House Calls

by Michelle Celmer

  “In my own defense,” he said, “it’s not a very big bed.”

  “No, it’s not.” She was quiet for a minute then asked, “You said that Lizzy was old-fashioned. How old-fashioned?”

  “Where did that come from?”

  “Just curious.”

  It kind of surprised him that it had taken her this long to ask about his ex. Not that it was one of his favorite subjects, but he didn’t mind talking about it either. “If you’re asking if we were sleeping together, yeah, we were. She just didn’t spend the night. She still lived with her parents, and out of respect for them, I always drove her home. The odd thing is, I didn’t mind. I didn’t really think about it. Things just were the way they were.”

  “You don’t miss her?”

  “Honestly, no. At first I missed the idea of her, of the future. But we wouldn’t have been happy together.”

  “Why not?”

  “We weren’t friends. We never talked. But that was as much my fault as hers. If I had it to do all over, things would be different.”

  If he had it to do all over, knowing what he knew now about love and friendship, they wouldn’t last a week.

  “Tell me about your parents.”

  Definitely not his favorite subject. He’d resigned himself a long time ago to the fact that they were never going to change, and he could live with that. If nothing else, he’d learned from them how not to raise a family. “They’re very…rich.”

  She gave him a playful poke. “Tell me something I didn’t already know. What are they like?”

  “Cold,” he said after a moment. “I suppose they loved me, but they never said it. Or showed it. I spent an awful lot of time trying not to be like them, but I guess some things you’re just born with.”

  “You’re not cold.”

  “No, but don’t ask me to talk about my feelings.”

  “But you show your feelings in so many other ways. You can say you care for someone, but if you don’t show it, the words don’t mean much.”

  He reached up, stroked her cheek. “I care about you.”

  Maggie closed her eyes and sighed as Pete’s fingers slipped through her hair. “I know you do, doc.”

  “You never use my name,” he said, and he sounded sad.

  “I like calling you doc. It’s a term of endearment.”

  “I don’t think so. I think it’s just your way of distancing yourself from me.”

  She was about to argue until she realized that he was right. That was exactly why she didn’t use his name. Calling him Pete felt so personal. So…intimate.

  And lying here in the dark, touching and talking, wasn’t intimate? Waking wrapped in each other’s arms wasn’t intimate? Not to mention that he was naked. You just didn’t get much more intimate than that.

  In every way possible this had passed friendship and drifted into relationship territory.

  In every way except for sex.

  “Maybe I’m still trying to look at this as a job. Trying to see you as my patient,” she said. “But I guess it’s not like that anymore, is it?”

  “No, it isn’t. Not for me.”

  “You know, when your parents called the hospital, and the director asked me to take your case, I almost didn’t. I thought it might be a conflict of interest.”

  “How could it be a conflict of interest? We hardly knew each other.”

  “Yeah, but I kinda had these…feelings.”

  “What kinds of feelings?”

  “Before the shooting, I sort of…well…” She bit her lip, felt her cheeks burning. Why had she started this? “This is embarrassing.”

  “Don’t be embarrassed. You sort of what?”

  “I sort of had a crush on you.”

  Through the dark she could see him smile. “You did?”

  At least he didn’t laugh and point and call her a fool—even though that was exactly how she felt. And when she would have been better off keeping her mouth shut, she couldn’t keep the entire, humiliating truth from spilling out all over the place.

  “Sometimes I would find reasons to go down to the ER just to see you,” she said.

  “Really?”

  Oh, great, Mags, now you sound like a stalker.

  “Not all the time,” she amended. “I just…you were always so upbeat and friendly and, you know…gorgeous. If I was having a bad day, seeing you would lift my spirits. Pretty pathetic, huh?”

  “Not at all. You should have talked to me.”

  “You were engaged, I was engaged. And even if we hadn’t been, I was fat. I wouldn’t have approached someone like you in a million years.”

  “You should have,” Pete said, slipping his fingers through her hair, twisting a curl around his finger. “We could have been friends.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe?” he said, and he sounded hurt. “Maggie, do you have any idea what you mean to me? I don’t even want to think about where I would be right now if you hadn’t dragged me out here. You saved me.”

  A lump formed in her throat, and for some stupid reason tears stung the corners of her eyes. She felt…hollow. How could she be so close to someone and still feel so empty?

  So lonely?

  “It was my job to save you.”

  “Damn it, it’s more than that and you know it,” he said, his voice tight with frustration. “Why can’t you tell me how you feel?”

  Simple. Because she loved him. She loved him more than she’d ever loved another person, and she couldn’t tell him. She was afraid to tell him. Because he might say he loved her, too, then she would have hope, when she already knew it was destined to end.

  If anyone was emotionally repressed around here, it was her.

  “Talk to me, Maggie.”

  “Doc—”

  “No,” he said. “Don’t do that. Don’t hide from me.”

  Tears welled in the corners of her eyes and slipped down her cheeks.

  “I want to hear you say it,” Pete said softly. He was close, his lips a whisper away. “Say my name.”

  Somehow she knew that if she did, everything would change. They would be treading on territory previously forbidden. She would be admitting her feelings.

