Sarah sucked in a breath, Joss’s words coalescing into a hurricane-force wind that was quickly knocking down her walls. It still came as a surprise that Joss seemed to have an instinct for knowing exactly the thing to say to get right to the nub of the issue. And not only that, but she seemed to know exactly how to melt Sarah’s heart. “You do this…” She had to stop, gather herself again. “To me. Every. Time.”
Joss edged closer until the length of their thighs touched, until her mouth was so close Sarah could almost taste it. “Do what?”
Pinching her eyes shut to hold back the tears that threatened, Sarah said, “Kiss me first and I’ll tell you later.”
Sarah was expecting a kiss, but instead Joss had lifted her hands to trace the shape of her face, her fingertips so light they barely registered. Oh, thought Sarah, this is so dangerous. Lips as soft as a southern breeze touched her own, and Sarah’s heart took flight, slowly, like a heavy-winged bird. Her body began to tremble as the kiss intensified, unleashing an urgency of want in her that startled her, made her feel like her feet might never again touch the ground. She couldn’t keep her hands from moving to Joss’s head, and she ran her fingers through the soft, short strands there, because she needed more contact. Needed more than her mouth to convey how much she wanted this. How much she wanted Joss.
On the edge of a moan, she called Joss’s name over and over again.
Breathing hard, Joss said against her lips, “Do you want me to stop?”
“Yes. No.” Why can’t my answer be simple? Why can’t anything with Joss be simple?
The kiss was like nothing Sarah had experienced before. Certainly not with Margaret, her last girlfriend, whose kisses were dry and flat as paper and exactly twenty seconds long. Margaret was the kind of person who liked everything planned out into uncompromising rituals, who ate exactly the same thing every morning (dry toast and muesli), who liked sex every Friday and Saturday night, who never let her in-box overflow. No. This kiss had all the hallmarks of something that could easily rule them, control them and, finally, obliterate them.
Joss’s mouth skimmed her jaw, moved to her throat in a wet, luscious trail of sucking, nibbling, licking. Their last kiss had been full of angry passion. But this, this was desire. This was an I-want-to-disappear-inside-you kiss. This was the kind of kissing that was one step away from making mad, crazy love, and Sarah knew they were reaching a point they wouldn’t be able to turn back from. Simple was racing toward complicated in one hell of a hurry.
“Wait,” Sarah commanded, pulling back with all the fortitude she could muster. Her breath came in hard, painful gulps.
Joss sat back, blinking and breathing rapidly through her nose. “You’re right, Sarah. Jesus. It wouldn’t be right if we went further. I’m sorry. I lose my mind around you sometimes.”
Sarah angled herself to look at Joss. Her voice was still thick with residual desire. “We seem to get stuck in this place where the boundaries sometimes change. Where one minute we’re just friends, practical companions, business partners, whatever you want to call it. And then…”
“And then we can’t seem to help ourselves from taking more.” Joss picked up her drink and took a long sip and then another. When she spoke again, her voice had lost its earlier heat. “It seems sometimes like…like we could be more. And I like you, Sarah, a lot. You’re intelligent, charming, more down-to-earth than just about anybody else I know. You’ve got these layers that I haven’t begun to discover yet. And you have to know I’m very attracted to you.”
But…? Sarah thought. There’s always a fucking but when I get close to something good.
“But I just can’t do the girlfriend thing.” Joss at least had the good manners to look a little tortured by her confession. “I’m a shitty girlfriend, Sarah. Between surgery and teaching and all these damned functions, I’m never home. I don’t even know the first thing about putting someone else ahead of my career, my needs. Even if I wanted to have a girlfriend, I—”
“You don’t have to explain,” Sarah said, her voice as sharp as broken glass. “In fact, I’d rather you didn’t, all right?” She strode to her bedroom, throwing a terse “Goodnight” over her shoulder, and clicked the door shut behind her.
