“Sounds great.”
As long as they kept things all business, Blake would be just fine.
CHAPTER FIVE
Jules smoothed her hands over the front of her fitted white button-down blouse for the fortieth time in an hour, wondering how the hell Serenity had talked her into this. Okay, so she’d admit that the outfit Serenity and their good friend Violet had pulled together last night looked polished and sophisticated, with the now worry-creased blouse belted smartly over a pair of tobacco-colored dress pants and the only set of heels Jules owned. But she felt like an imposter all dressed up like this, and as she made her way down the brightly lit hallway toward the emergency department at Brentsville Hospital, her stomach did a set of aerial backflips.
It had been a week since Blake had scrambled from the break room at Mac’s like his hair was on fire, and despite the dozen and a half cordial emails they’d exchanged about the carnival, Jules still felt like she was his own monogrammed version of the black plague.
Of course you are, dummy. It had felt all too good to believe, just for a second, that she and Blake really weren’t that different, and that maybe, just maybe, his mother had been wrong. But clearly, Blake had intended the words as polite conversation, and she’d jumped to a major erroneous conclusion by taking them to heart, using her girly parts as stepping stones. The fact was, people like her didn’t belong in the world of trust funds and summer homes.
No matter how well they cleaned up for a business meeting.
“Can I help you?” A pretty blond nurse wearing scrubs looked up from her spot at the triage desk, giving Jules a swift head-to-toe. “Are you hurt?”
“Oh, no. I’m actually...” Really bad at this. “I have an appointment.”
“Gotcha. Radiology is down the hall that way, the lab is on the second floor, and gynecology is—”
“No, no,” Jules interrupted, her voice pinching the words. “I mean, I’m here to see Dr. Fisher. About the Carnival For A Cure.”
“Ohhhh.” The woman’s sky blue eyes lit with curiosity. “Well in that case, let’s see if we can find him. I think he’s finishing up with a patient.”
But before the nurse could round the desk, Blake appeared from the bend in the opposite corner, pushing a wheelchair for a pigtailed little girl who couldn’t be a day over eight.
“Okay, Brittany. The bad news is, you won’t be jump-roping again for a while.” He tipped his head at the air cast strapped firmly to the girl’s ankle. “But the good news is, all your bones look perfect. I’m going to give your mom the pictures so she can take them to your regular doctor in three days for a follow-up, but it’s only a sprain. It might hurt for a couple of days, but you’re going to be just fine, kiddo.”
“Thanks, Dr. Blake,” Brittany said with a shy, gap-toothed smile, and Blake gave her a fist-bump before passing off some papers and directions for care to the girl’s mother. He looked so in control and at ease all at the same time, as if taking care of this little girl wasn’t just his job, but what he was meant to do, and Jules’s breath hooked in her throat.
She knew that feeling, because she woke up to it every single day.
Blake turned toward the triage desk where Jules stood, and the second his eyes landed on hers, she knew all business wasn’t on the menu of options.
The fluidity of his movements hitched, but he held her gaze for a long minute before switching it to the blond nurse behind the desk. “Mia, can you do me a favor and take Brittany and her mom to the lobby? They’re all set for discharge. I’ll be down the hall if anyone needs me.” He exchanged one last goodbye with the girl and her mother, and a brief thank you with Mia before running a hand through his already mussed hair.
“Sorry I’m late. It’s been packed in here today,” he said, and how could something so benign make her knees consider forfeiting every last shred of balance?
“That’s okay. You were great with that little girl.” Jules followed him down the double-wide hallway, trying with all her might not to stare at the lean outline of his shoulders beneath his rumpled white coat.
He shrugged, and God, was he trying to make her spontaneously combust with the broad-shoulders thing? “Ah. Simple ankle sprain. Piece of cake.”
A thread of relief poked free from the knot of nerves in her chest, and she latched onto it with both hands. “Funny you should mention that. I don’t know if you’ve had a chance to eat yet, but I brought some breakfast from Mac’s.” Jules lifted the handles of the oversized brown bag she’d had down by her side, and Blake’s sandy brown brows followed suit.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know, but you didn’t get a chance to eat that apple turnover last week at the diner. Plus, it’s after nine.”
