Truly Madly Montana

by Fiona Lowe

  Just like every other time he kissed her, half of her sighed and melted into a wide river of languid need while the other half of her sizzled with a desire that crackled and fizzed and demanded satiation. Now. Right now. Grasping his hand, she walked him down to her bedroom, pausing only to grab a condom from the nightstand drawer before stepping through the sliding glass doors and out onto the private deck. She pulled back the cover from the hot tub and started the jets.

  “I like the way you think,” he said with a grin before pulling off his shirt and shucking his pants.

  She didn’t even bother trying to stifle the low and appreciative wow that rolled out of her. She never tired of being able to see, touch and taste his beautiful body.

  “Enjoy me. I’m all yours,” he said as he lifted the top of her scrubs, pulling it easily over her head. He immediately paused, staring at her bright blue lace bra. “Noice.” His accent rumbled and flattened the word. “Very noice, but as much as I want to admire it, the jets are bubbling and we’re wasting electricity. The bra has to go.”

  “If it’s in the interests of the environment and sustainability . . .” She undid the bra and attempted a sexy shimmy to wriggle it off her shoulders. Halfway through, she suddenly stilled, feeling very self-conscious. “I have no clue what I’m doing.”

  “It doesn’t look that way to me,” Will said appreciatively. “Keep going.”

  She still couldn’t fully believe that this guy, who could have any woman he wanted, found her sexy, but he was standing in front of her with the evidence of his arousal hard and straight and beautiful. Laughing, she twirled the bra, stepped in close and placed it around his neck, pulling his head down to hers.

  He made a hoarse sound and kissed her.

  Her mind emptied of everything except Will.

  When he broke the kiss so they could both breathe, she kicked off her pants, disconnected her insulin pump and stowed it on top of the towel shelf before joining him in the tub.

  The warm water bubbled around them, and Will pulled her into his lap. His erection pressed against her, and she felt the familiar rush of anticipation and the wondrous, heavy throb of desire. She was ready.

  Only, he didn’t open the condom and lift her onto him. Instead, he surprised her by rubbing her shoulders, his strong, long fingers pressing and kneading, releasing the knots of tension that the draining afternoon and evening had put there. Under his expert ministrations, her muscles loosened and her shoulders dropped. He massaged her scalp before moving methodically down her neck and along her spine. His thumbs dipped between each vertebra with subtle pressure until they reached her hips. Suddenly, his hands were doing amazing things to her thighs.

  Every muscle in her body sagged with bliss, and she leaned against him for support, her back resting against his chest and belly. Her eyelids fluttered closed. She was warm and relaxed, totally supported by him, and as much as she wanted him to fill her, as much as she wanted to impale herself upon him until all she could feel was him, a part of her never wanted to move from this warm, safe place or from the magic of his wondrous hands.

  He dropped his head to her neck, his lips sucking and soothing, his tongue flicking and teasing her hot, wet skin, until every cell vibrated with lust and she was one banked fire of boneless need from tip to toe. Her breathing hitched as his hands moved to her front, massaging her belly in concentric circles, and then he was cupping her breasts with a pressure that was neither tender nor rough.

  She heard low, guttural sounds and realized they came from her. They were moans of delight as slow, delicious pleasure meandered through every part of her like a lazy river on a hot summer’s afternoon. She didn’t know anything could feel this good. His fingers found her nipples, and a sharp bolt of need dived deep, imploding every languid feeling. With a throaty cry, she swung around fast to face him, her body aching and impatient for him. He smelled of salt, testosterone and sex, and his eyes were every shade of blue, just like van Gogh’s Starry Night.

  He reached for the small foil packet on the edge of the hot tub. “Ready?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Panting, her mouth found his—wide and hot and greedy—and she claimed it with her own impatience, welcoming the flood of his hungry need tangoing with hers. She wanted to wrap herself around him so their skin overlapped and no space existed between them. Lifting her arms up around his neck, she linked her fingers and then she wrapped her legs around his waist until all of her was touching him.

