If he so much as opened his mouth, he was going to bollocks this up. And it felt so good, he couldn’t make himself ruin it, even though he knew he was in more danger than ever. He couldn’t belong here with her. He’d already lost too much, too many times.
One more would kill him.
“Declan?” Tess finally whispered. “You’re awake, right?”
Oh, the irony. He never fucking slept. Not well, anyway. “Right here,” he said into her hair.
“I know we had a pretty solid agreement about the orgasms—well done, by the way. And thank you. A lot.”
Declan had no choice but to laugh, albeit softly. “Feeling’s quite mutual.”
Tess’s cheek warmed against his shoulder, and when she pulled back to look at him, her smile was a thing of perfection, crooked and just the tiniest bit bashful. “I guess I didn’t really plan for this part in my head. You know, what we’d do after.”
He should have known Tess would just go with an honesty policy. Just as he should’ve known it would turn him the hell on when she did. “I don’t s’pose I did, either.”
“Okay. So, do you want some ice cream?”
Of all the things he’d have guessed she’d say, that was probably in the bottom ten percent. “Seriously?”
She shrugged, her bare shoulder gliding over his chest. “Seems like a pretty good way to cap off incredible sex, don’t you think? And since we don’t have a plan otherwise…”
“You have a fair point,” Declan agreed. He probably wouldn’t have more than a few bites of the stuff, but watching the pleasure on Tess’s face as she dug in to a big bowl of ice cream seemed as enticing a plan as any. “Lead the way.”
They both cleaned up and dressed quickly, then padded down the hallway together. Tess had piled her tawny brown hair in a loose knot on top of her head and pulled on an oversized T-shirt that read Trust Me, I’m a Doctor, along with a pair of—God help him—microscopic black shorts. Her toenails, Declan noticed as they made their way into the kitchen, were unpolished yet neat, her calves well-toned from spending a ton of time in motion at work, and on second thought, he was far past helping right now, even the godly sort.
“The usual?” Tess asked, gesturing into the freezer with a smile. “We have plenty.”
As soon as Declan had realized that ice cream was her comfort food, he’d stocked up on her favorites, and also found an organic, sugar-free brand that didn’t taste like total garbage so he didn’t have to worry as much when he indulged along with her.
“Please.” He took a quick second to check his glucose level and record it in the app, per Dr. Gupta’s instructions, then slid two spoons from the drawer. The rhythm between him and Tess was just as easy and comfortable as it had always been, and any potential for post-coital awkwardness had disappeared completely by the time she passed over his bowl containing a single scoop of vanilla ice cream.
“So, I never asked you about all of your tattoos,” Tess said, her eyes skimming Declan’s bare torso. He’d only replaced his jeans after they’d decided on an ice cream fix, leaving his ink on full display. The visibility of his tattoos wasn’t unusual—he had enough of them that they were pretty much impossible to hide, and anyway, more than half of the photo shoots he did were sans shirt. Normally, Declan didn’t really mind, but that was because he’d long since crafted some canned line that he’d hand out at the gym or at the rare book signing event he’d go to with a popular author who had put him on a book cover. Telling Tess that the designs were simply ones he’d fancied and that they didn’t really have any specific meaning for him didn’t seem right, though. First of all, it was a lie, and secondly, there was a small part of him that suddenly wanted to tell her the truth.
“Most of them are based on Celtic designs,” he said, placing his ice cream on the breakfast bar so he could hold out his arms. Both of his full sleeves had started out with Celtic knots on the outside of his upper arms, then morphed into swirls and patterns that locked together like armor, all the way down to his wrists. “A bit of a nod to my mother’s and my heritage.”
“Oh, I see it now.” Tess’s eyes lit with recognition. “You lived in Ireland for a long time.”
Declan knew she already knew this to be fact. She’d said as much weeks ago, when she’d told him she’d Googled his background. But her gentle opening of the door made it that much easier for him to walk right through. “Until I was fourteen. I was born here in the U.S.,” he said, unraveling his citizenship step-by-step. “My da was American. But even though I was born here, my mother and I returned to her homeland of Ireland when I was just a wee lad, no older than Jackson.”