  The God’s-honest truth was, she was tired of fighting it. Didn’t she deserve a little happiness, even if it was short-lived? Maybe all these weeks they had been building up to this. Maybe it had been inevitable.

  She trembled from the inside out, with fear and longing and anticipation. She wanted this so badly, but she was terrified of being hurt again. Sometimes she felt as if her entire life was just one long, painful experience she was destined to live over and over again.

  Pete’s fingers tangled in her hair, his breath tickled her lips. “Say it, Maggie. Say my name.”

  She knew if she did, he would kiss her. And this time it wouldn’t end there.

  She didn’t want it to end.

  “Pete,” she whispered, and heard him sigh. His hands slipped through her hair, caressed her face, and she could swear he was trembling. She hadn’t realized how badly he wanted this, too. He wanted her. Plain old, nothing-special Maggie.

  But when she was with him, when he touched her this way, she did feel special.

  “I want to hear you say it again,” he said. His lips brushed tenderly over hers, as if he thought he might break her.

  “Pete.”

  “Again,” he whispered.

  “Pete.”

  He captured her mouth, kissing her slow and deep and long, putting his heart and soul into it. Tears rolled in earnest down her cheeks. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe she was happy, maybe sad—she just couldn’t seem to pinpoint the exact emotion.

  Pete cupped her face, felt that it was damp. He lifted himself up on one elbow. “Why are you crying?”

  There was no way she could answer him, not without crying even harder. Instead she slipped her arms around his neck, pulled him to her and kissed him with all she was worth. She didn’t want to talk anymore. She didn’t eve
n want to think. She just wanted to lose herself in his kiss.

  And she wanted to feel him, the way she had that night, and more. There was so much of him to touch, she didn’t want to miss an inch of it. She let her hands wander across his shoulders, down his back. His skin was smooth and warm, the muscles taut underneath. Her hands drifted lower, over his muscular backside.

  Pete pulled away long enough to drag her nightshirt up over her head, then he stopped and just looked, as if the sight of her body amazed him.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he breathed. Then he was touching her. Just like she’d always wanted him to—stroking her face, her throat, the valley between her breasts. She felt herself falling, tumbling deeper into ecstasy, dissolving in his arms.

  He kissed her, deep and searching but unbelievably tender. They were so close. In body and mind and spirit. She didn’t know it was possible to be so close to someone. Not like this.

  With his mouth still locked on her own, he slid her panties down and she kicked them off. Their legs twined, breath mingled. It was as if they just couldn’t get close enough. Then he slipped a hand between her thighs, parting her, and she gasped at the intense sensation.

  “You’re so wet,” he said, and if her skin hadn’t already been on fire, she would have blushed. She felt wanton and heavy with desire. She wanted him to make love to her, needed him to.

  He tormented her with long, torturously slow strokes and she arched against his hand. She felt feverishly restless, out of control. Her thighs parted, her legs came up to wrap around his waist. She’d never acted this way, never so aggressively, but if he wasn’t inside her soon, she felt as if she would go out of her mind.

  Pete hissed out a breath and looked down at her through the dark. “Tell me what you want,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. “Say the words.”

  She caught his face between her hands. “Make love to me, Pete.”

  “Oh, Maggie.” He entered her in one long, slow thrust, and her entire world shifted. In that second, everything she ever knew about making love was irreparably changed. She would never feel this again—this soul-deep connection. Not with anyone but Pete.

  It was frightening and wonderful at the same time.

  He withdrew, thrust again and her hips rocked upward, driving him even deeper inside her. She cried out as white-hot pleasure pulsed through her, all the way to the tips of her fingers and toes and the ends of her hair. She felt her mind going fuzzy, spiraling into oblivion. The air was thick with the scent of rain and the tantalizing perfume of sex. Their skin was slick with perspiration. She clung to Pete, to her senses, not wanting it to end. She wanted to feel just like this, be this close to him, but she was slipping, floating away…

  Pete shuddered and groaned her name and her grip on reality slipped. The world exploded before her eyes, she splintered into a million pieces and she soared.

  Thirteen

  His heart jumping wildly in his chest, their bodies still linked, Pete watched Maggie as she went still and quiet beneath him.

  Holy cow.

  He didn’t know what had just happened, but he felt as if everything he knew about his life, about himself as a man, had been knocked upside-down, turned inside-out and twisted all around. If he wasn’t certain he loved Maggie before, he sure as hell knew now. Because the only thing he could think about as she lay peacefully in his arms, the only thing he wanted to do, was find a way to keep her there.

  He knew if he told her he loved her, especially now, she wouldn’t believe him. But, damn, he felt as though he would burst if he didn’t say something soon.

  Maggie’s legs fell away from his hips, and she breathed a long, blissful sigh.

  “Hey,” he said, nudging her nose with his own. “I’m the guy. I’m the one who’s supposed to roll over and go to sleep.”

  Her lips curled into a lazy smile and she gazed up at him, her eyes half-closed and glassy. She wrapped her arm around his neck and pulled him to her for a kiss. She tasted salty and sweet and delicious. The ringlets of hair around her face were moist with sweat, the skin between their bodies warm and slippery.

