by Fiona Lowe
He shook his head as he lowered himself onto the small two-person sofa and stretched his arm across the back, seeming to fill more than his share of the space. She sat carefully, pushing her back onto the sofa’s arm and pulling her legs up underneath her so there was no chance she would accidentally touch him and embarrass herself. She could no longer hide her attraction to him behind pretending to be gay or pass off flushing bright pink as being hot. He knew she was straight, and she knew that wasn’t going to change the fact he wasn’t attracted to her.
Despite his casual posture, he looked ill at ease, which in turn made her feel uncomfortable. She half rose. “Are you sure I can’t get you a beer or . . . ?”
He caught her hand, stopping her from completing her stand. “I don’t need anything. Please. Just sit.”
“O-kay.” She sat and tried to slide her hand out of his, but he continued to grip it. “Um, Will?” She nodded toward their hands, but he didn’t let go. Instead he fixed his hypnotic eyes on her, and she had to work at stopping a delicious shiver from consuming her.
“Do you have any idea how crazy I’ve been this last fortnight thinking you were gay?”
“Why would it even bother you?” A kernel of disappointment in him sprouted in her chest, and she tried tugging her hand away. “Are you telling me that you were just faking being supportive of me and the LGBT community?”
“No! Of course not!” His fingers closed more tightly around her hand, as if he wanted to emphasize his point. “I’m talking about how hard I found it helping you set up a date with Tara and trying to be a supportive friend when all I wanted to do was kiss you.”
Her mouth fell open and she stared at him, her brain vacant of words. Surely he hadn’t just said that? Surely she’d just superimposed her own insane fantasy onto his words. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d pretended he’d said things to her that she’d wanted to hear.
He suddenly dropped her hand as a sad and wry expression crossed his face. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to horrify you.”
Say something. “I . . . you . . . it . . .” She swallowed. “Wow.”
He laughed tightly, and tension coiled around his body like a preloaded spring. “Wow indeed. I gather you don’t feel the same way.”
“I . . . it’s just . . .” Focus, woman! She finally managed to get her mouth to work, although her brain was spinning. “You wanted to kiss me?”
He smiled that lazy, twinkling smile. “Amongst other things, yes.”
Tingling shimmers zipped through her before arrowing down between her legs. Take him, he’s yours. “Me?” She tapped her chest with her fingers. “Millie Switkowski?”
He leaned in close, gazing into her eyes, and slid his hand along her cheek. “Absolutely you, Millie Switkowski.”
His deep, husky words played havoc with the shredded vestiges of her concentration, and she struggled to make sense of this totally unexpected conversation.
You don’t have to make sense of it; you just have to kiss him. Kiss him like you’ve wanted to for a year.
A niggling thought hit her, and she eased back, breaking the contact. “I thought you wanted to be friends?”
“I did.” He wrung his hands. “I do.”
“And you’re kind of my boss now.”
“Not at all. Floyd’s your boss. He’s the one who decides where you work so that you meet the WWAMI requirements. I’m just a means to an end.”
She felt herself frowning. “So, let me get this straight. You’ve never shown any interest in me other than as a friend, but now you’ve found out I’m not gay and you’re in Bear Paw, you want to be friends with benefits and add me to your notches on the bedpost. Really classy, Will.”
“No.” Effrontery streaked across his handsome face. “It’s not like that at all.”
“How is it, then?”
Bewilderment played around him as if he was totally out of his depth. “Jesus, Millie, I don’t know.”
“Well that’s reassuring.”
He was quiet for a moment, staring at his feet, and then he exhaled a long, almost mystified sigh. “The truth is, Millie, you’re the first woman I’ve wanted to have sex with for a long time.”
Shock reverberated through her. “But you . . . you’re always surrounded by beautiful women.”
The left side of his mouth flattened. “Doesn’t mean I’m having sex with them.”
