by Judy Duarte
John stood at his bedside for a while, then told the nurse in charge that he would be back in the morning.
Yet he still didn’t leave the hospital. Instead, he called Betsy and told her he was going to wait in the lobby until she was free to leave.
“You’ve got to be hungry,” he told her. “And I’m starving. Let’s go out to dinner.”
“All right.”
He hoped she didn’t give him a hard time about picking up the tab tonight. The local bank, where Doc had an account, had allowed him to cash his paycheck without any ID. He’d already made a small payment to the hospital, as well as one to Dr. Kelso. He would pay them more next week, but he’d kept enough to spring for dinner tonight. And that felt good.
At a few minutes after seven, Betsy met John in the lobby. She was wearing her street clothes-black slacks and a pink sweater. She’d also let her hair down-soft curls a man longed to touch.
“You look nice,” he told her. She also looked as sexy as hell, but he kept that thought to himself.
“Thanks. I keep a change of clothes in the locker room and decided to wear them tonight. I’ve been spending most of my waking hours in scrubs.”
“Where do you want to eat?” he asked, as they headed for the lobby doors.
“There’s an Italian restaurant that just opened up a month or so ago. I’ve never eaten there before, but I’ve heard that it’s good. What do you think?”
He really didn’t have a preference. He’d eat just about anything right now, as long as they offered quick service. “Italian’s great.”
“We can walk,” she said. “It’s not very far.”
She was right. Cara Mia was located just a couple of blocks down the street. Other than a black awning over the door, the eatery didn’t look anything out of the ordinary on the outside. But the inside, with its polished hardwood floors and white walls, was warm and inviting.
Each table, which was draped in crisp white linen, was adorned with a single red rose in a glass bud vase and several lit votives. A stone fireplace in the back, with flames licking over real logs, added to the ambience. And so did a Christmas tree that had been decorated with a variety of colorful ornaments and blinking lights.
Everyone in Brighton Valley seemed to be ready for the holiday, and John realized he was going to have to get with the program. He didn’t have much money to spend or more than a couple of gifts to buy, but he wanted to give Betsy something special.
The waiter pointed out the wine list. After a brief perusal, Betsy asked for a glass of sauvignon blanc, and John chose one of his favorite Napa Valley merlots.
When John realized that he’d just remembered yet another inconsequential fact, he kept the news to himself. Why put a damper on the evening by reminding Betsy that he still had no real memory of the life he’d once led?
While the waiter served their drinks, they looked over their menus. Betsy decided on the vegetarian lasagna, and John asked for the chicken marsala.
The prices weren’t as steep as John was used to-another tidbit of information that he would have to tuck away-yet even so, the bill would take the bulk of his remaining cash. But he didn’t care about that. He wanted the evening to be memorable.
He also wanted to carry his own weight, which had always been important to him.
It was odd, though. There were some things he just seemed to know about himself. And he tried to take comfort in the fact that he had a sense of honor, that he liked the finer things in life and that he paid his own way.
As the candlelight flickered on the table, casting a romantic spell over them, John and Betsy enjoyed a tasty meal.
“Cara Mia was a good choice,” John said.
“I think so, too.” Betsy scanned the intimate room, with its artsy, European-style prints framed in black and hung upon white plastered walls. “Isn’t the ambience great?”
John agreed. “Maybe next time we can try La Cocina, which is just down the street.”
“I’d like that. I haven’t had good Mexican food for a long time. My ex-husband used to like it, so it was almost a given that we’d have it often. But I kind of swore off of it for a while after he moved out.”
She’d told John that her ex-husband hadn’t been dedicated to the relationship, but she hadn’t gone into detail. He supposed it wasn’t any of his business, but he was curious about the guy and about the downfall of their marriage.
“So why did you two split up?” he asked.
She paused, as if he’d tapped a sensitive subject. Then she lifted the linen napkin and blotted her lips. “He was seeing someone else.”
He’d had an affair? John couldn’t imagine a man doing something like that to Betsy, and his heart went out to her. If he had a wife like her…
Damn. Did he have a wife?
He glanced at his left hand, which was resting on top of the linen-covered table. He wasn’t wearing a wedding band.
Was that enough to go on?
It was hard to say. It was possible that he’d been wearing a ring, and that it had been stolen along with his wallet and any money or credit cards he’d had when he’d first come to town.
But he didn’t see a tan line.
Still, he wasn’t going to stress about that now. What if he never got his memory back? What if he was stuck in Brighton Valley for the rest of his life?
Would that be so bad?
Right this minute, as he sat across from Betsy, with violin music playing in the background and candlelight flickering, the answer was a definite no. And he wondered how Betsy would feel about that.
As Betsy studied her handsome dinner companion, she couldn’t remember when she’d had an evening as nice as this. And she couldn’t help thinking about their trip home tonight.
They would walk back to the hospital and drive to the ranch in separate cars. But then what?
Would John kiss her good-night the way he’d been doing each evening this week? Would either of them press for more than a kiss on the front porch?
