by V. K. Powell
“You’ve just proven my point. You’re never this negative and prickly unless you’re tired, upset, or horny. Do you even remember the last time you had a date, much less sex? Just think about it.” Holly separated the ear tubes of Dylan’s stethoscope, placed the tips in her ears, and whispered into the diaphragm. “Go. Rest.”
“Really cute,” Dylan said and started to object again, but Holly raised her hand.
“I know you love your job, and you’re good at it, but even super doctors need a break. Please, don’t argue or you’ll be having our pizza and movie nights alone forever.”
“Fine. You know how to hurt a girl.” Dylan couldn’t imagine not having their bi-monthly snuggle-in-your-comfies-and-watch-chick-flick sessions. They were her only real social outlet since residency ended and her new job at Cone Hospital began. Serious dating, forget about it—no time, no interest, but more importantly, no prospects except an overabundance of cops and coworkers, both absolute no-nos, and in that order. She hadn’t considered a fling. It wasn’t really her style, but maybe a good old-fashioned sexcapade was exactly what she needed. “I’ll be in the on-call room, sulking, if you want me.”
Holly kissed Dylan on the cheek, opened the door, and waved her out. “See you later for breakfast.”
Dylan pulled her phone from the pocket of her scrubs, tucked the earbuds in, and queued up a classical playlist to distract her from the hectic first half of her shift and being dismissed by Holly. Winding her way through the deserted beige hospital halls, Dylan waved her hands to the sensual textures of Debussy’s “Clair de Lune,” the ocean-like swells and tumbling waves of music that always brought lightheartedness. Part two of the song picked up tempo, and Dylan followed.
As the climactic moment of the piece peaked and then paused, Dylan pushed open the door of the on-call room and stopped at the sight of a bare ass pumping rhythmically against a woman bent over a chair. Uniform police pants pooled around the standing person’s ankles, the shirt flapping open with every movement, and the nurse’s navy skirt bunched around her waist. With each thrust, the pumper’s muscles tightened, emphasizing a shapely backside. Light blond hair turned darker with sweat at the standing person’s nape, and Dylan smelled their mingled sex. These two were brazen. They hadn’t even locked the door.
She leaned against the doorjamb, pulled her earbuds out, and studied the scene. She wasn’t a voyeur, but she could certainly appreciate a pleasing human form. Male or female pumper was unclear, but the butt cheeks were extremely smooth and hairless. Female then. But the force with which he/she pumped the nurse exhibited dominance and control. So, male. She hated to interrupt but decorum required it, and the male/female question had gotten the better of her. She cleared her throat.
The pumper finally glanced over her shoulder. Finley Masters. She raised her forefinger and gave a final powerful thrust that elicited a muffled scream from the other woman. Finley leaned over the moaning nurse and kissed her. “Thanks, babe. Better get dressed. We have company.” She turned toward Dylan exposing her naked front with no hint of shyness. A silver chain with some type of medallion dangled between small breasts as she reached for her pants.
Every naked inch of Finley—broad shoulders, ripped abs, and a hollow that dipped to the triangle of dark blond hair between her legs—highlighted why nurses and doctors alike buzzed about her. She was certainly mouthwatering. Dylan flushed at the thought and forced it away. This type of unprofessional behavior gave cops and nurses a bad rap.
“Sorry about that.” But the grin Finley gave Dylan said she wasn’t really. She actually looked proud of being caught. “We’ll be out of your way in a jiff.” Finley turned back to her partner and spread her shirt to block Dylan’s view while the nurse retrieved her panties and straightened her clothes.
Finley’s chivalry was unexpected but didn’t make up for her lack of propriety or professionalism. And Holly wondered why she didn’t date cops. Decision confirmed, again. So why was she so warm and wobbly-legged? Maybe she did need a friend with benefits to occasionally take the edge off.
The nurse buttoned her white blouse and smoothed her skirt before turning toward Dylan. “I’m so sorry, Doctor. I’m not on shift yet, but please don’t tell Holly about this or I’ll be out of a job.”