She remembered the times she thought she’d imagined him looking at her differently—the flare of desire in his eyes at the lake and the definite stare at her ass tonight. Had all those looks at work this week—looks she’d attributed to him seeing her only as a diabetic—been looks of longing? She found it hard to believe, because she was the plain Jane in this situation. She was the woman men overlooked. She was the woman men never saw as being sexual.
Not this time, baby.
She studied Will—this utterly gorgeous specimen of man who wanted her—and again glimpsed that cloak of loneliness that often dogged him. She scooted forward an inch as the long-dormant provocateur deep down inside her burst into life. “So being a playboy’s overrated?”
He shifted slightly toward her, a wicked smile dancing on his lips. Lips she planned to explore very soon. “Frequently overrated.”
“And you’re on a dry spell?” She moved again and dropped her left leg down to entwine with his.
Every muscle in his body tensed. “I have been, yes.”
She pouted her lips. “Poor baby.”
His Adam’s apple bounced up and down like apples in a water barrel on Halloween. “That’s me.”
The raspy words ran along her skin, calling up a carnal response that barely needed any encouragement. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that he wanted her, but she needed to hear it. “I’ve been driving you crazy?”
He placed one hand on her waist and flattened the palm of his other hand on her thigh, his thumb caressing her bare skin. She jumped at the deliciousness of it. At the anticipation of what would follow.
“Millie, you’ve been driving me crazy in ever-increasing ways from the morning I woke up in your bed surrounded by your scent.”
She wanted so much to believe him, but she struggled to align the words with Will who could have any woman he chose. “What ways?”
“So many ways.”
“Tell me.”
His gaze soaked her in. “The way your curls bounce when you laugh, the way your whole face lights up when you smile”—he gently squeezed her thigh—“and all this gorgeous, soft, creamy skin that I’ve wanted to touch and taste for days. Let’s not forget the way your scrubs tighten over your sweet, round behind when you bend over and . . .” His voice was now so deep it resonated in her chest. “. . . your utterly kissable plump bottom lip that’s always in my mind when I close my eyes.”
A silent squeal of wonder echoed through her. “I’ve been keeping you awake at night?”
His midnight blue eyes flared with heat. “Hell, yes.”
She pressed her palm against his cheek, feeling the scratch of stubble. “So have you.”
Relief flashed across his face, and with a groan of long-suppressed need, he pulled her into him, cradled her cheeks in his hands and ran his tongue along the seam of her lips.
She shivered in a thousand wondrous ways.
At different times over the past year she’d imagined this, fantasized about it, and she’d gone so far as kissing another man all the while pretending she was kissing Will, but none of it had prepared her for the real thing. It was as if fireworks were going off inside of her—colored lights lit up her head, booming noise sounded in her ears and hot, wondrous desire rained through her. She opened her mouth and sucked his tongue inside.
He flooded her with Will—the sharp taste of beer hops, the zip of mint, the hint of antiseptic and the red-hot heat of need. His hands moved into her hair, his fingers tangling with her curls as if he couldn’t get enough of her, and all the while his tongue explored and stroked until she was breathi
ng so fast she could barely catch enough air.
His tongue vanished. “Sorry,” he panted. “Too fast.”
“No—”
But he kissed away her protest with a sweet, chaste kiss on the center of her lips before dropping more of the same on the side of her mouth. The hungry need had gone, and a skitter of panic lanced her as he continued to kiss her across her cheek and down her neck. Had he changed his mind?
“Now to join the dots,” he said in a deep rumble, and the tip of his tongue trailed between the points of each kiss.
With each stroke of his tongue and nip of each kiss a part of her melted. Her head fell back, then her shoulders, until Will’s hand on her spine was the only thing holding her up. The sofa cushions pressed against her back, and she opened her eyes to see him leaning over her, his dark, dark eyes burning for her.
“Look at that, you’re on your back,” he said with mock surprise and a wicked grin as he whipped her pajama top up and over her head. A second later he was cupping her now tingling and aching breasts.