  Without breaking the kiss that threatened to suck the air from her lungs, his strong arms moved underneath her, gripping her buttocks, and then he lifted her over him.

  A soft, high-pitched, involuntary squeal left her mouth as she anticipated the width and weight of him inside of her. Oh. Yes. This.

  Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.

  Her breath caught. No! No way! Not now!

  Will flinched and pulled his mouth from hers. “Is that Dex?”

  “I’m fine.” She kissed him again, flicking her tongue against his cheek in the way she knew made him kiss her hard.

  Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.

  He pulled away again. “Millie, you either need insulin or you need to eat.”

  “I can do it in five minutes,” she half panted, half sobbed as she felt the tip of his penis pressing against her and she clenched as if that was enough to suck him into her.

  “Call me old-fashioned,” he said tightly, “but I don’t want to have sex with an unconscious woman.” In a perfunctory movement, he lifted her off him and sat her on the hot tub’s seat.

  Shock dueled with desire. “Will . . .” But the rest of her sentence died under his granite gaze.

  Sex in the hot tub—sex anywhere right now—was off the table.

  Disappointment was far too tame a word to describe the feeling that stole through her. Betrayal came close. She hated her diabetes with a passion that threatened to rush her back to the dark days of the past. Not only had it totally wrecked the moment, it had just spectacularly reminded Will that she was faulty. Up until now, sex had been the one time he seemed to forget she was diabetic.

  God, right now, any other woman would be humping him senseless. Rendering him utterly speechless, reducing him to a series of shudders and moans and watching ecstasy crawl across his face instead of this frown of consternation that came with a horrifying hint of paternal concern.

  He stood up, shut off the jets, hauled her to her feet, flicked a towel off the waiting pile and wrapped it around her like she was a kid who needed help at bath time. With a rush of aggravation, she stepped out of the tub, needing to separate from him. She didn’t want his help. She didn’t want anyone’s help. She just wanted to be treated like a normal woman—whatever that felt like, and she was utterly certain it didn’t feel like this.

  She grabbed the beeping Dex off the top of the towel cupboard. Crap. The numbers didn’t lie—she was crashing.

  Will wrapped a towel around his waist as he looked over her shoulder. “Hell, Millie. Why didn’t you tell me you needed to eat the moment we got home?”

  Don’t blame me. She flicked her wet hair, showering him with water, and slapped her hands on her hips. “Because you distracted me by kissing me.”

  A contrite expression crossed his face. “My bad. I should have realized.”

  “No,” she said tersely as she pushed past him into the bedroom, cross with Dex, cross with him, cross with herself. “You don’t need to realize. That’s my job.”

  As she pulled on some shorts, she felt the prickle of tears burning behind her eyes. Damn it. Hypoglycemia messed with her emotions, and she could lurch from irritable to angry to teary in a heartbeat. She would not cry in front of Will—that would be the ultimate humiliation on top of everything else.

  Dex sounded again, and she grabbed some fruit snacks from her nightstand and raced for the kitchen. She’d just pulled some eggs out of the fridge when Will appeared. He stood tall in the doorway, looking damp
and delectable, wearing a pair of sweatpants he’d forgotten to take with him the other night and Evan’s old T-shirt. His expression was wary and alert—as if he wasn’t sure if she was going to burst into tears or lunge at him and bite his head off.

  So much for being sexy and desirable. She was certain that just like her family, he was starting to think that she came under the banner of way too much hard work.

  He cleared his throat. “Can I make you an omelet?”

  “I can do it.” The double-crossing shakes chose that exact moment to set in, and the bowl she was holding clattered onto the counter.

  He took that as his cue and swept into the kitchen as if it was his ER and she was the patient. He lifted her onto the counter like she was five years old, poured her a glass of juice, held it out in front of her and said, “Drink this.”

  She hated that she had no choice but to obey.

  Chapter 14

  “Please don’t feel you have to stay.”