Tears blinded her, exhaustion turning her limbs to rubber, and she lay down on the bed without undressing. She was tired. So tired of wanting things in her life she was never quite good enough to have.
* * *
No matter how many times Joss wished for and fantasized that she could take back the events of the previous night, the ending never changed. They’d each gone to bed without another word, and this morning Sarah was gone before Joss got up. She’d left a note saying she was spending the day at the Art Institute and having dinner with one of her old professors.
Might be just as well if they avoided each other until tomorrow’s flight home, Joss consoled herself. She’d been a fool. And a damned coward. She was too scared to ask Sarah what she really wanted from their collaboration, which more and more seemed like a relationship rather than the efficient, one-dimensional label they kept trying to stick on it. She was too afraid to consider growing their relationship, of allowing it to become an actual, bona fide relationship. It terrified her to need Sarah, and it terrified her even more to think of shifting the primary focus in her life or at least splitting it. She was too much like her father, so completely absorbed in her own world, and yet she was unlike him in knowing that she couldn’t subject another person to what he’d put her mother through. She was safe being single. Safe in her world of hospitals and operating rooms and teaching medical students. She’d begun to feel safe in her business arrangement with Sarah too. Except now, well, its rapidly fluctuating boundaries had begun to scare the shit out of her.
“Ah, Dr. McNab, my congratulations on your presentation this morning. Wonderful job.”
Dr. Jeff Billings was the cochair of the conference and head of cardiac surgery at Northwestern Memorial Hospital. His enthusiasm was in direct contrast to her own analysis of her presentation. She had the material down cold, but, distracted by thoughts of Sarah, she felt as if she’d stammered her way through the talk, to the point that she wouldn’t have blamed people if they’d concluded she knew little more about transcatheter aortic valve replacement than a fourth-year medical student.
“I’m afraid I wasn’t exactly at my best.”
His thick red eyebrows bunched together in confusion. “Nonsense, it was spectacular. Especially your comparison between the femoral approach versus the small incision in the neck. You know, we could use an exceptional, young TAVR surgeon at my hospital. Just say the word, and—”
“Thank you, Dr. Billings, but I’m happy where I am.”
“Of course.” His smile was polite but did little to hide his disappointment. “I understand. That’s quite a legacy of your father’s down there at Vandy. It’d be hard to leave that, I’m sure. His reputation is still legendary, even up here.”
Joss mumbled her thanks, not wanting to talk about her father with a stranger. She was, she imagined, like the offspring of a fabled rock star whose loyal fans constantly talked about the famous parent. As if her accomplishments were nothing in comparison. As if she could never quite merit that same level of awe and respect.
He thrust an envelope into her hand. Tickets, he said, for a concert later tonight at the Chicago Theatre. He shook her hand again and said it was a small token of his gratitude for the sharing of her expertise at the conference.
When he’d gone, Joss pulled the tickets from the envelope. An intimate evening with Erika Alvarez and Dess Hampton, 8:30 p.m., main floor seating, the tickets said.
The two women’s names sounded vaguely familiar. Last year they’d won a Grammy or an Oscar or something, and they were out as a couple, perhaps even married. But whether they sang country music or opera or something in between, Joss had no idea.
She scanned the room. Her first instinct was to pass the tickets along to somebody else, bu
t then Sarah’s voice insinuated itself in her mind, telling her, in an unmistakably reprimanding tone, that she didn’t know how to have fun, that she never did anything spontaneous. She harrumphed to herself. Getting those blond highlights in her hair should have answered that criticism.
Fine. She could be fun. She pulled her phone from her pocket and texted Sarah an invitation to join her. It was a peace offering, as well as a means to see if Sarah was still talking to her. She didn’t want to spend another night tossing and turning, worrying about badly she’d screwed things up between them. Again.
Chapter Twelve
“Are you calling a truce?” Sarah asked Joss as she greeted her in the lobby of the Chicago Theatre. She’d almost declined the invitation, tempted to fib that her dinner with her former professor was running late. But Frank Redgrave had after-dinner plans of his own, and the idea of punishing Joss held waning appeal. They were both responsible for perpetually pushing the boundaries between them and running into a wall. A wall they couldn’t seem to climb over or go around.