When she looked up, Dylan recognized the nurse as one of the more sociable of the staff, putting it kindly. “Anita, isn’t that right?”
“Yes, ma’am, Anita Groome.”
Dylan choked back a chuckle but kept her tone even. “Why don’t you change and get on the floor. It’s pretty busy tonight.” Anita probably wasn’t the first to be caught in a compromising position with Finley Masters.
“Thanks, Dylan,” Anita said.
Dylan backed into the hallway and headed toward the locker room. She had no interest in being alone with Finley Masters, especially after seeing her naked. What could follow a show like that? So much for taking a nap. She needed a cold shower.
* * *
Finley slung her gun belt over her shoulder, buttoned her shirt, and hurried after Dylan. “Wait. Please.” How would she talk her way out of this? Her job was to clean up other people’s messes, not create more. She tucked her shirt into her trousers and zipped them as she walked. “I’m Finley Masters.” She offered her hand, the one she’d used on Anita. Dylan must’ve realized it too because she gave her an incredulous stare and shook her head. “We haven’t met.”
“I’ve seen you naked. Some would say that qualifies,” Dylan said.
“Then shouldn’t you reciprocate? I mean the introduction, not the naked part. You’re the new ER doctor, right? Anita called you Dylan.”
“I don’t think we speak the same language.”
“Wow, you don’t even know me yet.”
“If what I just saw is any indication, I know your type.”
The comment hurt more than it should, but after what Dylan had seen, Finley couldn’t blame her. Damn, damnity damn. She’d wanted to meet the new ER doc because she’d heard how gorgeous and feisty she was, but why did it happen when she had her fingers inside another woman? “Okay, well, that wasn’t the way I’d hoped to introduce myself.” Dylan finally stopped, and the gaze from her dark brown eyes burned a fiery path down Finley’s body.
“The rumors finally got one thing right,” Dylan said. “You’re handsome in that wavy blond hair, blue eyes, and olive complexion clichéd type of way. Some of the nurses call you drool-worthy.”
“And you, Doctor?” Finley clicked her utility belt around her waist without breaking eye contact with Dylan. “Do you think I’m drool-worthy?” Dylan’s shapely lips curved into a partial smile, and Finley wanted to make it blossom.
“If you’re into that.” Finley’s pulse quickened until Dylan added, “Which I’m not.”
“That smarts.” This was new territory for her, a woman immune to her charms. She nodded back the way they’d come. “You obviously don’t think much of me right now, which I totally get, but please don’t be too hard on Anita. It was my fault entirely, the on-call room…and everything else.”
“Very decent of you, Officer. You could just blame your awesome charisma.”
Were they flirting? Finley stood a little straighter. Felt like flirting with a twist. She hitched her thumbs in her utility belt and grinned. “I’m flattered you think so.”
“Obviously my sarcasm was too subtle. I find you reckless and irresponsible. Charming, not so much. Irresistible, definitely not.”
So, maybe not flirting but something about the way Dylan looked at her made Finley want to believe it could be. “Message received, loud and clear. I know it’s not an excuse, but I’d just broken up a fight and brought in an overdose. Quite a night of ups and downs. I was a little keyed up. Doctors get that feeling too, right?”
“That’s some schedule-one bullshit.” Dylan shook her head. “I’m familiar with the effects of adrenaline on the body. The difference between us, Officer Masters, is I have self-respect and impuls
e control. The next time your libido kicks in, please take care of it outside the hospital. Our nurses’ jobs don’t include servicing the police force.”
“Thanks for the advice.” Finley licked her fingers, purposely the same fingers, and brushed them through her hair. Dylan’s gaze never left her hand. Her pupils widened and her nostrils flared. Dylan might find her reckless and irresponsible, but she was also intrigued, which was a good thing because Finley definitely was. She struggled for something else to keep Dylan engaged, but she ducked into the locker rooms, and following her was another violation Finley probably shouldn’t commit right now.
