by Janice Lynn
She wasn’t happy about agreeing to go but at least she’d said yes and that was a start. He’d take whatever crumbs she tossed his way until he convinced her he had seriously missed her.
Clinging to the fact that he was having dinner with her, he smiled. “You need my number in case you get stuck working late?”
“No, Dr. Lane.” Deep furrows cut into her forehead with her glare. “I figured out your number a long time ago.”
* * *
Brielle was late arriving to Julian’s, but she didn’t call or text Ross to let him know. Despite her claim, she didn’t have his number, not his cellular phone number at any rate.
Sheer stubbornness had prevented her from taking it earlier when he’d offered. That and her need to put him in his place even if it had only been a short-lived balm on the mega-blows he had delivered her way.
Maybe he’d have left already.
No such luck. She paused in the entrance of the restaurant, easily spotting where he sat in a back booth. A waitress stood next to the table, her pretty face bright with interest in whatever Ross was saying, her gaze eating him up.
Some things never changed.
Not that Brielle blamed the young girl. There was no denying that he was a beautiful man. He was. Yet Ross’s appeal went so much further than the deep blue of his eyes, the coal-black allure of his soft, thick hair, the strong lines of his tanned face, the width of his broad shoulders or the taper of his narrow hips. His appeal came from the sharp intelligence that quickly became apparent when in his presence, from the witty humor that was always just beneath the surface, the charm that bubbled over without him even trying, the smile that dug dimples into his cheeks and made a woman need to smile back.
Based on the waitress’s high-pitched laughter and flushed cheeks, Brielle guessed Ross’s charm was bubbling. Although he was probably just being friendly, the sight brought her back to when she’d gone to Boston.
Just as now, he hadn’t known she was there, watching him. What had been the point? He’d told her he wanted nothing else to do with her. He’d meant his words when he’d told her he was done. Some crazy part of her had clung to the belief that he’d realize he made a mistake, that they were good together, meant to be together always and for ever. Seeing him kiss the blonde when she’d still thought of him as hers had driven his words home as perhaps nothing else could have.
She’d fled heartbroken, pregnant, and uncertain about her future.
Perhaps she should have told him about her pregnancy anyway, but she hadn’t been thinking clearly, had only wanted to get far away.
Later, when her emotions had settled somewhat, she’d made the decision to take him at his word, to let him have the life he’d said he wanted and had chosen over her.
Ross had no idea he had a son.
Or did he?
Nausea hit her. Hard. The room spun. Clamminess coated her skin with hot moisture. She dropped onto a bench meant for waiting customers. Wave after wave of fear slammed into her and she thought she was going to throw up.
“Brielle? Are you okay?” Concern poured from Ross, his expression worried and his voice gentle.
She blinked at him, shocked to see him so close. Obviously he’d noticed her and had left the table to check on her. He sat on the bench next to her, his hand on her face as if checking for a fever.
“Brielle?” he repeated, but she couldn’t speak, couldn’t respond other than to stare at him.
Had Ross come to Bean’s Creek to claim his son?
CHAPTER THREE
HIS HEART POUNDING, Ross put his hand on Brielle’s forehead. Red stained her cheeks, but otherwise her face was devoid of color. Although it wasn’t overly warm, dampness clung to her pale skin.
“Honey, are you all right?” He shook her shoulder lightly, trying to get her to snap out of whatever had hold of her. Not once when he’d imagined finally feeling her skin against his again had he imagined it like this.
Face pinched with pain, she shook her head in denial.
What the hell was wrong with her? Why wouldn’t she look at him?
“Brielle?”
Her body trembled within his grasp, making him want to take her into his arms and make whatever was wrong better.
Fine hairs along his neck prickled. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on so I can help you.”
She closed her eyes, swallowed then took a ragged breath.
“I need to get out of here,” she mumbled, so low he barely made out what she said. “I don’t feel well.”
“Sir, is everything okay?” the hostess asked, the young girl’s wide eyes glued to where Brielle dropped her head to between her knees.
“My friend isn’t feeling well. Which unfortunately means we won’t be staying.” He pulled out his wallet, handed the girl a twenty. “Please give that to our waitress to cover my drink and her trouble.”
His gaze went back to Brielle. She still leaned forward, rocked slightly back and forth.
“Let’s go, honey.” He helped her sit up, but one glance at her ashen face was more than enough to prompt him to make a quick decision.
He scooped her into his arms, waited while the hostess opened the restaurant door, and then carried her to his car, with her protesting the entire time that she could walk.
“Can you stand long enough for me to open the door?”
Still trembling, she nodded against his chest. “Put me down. I’m so embarrassed.”
She felt good in his arms. What kind of cad was he anyway to notice how good she felt against him when she was ill? Still, he wanted nothing more than to keep holding her, to keep breathing in the scent that was uniquely hers. To keep feeling her warm body against his.
He’d missed her so much.
More than he’d admitted even to himself until that very moment.
“I said put me down,” she said, with more gusto than he would have thought possible based on how pale she’d looked inside the restaurant. “You should never have picked me up like that!”