He didn’t add that there had been three of them on that flight back to Dublin. He’d learned how to bury pretty much everything having to do with his sister ages ago.
“Was,” Tess echoed. “So, your father passed away?”
She asked gently, which was kind, but not necessary. “I gather, but to be honest, I don’t know for sure. He’s never really been in the picture. I don’t even know his full name.”
“Holy crap, really?” Tess’s eyes flew wide.
Declan nodded. “My parents never married. I’m a Riley, like my mam. She loved my father—enough to come here to the U.S. to try and make a go of bein’ a family once she found out she was pregnant with me. But let’s just say that once I arrived, he wasn’t amenable to that idea.”
“I am oddly in touch with that situation,” Tess said, and it was only then that Declan realized just how similar his own birth story was to her son’s.
“Even though we stayed here until after I was born, my father was never really part of the picture. He definitely never wanted me.” Or Declan’s sister, Saoirse, though she wasn’t the man’s biological child. Not that it had been any less of a blow to their mother that Declan’s old man had wanted nothing to do with the lot of them. “So my mother did the only thing she could, and brought me back to Ireland.”
Tess took everything in, her expression thoughtful. “Of course. She came home to give you a home.”
Something thumped hard at Declan’s sternum, but he ignored it and pressed on. “She did. She never said as much, because she was brave that way, but I think the decision to return to the States later was one of the hardest she ever made.”
“Moving to a different country is a pretty huge deal,” Tess agreed. “What precipitated that?”
“Her boss transferred from Dublin to LA.” Odd, but Dec could remember it as if it had been yesterday. “He was a VP at a big five consulting firm, and she’d been his executive assistant for over a decade. He offered her the chance to relocate, as well, with a promotion and a hefty raise to boot.”
Tess paused over her bite of Cherry Garcia. “Wow, that’s generous. It sounds like she was really valued.”
He arranged his expression to its most unreadable setting, stuffing down the feelings churning through his rib cage before saying, “She was. I know she was torn—Ireland had always been her home. But between the money and the opportunity for advancement, the deal was too good to pass up. I have dual citizenship, and she had no trouble gettin’ a work visa, so off we went. We were here in the States for four years before she died.”
“I’m so sorry. You must miss her very much,” Tess said. Her hand was on his in an instant, its presence warm and steady and so damn good, the words just kept piling out of Declan’s mouth.
“I do. She collapsed at work one day. Brain aneurysm,” he added, sparking understanding on Tess’s face. “She never regained consciousness, and was gone before the paramedics could even get her to the hospital.”
Declan knew Tess was armed with the same knowledge as the doctor who had taken him from the busy waiting room into the tiny, silent room with the soothing blue walls on the day his mother had died. She’d probably led people just like him into identical rooms, specifically set aside for the purpose of telling them their loved ones were gone forever, no warning, no goodbye, no mercy. She could give Declan
any of the platitudes that doctor had—aneurysms happen so quickly, your mother almost certainly felt no pain, there’s nothing any of us could have done to prevent it or to save her.
But instead, she held his hand even tighter and said, “Everything about that just sucks. I can’t even imagine how hard that must have been for you, losing her so fast when you were barely an adult.”
Tess’s blunt honesty comforted him in a way that no one else’s reaction ever had, and against all the odds, Declan found himself able to eke out a tiny smile. “It does suck, doesn’t it? She was a great woman.”
“She raised you,” Tess said, as if it were proof. “I mean, I know I’m a tiny bit biased, but…”
His smile grew another notch. “Biased, eh? Does that mean ya like me, then?”
“You’re okay.” Tess shrugged, but her grin betrayed her.
Also, it made Declan’s heart lurch, but he’d deal with that little fact later. “You’re rather okay, as well.”