She drove home thinking about Dylan. Out of Finley’s league, accomplished, and problematic. Dylan’s semi-flirty banter, fearlessness, long chestnut hair, and gorgeous petite package titillated Finley but also spelled trouble. She should leave well enough alone and stick with what worked for her—being a good cop, making detective someday, and enjoying willing, uncomplicated partners. She’d seen what love and complex women did to a person and wanted no part of it.
She pulled in the driveway of her College Hills bungalow, glanced at the wide front porch, pulled her cell from her pocket, and hit speed dial. She couldn’t deal with the memories this place held tonight. “Hey, Anita, interested in another round when you get off work?”
Chapter Two
Finley woke the next morning in a pale pink bedroom with Anita’s arms and legs draped across her. She tried to inch out of Anita’s grasp, but she hugged harder. Finley gave her a quick kiss and then worked her way loose. As she stood, she thought about the new doctor she’d met last night, felt a tingle of arousal, and glanced over at Anita. Excitement changed to embarrassment and then shame. Not good to think about the next woman while she was still with the last. “Have to go. There’s a kids’ thing at the station. Can’t be late.”
“It’s your day off and you hate kids.”
“I don’t hate them. I just never know what to do with them, except Robin.”
“Who’s Robin?” Anita asked sleepily.
“Never mind. I promised my lieutenant I’d help set up and take down the tents. Brownie points.” She scooped her jeans and T-shirt off the floor on the way to the bathroom to brush her teeth. “Thanks for letting me drop by so late.”
“Once more for the road? I never get enough of you, Fin.” Anita grabbed for her as she came out of the bathroom and passed the bed, but Finley sidestepped.
She stopped at the bedroom door. She’d seen Anita three times this week and had a toothbrush in her bathroom, so a reminder couldn’t hurt. “Babe, you know—”
“Yes, I know this is casual. At some point one of us is going to meet someone we really care about, but let’s enjoy this while it lasts.” She blew Finley an air kiss and rolled back over.
Finley checked her watch on the drive home, just enough time for a quick shower and to change into her uniform before heading to Fairview Station. When she pulled into the driveway of her gray bungalow, her Realtor was waiting out front. She’d completely forgotten Sharon’s walk-through to give her an idea of a price range for the listing. “Good morning. Sorry I kept you waiting.”
Sharon MacMillan, perfectly coiffed salt-and-pepper bob and blue eyes adorned with mascara and shadow, smiled her top-selling-agent smile. “I just pulled up, so your timing is perfect. Hope you don’t mind the early morning appointment.”
“Not at all. I was—”
“Working all night.” She glanced at Finley’s wrinkled clothes. “Anybody I know?” Sharon laughed. “My wife says we should buy this place for the sexual karma alone.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, fun doesn’t happen here or hasn’t in a long time.”
Sharon placed a hand lightly on Finley’s arm. “I’m sorry, Fin. Not enough coffee this morning. I know your dad passed recently. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”
Her father’s sad and lonely life had created the unpleasant memories that clung to the house long before his death. “No problem. Thanks for doing this for me. Shall we?” She waved Sharon toward the front porch and unlocked the door. “Why don’t you look around while I change clothes. I’ve got work in about an hour.”
While she showered, Finley wondered if she was doing the right thing. On the one hand, the house was paid for, but every room bled sadness and sucked the energy from her. She went to sleep with the echoes of her father’s weeping, knowing she couldn’t make it better. She woke to his heartfelt apologies, certain she’d never be enough to make up for his loss. Nothing about this house brought her peace or happiness so she stayed away working extra shifts and taking off-duty assignments, and she never brought women here.
She rejoined Sharon at the kitchen counter where she was flipping through paperwork and tapping on her tablet. “This is a great house, Fin. It appears structurally sound, the roof is good, and the HVAC is fairly new. The upgrades you’ve made to the kitchen and baths will also support a higher sale price.” Sharon glanced toward her. “Are you sure about this?”
Finley nodded.