He didn’t point out that she’d looked too weak to stand. Now didn’t seem the time to start an argument. Instead, he gently put her on her feet, keeping his hand on her, ready to steady her if she swayed, ready to sweep her back into his arms if she stumbled.
He unlocked his door, helped her into his passenger seat, then got into the driver’s side of the car. Rather than start the engine, he turned to her, watched her stare straight ahead, wishing he could know what was running through her head.
“You okay?” Crazy question when she obviously wasn’t, but he didn’t know what else to say to break the silence stretching between them.
“Fine. Couldn’t be better.” Sarcasm didn’t become her, but her color was beginning to look a little brighter, not so ghostly.
“What’s going on? You coming down with something?”
“I’m not ill, just embarrassed at the spectacle we just made.”
She attempted to make light of his question, but he’d have to be a fool not to realize her laugh was forced.
“Nothing contagious, at any rate,” she continued, still staring straight out the window.
He stared at her miserable profile, at how her shoulders sagged, at how her hand rested on her abdomen, and a possible explanation of her symptoms, of her rejection of him, hit so hard that he thought he might be ill, too.
Acid burned the back of his throat, searing him straight through.
“You’re pregnant?” He hated the words, hated asking, but he had to know. Had to know if he was too late. If he’d stayed in denial of his feelings for too long, let someone else move in and steal Brielle’s heart. Claim her body.
Her jaw fell. She turned to him, her eyes round and her expression aghast. “No,” she denied so forcefully he couldn’t doubt h
er. “I’m not pregnant. Why would you think that?”
“Because you were nauseated and looked like you were going to pass out.” Relief washed through Ross but didn’t fully ease his suspicions. “You’re holding your stomach.” He grimaced, wanting to hold his own nauseated stomach. “You’re sure you aren’t pregnant?”
Her hand fell to her side. She closed her eyes and laughed, though it sounded bitter-sweet. “I’m not pregnant.”
Something about her answer struck him as odd, as not quite the whole story. “How can you be positive?”
“I’m not pregnant. Let’s leave it at that.” Sarcasm bit into her words.
“Maybe you are and don’t know it.” Why he persisted he wasn’t sure. Maybe because the thought that she might be bothered him so greatly that he wanted to be one hundred per cent certain that she wasn’t.
“I am not pregnant. End of story.” She blew out an exasperated breath, dropped her head against his dashboard and rolled it back and forth slowly, before sitting back up to stare blankly ahead. “Men are so dense.”
Wondering at her actions, he frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that you were oblivious when you should have...” She trailed off, closed her eyes and put her hand to her head, wincing as if in pain again.
“Headache?” he guessed, wondering why breathing suddenly felt easier at her assurance she wasn’t pregnant, wondering at her comment and wishing she’d finished it.
She nodded. “I think one is coming on. If you’ll take me somewhere to where I can lie down for a minute, I’m sure it’ll pass.”
She was looking pale again and as if she’d like to bring up anything in her stomach. “You need a bag or something to barf in?”
“Very technical term there, Dr. Lane, and, no, I don’t need a barf bag. I haven’t eaten anything since early this morning.”
Why hadn’t she eaten? Sure, they had been busy at the hospital, but she was supposed to have had a lunch-break. How had he not noticed that she hadn’t taken one?
“That’s probably why you feel so poorly and is likely what triggered your headache. Hypoglycemia is serious business, Brielle. You shouldn’t play around with your health. You know better.”
Eyes closed, face squished, she shook her head and pointed towards the road. “It’s not hypoglycemia. My blood sugar is fine. I’m fine. Just drive.”
Ross wasn’t sure where he was supposed to take her, but a place to lie down was a requirement he didn’t have a lot of choices on. He took her to the furnished apartment he’d leased for the three months he’d be in Bean’s Creek.
Despite her protests that she was fine to walk, he carried her inside, laid her on his sofa, pulled her tennis shoes off and propped her feet on one of the throw pillows that had come with the apartment.
“I’ll be back in just a minute,” he promised. “Don’t move.”
Eyes closed, she grunted in acknowledgement of his comment. He fetched a glass of orange juice and a couple of tablets to knock out her pain.
“I don’t recall you having issues with headaches. How often do you get these?” he asked when she’d settled back on the sofa. He placed a cold, damp cloth on her forehead and stroked loose hairs away from her face.
“Almost never.” Hating that his touch felt so good, Brielle closed her eyes, willed her body not to respond to the gentle strokes of his fingers brushing over her face, her hair.
“Sometimes hormonal changes can trigger headaches.”
“Stop it, Ross. I am not pregnant,” she repeated, enunciating each word with emphasis.
Really, could the situation be any more ironic? When she’d been pregnant with his child, he’d failed to notice the changes to her routine, to her body. Tonight, when she’d merely felt ill, he’d immediately jumped to that conclusion. Men.
“Are you dating anyone, Brielle?”
Grateful that her eyes were closed and he couldn’t read the truth in her eyes, she held her tongue in check.
