by Gina Kincade
She moved away from the jump zone, unhooked her safety line, and removed her helmet.
“Kate?” Rob asked. “What are you doing?”
“I’m sorry, Rob,” she said. “I’m not jumping today. My heart’s not in it.”
“Is this because of what’s his face?” Tara asked.
Kate shrugged. “No, not really. I just have a lot of things on my mind. I can’t really concentrate on what I’m supposed to be doing. I don’t want to make a mistake and kill myself.”
Tara and Rob both stared at her, incredulous expressions on their faces. The three of them had taken vacations together for years. The more intense, the better.
Tara placed the back of her hand on Kate’s forehead. “You feel okay, honey? That knock on your head a couple of weeks ago still bothering you?”
“No,” Kate said and forced a smile. She didn’t want to ruin their jump. “I’m fine, really. I just—”
The sound of a four-wheel drive pickup truck coming to a screeching halt cut her off. Through the haze of dust, Grant bounded out of the cab and rushed over to her. He was dressed in jump gear and held a helmet in the crook of his arm.
“Grant!” she said, feasting her eyes on him hungrily.
God, she’d missed him. She hadn’t realized how much until this very moment. His dark chestnut hair tousled by the light winds, blue gaze serious, sensuous mouth drawn into a thin line. Why was he dressed like that? He wouldn’t possibly... Kate’s heart leapt.
He marched right up to her, handed Rob his helmet, and wrapped her in his arms. “You’re the most infuriating, beautiful, hard headed, sexy woman I’ve ever met,” he said and then claimed her mouth.
Kate forgot that she was supposed to be mad at him. She forgot everything but the feel of his firm lips on hers. His kiss was hot, hungry and possessive as his mouth slanted over hers. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she tugged him closer, losing herself in his scent, the demanding pull on her hair as he fisted his hands in the loose strands tilting her head back farther to give him better access. She welcomed the sharp pinpricks on her scalp as their tongues tangled.
“Ahem.” A discreet cough broke them apart. “We’ll just leave you two, to ah, talk,” Tara said with a knowing smirk. She grabbed Rob’s arm and dragged him down further along the catwalk.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, breathless.
“I’m here for you, love,” he said, eyes shining with adoration. “And I figured if the only way to get you to talk to me and work things out was to jump off a fucking bridge to our deaths, then so be it, damn it. I’m not letting you walk away from me. From us... What we could have together.”
He bent down on one knee and pulled a velvet box from his pocket.
Kate gasped, shaking her head. “You’re insane. We’ve only known each other for—”
“Shut up, woman, and let me speak,” Grant said with a smile. “I’m sorry for all the things I said to you. I never meant to give you the impression that I wanted you around only to make dealing with my phobia easier for me. My only excuse was that I was out of my mind with worry after seeing you unconscious and bleeding on the floor. I can be an obstinate ass, but I truly have no desire to control you. If you want to jump out of fucking airplanes or off bridges, I won’t like it one bit, but I won’t try to stop you. Can you forgive me?”
“Oh, Grant,” she said, tears filling her eyes. “Of course I forgive you.”
“Family is a fragile thing, love,” he said. “After I lost my parents, I never believed I’d find a family of my own until you walked into my life—uninvited, I might add.”
His lips curved into one of his panty-melting smiles and Kate’s heart somersaulted in her chest. He opened the lid and nestled in the dark velvet groove was a two-carat, heart-shaped pink diamond engagement ring with pink diamonds encircling the entire band. Her breath caught.
“You are my family, baby, and I’m yours. I will love you, cherish you, and make you ever forget that your parents treated you like shit growing up. And in time, we will have our own family.”
“Grant,” she said, uneasily. “You make it sound so simple.”
He frowned. “It is simple. As simple as you jumping off this bridge. Even though this will be one of the hardest things I’ll ever do, I’ll jump right along with you to prove to you how serious I am about us and our future. And if we die, because just let me throw this out there, the statistics for the rate of fatalities over an eleven-year period for base-jumping is one out of every 2,317 jumps. I don’t want to go through life without you. So if you jump, God damn it, so do I.”