His stomach cut off his response with a fierce notice me! kind of rumble, and it took all Jules had not to flinch from the desire to feed him.
“Far be it for me to skip the most important meal of the day,” Blake laughed, pushing the door open to a small, windowless office. “Come on in.”
Jules took in the slight nine-by-nine space, complete with its stark white walls, cookie-cutter office furniture, and tidily vacuumed gray carpet. “They say a neat office is a sign of a sick mind, you know,” she said, placing the bag over the desk to unpack its contents.
“If it were mine, I might be worried. This is actually a room the emergency department uses for various small meetings. Less interruptions than in the staff lounge, but not as much pretense as one of the board rooms upstairs. Hey, is that a cinnamon roll?”
She took a quick inhale of the spicy-sweet pastry before liberating it from the bag and handing it over. “God, you really do still have that sweet tooth, huh?”
“The only thing better than one of these for breakfast is that crazy-good French toast you make with the jam and the cream cheese inside. I swear that stuff should be labeled as a narcotic.”
Her head snapped up, a strand of hair bouncing free from the sleek twist she’d tried desperately to pin into submission this morning. “You remember that?”
“Are you kidding? I still dream about it at night.” Blake settled into the flat-cushioned chair next to hers, kicking his long, scrubs-clad legs out in front of him with a grin. “I bet it’s the most popular dish at Mac’s.”
“It’s not on the menu, actually. I haven’t made it since… ah. In a long time.” Jules took out a bottle of cranberry juice and cracked it open, mostly to have something to focus on other than her egregious lack of brain-to-mouth filter and the total surprise on Blake’s stubble-laden face.
“Oh.” He dropped his attention to the cinnamon roll in front of him as if it were suddenly riveting. “Well, thanks for breakfast.”
“Sure.” Jules pulled a sweet cornbread muffin from the bag for herself, and they ate for a few moments in silence punctuated only by Blake’s praise for the cinnamon roll. When his breakfast was more gone than not, he slowed enough to get down to business.
“Here’s a list of volunteers who are willing to work in the food tent on the day of the event. We also got the final approval on setting up a few smaller tents for refreshments in the other three corners of the Commons. It’ll likely be hot out on the day of the carnival. Having lots of places for people to get water especially is important.”
“We can ask some of the volunteers to move through the crowd and hand out water bottles, along with keeping the smaller tents well-stocked.” Jules flipped her notebook open over one knee, taking a sip of juice before jotting down a few notes.
“Great idea.” Blake leaned in, eyes on the page. “What else did you have in mind for those other tents?”
They traded information back and forth, finalizing some ideas they’d already mapped out and coming up with even more fresh ones. The conversation flowed so well that Jules easily got caught up in the thrill of the plan, covering page after page in her notebook to take back with her to Mac’s.
“I’ve never seen anybody use longhand to plan an e
vent this involved before,” Blake said, indicating to her tattered, canvas-bound collection of ideas. “Wouldn’t it be easier on a laptop?”
Jules silently cursed the redheaded coloring that was certainly outlining the sudden prickle on her cheeks. “I’ve always done it this way, ever since I knew I wanted to feed people.”
Even then, sometimes in the beginning a new notebook had needed to wait until her next payday, leaving her to cobble together notes on borrowed scraps and paper napkins. Jules flattened both palms over the threadbare notebook, but Blake was quick to cover her hands with one of his own.
“I didn’t mean it in a bad way. It’s just that you’re so organized. How long have you been working at Mac’s?”
“Oh.” His lack of judgment guided the words right out of her mouth. “Since Serenity bought the place a little over four years ago. She rebuilt it with her mom.”
“Right, right.” Blake shifted his arm to a casual lean over the back of his chair. “Didn’t it used to be some artery-clogging dive? Chicken Something? The Chicken Hut?”
