by Hope Ramsay
He reached out and took her hand and guided her across the threshold, a little afraid he’d better do it quick before she vanished into the night. Champ bolted over, wagging his tail a mile a minute and nudging his nose into her hand. She laughed and cooed to him and stroked his back. Lucky dog.
“What happened with Nonna?” he asked, closing the door and tugging her away from his dog.
“Gabby understood how badly I wanted to come and shooed me out. Is it…all right? I hope you don’t mind, but I brought my stuff for work tomorrow. I mean, just in case. Not that I have to stay that long, I just thought—”
“I want you to stay.”
“Tagg told me once you don’t care to have women leaving their toothbrushes and things around everywhere—”
He winced. “Tagg hasn’t really known me for quite a while.” He didn’t want to talk about other women. Or about Tagg. “For what it’s worth, you’re the only woman I’ve ever had over here.”
“Oh. That sounds like a compliment.”
“It is.” He slid the bag off her shoulder and leaned in to kiss her, then suddenly pulled back. “I forgot. I just finished working out and I need to hit the shower.”
“Oh, go right ahead. Champ and I can hang out.” He was about to suggest she join him, but no sooner did she sit down on the couch than Champ hopped up and settled right next to her, his head on her knee, giving him the eyeball. Fine, the dog won that round. But Colton could shower quick.
He was in the shower when he felt a gust of cool air. He turned to see her step in beside him.
His breath hitched. God, she was beautiful. He wasted no time pulling her into his arms. “What made you change your mind?” he asked, kissing the hollow between her neck and shoulder. “Champ didn’t have gas again, did he?”
“No, but your country-western singing is terrible. This was the only way I could think of to shut you up.” She waved something in front of him—a condom packet—and placed it on the high tile ledge.
He kissed her as they stood under the warm spray, steam fogging up the doors. Lathered up his hands with soap, then slid them all over her body, loving the feel of her, the satiny, slippery wetness.
He whispered sweet dirty things in her ear that made her blush and laugh, until she finally shut him up with kisses. After tracing a trail of kisses down her neck, he laved a sweet nipple with his tongue, then paid homage to the other, loving the way she writhed under his touch, the little sounds of pleasure that escaped her throat, and the way her hands roamed greedily all along his back, his hips, his ass.
For the moment all his worries had fled, and he decided right then and there that he would enjoy every moment he had with her. His mouth found hers again, tongues tangling and sliding, and his arms tightened around her waist as they stood pressed together.
He dropped a hand between her legs, slipped two fingers inside her, stroked her at her core until she arched under his touch. She slid her soapy hands up and down his length until he nearly lost his sense and his balance. She was driving him wild, and the heat was tearing through him like flames.
He put on the condom and managed to sit down on the tiled shower seat. She hovered over him and slowly took in his length, took him inside her inch by inch. Her gaze was calm, direct, never deviating, her green eyes bright and intense in the misty shower. He never stopped looking at her either.
A shudder passed through him. He couldn’t tell where his trembling stopped and hers began. Some kind of connection, intense, final, absolute, passed between them despite no words being spoken at all. They started a rhythm, at first slow, then more intense, as he moved inside her until she got dreamy eyed and a tiny frown creased her forehead. He was right with her, coming at the same time, driving into her, feeling her muscles clench around him. They came like that, in the hot, steamy shower, mist swirling around them, their lips melded, their arms wrapped around each other tight, her body tightening around him as they moved together to climax, his lips finally releasing a guttural cry.
For a while they didn’t move, until the lukewarm water started to feel chilly. Colton was a little shaky as he stepped out and handed her a clean towel, wrapping it around her, then grabbing one for himself and tying it around his waist.
He tried to collect his sanity as he tumbled into bed. Good Lord, what was happening to him? He wasn’t one to wax sentimental, but the words of every sappy love poem he’d ever heard were on the tip of his tongue.
