House Calls

by Michelle Celmer

  Maggie let out a sigh and rolled in his arms until she faced him. She tucked her face against the crook of his neck and her hand landed on his bare backside. Her breath was hot on his throat, her breasts soft against his chest.

  As if their position wasn’t intimate enough before. This was downright torture. He had no choice but to wrap his arm around her.

  Well, that wasn’t exactly true. He had all kinds of choices, like rolling over to the other side of the bed. Or, since falling back to sleep at this point would be impossible, he could climb out of bed altogether and take a cold shower.

  Instead he found his hands sliding down her back, until he cupped the swell of her behind. He was wide awake now. Without the guise of sleep to hide behind he felt even more guilty, more lecherous. That didn’t stop him from stroking her behind, dipping his thumb under the edge of her panties. Then Maggie laid her hand over his and he froze.

  Was she awake? And if so, why hadn’t she slugged him? It seemed clear he deserved it.

  Instead, she took his hand and guided it to the front of her panties. He was so astonished that for a minute he wasn’t sure what to do. Well, he knew what to do—he could think of a couple of dozen things right off the top of his head—he just didn’t know if he should. If she was asleep, then touching her would be wrong.

  She’d been so adamant about keeping their relationship professional, there was no way she was anything but sound asleep.

  There was one very simple solution. Give her a shake and wake her up. It was that or touch her, and risk having her wake right in the middle of…well, whatever they might be doing, and have her blast him for taking advantage of her.

  So why wasn’t he waking her?

  Because deep down he wanted to believe she was awake and knew exactly what she was doing. He wanted to believe that not touching was just as damned hard for her as it was for him.

  He held very still, waiting to see what she did. He would give her thirty seconds. If she didn’t move by then, he would pull his hand away.

  But she did move. She let out a little groan of protest and arched against his hand, as if to say come on, touch me. With an invitation like that, how could he not touch her?

  Very lightly he rubbed her through her panties and she pushed herself against his fingers, muffling a moan against the crook of his neck. Her hand was back on his rear end, clutching and pulling him closer, her nails digging into his skin.

  Okay, there was no way she could sleep through this. She had to be awake now, which meant he could stop rationalizing this and let nature take its course.

  He slipped his hand under the edge of her panties, between her thighs, found her hot and slippery. She gasped and spread her legs.

  She reached between them and wrapped her hand around his erection, and he nearly swallowed his tongue. As much as he would have liked to rip those skimpy panties off her and bury himself deep inside that wet heat, sexual petting was a far cry from making love. He’d abandoned the idea of casual sex back in med school.

  But what they were doing now, this was…exciting. It made him feel sixteen again, when he’d touched a girl intimately for the first time. Only this time he wasn’t fumbling his way through, hoping he was getting it right. He knew exactly what to do, where to touch, to give her pleasure. He cupped his free hand over her breast, pinching lightly through the fabric of her shirt, and her grip on him tightened, her pace quickened.

  Aw, man, he was close. He didn’t want to come first, but he could feel his control slipping.

  Maggie’s hips rocked back and forth, keeping time with his stroking fingers, then she moaned and arched against him, her body shaking with release. That was all it took to push him over the edge. Honestly, it was a miracle he lasted longer than thirty seconds. It was hot and fast and draining, as if all the tension, all the stress of the past five months had suddenly been lifted. He felt a little more like his old self.

  And boy, did he need that.

  Apparently, Maggie had, too. She burrowed against him and let a out a contented little sigh. Pete wrapped her in his arms and instantly felt himself slipping back to sleep.

  Hours later, he finally pried his eyes open, squinting against the morning sun shining through the open window. He reached for Maggie, only to find himself alone, and had the bizarre feeling that it had all been a dream.

  Maggie stood on the back porch, staring out at the water, sipping her coffee and trying to work up the will to feel guilty about what had happened last night.

  How could something so wrong feel so good?

  When she’d woken in the middle of the night with Pete curled around her, his hand on her breast, her body had screamed, oh baby! Her brain had done that short-circuit thing and instead of thinking oh, no, it had shouted a very clear oh, yes!

  It had taken a good ten minutes of wiggling and shifting before he began to stir, but even then he hadn’t gotten the hint. She would have thought turning in his arms and grabbing his butt would have done the trick, but still he’d faltered. Though she’d never considered herself the aggressive type when it came to sex, the guy just couldn’t take a hint. She’d had no choice but to take matters into her own hands.

  Literally.

  When she thought about the way she’d taken his hand and put it between her legs, her cheeks burned with embarrassment. She burned with something else, too—sexual awareness. She felt it in her fingers and her toes and in the tips of her hair. She felt alive, in a way she never had before.

  She also felt scared. She was setting herself up to be hurt again. Even if Pete didn’t mean to or want to hurt her, it was inevitable. Though sometimes he seemed to genuinely care for her, when he got back home, back to his regular life, back to his old friends, he would feel differently.

  “Good morning.”