“I do try.” Returning her attention to her ice cream, Tess took up another spoonful before asking, “So, you spent all that time in Dublin. Do you speak a lot of Gaelic, or is it the sort of thing where you only know the basics and all the good swear words?”
Ah, of course. She was too smart to miss the fact that he’d called her a ghrá geal and he’d been too lost in his pleasure to cage it. My bright love. Had he been mad, letting that slip? It was just a term of endearment meant to be traded between lovers, but still. Not one he’d ever used before.
At least she’d never know what he’d said. “I know a lot, but I’ve grown a bit rusty since I’ve been here in the States,” he said with a shrug.
“The Irish side of your heritage is still obviously important to you.” Tess gestured again to his tattoos, saving him unknowingly with the subject change. “Were they all done by the same person?”
“Most, but not all. I got my first one just before I enlisted, about a week after my mam passed.” He flipped his right forearm over to reveal the curving ribbons of script that spelled out his mother’s name and birth and death dates, cradled in a wreath of Irish roses. “Then, I added the rest over time. The sleeves are a nod to my ancestry.” Flipping his forearm back over, he lifted both hands again before turning halfway ‘round on his stool at the breakfast bar. “And the two on my back are a nod to the Air Force.”
He waited a few beats to allow Tess enough time to take in the winged logo that spanned from shoulder blade to shoulder blade, along with the American flag he’d had inked around it.
“Wow. These are really beautiful,” she said, how genuinely she meant the words clear on her face.
Keeping his curiosity in check was a statistical impossibility. “But you don’t have any ink, though.”
It was a statement—Dec had seen her so thoroughly naked that if she’d had even a small tattoo, he’d have seen it—but Tess affirmed what he’d said with a shake of her head, anyway.
“Nope. I’m a blank canvas,” she joked, although, something wistful glimmered in her pretty brown eyes. “I’ve thought about getting a tattoo with Jackson’s name and birthday on my wrist. You know, like something small, right here?” She turned her right hand over, rubbing a circle over her inner wrist, just above her palm, with her opposite index finger. “In fact, I’ve thought about it a lot. I just haven’t followed through.”
Declan took a bite of ice cream, his curiosity perking again. “Why not?” She didn’t exactly seem the type for indecision, and she already knew what she wanted and where she wanted it.
She gave up a sheepish smile. “Whole truth? Because I’m a chicken when it comes to needles.”
The thought of Tess, so brash and tough, being afraid of needles made him laugh. “You’re not.”
Thankfully, she laughed, too. “Stupid, really, since I’m a doctor, right? I must say ‘just a tiny pinch’, like, a thousand times a day. But there it is. Needless freak me out.”
“Oh, I hear you. I hate them, too.” He chuckled at the understatement. “With a passion, actually.”
“You hate needles.”
Tess’s face broadcast her disbelief, the gaze that flicked over his ink knocking it home.
But still, he nodded. “The sort you’re used to, that start IVs and administer insulin? Absolutely. But that’s not what gettin’ a tattoo feels like.”
“You’re not seriously trying to tell me that getting a tattoo doesn’t hurt,” she said, and okay, that myth he could dispel in a blink.
“Don’t get me wrong. It doesn’t tickle.” A couple of times—the underside of his upper arm and the ridge of his shoulder blade came to mind—he’d damn near wanted to haymaker his tattoo artist into next month. “It’s just not the sort of pain you’d expect. And after a while, your body adjusts with adrenaline. Plus, the artist stops and starts a lot, so the pain’s not constant.”
“Sounds an awful lot like labor,” Tess joked.
Declan shuddered. “I’d imagine that’s worse.”
“So, you’re saying I could handle it and I should stop being a giant lady-baby?”
Another laugh flew out of him, swift and so damn good. “You’re a single mother who literally saves people’s lives every day, and you’ve taken on my bum kidney, ta boot. I hardly think there’s a thing around that you can’t handle.”