Joss’s playful smile was clearly intended to raze Sarah’s resistance. And it worked. “Absolutely. Am I forgiven?”
“Nothing to be forgiven for.”
Silently, they made their way to their seats, which were in the second row from the stage. Nice to have such connections, Sarah thought. She was a big fan of Erika and Dess. “I’m…surprised you asked me here. But thank you.”
“You were the first person I thought of. Who else would I have asked?”
Sarah’s throat tightened. Fine, she thought. I’ll be honest, and if I sound like a jealous bitch, then so be it. “You could have asked that French doctor. The one who was practically throwing herself at you last night.”
Joss closed her eyes and faintly shook her head. She seemed to be biting back a smile, which only made Sarah angrier.
“I assume,” Sarah said, biting off her words, “that you’ve slept with her.”
For a long moment Joss didn’t answer. Then she broke into a wide, self-satisfied grin that wasn’t very sporting. “You’re jealous. And yes, I slept with her once, over a year ago.”
Blood pounded in Sarah’s ears. How dare Joss make fun of her feelings, even if she was inappropriately jealous. And how dare she be so damned cocky about her sexual conquest. “I’m not jealous,” she lied. “How could I be? We’re business partners, not lovers. What you do with women is your business, not mine.”
“Hmmm. Then why did you ask me if I slept with her?”
“It…it wasn’t a question. I was making an observation.”
“Then you’re not jealous.”
Sarah cast a sideways glance at Joss, expecting to see more of the same cocky attitude. What she saw startled her. Joss looked disappointed. Raising her chin and summoning all the bravado she could, Sarah said, “Fine. Would you like me to be jealous?”
“Yes.”
The honesty behind Joss’s answer shocked Sarah. And quickly put an end to the little game of cat and mouse. “All right,” she said on a sigh. “I’m jealous. And I hate that I am.”
On the armrest between them, Joss threaded her fingers into Sarah’s. “Don’t hate it. Trust it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” If Joss was trying to make her feel better, it wasn’t working. She had no right to be jealous, and Joss had no right to want her to be jealous. Christ, here we go again. Wanting each other but not permitting it. Getting into these little verbal jousts instead of ripping off each other’s clothes.
“It means,” Joss said calmly, “that we have feelings for one another, even if we can’t act on them. It makes me feel less alone in…in…whatever it is we’re doing.”
The auditorium had filled to its capacity of over three thousand people, and the lights dimmed.
“Tell me who these two women are,” Joss whispered in a welcome change of subject.
Sarah filled her in, rattling off the duo’s hit songs and a quick bio of each. “We’re in for a real treat. They’re incredible. I’m a huge fan.”
Joss’s hand was still in hers when Erika Alvarez and Dess Hampton strode onto the stage, holding hands, to loud cheers, a guitar slung over each woman’s shoulder.
* * *
Joss, electrified by the show, suggested they stop somewhere for a glass of wine. Somewhere that wasn’t their hotel suite. That territory was far too dangerous. Joss had been so close last night to begging Sarah to let her make love to her. Thoughts of touching her all over had filled her mind, clouded her senses and had driven her body until it was almost a quivering heap. She’d never before been pushed to the brink of losing her self-control like this, and she’d known instinctively that had she raised her hand and cupped a breast or lowered that same hand to the soft valley between Sarah’s thighs, the night would have turned out much differently. They would, without a doubt, have made love all night long.
But Sarah wasn’t a one-night woman, Joss reminded herself. Sex alone would never be enough with a woman like her, and it was a sobering thought that quickly brought Joss back to reality.
They ducked into a darkened restaurant that featured flickering candles on white tablecloths. They claimed a table for two in the corner and each ordered a glass of red wine.
“No mint julep?” Sarah teased.