  At the sound of Pete’s voice Maggie’s heart took a dive for her toes. She sucked in a deep breath and turned to him. He stood in the doorway, dressed in a pair of low-slung cut-off shorts and nothing else, his hair still rumpled from sleep. She would never be able to look at him again without remembering the way his body had felt pressed up against her, the way his fingers had teased her into ecstasy.

  And while one part of her wanted to throw herself into his arms, she knew that what had happened last night could never be repeated. No matter how badly she wanted it. Because it wouldn’t last. One more good blow to her battered pride and she might never eat again.

  “Morning, doc,” she said, and turned back toward the water. She heard Pete sigh.

  “Is that the way it’s going to be?”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, even though she knew exactly what he meant.

  “We’re just going to pretend that last night never happened?”

  She closed her eyes. “I don’t know about you, but I’d rather skip the we-shouldn’t-have-let-that-happen speech.”

  He walked over and leaned on the rail beside her, gazing out at the water. Even at this early hour boats dotted the lake and gulls swooped down to scavenge off the beach. “Yeah, I guess I could live without that, too.”

  She only wished she could pretend it hadn’t happened. She wished she could forget the way his skin had smelled musky from sleep, or how hot and hard he’d felt in her hand. His fingers had worked so skillfully and he knew exactly how to touch her until she completely lost herself. The memory was so fresh in her mind, so vivid, it was making her dizzy.

  She glanced over at him and saw that his brow had tucked into a frown. He looked almost…hurt.

  Maybe he thought she hadn’t enjoyed herself. Maybe he thought he’d done something wrong. She didn’t want him to feel bad or, even worse, feel as if he’d disappointed her. That couldn’t be farther from the truth.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” she said. “I had a good time.”

  He nodded. “So did I.”

  “It’s just that things could get…awkward.” She turned to look at him. “Things aren’t going to be awkward now, are they?”


  He shook his head.

  “It was just an impulse thing, you know? A fleeting…” she waved her hands, searching for the right word. “Whatever.”

  A smile quirked up the corner of his mouth. “For someone who doesn’t want to have the morning-after talk, you’re having a hard time dropping it.”

  “You’re right, I’m sorry. I just…” She sighed. “I guess I don’t want you to feel guilty, as if you did something wrong. I mean, I started it, so it’s completely my own fault.”

  He only stared at her, one brow lifted, as though maybe he wasn’t certain of the exact chain of events, and she felt compelled to explain.

  “If I hadn’t been, you know, wiggling around, then you wouldn’t have gotten, you know—”

  He flattened one large hand very gently over her mouth. “I was there, I don’t need a play-by-play of the action. All that will do is land us back in bed together, where you insist we shouldn’t be. You don’t need to beat yourself up over this, okay?”

  She nodded, wondering what he would do if she bit him—or licked his palm—then decided that wouldn’t be wise.

  “Look,” he said. “I was raised not to talk about my feelings, so this isn’t exactly easy for me to say, but I really care about you, Maggie. You know that, don’t you?”

  She nodded. Though he didn’t often say it, his actions spoke of his feelings for her. That didn’t change the fact that his judgment was impaired. What he was feeling now would be very different from what he felt a month from now.

  “We’re both going through some heavy emotional stuff right now. As much as I would like to explore exactly where this relationship might go, I respect the fact that you’re not ready for that. And as for last night, don’t feel guilty. What happened was one-hundred-percent mutual. It was obviously something we both needed. It happened, and it’s over, and we won’t let it happen again. That is what you want, right?” He moved his hand so she could answer.

  “Right,” she said, her lips tingling from his touch. Which of course made her think about last night, and the other things he’d made tingle.

  But he was right. And the way he’d explained it made sense. It probably was something they had both needed. Stress relief, or something like that. And now that they had gotten it out of their systems, not touching each other wouldn’t be a problem.

  She hoped.

  Eleven

  “Well, how is it?”

  “One-oh-seven over seventy-five,” Pete said and jotted the reading down on the chart he’d been keeping.

  “So that’s better, right?”

  He pulled the blood pressure cuff from her arm and set it on the kitchen counter. “Yeah, it’s better. Hop on the scale.”

  She looked with disdain at the scale sitting on the kitchen floor. In the past two weeks she’d grown to really hate that thing. What a god-awful way to start her day. “Can’t we just skip it this one time?”

  He crossed his arms and gave her his yeah-right look.

  “Fine,” she grumbled. She stepped over and lifted her foot—

  “Shoes off,” he said sternly, and she shot him the evil eye. “Don’t look at me like that. You know the rules.”

  Mumbling under her breath, she kicked her tennis shoes off, shut her eyes and stepped on the scale. She always kept her eyes closed. It was bad enough knowing she was gaining weight, she didn’t want to see it, too.

  On the bright side—and thank heavens there was a bright side to this—some of the clothes that had begun to feel a little loose were fitting again. She didn’t get dizzy every time she stood up either, and she had more energy. She’d also had her first normal period in months.

  “You’ve gained another pound.” He marked that down on the chart as well. “Only three more to go.”

  “Does that mean I can start exercising again?” she asked.

  “Don’t push your luck. Besides, we’ve been walking. That’s exercise.”