“You’re the one who’s going to kick nephropathy’s ass.” Tess pointed her spoon at him, her smile so wide open that Declan had no choice but to feel the effects of it, full-force. “I’m thinking you’re probably like thiiisssss much tougher than me.”
She held up the thumb and forefinger on her opposite hand with barely an inch between them, and Declan’s fingers had circled her wrist, tugging her gently closer before he even realized he would.
“I like you because you’re tough.”
“Oh,” she said, her mouth so close he could feel the word as it coasted out of her. “Well, I like you, too.”
“Maybe we could keep on likin’ each other for just a bit longer.” Declan pressed forward to kiss her, warming her mouth just enough to get his point across. “Since it worked out so well the first time.”
Tess arched a brow, quirking her lips into a sassy smile. “It did work out really nicely, didn’t it?” She sighed deeply as Declan moved his kisses to her neck, then slid a hand to the expanse of skin beneath her T-shirt. “Seems…kind of a shame…to quit just yet.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Declan said.
And then, before reason could remind him of all he stood to lose, he scooped Tess off her bar stool and carried her back to bed.
19
Tess examined the lab results on the screen in front of her, tapping her way over to the images from her patient’s CT scan before breaking into a smile. “Well, Ms. Baines, the good news is we’ve found the source of your pain, and the better news is that it’s going to be an easy fix.”
“Is there bad news?” the woman asked, looking from Tess to Parker, who was Tess’s intern du jour.
Tess handed the electronic chart back to Parker. They’d already discussed Ms. Baines’s diagnosis when the scans had come back, and what the hell. Tess was feeling generous.
“Dr. Drake, would you like to take this one?”
“Oh,” Parker said, his dark brows popping upward. “Of course. The bad news is that your appendix is very inflamed, which indicates the need for immediate surgery.” He showed the woman the images, carefully pointing out the problem area and giving her a simple outline of the surgical procedure that would fix it.
“So I’ll need surgery? Today?” Ms. Baines asked, her concern growing.
“I’m afraid so, but don’t worry.” Tess reached out to squeeze the woman’s forearm reassuringly. “You’ll be in the very best hands, and once that appendix is out, you’ll feel worlds better. It’ll be just a little while before the surgical resident can take you upstairs and get you prepped for the procedure, and the surgeon will go over everything with you in detail. Is ther
e anyone we can call to come keep you company while you wait?”
“Oh, yes, please.” The tension on the woman’s face lessened. “My son, Martin. He lives close by. Could you call him? If it’s not too much trouble,” she added.
“Not at all,” Tess said, taking down Martin’s contact information. “I’ll go take care of that right now.”
“There’s a call button right there on your bedrail if you need anything,” Parker said. “If that pain gets worse or you experience any vomiting, don’t hesitate to use it, Ms. Baines. We’ll get you upstairs as soon as we can.”
He followed Tess into the hallway and down to the intake desk, listening carefully to her instructions to call upstairs and book an OR before giving up a hopeful, “Do you want me to reach out to her son, too?”
Tess debated for a minute. Normally, she liked to handle the personal aspects; they were such a big part of caring for people. But Parker could use the practice, and he’d heard her do enough family notifications that she trusted him to get it right.
Plus, she was in a good mood—no, a great mood. The same great mood she’d been in all week, which was (not coincidentally) the same amount of time that had passed since she’d started having ridiculously hot sex with Declan.
Who knew that just liking someone could be so much fun?
Passing over the Post-it Note, Tess smiled at Parker. “Go with God, rookie. Then, you can cover incoming cases while I’m upstairs.” Declan had his weekly appointment with Dr. Gupta, and she didn’t want to miss it.
“Wait, seriously?” Parker asked, and aw, his shock was kinda endearing. “What if someone comes in with crush injuries?”
“You tell me,” Tess said.
“Stabilize them and page Mallory and Sheridan. How about if someone’s in labor and crowning?”
Beyond Just Us (Remington Medical Book 4): A Single Parent Marriage of Convenience Romance Page 16