She could certainly invite him into the guesthouse for a nightcap. But as she stole a glance at her handsome dinner companion, his smile sent her heart scrambling to right itself, and she realized it wasn’t an after-dinner drink that she was craving. It was John.
After he’d paid the bill, they took a leisurely stroll back to the hospital and noted the Christmas decorations in the various store windows.
They turned left at the light and into the parking lot where they’d left their cars. Their arms brushed against each other, and he took her hand in his, warming her from the inside out.
They were dating, she supposed. And while she ought to be at least a little concerned about what that might mean in the future, she couldn’t seem to conjure any of the apprehension she’d had when she’d first realized her attraction to him.
Moments later, they reached her car, and she opened the door with the remote.
“I’ll follow you home,” he said.
She appreciated his protective nature. In fact, there were a lot of things about John that she found appealing. He was bright, kind and thoughtful, a gentleman who knew how to treat a lady.
He was also far too handsome for her own good.
All the way to the ranch, she continued to glance in her rearview mirror, to see John’s headlights as he followed at a safe distance behind her.
When they arrived, she parked near the guesthouse, and he pulled up beside her.
Should she invite him to come inside? Or should she wait to see what he suggested?
Before she could decide, he walked up to her, took her by the hand and strode toward her front door, where the yellow glow of the porch light welcomed them home.
“Would you like to come in?” she asked.
“Yeah.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “That’d be nice.”
His smile and a heated glimmer in his eyes caught her off guard, leaving her a little unbalanced.
Did he have any idea what he did to her?
W
hen they reached the front door, she let him into the living room and turned on the lamp.
Now what? she wondered.
He walked over to the entertainment center, which she didn’t use as often as she’d thought she would when she purchased it last summer. Then he turned to her and smiled. “Do you mind if I turn on the radio?”
“No. Go ahead.” She dropped her purse on the sofa but continued to watch him.
He fiddled with the knobs and dials for a moment, then tuned in a country-and-western station.
A duet sung by Faith Hill and Tim McGraw was on-a sexually charged love song. He turned to her and grinned, showing off a gorgeous pair of dimples that spun her heart around.
Then he reached out his hand to her. “Dance with me, Betsy.”
It wasn’t a question, but she wouldn’t have declined even if it had been. So she stepped into his embrace, swaying to the beat as Faith and Tim crooned softly in the background.
His cologne, a faint, wood scent, mingled with those ever-present pheromones that taunted her whenever he was near.
As he wrapped his fingers around hers and slipped his arm around her waist, holding her, possessing her, she placed her hand on his chest and felt the warmth of his body, the solid beat of his heart.
She closed her eyes, letting herself go, trusting him. Trusting fate.
His voice, low and husky with desire, whispered against her cheek. “I might not be able to tell you much about the man I am, Betsy, but I know the woman you are. And I’m falling for you.”
Oh, God, she thought. She was falling for him, too.
The words of the song, the sensual beat, the man in her arms, all stirred something deep within her core-a sweet ache. A desperation.
She drew away just long enough to look in his eyes, to catch his expression. And when she did, he lowered his mouth to hers.
As their lips met, separating, their tongues touched, and the warmth of his breath-still laced with the sweetness of the tiramisu they’d shared earlier-nearly buckled her knees.
She kissed him, harder, deeper, until she finally had to stop long enough to catch her breath.
Did she dare tell him what she wanted? What she needed?
Fortunately, she didn’t have to because he spoke, his breath warm and ragged against her skin. “I want more than a kiss tonight. But if you don’t, then tell me to stop now.”
She wanted more, too. So much more. And there was no use denying it or making up an excuse as to why they should sleep alone.
So she made the decision to lay her heart on the line, no matter what the cost. And taking him by the hand, she led him into her bedroom.
Chapter Nine
As Betsy and John entered her bedroom, he realized she was giving him an incredible gift. If their kisses were any hint of the magic between them, making love was bound to be off the charts.
Yet it was more than sex. Betsy was the kind of woman that men dreamed about.
Now, as they stood beside her queen-size bed, with its white, goose-down comforter looking almost cloudlike, he kissed her again. Softer, sweeter. Then harder and deeper.
As his hands slid along the curve of her back and down the slope of her hips, a surge of desire shot right through him. He pulled her hips forward, against his erection, letting her know how badly he wanted her.
She whimpered into his mouth, then arched forward, revealing her own need, her own arousal.
Had he ever wanted a woman this badly?
When he thought he was going to die from the strength of his desire, she ended the kiss, then slowly removed her pink sweater and dropped it to the floor.
He watched as she unbuttoned her slacks and slid the zipper down in a slow and deliberate fashion. Her gaze never left his as she slipped the fabric over her hips and peeled them off.
Moments later, she stood before him in a pale blue bra and matching panties. Her body, petite yet lithe, was everything he’d imagined it to be and more.
And tonight, she was his.
Following her lead, he unbuttoned his shirt, pulled his arms out of the sleeves, then let the garment fall to the floor. Next, he unbuckled his belt and undid the metal buttons on his Wranglers.