  Millie’s tone managed to combine defensiveness, embarrassment and terse politeness. Confused, Will looked up from beating the eggs. “Do you want me to leave?”

  Millie waved Dex under his nose. “I want you to see that the juice has kicked in and the shakes have gone. You’ve been looking after people all day, and the last thing you need to be doing now is looking after me.”

  You’re wrong. But he wasn’t dumb enough to say that to a woman who had the low blood sugar snarks. What he really wanted to say was, Don’t be embarrassed by what happened, but he knew enough to tread very carefully around Millie when she was hypoglycemic. “Actually, I’m here for purely selfish reasons.”

  And in one way, he was. He’d been the one who’d kissed her in the hope of sex, because he’d wanted to lose himself in her and block out the events of the day. In far too many ways today had been like reliving the hell of Charlie’s last few hours, except that no one had died. Yet.

  All he wanted to do now was forget about drug-affected drivers, damaged young lives and a community reeling.

  “Purely selfish reasons? Really?” she said, half grumpy, half teasing. “You have a passion for making eggs?”

  He gently nudged her shoulder with his. “I have a passion for you.”

  A flash of skepticism lit up her eyes, and he hated that no matter what he did or said, she never seemed to fully believe she was sexy and desirable.

  He leaned in and captured her lips, tasting the sweetness of the juice and the softness of Millie. “My despicable plan is to feed you, get those numbers up to a nice, solid level and then take you to bed so you can work off the calories until you’re screaming and so is Dex.”

  “You got the stamina for that?” she asked, her eyes dancing.

  And happy Millie was back. He let go of a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding. “I’ll give it my best shot.” He passed her a loaf of bread. “You make toast and I’ll deal with the eggs.”

  Millie turned on her MP3 player, and they sang loudly and tunelessly to ABBA as they cooked. There was something soothing and reassuring about doing totally normal things after the day they’d been through. He was sautéing the bell pepper, onions and bacon when his phone vibrated and beeped on the counter.

  He’d been getting updates on all the patients they’d evacuated, and he immediately tensed. The news about Jade wasn’t good, and as much as he’d been hoping against it, he’d been half expecting bad news. “Billings?”

  Millie picked up the sleek, fluoro red device—he’d deliberately chosen the color so he could always find the phone—and she offered it to him. He shook his head. “I don’t want to burn this. You read it out.”

  “Okay.” She swiped the screen and with eyes cast down read the text. “Oh.”

  His chest tightened at the sound, and he plucked the phone out of her hand, frantically reading the text, preparing for the worst. His brain lurched in his skull at the unexpected words.

  “Exactly why is Doctor McBain asking you for sex advice?” Millie’s bemusement tinkled in her voice.

  “Because I’m the best,” he teased, deliberately aiming to divert the conversation away from the fact he was still helping the needy McBain. Women got funny about things like that.

  “And you’re so freaking humble.” She pinched the phone back and scrolled up through the texts. “Oh my God, you’ve given this guy a step-by-step guide to seducing a woman.”

  “No,” he said, feeling unusually defensive. “I gave him some dating tips in exchange for him covering my shifts so I could come to Josh and Katrina’s wedding.”

  “So what you’re saying is that you’re not really a player but a generous guy.”

  He grinned at her cynical expression. “That’s me. Generous to a fault, and I’ve been helping a bro out.” He dumped the sautéed vegetables onto the omelet and flipped the other half over the top before slicing it in two and serving it onto the plates.

  Millie spread sweet chili sauce over the eggs. “He’s moved on from dating tips to foreplay.”

  He joined her at the table. “Yeah, that’s crossing the line. The time has come for McBain to go cold turkey.”

  Millie kept scrolling while she ate. “Wow, some of these dating ideas are really good,” she said, sounding begrudgingly impressed. She set the phone down and gave him a calculated and devious look. “Obviously, I put out way too early, because you didn’t try any of these things with me.”

