A Doctor's Watch

by Taylor, Vickie

  Regretfully, she eased her hand from beneath Ty’s. “I think I’ll just lie down a little while. Maybe a nap will settle my stomach.”

  She stood and he rose alongside her, wiping his hands on the thighs of his jeans. “Sure, you can take the bedroom.”

  “No, it’s too early to call it a night. I want to check in with the sheriff’s office later, see if they’ve got any new leads on Todd. Besides, you’d be hanging over both ends of that couch. I’ll sleep out here tonight.”

  If he had any chivalrous ideas of coercing her to take the bed, he kept them to himself. But he did bring her a pillow and a soft, fleecy blanket. When he tucked the cover under her chin and told her “Sweet dreams,” her heart swelled with longing to touch the curve of his lips with her fingertips, to trace the stubbled line of his chin.

  Instead she closed her eyes and curled her fingers in the blanket, but the memory of his face, so close to hers, his breath, maple-syrup sweet, fanning her cheeks, stayed in her mind long into sleep.

  When she woke, the lights were dimmed, but she could see that the dishes were done and put away, the books and papers had been stacked neatly in a corner, and soft music rolled from a CD player on the table by the door. It was an acoustic guitar piece, instrumental only, slow and soothing.

  She wiped the sleep from her eyes and got up, absently picked up the CD case to see who the artist was, and heard Ty’s murmuring voice coming from the bedroom. He sat facing away from her on the navy-blue comforter that covered his bed, his shirt and shoes off, his cell phone to his ear.

  “That’s bull, Chuck,” he said. Chuck? That was his friend in the sheriff’s office’s name, if she remembered right. She leaned against the doorjamb, afraid to breathe. Had they gotten some news on Todd?

  Ty shook his head as if his friend on the phone could see him. “If the D.A. had a case, circumstantial or otherwise, he’d file charges.”

  There was a pause while Ty listened.

  “Yeah, what was all that crap on TV about ‘sources in the sheriff’s office,’ anyway?” Pause. “Has it occurred to you that they’re leaking the information just to incriminate Mia in the press? They’re making noise to cover their asses because they have no idea what happened to her son.”

  Longer pause. Ty pinched the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t say that.” He listened. “I didn’t say I don’t believe her, either.”

  Mia inhaled sharply. Ty heard her and twisted around to see her. His face darkened. “Just keep me informed if you hear anything. I gotta go.”

  He flipped the phone shut. “Mia.”

  “It’s all right.” She preempted whatever he was going to say. Whatever explanation he might make. “It’s not like I didn’t realize you still don’t believe me.”

  “I’m not sure what to believe, Mia. I’ve never lied to you about that.”

  She cocked her head to one side, the ache in her chest easing a bit. “What surprises me is that you’re still helping me, even though you aren’t sure.”

  He got up and walked to stand directly in front of her. He stared at her, and the intensity of his scrutiny made her realize she must look a mess with her hair all tousled from sleep and her clothes wrinkled. Self-consciously she raised a hand to straighten the collar of her blouse and he took it, lowered it.

  “Yeah,” he said, his voice husky as he pushed past her into the other room. “Surprises me, too, sometimes.”

  Ty paced the length of his living room—about four steps—and back again.

  Damn, he had to get over this thing with Mia, and he had to do it fast. Like before she ran out of hot water and stepped out of his shower.

  Maybe she had been right about this being a bad idea, though the biggest problem had nothing to do with Karl, and everything to do with the fact that sharing a tiny apartment was too…intimate. He was too close to her, too aware of all the little details of life, like how amazing she looked, all soft and rumpled from sleep, her hair falling over her eyes and her shirt pulled far enough over one shoulder that he could see the elegant curve of her collarbone.

  Yes, this was definitely a bad idea, but what could he do about it? He could take her to a hotel, but that would be worse. He couldn’t leave her alone, not right now. She didn’t have anyone else.

  Neither did he, a little voice in his head said. Not anyone like Mia. Maybe he never would.