  Though it was nowhere close to the vigorous exercise she was used to, she had to admit the nightly walks they’d gotten into the habit of taking together—on the beach or through the woods or sometimes just down the dirt road—had become her favorite part of the day. It was a chance to relax and unwind and talk about everything or nothing in particular. Sometimes they didn’t talk at all, they just walked side by side, quietly enjoying the evening.

  One evening a few days ago, Pete had taken her hand to help her over a log that had fallen across the path, and he hadn’t let go. He just kept walking, his fingers twined through hers, as if it were nothing out of the ordinary. She’d spent the next half hour debating; should she pull away, or just go with it and see what he did? Something about walking with Pete like that just felt so…natural. And every night since then, he’d automatically taken her hand when they left the cottage.

  Besides, to worry about something as trivial as holding hands seemed silly considering Pete had woken with bad dreams six times in the last two weeks—the last three nights in a row—and she’d wound up sleeping with him. And while nothing overtly sexual had occurred, Pete was a cuddler. He didn’t seem content to sleep in the same bed unless he was lying all over her. And despite this becoming a regular thing for them, he still didn’t wear pajamas. It hadn’t escaped her attention that a certain part of his anatomy usually woke up well before he did.

  She couldn’t deny that she’d had the inclination to peek under the covers once or twice. Not that he would have known. Once he was out, the man slept like the dead. And it wasn’t like she hadn’t seen him naked before. The only problem was, she knew that once she looked, she would want to touch. She thought of how he’d shuddered when she’d wrapped her hand around him that night, how he’d felt long and hot and silky-smooth. The memory alone made her feel restless and needy.

  So yeah, she definitely would want to do that again. And doing that could get her into a lot of trouble. So when she got the urge to peek, that was usually the point when she untangled herself from his arms and climbed out of bed.

  “Three more pounds,” Pete was saying, but she’d completely forgotten what they’d been talking about. She must have given him a totally blank look, because he waved a hand in front of her face and said, “Earth to Maggie.”

  She gave her head a little shake to clear it. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

  “You asked if you could exercise and I said you have to gain three more pounds. Are you okay?”

  “Fine.” Just a mild case of sex on the brain.

  “You sure? You really zoned out.”

  “I’m sure.” And since she was feeling more than a little overheated, she opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, and offered Pete one.

  He took it and twisted the top off. “By the way, Jeremy called while you were in the shower.”

  “And…?”

  “He wondered if I could fill in for another doctor and take on a couple of extra days at the clinic next week.”

  “How many?”

  “It would be a full week.”

  She didn’t doubt he was ready. She glanced over at the cane leaning in the corner by the door. The only time he used it now was when he was in an unfamiliar situation, or on uneven ground. And even then she didn’t think he really needed it. He just wasn’t yet ready to let go completely. He was still walking with a limp, but the truth was, that would probably never go away. She wasn’t sure if he was ready to hear that, though. He still needed time to adjust—to heal. If not physically, then emotionally.

  Working more was definitely a step in the right direction.

  “So, what did you tell him?” she asked Pete.

  He flashed her a grin. “I said I would have to check with my therapist first.”

  “Do you want to work extra days?”

  He shrugged and took a swallow of his water. “If there’s no one else to do it, I guess it couldn’t hurt. I figured if you need the car you could drop me off and pick me up.”

  That was a big yes, if she’d ever heard one.
“Well, even though you won’t admit it, you seem to really like volunteering, and God knows you’ve been a lot less cranky.”

  He raised an eyebrow at her. “I’m cranky?”

  “And I can easily readjust your therapy schedule. I say go for it.”

  “You won’t get bored here all by yourself?”

  “Are you kidding? I can’t wait to be rid of you.”

  He grinned, and his eyes locked on hers. He gave her that penetrating, soul-deep look that made her go all wishy-washy. She hated when he did that. It made her ache that much more for the things she knew she would never have. Though he didn’t often come right out and say how he was feeling about her, he showed her in a million little ways.

  She lowered her eyes. “I wish you wouldn’t look at me like that.”

  “I just realized, I haven’t thanked you for all you’ve done for me.”

  She lifted her shoulders in a casual shrug, eyes lowered to the floor. “No need to thank me. It’s a job.”

  He tucked a finger under her chin and lifted, so she had to look at him. “You and I both know this has been more than a job.”

  She knew right then, by the look in his eyes, by the way his gaze wandered to her mouth, he was going to kiss her. She wanted to pull away, and she didn’t want to. His head dipped lower and her lids slipped down. She felt his breath on her lips, his hand cupping her cheek, and her knees felt as if they might buckle out from under her. His lips brushed over hers and everything inside her went liquid. She found herself leaning into the kiss, into him, sliding her arms around his neck. She felt his tongue teasing her lip, his teeth nipping lightly, and she went dizzy with desire.

  “I want you, Maggie,” he whispered against her lips.

  But for how long? Though she was trying like hell to fight it, she couldn’t deny she was falling in love with him. It was a lazy, easy kind of love that felt like a natural extension of herself—the logical next step in their relationship. But there was nothing logical about it. What would happen when summer was over and it was time to go home? How would he feel when he got back to his own life?