Sara came out of the bathroom in a gray nightshirt that came down to her knees and had a cat on it or something. It looked old and well-worn and comfortable. And she had her glasses on. Her hand flew up to adjust them, and he knew she was self-conscious about them. He pretended he didn’t even notice, and got up to let Champ out for the last time, then turned out all the lights before climbing into bed beside her.
On impulse he reached over and took off her glasses, then set them down gently on the nightstand and kissed her good and hard. Then he pulled her into him and wrapped himself around her before Champ had an opportunity to sneak in himself. Mindlessly he fingered a curl of her wet hair, felt its silky texture, how it sprang back softly from his touch.
“Not too bad for a work night,” she said, her hand draped over his. “We’re even in bed on time. This isn’t disruptive at all.”
He kissed the top of her head. “Yeah. Not too bad for a work night.” Except that being next to her was getting him aroused. He tried to focus on other things, like that he had to stop at the bank tomorrow and get an oil change for his car, and what would happen if he got awakened by a call in the middle of the night, but nothing was working. He hoped she wouldn’t notice.
She’d definitely noticed and was reaching back and touching the evidence, stroking him gently with her hand. Oh God, there he went again. All it took from her was a couple of touches and he was hard as granite.
“Don’t fan the fire unless you want to use the flame,” he said, kissing her neck.
“In your case, it’s not taking much fanning,” she said, laughing. She turned around in his arms and kissed him, pulling herself flush against him, and before they knew it, playful, short kisses gave way to deep, long, wet ones, and hands started roaming. They just fell into it, plain and simple, and he could no more hold himself back than he could stop himself from breathing.
They lay there for a long time afterward, her head nestled between his chest and his shoulder, he softly stroking her arm. Finally she slid her nightshirt on over her head and snuggled back in next to him until this time they both fell asleep.
* * *
Sara slept like the dead until three a.m., when Colton’s phone went off. “OK,” she heard him say in a sleep-heavy voice. “He’s drunk again? Be right there.” He hung up and jumped from the bed, then tossed on his briefs and walked over to a chair where his uniform shirt, pants, and shoes were carefully laid out. She was fine until she saw him strap on the bulletproof vest. And the gun holster. He must’ve noticed her awake and staring at him because he said, “I’m backup on a 911 call. Got to fly.”
Sitting upright, she watched him tug on his pants and tie his shoes. He opened his top dresser drawer and took out his gun, shoved it in his holster, and flew out the bedroom door.
She ran to the front door and opened it for him. “Be careful,” was all she was able to get out as he gave her a quick peck on the cheek and was gone.
Sara closed the door and leaned against it, a new understanding of Colton’s job fully sinking in.
Of course it had been a fantasy to think that his job was all traffic patrol and lecturing kids about drugs and stopping to have breakfast with the locals at the downtown diner. Their town was quaint and lovely and friendly, but that didn’t mean it didn’t have a dark side, a side that Colton had to deal with on a regular basis. He could be going to a car accident, or a drunken brawl, or to confront a crazed lunatic with a gun.
In her world there were emergencies, but they were what she and her colleagues often joked we
re the “tucked-in kind”: the EMTs had usually taken vitals, administered IVs, and begun the assessment process, so by the time the patients got to the ER, things were already under some degree of control.
Not like the situations Colton walked into. The complete unknown. He was a first responder. Anything could happen.
Sara didn’t even try to go back to sleep. As she paced the apartment, Champ followed right behind her. She made coffee. Tried to watch TV. Prayed. Paced some more.
At five a.m. her cell went off. Her heart sank to her feet when she saw it was her father.
“Dad. What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Hi, Sara,” he said, his voice calm and soothing as always. “Everything’s fine, but I’m working the ER tonight and Colton was just brought in by the squad. He’s a little banged up, but he’ll be OK.”
Terror curled its limbs around her and squeezed, stole away her breath and her voice. “Dad,” she managed in a raspy whisper. “What do you mean…banged up?”
“We’ve got George Carver stitching up his forehead, and he’s got a black eye and a broken nose and a little concussion, but I think that’s the extent of it. Disarmed a drunk with a knife but got punched out.”