  The way she’d reacted to overhearing him say he didn’t believe her had surprised him. She hadn’t broken down, hadn’t cried, hadn’t protested her innocence. She’d simply accepted. She’d even had enough perspective on the situation to see it from a point of view other than her own and realize the contradiction in his behavior. Definitely not typical mental-patient behavior. More like a sure sign that she was stronger than everyone thought. Maybe even stronger than she thought.

  And that was what tied him in knots.

  The drumming of the shower quit, and with it, Ty’s time ran out. No doubt in another life he’d do whatever it took to make Mia a permanent fixture in his life and his bed.

  Unfortunately, he was stuck in this life. And Mia Serrat was unreachable. Untouchable, at least by him.

  Fortifying himself with a deep breath, he picked up the T-shirt and sweatpants he’d pulled out of his dresser a few minutes ago and went to the bathroom door, ready to hand them to her and then lock himself in his room for the night. Alone.

  What he wasn’t ready for was the sight of her wearing nothing but a towel, her hair piled on top of her head in some sort of self-knotting twist, her bare shoulders moist and glowing from the heat of the shower.

  His throat went dry and his legs turned to cast iron. He couldn’t move them.

  She almost ran into him before she saw him in the doorway. They stood toe to toe, so close he could feel the heat rising from her skin. So close he could see the same heat in her eyes. Eyes that were locked on him.

  She found the strength to pull her gaze away first, and with the broken—or at least loosened—connection between them, he found his voice. “I, uh, brought you something to wear. They’re clean.” He lifted the shirt to his nose and sniffed. “I think.”

  She smiled and took the bundle from his arms, but neither of them moved.

  “I want to believe you,” he finally said, breaking a long silence, and had no idea where the words had come from, even though he recognized them as the truth. He hadn’t consciously decided to admit that to her.

  “Shh,” she said, and put a finger to his lips. “Don’t.”

  Her finger was rose-petal soft on his mouth, and he wanted to pull it inside, devour it, taste it. Taste her. Instead he shifted just a little, just enough to brush the pad a little harder. A whisper of a kiss.

  She swayed with the sensation, bringing her closer, and lowered her hand slowly. They were almost touching. If she raised up just a little, or if he lowered his head, he could have a real kiss. The need was so strong that it coiled inside him, twisted like a fist around his gut.

  He wasn’t sure who moved, who gave in to the temptation first, but a moment later they were pressed hip to hip, chest to chest, lips to lips. She was as sweet as he’d dreamed she would be. Not candy-store sugary sweet, but heady, like a deep red wine, and just as potent. His head started to spin and he couldn’t get enough of her. He wrapped himself around her, legs, arms, and took the kiss deeper.

  She framed his face with her hands and took back as much as she gave. She made a sound low in her throat and he felt the knot on the towel give way between them. Only the crush of their bodies held it in place, and he took advantage of the droop of the terry behind her back to skim his hands across her shoulder blades, up and down her spine. Her skin was as smooth as a baby’s, and every spot he touched trembled beneath his fingertips.

  Her hands moved from his face to his waist, skimmed around the top of his jeans, and his own muscles fluttered in response. It was as if her hands were electricity and he was a live wire. Her touch flowed through him as much as over him.

/>   He moaned, liking the sensation. Liking it way too much. Finally he had to come up for air, and with the return of oxygen to his brain came the return of reason.

  He buried his face against the crook of her neck, felt her pulse spurt beneath his lips and nearly lost his resolve. Again.

  “Aw, Mia.” He held her close, not ready to let her go, yet knowing he would have to. Soon. “We can’t.”

  Chapter 14

  Mia plummeted from the heights of passion to the depths of despair in less than the span of a heartbeat. It felt so good in his arms. So warm, so comfortable, so…right.

  And so wrong.

  The cool air that brushed her damp skin with its chill fingers as he pulled himself away felt cold. Lonely.

  Her towel slipped and she caught it embarrassingly low with one arm across her chest. The ends flapped open behind her.