“It’s only been six months since your dad passed. There’s no rush as far as the sale goes. If you need more time to—”
“I don’t. The house is in a good location and it’s paid for, but the sooner it sells, the sooner I can find something that works for me. I’ve done the pros and cons, Sharon. I’m just tired of coming home to reruns of a childhood I’d rather forget.”
“As long as you’re sure, I’ll stop trying to talk myself out of a commission.” She turned her tablet toward Finley. “I’m thinking this range. You decide and let me know.”
“Let’s start at the high end.”
“I like it. We get negotiating room at that price point. I have the contract, if you’re ready to sign.”
Finley slid Sharon’s tablet toward her and stared at the blank line for her signature. It was a no-brainer—financial security or peace of mind.
“It’s show ready,” Sharon said. “All I have to do is open the door and let the clients walk through. Makes my job easy.” She stood and gave Finley a quick kiss on the cheek. “Come by for dinner soon? We’d love to catch up. Casey and I live vicariously through your conquests of the Greensboro female population.”
“And how is that gorgeous wife of yours? If she gets tired of you, send her my way.”
“Down, girl. We’re trying to get pregnant.”
Finley flinched at the comment. Her playgirl persona worked so well that even her friends were sometimes wary of her intentions. “You know I’m kidding, right?”
“Of course. If I didn’t, we wouldn’t be friends.” Sharon started toward the front door. “And I’m serious about dinner.”
“Sounds great. Good luck with the pregnancy. Let me know when you get an offer on the house, any offer. I won’t give the place away, but I’m a motivated seller. Thanks again.”
“My pleasure, Fin. I’ll put the sign up on my way out.”
No matter how softly Finley closed the solid oak front door, she was always reminded of that hard slam years ago, the day her father broke and she stopped being a child. Had her parents ever been truly happy here? Could she be with someone she loved?
She leaned against the door, the rough grain uneven and biting, like her time here. She fingered the heavy silver chain around her neck, opened the platinum locket her father had left her, and stared at the laser photo of her parents inside. They smiled at each other like two people deeply in love. How much of their lives had been a lie? Had Finley somehow destroyed their happiness? She snapped the locket closed, grabbed her backpack, and headed to her Jeep.
She distracted herself from the hard questions as she drove by reliving last night—the softness of another woman, the smell and taste of her, the screams that Finley coaxed from her body—and breathed a little easier. The blessed diversion of sex, equaled only by the adrenaline-fueled challenges of the job. Work and easy liaisons kept her sane, not her home. All that remained there were ghosts and hard
lessons.
* * *
Dylan pulled earbuds from her nightstand and queued some soft jazz on her phone to wake up and ease her into the morning. Music was for her both sedative and stimulant. Although it didn’t satisfy the physical needs of her body, it took her mind off of them temporarily. And she really needed a distraction after her restless sleep. She’d tossed all night with images of Finley Masters’s naked body taunting her. Holly’s advice and her own consideration of a fling hadn’t helped either. If she was keeping it real, Finley was definitely a vivid-dreams woman, and Dylan was attracted to her physically, but not to her reckless, womanizing reputation.
Something else about her encounter with Finley intrigued Dylan as much as her physique. She’d seen discomfort in Finley’s eyes when she’d requested Dylan go easy on Anita, almost like the asking was difficult. Or maybe Dylan had just imagined the whole thing. “Stop it. I refuse to think about that woman.” She threw off the covers and started to get up, but jerked back. Her sister Bennett towered beside the bed, mouthing words she couldn’t hear. Earbuds. She pulled them out. “Can you say heart attack?”
“I’ve been knocking. I could’ve been a burglar.”
“Burglars don’t knock. You’re a police captain. You should know that.”
Bennett swiped a hand through her short brown hair and then pointed at Dylan. “And I find you talking to yourself. I was about to call the psych ward. What woman?”
“Bad dream.” She grabbed her favorite teal terrycloth robe and headed to the kitchen before Bennett saw her face and guessed she was holding back. “I need coffee.”
Bennett’s long strides caught up to her quickly. “You need to get dressed. We’re late. Jazz and Emory are already at the station, and the rest of the family is waiting for us out front.”