The words all ran together, knife, black eye, broken nose. Oh my God, a little concussion, what the hell was that? Tears flooded her eyes, the grateful and the frightened kind both.
George was the local plastic surgeon, who was often called in to suture up important places on bodies that most people didn’t want to risk scarring, like faces. “I’m coming down.” She paused. “Did you call Cookie?”
“Rafe suggested I start with you.” Leave it to her dad to keep talking in the same calm voice. No evidence of surprise or even shock that his daughter was involved with the man she’d practically hated just a short time ago.
Explaining about her love life would have to wait. “Does Colton know you’re calling me?”
“No. He went right to CT and I decided to call you myself.”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“OK, sweetheart. Don’t speed.”
“Thanks—for calling me.” She had no idea what her dad knew. Probably everything after talking to Rafe.
She wasn’t sure how Colton would handle having her at his side. She didn’t want to barge in and embarrass him, especially since they weren’t officially a couple—in fact, she wasn’t sure quite what they were. All she knew was she had to be with him. She couldn’t bear not being there.
Sara put on her work outfit for morning, a simple print dress, brought her big gray sweater because the ER was always freezing, and brushed her hair back into a ponytail. She tried to calm down. Her dad had said Colton would be all right, but her doctor’s brain kept imagining the worst.
Hearing upsetting news was an almost-daily part of her job. She understood how important it was to remain calm and objective when bad things were going on. But one look in the mirror showed that she was pale and shaking. What if he wasn’t OK? A concussion was serious. Plus someone had blackened his eye and broken his nose. Just thinking that he’d been the recipient of that type of violence made her tear up.
Sara took a deep breath. Blew her nose and tried to hold it together. Where Colton was concerned, she was anything but calm and objective. And, she was coming to realize, he was anything but a fling.
* * *
“Since you’re not next of kin,” Sara’s dad said when she arrived at the ER, “I can only give you the CT results if Colton allows it. You know that.”
Sara rolled her eyes. “I slept with him, Dad. Please just tell me if something’s wrong.”
Besides the arch of a single brow, her father kept his same calm demeanor. Sighing deeply, he said, “OK, fine. As one physician to another, I can tell you it’s just a concussion. He’s got to take a week off. The rest you already know.”
It was her turn to sigh. “He’s going to hate that.”
“I know he prides himself on never missing work.” Her dad paused. “Maybe he won’t give me such a hard time if you go in first.”
She would’ve taken off if he hadn’t grabbed hold of her arm. “He doesn’t know I called you. Just warning you. And Sara—”
She was already walking toward the ER bay where Colton was resting when she heard her name and halted.
“Yes, Dad?”
He steered her away from the desk to an area where they could talk quietly. “Being a cop is a dangerous job, no matter how many Fourth of July parades you police or school talks on drugs you give or drivers’ ed classes you help teach. The hours are terrible and you never know what you’re going to walk into. Which means anyone who falls for a cop worries a lot. It’s part of the package.”
“I don’t understand. Are you warning me away from him?”
“At this point I’m just trying to tell you to not go in there upset.”
Oh, she was upset, all right. As much by the fact that he was hurt as by the fact that she’d been kidding herself. The moment her dad had called and told her Colton was hurt, she’d known that her feelings ran way deeper than she’d ever admitted to herself, and now there was no turning back.
She understood the subtle message her father was trying to convey. That if she walked past that bright-yellow ER curtain into the room where Colton was lying, she had an obligation to respect his job. Not to fall to pieces. She tried to slow her heart down to the normal range and stuff down the panic. For Colton’s sake.
* * *
“Someone’s here to see you, Chief,” said Sandy Feldon, the head nurse, rolling back the curtain, which opened with a satisfying whoosh. Colton looked up from the gurney with his one good eye, saw Sara standing there, and bit back the curse that threatened to roll off his lips.