  “You’re right. Of course,” she mumbled, wiping her damp hair back from her face. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  He shoved his fingers in the pockets of his jeans. “I don’t think either of us were thinking. That’s the point.”

  “How could I have…almost…with Todd missing? God, what kind of mother am I?”

  He caught her by her shoulders as she tried to brush past. To get away from him, from the accusation she was afraid she’d see in his eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”

  She turned, silently questioning.

  “We’re both worried about Todd. But there is nothing either one of us can do for him right now. All we can do is wait and have faith. At least until we have something more to go on.”

  “There has to be something I can do.”

  His grip on her shoulders tightened. His hands were warm and her bare skin tingled beneath his touch.

  “There’s not,” he said.

  She looked up at him through her lashes, trying to gauge his sincerity. “Then why did you…stop?”

  “I’m sorry.” He drew a deep breath. “I just can’t.”

  The fact that she’d just been rejected finally penetrated her sluggish mind. “Can’t, can’t? Or won’t, can’t?”

  “Can’t is can’t.”

  “And won’t is won’t. There is a big difference between the two.”

  “Mia, you’re my patient.”

  “Not any longer.”

  “That’s debatable.” He dragged his hand through his hair, making it stick up in all directions. He jolted a little, as if he’d gotten a static shock, and his gaze lingered over her shoulder.

  Belatedly she realized he was probably getting a fine view of her ass in the vanity mirror and reached her free hand around to try to pull the ends of the towel together. After a moment of flailing behind her, she thought the hell with it and let the towel go altogether.

  She didn’t get the reaction she’d hoped for. He was more prepared this time. Slowly he bent over and picked up the clothes she’d dropped somewhere in the middle of his kiss and held them out to her.

  His gaze fixed firmly on her face, he said. “It’s not me you want, Mia. It’s a warm body to hold. Safety. Security.”

  Now that made her mad. “Stop analyzing me, Doc.”

  He didn’t respond, so she snatched the clothes from him and tugged them on just for something to do. Anything but look at him. Anything but think about him.

  He turned and walked away, and she followed him, still stewing, and stumbled over the left leg of the sweatpants that she was still trying to pull on. He stopped at the refrigerator, pulled out a beer and snapped off the top, then sat on the couch.

  She followed and sat in the chair by the window, composing her thoughts. “Have you ever been married, Ty?”

  “No.” He took a swig of beer.

  She nodded seriously. “I guess you’re a virgin, then. That’s the problem.”

  He choked. “Hardly.”

  “You’ve been desperately in love with every woman you slept with?”

  The way she had been, was, with Sam.

  She pushed that thought aside. She would love Sam forever, but this wasn’t about him. It hadn’t been about Sam for a long time.

  She had his interest; she could see that in his eyes, the way he spun the bottle in the palm of one hand.

  “Did you want to marry every one of your lovers? Raise babies with them and grow gray hair with them?”

  Of course he hadn’t.

  “Make your point,” he said.

  “The point is,” she said carefully. “Sometimes a warm body is enough. And if you get a little safety and security in the deal, so much the better.”

  He narrowed his eyes.

  “If you don’t want me, all I ask is that you say so. Don’t hide behind excuses, lie about it because you think I can’t take the truth.”

  He set his beer on the coffee table and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Honey, if I told you I didn’t want you…that would be the lie.”

  Warmth pooled in her chest like hot wax around the wick of a burning candle. He rose and held his hand out to her. She rose and took it. “Where are we going?”

  “To the one place we’ve both wanted to be since the moment we met.” Flames kindled in the dark depths of his eyes. “To bed.”

  Ty stood face-to-face with Mia beside his bed and stripped the T-shirt he’d given her only a few minutes ago over her head. He lifted one perfect, rose-tipped breast in his palm and studied it like a man who had never seen a woman before.

  He’d never seen a woman like Mia before, as beautiful inside as she was out.

  He dipped his head and tongued her nipple, savoring his first taste. “You’re going to hate me in the morning.”