  “We need a shower,” he said.

  Maggie groaned and tightened her grip on his neck. “I don’t want to move. You feel too good.”

  “You don’t mind being all sweaty?”

  “Uh-uh.” She slid her hands down his back and up again. “I like you sweaty.”

  This was a nice change from what he was used to. As physically active as he and Lizzy had been, when it came to sex, she didn’t like to sweat. Now that he thought about it, there wasn’t a whole hell of a lot about sex she did like. Just your basic missionary style. No frills, no excitement—no fun. He’d initiated oral sex a time or two only to be cut off at the pass and she wasn’t really into trying new positions. In all the months they had been together, they’d never been as close, never as connected as he was with Maggie.

  He wondered what exactly she might be willing to try…

  He kissed her chin, her throat, the curve where her neck met her shoulder, and she made a soft mewling sound, rubbing herself against him.

  Oh, man, did she feel good.

  He cupped the weight of her breast in his hand, kissed and nipped at her slick skin, working his way lower, down the ladder of her ribs over her flat, toned stomach. Maggie moaned softly and stretched her body longer, didn’t resist him when he pressed her thighs apart, when he lowered his head and tasted her. She gasped and dug her fingers into his hair, holding him in place, as if she thought he might stop.

  Fat chance. He wouldn’t stop until she was writhing in ecstasy, until he’d done things to her that in the past he’d only fantasized about.

  And when they were both limp and sated and drained of energy, he was going to start all over again.

  Pinkish light peeked through the curtains, and outside the window birds chirped. Maggie woke to find herself alone. She yawned and stretched and when she noticed the condition of the bed, a little shiver of satisfaction rippled through her. The top sheet lay sideways over her and tangled around her legs, and the fitted sheet had been pulled loose and lay rumpled beneath her, exposing three corners of the mattress.

  Last night had been sensual and sweet and…adventurous. She hadn’t known making love could be so much fun. Or so enthusiastic. Her tired, achy muscles protested as she rolled out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom. She brushed her teeth and tried to fix her hair, realizing that she would need a shower to tame the unruly curls. Giving up, she wrapped herself in the top sheet and ventured out of the bathroom in search of Pete.

  She found him sitting on the deck steps, wearing only a faded pair of cut-off denim shorts, gazing at the water, sipping a cup of coffee. Dragonflies darted across the surface of the lake and spiderwebs glistened with dew. The air was thick with humidity and scented with moss and pine.

  “Morning.”

  He turned to her and smiled. “Morning.”

  “You’re up early.”

  “Couldn’t sleep.” He turned back toward the water and a tiny jolt of alarm passed through her. Something was wrong.

  She sat behind him, sliding her hands over his chest, resting her chin on his shoulder. He set his coffee down and slipped his hands over her own, rested his head against her cheek. She loved touching him, being close to him.

  “Bad dreams?” she asked.

  “As a matter of fact no, I didn’t have bad dreams at all last night. I guess your theory worked.”

  Though he didn’t sound upset exactly, something in his voice set her on edge. And she knew, if she wanted to find out what was up, she would have to drag it out of him.

  “What are you doing out here?” she asked.

  “Thinking.”

  “About…?”

  “My therapy. How in the past few weeks it’s just sort of tapered off. I kept waiting for the real therapy to start, but what we’ve been doing, the walks and the swimming and the berry picking, getting me used to the disability, that was
the therapy, wasn’t it?” He looked back at her. “This is it. This is as good as it’s going to get.”

  Her heart sank. She’d wondered how long it would take him to figure it out. “Pete—”

  “It’s okay.” He gave her hands a squeeze. “It’s not so bad, really. All the things I thought I would miss, I don’t really miss them. I think…I think I’ve accepted it.”

  It was what she wanted—all she’d ever wanted for him—so why did she feel as if he’d just ripped out her heart?

  Because now that he’d accepted it, the therapy was done, her job finished. It would be time for them to go home soon. Then everything would change. Even if they didn’t want it to.

  She laid her head on his shoulder and squeezed her eyes shut. It was over before it had really begun. But she didn’t want it to end, she wasn’t ready.

  “I have to say something to you, Maggie, but I’m not quite sure how. I’ve been sitting here for half an hour going over it in my head, trying to find the words to explain it in a way you’ll understand, that you’ll believe, but I’m no good at this kind of thing. So I’m just going to say it, okay?”

  Her heart sank low in her belly and her fingers felt numb and tingly. She was too afraid even to consider what he could possibly mean. But whatever it was, it didn’t sound good.

  Swallowing her fear, she nodded. “Okay.”

  “I love you, Maggie.”

  If he’d whacked her upside the head with a dead fish she wouldn’t have been more surprised. And as much as she wanted to scream with happiness and thank God or Cupid or whoever for their divine intervention, it didn’t change the fact that this was temporary.

  His loving her was both horrible and wonderful and she just couldn’t figure out which emotion she should let herself feel.

  “I know you probably don’t believe me,” he said.

  “No, I believe you.” She believed that he thought he loved her, but that had no bearing on what he would be feeling six months from now.

  “So why do you sound so miserable? Is it because you don’t love me?”