She gasped. “You’re joking!”
“Try me,” he said, mouth drawn into a hard, thin line. The only telltale sign of his nerves was the slight tremble of his hand as he held the engagement ring out to her.
He is terrified, but he’d jump for her. When had she ever had anyone in her life that cared that deeply for her that they’d put aside their own fears just to be with her? Her. Love swelled within her breast and a slow smile curved her lips.
“You’re not joking,” she said slowly. “Okay, Dr. Grant Anderson, I’ll take you on. If you can handle a little excitement now and again, I’ll put up with all your rants on safety statistics and OCD tendencies.”
Grant glanced over the rail of the catwalk and visibly swallowed. “Are we jumping now?”
He looked so adorably uncomfortable that she decided to let him off the hook. She slipped her arms around his neck and tugged him close. “Well, Dr. Grant,” she said, her tone husky. “I’m pretty sure there’s a few other thrills to explore in our bed.”
Grant’s dark blue eyes grew molten. “I like the way you’re thinking.”
She leaned up on her toes and nibbled at his jaw. “Yes,” she said. “After all, we must practice safety at all times. We need to cure a few of your other phobias first.”
His head lulled back as she continued to lick and suck her way down his throat. “Mmmm,” he moaned. “I definitely think I want to spend my life as healthy as possible. Sex is the best medicine.”
THE END
Turn the page for a taste of more steamy medical romance from Kathleen Grieve...
Dating 911
Chapter One
Flames shot through the air as the heat intensified. The floor beneath his booted feet rumbled and shook. A burning ache seized his chest. The sound of his own rapid, ragged breath filled his ears. Disoriented, he couldn’t see through the haze of thick, black smoke. Fire raged around him...
“Jett? What’s wrong?” Cruz asked with concern.
Jett’s twin brother’s familiar baritone acted as a catalyst, dragging him from the past. He blinked several times until his vision cleared, and Cruz’s face came into focus.
“Sorry.” Jett rolled his shoulders, releasing the tension in knotted muscles and willed himself to relax. He was safe. “Just had a flashback from last night’s dating fiasco,” he lied. Despite the air conditioning, sweat trickled down the side of his forehead. He swiped the moisture with his palm.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Cruz’s grey eyes traveled over him in an assessing glance. “You look like hell, which pains me to say, since you wear my handsome mug as your own,” Cruz quipped.
Jett feigned a smile. “I’m fine. It’s warm in here. That’s all.” He gazed over the blue buttoned-down polo shirt his brother wore tucked into his khaki slacks.
Fresh grief and pain gnawed at Jett’s gut. He grasped his beer off the table and drank deeply. The cool brew slid down his parched throat. Shit! Why couldn’t he forget?
Cruz seemed to accept his story and leaned back in the booth, crossing his arms over his chest. “Are you feeding me a line of bull? The date couldn’t have been that bad. She was hot. I can’t believe you dumped her.”
Jett set his beer down and frowned. He glanced around the noisy bar to make sure his brother’s loud voice hadn’t been overheard. Cutter Joe’s was a popular hangout for some of the guys
he worked with at the fire station. As the new guy at the firehouse, he received enough “razzing” as it was.
The jukebox in the corner blared out an old Mötley Crüe tune. Bodies on the crowded dance floor gyrated to the pulsating beat as the singer crooned about teenagers smoking in a school bathroom. Other patrons were deep in their own conversations and appeared to be enjoying themselves.
Satisfied no one was listening, Jett focused his attention on his brother in the booth opposite him and shrugged. “No joke. One night was enough.”
“Well? What happened? She had a mouth that promised heaven, and a rack a man could bury his face in. You could’ve died happily of asphyxiation.” Cruz chuckled, his gaze full of mischief. “Let me guess. Her mother scared you off?” He grabbed a few nuts from the bowl on the table between them, and popped one into his mouth.
“What? Hell, no.” Jett drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “Never. I avoid matchmaking mamas at all costs. As a doctor, you know that once they find out your profession, you’re already halfway down the aisle. It’s no different with firemen.” He shrugged and lifted his beer to his lips. “Why do you ask?”