  “No.”

  “Next week, then, or next year.”

  “Never.”

  He moved his head to her right side and swirled his tongue around the flat nipple, raising it to a tight peak. “Fine. I’ll just hate myself, then.”

  She laughed. “That I could give you some pointers on.” Her hands channeled through his hair, holding his head close. Not that he needed holding. He wasn’t going anywhere.

  Her head tipped back and all that gorgeous, thick hair of hers flowed down her back, over his hands. He wrapped it around his fist and raised his head to capture her mouth. She was as sweet as he remembered. Sweet and intoxicating.

  Her palms roamed restlessly over his back, down to the waistband of his jeans and up to his shoulders. Her nails skimmed his sensitized skin, feeding the fire inside him.

  With one hand behind her head and the other on the small of her back he cradled her as he pushed her back to the mattress, softened her impact and then caught himself before his weight crushed her.

  “I probably should have mentioned this while I still had all my clothes on,” she said, and bit her lip before continuing. “I’m a really bad bet, you know. My life is a wreck. I’m living on borrowed time before I end up in the slammer or the nuthouse—odds are even which one.”

  Her arguments weren’t distracting him from his mission, which was to slide the unflattering U of MA sweatpants off her long, long legs. One thing about him…once he set a course, a hurricane couldn’t steer him away. “Then we shouldn’t waste any time.”

  Mission accomplished. She hooked one bare leg over his hip and rubbed the back of his thigh with her foot.

  He reached back, grabbed her ankle and pulled it over his shoulder. She got the idea and her other leg looped over his other shoulder. He scooted down the mattress and lowered his forehead to rest on her navel, drawing out the moment.

  Once he crossed this line, there was no going back.

  She reached down and stroked his cheek with the back of her hand. When he looked up, he realized—the hell with it—he didn’t want to go back. Ever.

  He pulled her folds apart and touched her with his tongue, sucked her with his lips, dove deep into her recesses. She writhed beneath him, moaned and fisted the bedsheets. Her hips jerked up and he rode her mounting frenzy relentlessly, pushing h
er farther, harder, than he’d ever pushed any woman before, because he knew she could take it. Instinctively he knew she would take everything he had to give, and return it in spades.

  He used his fingers to drive deeper and her breathing went fast and shallow, her bucking grew wilder. Her head thrashed from side to side on the pillow, throwing her dark hair across her ivory-skinned face.

  “Ty. Please,” she begged. She pleaded. She demanded.

  And he delivered. He rose above her, braced on his forearms and plunged deep. Her full mouth rounded into a shocked O. Her eyes stared sightlessly and her breath shuddered.

  His own body mirrored her shock, stunning him thoughtless, mindless with the pleasure. Their bodies fitted as if they’d been made for each other. As if they’d once been a single being, separated at birth and now celebrating at being reunited.

  It felt right. She felt right. He’d never experienced a more perfect moment, a moment in which he knew he’d been wrong when he’d accused her earlier of wanting safety and security.

  He was the one who wanted those things. Needed them. And he’d found them in her. That and much more.

  As soon as he’d been old enough to cross the street by himself, he’d tried to stay away from his mother as much as possible. He’d lived as a nomad, spending long hours at the houses of friends, in the library, on the street corner. He’d never considered the place where he lived anything other than a house or an apartment. A place to keep his stuff and to avoid as much as possible.

  Now, at twenty-six years of age, he’d finally found home, and it had nothing to do with where he lived and everything to do with who he was with.

  He began to move and Mia fell in perfect rhythm with him. They breathed in tempo. Muscles tensed and relaxed in synch. Hot, damp skin slid across hot, damp skin. The only sound in the room was the slap of their bodies, the creak of the bed and their harsh breaths, and the sound of their lovemaking was as moving as a Mozart concerto.

  He thrust faster, deeper, his pulse pounding like a bass drum, feeling himself spinning out of control. Her back arched off the bed, lifting him. Her fingers dug deep into his shoulders and she cried his name.