“I think we know what the mint juleps lead to.”
Color rose to Sarah’s cheeks, and the effect made Joss want her all over again.
“Good point,” she answered. “That show was incredible, wasn’t it? What was your favorite part?”
“Besides Ms. Alvarez’s cleavage?” Joss knew that would earn her a swat from Sarah and she wasn’t disappointed. “I loved their version of ‘Ain’t No Sunshine When She’s Gone.’ It was so full of longing, it was almost painfully haunting, but in a beautiful way.”
“I agree. They pulled off the same effect with ‘If You Leave Me Now.’ And I really liked that plucky song they wrote together, ‘You Are The Song In My Heart.’”
“I enjoyed the part where they explained their rocky start as a couple.”
“And how Erika gave up what she thought was a chance at fame and fortune to be with Dess.”
Joss laughed. “Except the goddess decided there would indeed be fame and fortune if they stayed together and worked together.”
“But they seem to have kept their heads through it all.”
“And their love for each other.”
“I guess that’s the real challenge with a successful career. Finding and keeping love at the same time. Not that I would know.”
“Me either,” Joss said, taking a sip of her wine. It was a question that had only been an abstract one in her mind until Sarah had walked into her life and turned it upside down. Ridiculous as they were, thoughts of how one might juggle love and a career were coming up far too often of late. She hadn’t a clue what she was supposed to do with it all.
Neither woman spoke for several moments until Sarah asked Joss if she felt her career in medicine was worth all the sacrifices.
“What sacrifices? I love medicine. I love heart surgery. I can’t imagine doing anything else.”
“What I mean,” Sarah said, setting her glass down and looking earnestly at Joss, “is it worth it to the exclusion of everything else?”
“If you mean love, I’m doing fine without it, thank you. Like the old saying goes, you don’t miss what you don’t have.”
Sarah absently tapped her fingers against the rim of her glass. The light from the candle danced in her eyes, fire and ice, and the effect was mesmerizing. “Why are you against love?”
“Is that what I am, against love? Like I’m against homophobia? Or racism?” Joss was in no mood for a sentimental discussion about love. And why did there have to be two camps? That you were either a romantic or an avowed loner? And why the hell did everyone think you couldn’t be happy if you weren’t in love? That was so damned unfair.
Sarah silently finished her wine. Joss signaled the waitr
ess for another round. She rarely got to consume two consecutive drinks back home, between being on call at the hospital and being available to her students at almost any time of the day or night. The evening felt incredibly emancipating in an almost forbidden way, and she didn’t want it to end yet.
“I’m not against love,” Joss finally said. “It’s just not for me. At least not at this point in my life.”
“When you went into medicine, did it have to be an either or? I mean, your father had a career and a family.”
“Ha.” Joss took a healthy sip of her wine.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. You’re right, he had a career and a wife and the whole nine yards. Men usually do.”
“And you can’t because you’re a woman?”
The alcohol was loosening Joss’s lips faster than she could process her thoughts. “Of course I can, if I want to treat my partner like crap. Never home, expecting her to be at my beck and call when I need something. Too tired or too occupied at the end of the day or at the end of the week to support her needs.”
“Is that what it was like for your mother?”
“Not according to her. Life with Joseph McNab was all peaches and cream, sunshine on a cloudy day and all that.”
“And you don’t believe her?”
Joss swallowed the catch in her throat. She had long believed that her father, although not perfect, had been a good husband and father, if you conveniently didn’t factor in his habitual absences and his perpetually distracted mind. Her mother seemed to want her to believe that it was acceptable for one person in a relationship to do most of the giving. Sarah was making her see, though, that having a wife jump every time you lifted a finger wasn’t real love, wasn’t a relationship, could not possibly be mutually satisfying. Long absences and superhuman dedication to a career as demanding as medicine were extremely unlikely to result in a strong marriage. A woman like Sarah deserved so much more. And so had Joss’s mother.
By Mutual Consent Page 10