She laughed. “Is that a Will Bartlett signature move?”
“It might be, but I don’t kiss and tell.” He closed his mouth around her left breast and flicked her already-erect nipple with his tongue.
A streak of pure need tore through her, and she cried out, writhing underneath him. He did it again, and she wrapped her legs around his, needing an anchor against this delicious torment.
His hair brushed her face as he raised his head and kissed her again on the lips. “Enjoying yourself?”
She could scarcely see straight, let alone think. “I . . . um . . . ah . . . yes.”
“Good.” He winked at her before turning his attention to her right breast.
With each lick and suck of her breasts, she thought she’d lose her mind. She’d already lost control of her body—it had surrendered utterly to Will’s ministrations and was a begging, panting, very wet mess.
He nipped her and she bucked against him.
He pulled back with a start. “Ouch. What the hell have you got in your pants?”
Holy crap. She’d tucked her insulin pump into the elastic waistband of her pajamas because who knew an hour ago she was going to be having sex. Not even in her wild, drunken party days had she had sex wearing her pump. She’d always removed it so no guy would notice. So she could pretend she was normal.
The wondrous, boneless feeling of being a sexy, desirable woman vanished, and she sat up so fast Will tumbled off the tiny sofa. “Oh God, sorry.”
“All good.” He sat up with a bemused look on his face. “I think this is a sign we need to—”
“Stop.” She wrapped her arms around her naked breasts, suddenly embarrassed. The provocateur was now long gone and buried under the realization he was going to see all of her naked. Naked and with needles plunged into her belly. “Good idea.”
He stared at her, a deep V carving into the bridge of his nose. “I was going to say relocate to a bed.”
“Oh. Right.”
He stood and then pulled her to her feet. Wrapping his arms around her so she was pressed warmly against his chest, he tucked her head under his chin. “A minute ago you sounded like you were about three seconds away from an orgasm, and now you want to stop. What’s going on?”
She kept her eyes fixed on the stripes of his shirt. “Nothing.”
He stroked her hair. “I’m not pressuring you, Millie. If you’ve changed your mind and you want to stop, we’ll stop. Only it doesn’t sound like nothing.”
Seriously? Are you really going to let this get in the way of having sex with Will?
She closed her eyes and pressed her face into his chest.
He pressed a kiss into her hair. “I’m a good listener.”
Just say it. One, two, three. “I just speared you with the corner of my insulin pump.”
His hands gently gripped her shoulders so she had to look up at him. “Oh, is that what it was?”
“Yeah.” She grimaced. “That’s what it was.”
“And . . . ?” He looked and sounded as if he had no clue why that was a problem.
“And . . .” Oh God, this is so embarrassing. “And you have this amazing body and I have—”
“A beautiful body.”
She blew a curl out of her eyes. “You’re just saying that so you get lucky.”
He shook his head. “I’ve chosen not to get lucky for quite some time, Millie. Now I’m choosing to get lucky with you.”
The sincerity in his voice made her brave. “My body . . . it’s got red, angry patches from the pump tape.”
He put his fingers under her chin. “It’s beautiful.”
“It’s pinpricked and bruised.”
“So now it’s a competition?” He pulled off his shirt to reveal a large yellow and black bruise on his hip. “I walked into the EKG machine.”
Her fingers traced the purple edges. “Ouch.”
His eyes darkened again, and he said roughly, “You can kiss it better if you want.”
She laughed and he kissed her before gazing down at her inquiringly. “Are we good?”
She bit her lip.
He groaned. “What now?”
“I don’t have any protection.”
A sheepish look crossed his face. “I do.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“What can I say?” He gave her that grin that melted her bones. “I’m a doctor and I always travel with a fully equipped medical kit.”
“Oh, right, and condoms are so often required during medical emergencies.” She started backing toward her bedroom, and he walked with her.
“You do realize that if I didn’t have a condom, this would be an emergency situation.”