“The Chicken Shack,” Jules corrected on a chuckle. “But I think dive is a bit generous. Serenity pretty much rebuilt the place from the bricks up. She hired me at about the halfway point, but I can tell you the project was definitely a labor of love.”
“So you’ve been there since the beginning, huh? That’s a lot of apple turnovers.”
“Yeah.” As the one who did the inventory and ordering, Jules could probably come damned close to pegging how many if she stopped to add it up. “We’re all more like family than co-workers though. I didn’t have any experience before working at Mac’s, so I’m really lucky Serenity took a flyer on giving me the job.”
“I don’t know. To be honest, it seems like you’re kind of made for it.”
“You’re getting a little deep over there. You sure that’s Dr. Fisher and not Dr. Freud?” Jules laughed, but to her surprise, Blake didn’t back down.
“Listen up, smartass. All I’m saying is you’re clearly a good fit. The way you organize everything is actually remarkable.”
Wait…“It is?”
“Absolutely. I wouldn’t have the first clue how to manage the hands-on part of the catering for this carnival, and you can do it without a second thought. Not to mention you came up with the idea for the bachelor and bachelorette auction.”
“Well, yeah, but you’re taking care of all the details. All I did was make a suggestion.”
“A great suggestion,” he corrected, and whoa, had his eyes always been so serious and so green? “Don’t be so loath to take credit. You’re really good at your job, Jules.”
A tiny smile hitched at the edges of her mouth, and it tasted dangerously good. “Thank you, but I’m not the only one. That little girl must’ve been scared when she came in today. I know you think it was easy, but you took great care of her.”
“Guess we make a pretty good team,” Blake said, his eyes crinkling at the edges just enough to make her shift toward him involuntarily.
Oh God, this was a bad idea. A really bad idea, one with piercing green eyes and a mouth way too close to hers. “Blake, I—”
A sharp knock on the door lodged the rest of Jules’s words in her throat, and she slid her chair back to its original spot as he leveled a brisk come in at the interruption.
“Dr. Fisher.” The man in front of them filled the doorway, his gym-toned body glaringly obvious even in his baggy scrubs. “Mia said you were looking for me?”
The doctor took an uninvited step into the room, his too-blue-to-be-real eyes screeching to a halt as they swept over the spot where Jules sat, now primly cross-legged at the desk and cursing herself into next week.
“I’m sorry, I’m interrupting.” In an instant, Mr. GQ’s demeanor did a complete walkabout, and he gave up a smile worthy of a toothpaste commercial during prime time.
“No problem.” Blake’s spine straightened to its most rigid setting against the back of his chair. “This is Julianna Shaw. She’s in charge of the catering for the Carnival For A Cure. Jules, this is Dr. Cross.”
“Garrett,” he said, stepping in with another dazzler and a lingering handshake, and wow, was this guy for real?
“It’s nice to meet you, Garrett.” She tried on a smile, and yup. It still worked. And well, apparently, because Dr. Cross didn’t budge from his spot in front of the desk.
“The pleasure’s mine, I can assure you.”
“Okay,” Blake said, the word strung tighter than the percussion section in a marching band, and Garrett shifted his attention back in Blake’s direction. “I don’t want to keep you, Dr. Cross. I just needed to know if you’re in for the bachelor auction at the carnival.”
Garrett paused, and Jules tried not to choke on the cloud of uncut testosterone filling the small room. “With ladies like Ms. Shaw planning to be in attendance, how can I say no?”
“Great.” Blake delivered the word with all the enthusiasm of someone who had just been served with a tax audit. “I’ll go ahead and put you on the list.”
“Looking forward to it.”
Garrett tossed a quick wink in Jules’s direction before making his exit, and she swiveled her gaze at Blake, brows upturned.
“Are you okay? Or do you need a second to beat on your chest to get the rest of it out of your system?”
Blake’s sandy brown lashes went wide as he returned her surprised laugh, the tension of a few minutes ago gone. “Oh, come on! Don’t tell me you actually fell for that pseudo-charming bullshit? The guy is a territorial asshat.”