“Christ, Jett. Don’t you ever listen to anything Daisy says? Rule number one,” Cruz pitched his voice up an octave, to a soprano. “Meet a girl’s mother. Just because a woman is attractive in the here and now, doesn’t mean she will be in the future. If her mother is a shrew and looks like a toad, most likely the daughter will turn out the same.”
Jett choked on his beer. He gasped and coughed, trying to clear the liquid from his lungs. Cruz stood, reached across the table and slapped him on the back several times.
“Damn it!” Jett croaked, his breathing once again controlled. “Since when do you listen to Mom’s ridiculous ‘dating game’ rules? Every year that goes by, our bachelorhood is jeopardized.” He grimaced. “The older we get, the more she wants grandbabies.”
Cruz laughed. “She’d box your ears if she heard you calling her Mom. Besides, it’s good advice.”
His brother beckoned to a passing server, signaling for another drink. She nodded and gave him a dimpled smile. Cruz’s gaze wasn’t on her face, but hungrily roved just below the neckline. She was a looker, all right. Cruz had excellent taste, but the woman held no appeal for Jett. Just like his date of last night, she hadn’t been enough to keep his interest.
Jett needed the ultimate distraction: A woman who would expect nothing from him but a brief tumble in the sack. Once buried deep in her softness, he’d be able to leave his anguish behind. Sex was the only thing that eased the agony of his past. Way less painful than spilling his guts in front of a shrink. Not to mention, much more enjoyable. Why wasn’t his homemade remedy working anymore? He used to be able to go several nights between one-night stands.
“Seriously,” Cruz said. “Why’d you dump the blond from radiology?” He scratched his chin. “What was her name? Candy? Suzy?” He slashed a hand through the air. “Doesn’t matter. I worked hard to hook you up.” Cruz’s eyebrows waggled up and down at Jett.
“She may have a fabulous mouth,” Jett said, “but she doesn’t use it for pleasure. Her cell phone rang non-stop throughout dinner. She talked too much. And, she’s called me about every hour since dawn, trashing my voicemail. Apparently, she’d made plans for us clear ‘til the end of the month.” Jett shuddered. “I don’t do clingy. Thank God, I was thinking straight. I left the yapping woman on her doorstep. I’d hate to think how many times she’d be calling right now if I’d actually slept with her.” He exhaled an exaggerated sigh of relief.
Cruz stood and shook his head. Disbelief etched his features. “I can’t believe you didn’t even make it to first base. What’s wrong with you? Losing your edge?” he taunted. “There was a time that wouldn’t have stopped you. You would’ve found a way to shut her up.”
Irritation rising, Jett opened his mouth, but Cruz interrupted before he could speak.
“Wait.” Cruz held up his hand. “We’ll get to the bottom of this after I get back from the can.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Jett traced the condensation on his glass with his fingertip and listened to the hum of conversation echoing off the thickly painted concrete walls.
Cruz was right. He would’ve slept with the yapper anyway. Why was he making excuses? His own brand of therapy—his crusade to forget the things he couldn’t handle—had worked in the beginning. Lately though, the one-night stands he experienced left him dissatisfied and empty.
Hopelessness engulfed him. Jett wouldn’t be going through this mental clusterfuck if his best friend Dan had escaped the warehouse fire alive. Would he be plagued forever by mental replays of losing his best friend? Desperate to feel the familiar rush of adrenaline and anticipation, he’d let Cruz set him up on the blind date. Maybe he should change tactics and spend several nights in a row with the same woman.
How could he find the one who would make him forget?
Jett peeled the silver label off his beer bottle. A whiff of fresh baked cookies reached him. His mouth watered. What the hell was that kind of smell doing in a bar? He scanned the room, but couldn’t discern the source. Less than a foot away, a woman in a short red sundress stood with her back to him. He started a slow perusal from the sexy black heels, up her slim, shapely calves, past the hollow of her knees, over smooth thighs, all the way up to firm, delicate shoulders. Damn. The gauzy fabric of her dress blocked the rest of his view.
He noticed as she rocked back on a heel, and the material swished around her upper leg, teasing him further. A tiny spark flared low in his belly. She was perfect. The mock therapist inside him screamed for a little temporary sedation.