“Oh my God, you’re right. I take it back.”
“Thank you.” They’d reached the bed. “Can we stop talking now?”
“Good idea.” She kissed him and her fingers reached for his belt.
Still kissing her, he somehow managed to kick off his shoes. When he pulled away to shuck his pants, she discarded hers and put her pump and Dex on the nightstand before leaping under the covers.
“No hiding.” He whipped them back and leaned over her, kissing her until she forgot everything. Then he ran kisses down her chest and between her breasts and dallied at her belly button before kissing every single pump bruise, every needle stab scab, and every patch of reddened, angry skin until he reached her infusion set.
She tensed.
He brought his head back to hers. “Does it fall out easily?”
She shook her head. “No.”
He grinned down at her. “Excellent.”
Lightness flooded her and she wrapped her arms and legs around him before pulling herself up to face him. She immediately felt his arousal pressing against her. “Ready to have some fun?”
“Too right.”
She ran her hands all over him, reveling in the wonder that he was hers to explore. His chest rose and fell under her lips, his heart thudded against her palm, her fingers bumped over his ribs and tumbled into the spaces in between before splaying against his golden brown skin and savoring the feel of his taut abdominal muscles that lay below. She dropped her hand lower, wrapping it around his erection and glorying in its silken feel against her skin. She squeezed, wanting to wrap all of herself around it.
“Steady.” He sucked in a jerky breath. “Remember the dry spell.”
She hastily removed her hand.
His laugh rumbled around her as his hands did some exploring of their own. He started in her hair, his fingers massaging her scalp, and then he slowly moved them down her neck and across her shoulders. He wove a circular trail from her breasts back to her spine and then forward again to her abdomen, leisurely going lower and lower, leaving no place untouched.
His hand slipped between her thighs, and she sighed as he kneaded the soft skin there with perfect pressure. Still kissing him, her body rode the wondrously long wave of dreamy languor that his strok
ing elicited. She could let him do this to her forever.
His fingers eventually found her welcoming wetness, and his thumb moved in slow, tantalizing circles against her now-erect clitoris. Shimmers and tingles shot along her veins, promising her that so much more was still to come. When he slid a finger inside her, she gasped not from shock but from the jet of pure, hot pleasure that hit her, hit her so hard her head spun.
At that moment she forgot everything. Her body took over, and she lost herself to the glory of sensation. Nothing existed except his mouth against hers and the touch of his fingers and thumbs on her pulsing, demanding core. She clenched against him and deepened the kiss, urging him to drive her higher and higher while at the same time never wanting any of this to end. He made a guttural sound in the back of his throat as he flicked his fingers upward and increased the pressure of his thumb. The combination was a delicious form of torture that turned her body into a panting, begging being.
Oh, yes, please. This. One minute she was sitting on his lap kissing him and the next she was being hurled into a different time and place—floating over herself on a river of bliss that threatened to scatter her to all parts of the universe.
As the orgasm faded and she came back to earth panting, he kissed her, his eyes glittering with desire. “Think you can do that again?”
She laughed and realized she’d never laughed or had so much conversation during sex in her life. “I’m always up for a challenge.”
“That’s the way.” He lifted her buttocks and lowered her gently and slowly down onto him, opening her bit by bit until he filled her to the hilt.
“Oh,” she breathed out, tightening around him and feeling him everywhere.
“Is that a good oh or an I’m not sure oh?”
“Good. Really good.”
He smiled a secret sort of a smile, as if he knew something she didn’t. “Okay then.”
Watching her face, he rocked into her and she rocked back. He did it again and she answered. She felt exposed by his gaze, but she didn’t want to look away from him, so she went with it. She’d expected frantic, hot, bone-shaking, sweaty sex, but this was gentle. No, that wasn’t exactly the word, it was— Oh God, she had no clue how to describe it except it was like the tantalizing opening of a present wrapped in layer upon layer of fine, handmade paper.