“Why Blake Fisher,” Jules drawled, leaning forward in her chair to nudge his knee with her own. “Is that a bit of professional jealousy I detect in your voice?”
“Please,” he scoffed, nudging her right back. “There’s nothing professional about it. Cross can’t even hit on you properly.”
Jules came dangerously close to snorting. “What, is there some sort of man credo for that stuff? What’s the proper way to hit on a woman?”
But the second the sarcastic question breached the confines of her lips, she wanted it back, because Blake shifted his weight to deliver the full force of his smoky green stare. “You have to be sincere about it. It’s not enough to tell a woman she’s beautiful, even if she is.” He coasted his fingers over her forearm, and the move sent sparks all the way to her shoulder even through the barrier of her sleeve.
“So what are you supposed to tell her, then?” Jules’s voice came out thick and velvety, like honey from a jar, and even though her protective instinct told her to look away, something deep beneath the surface guided her closer.
“You’re supposed to say that she’s exquisite.” Blake’s hand followed the trail of heat blazing up her arm until he reached the collar of her shirt, rubbing the material against her skin with just enough friction to make her breath hitch. “And stubborn and pure and strong.”
He pressed forward, his lips just shy of hers as he cupped her face in a set of firm, capable hands.
“You’re supposed to tell her that you’ve wanted her for eight long years, and you’re done waiting.”
#
Even though he knew it was reckless as hell, Blake lowered his mouth over Jules’s in one fluid sweep. The heady taste of her surprise swirled hot on his tongue, and suddenly, reckless became the word of the day.
Christ, this woman was an addiction. The more Blake was around her, the harder she pushed at his seams, daring him outside the lines with her throaty words and tough demeanor.
And the harder she pushed, the more he wanted to have her.
Sliding his fingers into her hair, Blake deepened the kiss even more, re-learning the nuances of her mouth as his hands found the pins holding her curls captive in their tidy, professional twist.
“You are so hot dressed up like this.” The streak of want that had rolled down his spine when he first saw her standing at the triage desk in that sheer white blouse and three-inch heels made a repeat performance, be
coming more insistent as it shot through him again. In an instant, the pins hit the floor, her flame-colored hair uncoiling in a riot over both of their faces as she kissed him back with equal measure.
“Really?” Jules wrapped her arms around his neck, rising with him as he stood from his chair to gain better access to her body.
“Yes. All this propriety makes me want to undo you, piece by piece.”
The glint in her eyes was unmistakable, and it burned a direct path to his cock as she said, “Then do it. I’m not big on propriety anyway.”
Her mouth returned to his, hot and greedy as she kissed him hard enough to make him groan. Led by nothing but impulse, Blake reached down low over Jules’s hips, reveling in the swell of her perfect ass for a long, lust-blown second before pulling her off her feet. Her legs knotted tightly around his waist, the heat between her thighs hitting him in the exact spot that begged to be inside her, and holy shit. He’d never wanted a woman—not even this woman—so badly in his entire thirty years.
And he was done waiting to have her.
“Jesus, you are gorgeous.” Blake swept an arm blindly over the desk behind their entangled bodies, lowering Jules to the polished wood before moving his hands over the line of tiny buttons on her shirt. He pressed his lips to the delicate hinge of her jaw, smiling into her skin as her breath unwound in a sigh.
“Oh, God, Blake,” Jules murmured, arching her body toward his chest, trapping his hands between them with urgency. Her nipples were tight peaks against the hint of lace beneath her shirt, and oh yeah. He was going to taste each one until she screamed. “Please touch me. Right now.”
Blake rumbled out a low chuckle, pausing from his ministrations to run a thumb over one nipple through the fabric still in his way. “I’m trying, sweetheart, but your shirt is killing me.” Honestly, how many buttons did one blouse need?
“Not as much as you’re killing me.” Jules lowered her hand to the snug space where their hips notched together, fitting her fingers over his rock-hard length, and oh fuck. He was going to die right here in this room.
Outside The Lines Page 5