Dammit, no. Not Sara. Not here. He didn’t want her to see him like this. Wounded, weakened, looking like shit.
Her face said it all. Judging from that, he must look pretty damn bad.
Yeah, probably something like Rocky after a fight, bloodied and swollen. He’d sustained a lot of bruises and bumps in his time. Par for the course. Part of his job. But he’d never felt as helpless and uncomfortable as he felt now.
She was assessing the damage critically. The Frankenstein stitches on his forehead. His probably-still-bloody nose that they’d had to pack with gauze, and the gash on his arm from wrestling the knife from the guy. His nose and head hurt the worst.
“What are you doing here?” he asked. Not meanly, he just wanted to know who’d ratted him out. “What I mean is, they shouldn’t have bothered you.” His attempt to soften things didn’t sound much better.
Her cheeks flared with color. And something worse happened—her eyes welled up with tears. Shit. He didn’t want her shedding tears over him. That felt too—real. His mom had done plenty of that with his dad.
“Sara, no, don’t—”
She sat down next to him on the bed and clutched his hand, hard. She was shaking. Her reaction took him by surprise—for someone used to seeing sick and bloody and injured people, she was taking it hard. For a woman who’d vowed to keep things casual, she seemed awfully upset.
His impulse was to hold her and tell her it was going to be OK. But another part of him wanted to tell her to just go and leave him be.
He reminded himself that this was his job. The job that had taken his father and made his mother go to pieces. It was a big reason why he kept things light with women. Why he needed to keep things light with her.
“You look terrible,” she said.
“The other guy looks worse.” He tried to smirk, but his lip was swollen and it hurt too.
“I bet he does.”
“Who called you?”
“My dad. Rafe heard the call come in.”
Just then her father walked in, looking distinguished as always with his gray hair and white coat. Colton dropped Sara’s hand and sat up a little straighter.
Dr. Langdon scanned the room. To his credit, he didn’t even raise a brow on see
ing his daughter sitting on the bed. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said. “Colton.” He pushed his glasses down his nose and examined Colton’s forehead. “George said it took twelve stitches. I would’ve done it myself, but I like to leave stitching faces to the experts. I didn’t think you’d want a reminder of your fight with a mean drunk the rest of your life.”
“Thanks,” Colton said.
Her dad rolled a wheeled stool over to Colton’s other side and sat down. “Your face will be fine in no time. Your nose will require resetting in a few days when the swelling goes down. I could do it, but again, I think we’ll send you to the folks who do this sort of thing every day. In the meantime you’re going to need to take at least a week off because you have a concussion.”
A week? Holy shit. Absolutely not. Colton shook his head. He tried to take a breath to calm down, but he couldn’t breathe through his nose. “I can’t miss work. There’s not enough backup, sir.”
“Well, here’s where you get a little overridden, son. You just saved a woman from her drunken husband and protected all of us from his wrath, should he have gotten loose to wander our town. Or stepped into a car, God forbid. But you hit the concrete hard and you were out for a while. That earns you a week out minimum. No sports, video games, TV, no”—he cleared his throat—“no sex—until the neurologist tells you otherwise. And definitely no work.”
Colton didn’t miss Sara’s head-to-toe blush. He was pretty sure her father didn’t either. He looked at Dr. Langdon. “I’ve been in worse brawls than this back in college, sir, if you’ll excuse my saying.”
“Your head hurt?” Dr. Langdon asked.
“Yes, of course, but—”
“You were pretty stunned when you woke up, a little confused in front of the EMTs, and your balance was off.”
If his head was hurting before, it was literally pounding like a bongo drum now. “I’m the only show in town.” He looked up at Dr. Langdon and pleaded, “Please don’t do this.”
The doctor rested his hand on Colton’s shoulder in that way he had, friendly but persistent. “Think of it this way. If you go back to work like this, some thug could take advantage of you in your weakened condition. So you wouldn’t be able to protect your citizens like you usually can. None of us is indispensable. Surely you can get the sheriff’s office to send a few days’ coverage?”