“I suppose you’re not answering because you think the answer isn’t any of my business. Maybe you’re right that it’s not. But what you do feels as if it’s my business.” He sighed and it sounded so weary that she opened her eyes, her gaze instantly colliding with his intense blue one.
“I want what you do to be my business, Brielle.”
His admission surprised her.
“Tell me how to make that happen.”
Oh, how sweetly seductive his words were to her heart and yet... “Because you’re here, I’m here, and you have three months to kill?”
“I’m here because of you,” he owned up, his gaze not wavering from hers. “You have to know you’re why I’m here. The only reason I’m here.”
She knew that. On some level she had known. Yet her heart did a jiggly dance in her chest all the same.
“I sought you out, took this job just to be near you, and my sole purpose for being in Bean’s Creek is you.”
Thud. Thud. Thud. Her heart pounded against her ribs. “Why?”
“You know why.”
He was wrong. She didn’t know.
“Sex?” she guessed. Their chemistry seemed to zap as strongly as ever, promising just as volcanic a ride. They’d had a great sex life. A great life period, but physically they’d have won Olympic gold once upon a time. If she were honest with herself, she’d admit that she couldn’t be near him without wanting to rip his clothes off, without wanting to touch him and re-familiarize herself with every aspect of his body.
“If all I wanted was sex, I wouldn’t have had to leave Boston.”
That she didn’t doubt. Of course a gorgeous successful doctor with his looks, charm, and sex appeal would have women falling at his feet. No doubt he’d had many women during the time they’d been apart. Her heart clenched into a tight, painful ball.
“I want you.”
“You want sex with me?”
“Not just sex.” He paused, looked torn. “At least, I don’t think so.” He ran his fingers through his hair then squatted down next to the sofa, met her gaze with his usual confidence. “I want you, Brielle. I want you to look at me the way you used to look at me. I want you to beg me to make love to you over and over until we both collapse in exhaustion and then I want you to tell me you want me again.”
Barely breathing, she shook her head. “Impossible. You can’t have that. Those feelings are gone.”
Yet even as she said the words the urge to beg him to do all those things drummed louder and louder through her head. Lord help her, she wanted that sweet exhaustion he spoke of, that sweet exhaustion she knew he had the power to deliver.
“Are they?” He traced his finger over her lips as if to pound home his question. “I think the attraction is as strong as ever between us.”
That she couldn’t deny. Just his lightest touch had her entire body tingling as if every cell had suddenly woken up after a long hibernation.
“That’s just physical.” Please, let it just be physical. “I’m a grown woman now and know better than acting on just physical.”
Hadn’t she learned that lesson? He’d been a good teacher. So why did recalling all the other things he’d taught her seem so much easier at the moment?
“There was a lot more than just physical between us.”
“Was there?” she asked perversely. “I remember things differently.”
His gaze settled on her mouth. His finger toyed with her lower lip, barely grazing the inner moisture of her mouth. “Tell me what you remember, Brielle. Tell me you remember how your body came alive when I kissed you, how you responded to my slightest touch.” He lifted his finger to his mouth, supped off the taste of her lips. “Tell me you want me to kiss you right now because I see how your pulse is racing, how your breathing is ragged, and how your eyes are
eating me up.”
“I don’t want you to kiss me.” She closed her eyes and held her breath, but she couldn’t do a thing about her crazy racing pulse. “Even if I did, all you’ve done is proved my point. Physical. Physical. Physical. Nothing more.”
Ross laughed. A sweet, relaxed, real laugh that sounded so familiar to her aching heart that everything in her went a little haywire.
Or maybe it was the light sweep of his mouth over hers that caused everything to go haywire.
“You taste of heaven, Brielle,” he whispered against her lips. “Sweet, sweet heaven.”
If she tasted of heaven, then he tasted of hell.
His lips were full, sure, full of temptation, hot.
Every cell in her body buzzed alive as if a direct connection had been made to where his lips met hers and he’d taken control of her nerve endings and demanded they deliver ultimate pleasure.
When he pushed his tongue into her mouth, for the briefest moment she considered biting him. But what purpose would that serve? If she wanted him to stop, she’d have stopped him. Instead, she’d parted her lips, let him have his blasted way.
He was right. She wanted this kiss. Had wanted his kiss from the first moment she’d spotted him in the emergency room on his first day at Bean’s Creek.
Who was she kidding?
She’d never stopped wanting him. Not from their very first kiss years ago.
It’s only curiosity, she assured herself as she opened her mouth to his exploration. She just wanted to know if his kisses still set her on fire, if he still pushed her body beyond pleasure and into ecstasy.
The sensual movement of his mouth over hers assured that he did. And more.
His hands threaded into her hair. His fingers caressed her scalp, holding her to him. His touch was gentle, not forcing the embrace, allowing her the freedom to stop him if she desired. He was probably gloating that she wasn’t, that she was so weak that the first time they were alone she was flat on her back, making love to him with her mouth.
Then again, one could argue that it was his mouth loving hers.
