing! I went home!” Then, quickly, “Alone!”

  “And jilled off.”

  “Krista!” I went crimson.

  “Oh, like you didn’t.”

  I hurried into the OR and started lining up my surgical instruments with exacting precision. When I trusted my voice again, I said, “I’m not getting involved with him.”

  “I don’t think anyone gets involved with him. They just get under him. Maybe you should, too.”

  “Krista!”

  “Look: okay, he’s just about the sex. The man’s about as deep as a puddle. But a night of rolling around with a smokin’ hot Irishman between your thighs—would that be so bad?”

  “Yes! I’m not being the next Corrigan conquest.” And I marched out before she could argue. But as I hurried over to intensive care to check on Rebecca, I couldn’t figure out which bothered me more: her encouraging me to sleep with Corrigan or her writing him off as shallow. I was sure there was more to him than people saw.

  Rebecca was still very fragile, but well enough that I’d be able to do the second stage of her operation that afternoon. “Then I’ll be all fixed?” she asked.

  “Yes. There are a few things we’ll need to keep an eye on, but you should be fine.” I was still a little concerned about her kidney function: if it went south, she’d need a
specialist center. But it was looking okay for now.

  I called her parents to see what time they’d be arriving. But when I got through, they told me Denver airport was still closed and now some of the roads were being closed, too. They were holed up in a motel just outside Colorado, worried out of their minds. Rebecca’s lip quivered and something surged up inside me, fierce and primal.

  “Don’t worry,” I heard myself say into the phone. “I’ll keep her safe.”

  And Rebecca blinked back the tears that had been about to spill. I put Rebecca on the phone and sat there watching her talk to her folks, shocked at the feelings that were tightening my chest. Growing up without my mom and with a dad who was so geeky and practical, I’d always thought I’d missed out on developing any sort of maternal instincts. I certainly couldn’t imagine ever being a mom. But for the first time, those instincts were waking up. I really liked this kid. I wasn’t going to let anything happen to her. It was incredible... and scary.

  As I got into the elevator to head up to Surgery, my mind slid back to Corrigan. Of course I couldn’t sleep with him. But...as the doors closed and I zoned out for a moment, I was suddenly back in the fantasy from the night before. His hard body spreading my thighs, his cock driving up into me as he whispered in Irish silver all the things he was going to do to me….

  The elevator doors opened...onto the ER. Wait, what? Why had I gone down instead of up? I was sure I’d pressed the button for Surgery.

  Almost sure. God, I pressed ER, didn’t I? Subconsciously, I wanted to see him. So strongly that I’d even come down here, to the place that drove me crazy. I shook my head and mashed the button for Surgery. My subconscious could go hang. I wasn’t going to sleep with him so the less I saw of him the—