The woman in red shook her head, rustling the chestnut curls that floated down her back to the sweet curve of her ass. From his vantage point, he saw her disengage her hand from some guy’s grasp. She turned away, and walked in the direction of the toilets.
“Roxanne! Come on, baby. Just one dance,” the man whined over the din of music and conversation.
She paused and spun back toward the admirer, affording Jett a clear view of her face. The smile tipping the corners of that luscious mouth didn’t quite reach her large, dark blue eyes.
“Maybe later,” she said, in a tone clearly intended to put off the poor lovesick bastard. Heaven forbid that sort of brush-off should ever happen to Jett. He smirked, amused. As if.
A bit of a challenge, this one, he thought. The missing element he’d been looking for? Hmm.
Those high cheekbones and full painted lips would tempt a dead man. His gaze dropped down her slender neck, along the tight fitting lines of a halter barely restraining a lovely pair of ample breasts. Jett sucked in a breath and released the exhalation in one long whistle.
She was a vision in red, guaranteed to chase away the shroud of depression. As she disappeared around the edge of the bar, he wondered what she would look like when she gave a genuine smile. Even better, he envisioned her sprawled beneath him with rapture etched across her beautiful face, her wild curls spilled across his pillow.
The tiny spark from earlier flared, and blood rushed to his groin. He shifted uncomfortably on the vinyl seat.
Roxanne, was it? Sexy name to go with her come-get-me body. Time to turn on the Avery charm.
The server returned with Cruz’s beer and placed it on the table. His brother slid into the booth, winking at her.
Jett grinned at his twin. An idea germinated. “Hey! Do you remember if this joint still has any music from the band The Police on that old jukebox?”
There was one tune guaranteed to capture the attention of the woman in red.
ROXANNE CARTER DODGED Sam’s hungry hands and entered the bathroom. She refreshed her coral lipstick. Satisfied the rest of her makeup was intact, she returned to her table and scooted into the booth opposite her friend.
“Nothing like getting accosted on the way to bathroom.” She made a face. “Sam is up to his old tricks. He had his hands all over my butt, which puts him i
n the Anatomy category. Ass man, all the way.” She chuckled, feeling glad Sam was neatly tagged and labeled. Now she could move on to more interesting targets.
Ambra grinned. “Makes complete sense. I always see him copping feels. I don’t think he’s ever gotten over the fact you won’t go out with him again. The poor guy has to take his jollies where he can.”
“Oh, God! Don’t remind me of that fiasco. One date with him was one too many.” She slapped her forehead and groaned. “What was I thinking?”
Ambra reached for the plastic stir stick of the Screaming Orgasm in her glass and nibbled on the end. She tilted her head. Her mahogany bob swished, revealing dangly silver earrings. “It was done in the name of scientific research. You made a grand sacrifice for the remaining single women of the world. What subject number was he, anyway? One? Two?” She snickered, and a teasing glint danced in her green eyes. “It doesn’t matter. Quit stalling. Tell me about the latest study subject. Your e-date. What was he like in person, and where will he fit on The Manifesto?”
Roxanne ran a finger along the edge of her margarita glass, capturing a few grains of salt on the tip. She licked the granules. The plan had been so simple––perfect, in fact. Out of a night of butterscotch martinis, chocolate lava cake, and the aroma of nail polish during a girls’ night in, The Great Dating Manifesto had been born. A chance to study the male psyche, to find out what really made men tick. It was a chance Roxanne hadn’t dared pass up. She glanced at her friend. “Sam was study subject number two. And, that’s the last time I let you add names to the list of potential dates. Especially after you’ve had a few martinis.”
Ambra arched a brow.
“Oh, all right. I’ll talk. Can you spell disastrous?” Roxanne expelled a breath. “I swear, I have a new category for The Manifesto—-Deceitful—-and that’s being lady-like.” She punctuated her words with a decidedly unladylike snort. “He seemed so nice online, but he’d spun a web of lies. Not only is he not an accountant, but the picture of himself he’d sent was completely bogus.”