  “I took you canoeing and we had a picnic.”

  “When you thought I was a lesbian,” she said indignantly.

  “Yeah.” The guilt swirled in his gut. “Sorry again for that major stuff-up.”

  She pushed her now empty plate away and twirled a curl around her finger, a calculating look in her eyes. “Given the psychological trauma that little mix-up inflicted on me, I think it’s only fair you make it up to me.”

  He laughed, happy to oblige, because spending time with Millie was always fun. “Fair enough. Which scenario takes your fancy?”

  “Flyboarding looks like fun.”

  His heart clenched. “We’re choosing from the list. Flyboarding’s not on that list, and it’s not romantic. What about movies in the moonlight?”

  She scrunched up her pretty face. “Yeah, but this is Bear Paw, so no such thing.”

  “I can set up a screen outside and we could have popcorn.”

  She shook her head slowly back and forth. “I don’t think that will do it. No, I’m still thinking Flyboarding.”

  The idea of her blacking out at fifty feet in the air on top of a jet of water and then plummeting into a deep lake made his gut churn and his chest ache. He quickly scrambled for ideas. “I saw a poster advertising Montana Shakespeare in the Parks.”

  “Picnic rug, gourmet picnic hamper”—she consulted one of the text messages—“a bunch of wildflowers, chocolates and champagne.”

  “You don’t drink alcohol, so I’ll find something sparkling and low in sugar.”

  She got a stubborn look in her eyes. “What about the chocolates?”

  “You know chocolates aren’t a great idea.”

  She shrugged as if she didn’t care. “Just this once, I can make an exception for Swiss chocolate balls.”

  He didn’t want her to make an exception just this once or ever. He didn’t want her blood sugar soaring sky-high or dropping dangerously low, because both came with risky consequences—loss of consciousness, kidney damage, retinal damage with eyesight loss, high blood pressure, gangrene—the list went on and on, and every item was tattooed onto every health professional’s brain from the moment they became a student.

  Almost as if she was making a point or flipping him the bird, she got out her lancet, pricked her finger and tested her blood sugar. “You know, Will, Flyboarding is probably safer than chocolate.”

  Like hell it is. “I think seeing The Taming of the Shrew in the park will be perfect.”

  “As long as you’re not trying to tame me,” she quipped, only her smile didn’t quite reac
h her eyes.

  “Never,” he said, not wanting to argue. Not now. Not tonight. Not when he wanted to bury himself inside her luscious and welcoming body and forget the day.

  “Do you have any photos of Australia on your phone?” she asked unexpectedly, her finger hovering over the photo icon.

  “I think they’re mostly of Montana, although mum sent a few the other day.”

  “Can I see them?”

  “Sure.”

  She scrolled across and stopped at the one taken at Francois Peron National Park. “Oh my God, I want to go here. These colors are amazing. I’ve never seen cliffs that red next to a beach of golden sand, and the sea’s so clear.” She looked up at him, bemused. “The sky’s the same blue as Montana.”

  He smiled at her, loving that she’d made that connection. “It is, and it’s just as big and wide,” he said, thinking of the shimmering heat of hot summer days in Murrinwindi.

  “Do you get homesick?”

  There was no point denying it. “Sometimes.”

  She scrolled again. “Oh, look at you, sexy surfer dude with your wet suit rolled down to your waist.” She peered more closely at the photo, using her fingers to zoom in, and then she looked up, her expression one of confusion. “Did you used to have a tattoo on your left shoulder?”

  His chest tightened so fast the pain radiated everywhere. Charlie. She must have scrolled through to the end of all the recently added photos and the phone had defaulted back to the start of the collection. He swallowed and tried to sound normal. “That’s my twin.”

  Her eyebrows hit her hairline. “You have an identical twin?”

  Had. But he didn’t want to talk about Charlie in past tense. Not tonight. “Charlie.”

  Her eyes lit up. “He’s gorgeous.”

  A streak of something green shot through him.