When he’d removed all but his boxers, he eased toward her.
She skimmed her nails across his chest, sending a shiver through his veins and a rush of heat through his blood. Then she unsnapped her bra and freed her breasts, full and round, the dusky pink tips peaked and begging to be touched.
As he bent and took a nipple in his mouth, she gasped in pleasure. He lavished first one breast, and then the other. Fully aroused, she swayed and had to clutch his shoulder to stay balanced, her nails digging into his back.
Taking mercy on her-and on himself-he lifted her in his arms and placed her on top of the bed. Her hair splayed upon the white pillow, her body upon the comforter.
He wanted nothing more than to slip out of his boxers and feel her skin against his, but he paused for a beat, drinking in the angelic sight. “You’re beautiful, Betsy.”
A slow smile stretched across her lips. “So are you.”
He didn’t know about that, but he was glad that she was pleased with what she saw, at what he did to her.
Determined to make sure that it was better than good for her, that she wouldn’t have any regrets in the morning, he joined her on the bed, where they continued to kiss, to taste, to stroke each other until they were both drowning in need.
“We have all night,” she said, as she pulled free of his embrace. “So we can take things slow and easy later. Right now I need to feel you inside of me.”
He didn’t want to prolong the foreplay any longer, either. And she was right. They had the rest of the night, and he planned to use every minute of it. Then a practical thought crept in. He had no protection with him.
“But I don’t have any-”
“Wait,” she said, rolling to the side of the bed. She reached into the nightstand drawer and pulled out a small, unopened box of condoms.
He wasn’t sure if she kept them handy just in case, or whether she’d planned for this night to happen. Either way, he was glad she’d been prepared.
Taking the packet she offered him, he tore it open and rolled on the condom. Then, as he hovered over her, she reached for his erection and guided him right where she wanted him to be.
He entered her slowly at first, getting the feel of her, the feel of them. And as her body responded to his, she arched up to meet each of his thrusts, the world stood still and nothing mattered but the two of them and what they were doing to and for each other.
As he reached a peak, she cried out, arched her back and let go. Once her climax began, he shuddered, releasing with her in a sexual explosion that had him seeing stars.
No longer separate bodies, they became one, enjoying each ebb and flow until they were physically spent.
John had no idea what the future would bring, but for now, they belonged together-face-to-face, skin to skin…
Heart to heart.
As dawn broke over the valley, sending long slivers of sunlight through the cracks in the shutters, Betsy woke in John’s arms.
She’d hardly slept a wink last night, and she had to go to work today. But that didn’t stop a sated smile from stretching across her face and a flood of warmth from spilling over her heart.
Of course, why wouldn’t she be feeling pleased and content? Sex with John had been amazing-and far better than she’d ever anticipated it to be.
How many times had they made love last night?
Four or five, she supposed. And each joining had been better than the last.
She hadn’t planned on having a lover, hadn’t wanted to take the risk. But the longer she’d known John, the deeper her attraction, the less that seemed to matter anymore.
Last night, she’d lowered her guard. And now she was facing the fact that she’d fallen in love with John, which left her vulnerable to heartbreak and disappointment. But giving him up wasn’t
an option any longer.
She glanced at the clock on the bureau, saw that it was nearing six. Nature was calling-and so was the E.R. As much as she’d like to, she couldn’t stay home any longer. She needed to shower, get dressed and head to the hospital.
She also needed to check in on Doc and see how he was doing. She’d left her number as a family contact, though. And because her phone hadn’t rung, she could easily assume that all was well. Still, she wanted to talk to Jim Kelso later this morning, just to be sure there weren’t any unexpected complications.
As she carefully pulled away from John’s embrace, trying not to wake him, he drew her back into his arms and brushed a kiss on her shoulder. His breath was hot, taunting. And she could feel him stirring behind her, his arousal growing.
She suspected that he could easily be encouraged to make love again. And so could she. But while she was tempted to place that call and feign an illness that would require another E.R. doctor to step in for her, she just couldn’t do it. Call her dedicated, responsible or even a control freak, but she couldn’t-wouldn’t-do that to the people who needed her.
“I wish I could stay home,” she said, “but the hospital and the patients are counting on me.”
“I know.” John released his hold, letting her go.
As she slid out of bed, his fingers trailed along her back and down a bare hip, marking her as his. She actually liked the idea of belonging, of being a couple again, especially with him. And again, she felt the invisible bond that drew her to him, a connection that was much stronger after last night.
“I’ll put on a pot of coffee,” he said. “And I’ll fix breakfast while you’re in the shower.”
She stopped in the middle of the room and turned to face him. “You don’t have to do that. I can grab a yogurt and a banana as I go. And there’s always coffee in the break room.”
“That liquid mud?” He chuckled. “I’ve tasted it, remember? Go ahead and get ready for work. I’ll make myself useful.”
Betsy paused long enough to cross her arms and toss a smile his way. “Actually, you made yourself pretty darn useful last night.”
