by Jordan, Skye
As soon as those thoughts coalesced, fear dragged her heart into her stomach. This had been a mistake. A really big, really amazing, really stupid mistake.
She squinted around the empty room. Their remnants of dinner were pushed off to the side, and Dylan had laid another blanket over her. Her clothes were still strewn around the room, but all Dylan’s clothes were gone. And judging by the silence in the house, Dylan was gone as well.
Based on everything he’d said and done last night, she had no doubt he’d be back soon. Probably with coffee. This was the perfect time to put space between them again.
She shouldn’t have stayed past that first round. She’d meant to have sex with him one time—one time—to quell her need, to prove the magic between them was only in her head, maybe even to find closure.
Not only hadn’t any of that happened, but she’d immediately turned into a junkie, unable to get enough. What she’d meant to be just sex had become something else entirely. It was like they’d been thrown back in time, before all the trauma. The passion still burned white-hot between them. He still made her feel adored. Cherished. Needed. And the sex. The sex was even better than she remembered. And she remembered one-of-a-kind ecstasy.
Which were all reasons to get her ass dressed and out of here.
Emma collected her clothes. She ached in places she’d forgotten existed. At least now she knew for sure her memories were true, not embellished fantasies.
“Sure,” she muttered. “That’ll keep your mind off him, Em.”
She called herself every type of stupid for believing she could keep things between them under control. That one time would be enough to finally close the door.
“Fucking Maizey.” Emma pulled her hair from the collar of her scrub top and wound it into a messy bun. She lifted her voice to mock her friend’s words. “They’re never as good as you remember. Trust me.”
It had taken her years to get over him the first time. How long would it take now, with these new memories so fresh?
Emma grabbed her keys and purse from the kitchen counter and rushed to the door. But the handle turned before she even touched it.
Emma’s heart flipped, and she took a step back.
Dylan’s gaze locked on hers, and his feet froze. He stood there, a carrier with two coffees in one hand, a pink box in the other. They stared at each other a long, awkward moment while a battle between desire and fear broke out inside her.
He quirked a smile, his eyes dark and sultry. “You weren’t just going to run out on me, were you?”
“That’s your MO, not mine.” She smoothed her hair down. “I have to get to work.”
One of his dark brows shot up. “You told me you didn’t have to work today.”
“No, I said I didn’t have to work until this afternoon.”
“Then we still have hours…” He closed the door, his grin growing. He reached out and smoothed his knuckles over her cheek, then let his hand slide around the back of her neck while pulling her a step closer.
“Nope.” The battle inside her turned into a war. “I’ve got things to do.”
Dylan slid the coffee and pastries onto the counter, then sidestepped, trapping her there as well. And, God, he smelled amazing. Like sweet, sultry, sweaty, scintillating sex. The scent of everything that stirred her insides into a boil.
He slid his arms around her waist and gave her those I-want-you-again and I-want-you-now eyes. Her body screamed hell, yes. Her mind warned don’t even think about it.
“You should stay and demo with me.” He dipped his head and kissed her. Rocked his hips against hers. “It’ll be fun. We can get all sweaty together.” He kissed her again. “Take lots of breaks.” He kissed her again. “A few power naps.”
“Uh-uh.” This wasn’t happening again. She pressed her hands to his chest, making room to turn out of his arms. “One-time thing, remember?”
He exhaled and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Emma.”
She got two steps toward the door before turning back. He smiled and opened his arms, but Emma only reached past him and grabbed one of the coffees along with the small pink box.
She offered a smile and a crisp “Thanks,” then hustled out the door.
But putting distance between herself and Dylan didn’t do anything to dim the memory of their first night together after eight years. She pulled to the curb at her apartment building but didn’t shut down the engine. She needed sleep, but she also knew her mind would run wild if she tried to catch a nap.
She closed her eyes and rubbed at the sting there. Dylan instantly appeared. His muscular body with all the scars. Yet not one made him any less attractive. His well-developed muscles stretched the skin, smoothing the puckers and making the burns look more like art than scars. They gave him a sexy edginess that matched the man he’d become. The compelling, intense, fascinating man he’d become.
When her mind tried to veer toward the idea of reconciliation, her heart skittered, searching for a place to hide. “Oh,” she moaned on an exhale. “I’m so fucked.”
Her phone rang, and Emma reached for it reluctantly. She saw a number that was familiar, but that she couldn’t place. She took a deep breath and answered, “Doctor Reeves.”
“Doctor Reeves, hello.” The voice was female and formal, but pleasant. “This is Cindy Marlow from Vanderbilt University Hospital.”
“Oh, hi.” Emma’s focus narrowed to the woman she’d met briefly in the process of jumping through hoops at Vanderbilt to be considered for employment there. “How are you?”
“Very well, thank you. Do you have a minute?”
“Of course.”
“I just wanted to touch base with you about the attending position in our emergency department.”
Emma closed her eyes. This was the worst possible time to think about making big decisions. And now that Aunt Shelly’s house held the possibility of paying off her school debt, she was even less inclined to take the position at Vanderbilt. But the renovation hadn’t even started, and it could take months. Months during which Emma had to pay back hefty school loans.
“Yes, thank you,” Emma said. “It’s definitely been on my mind.”
“If I remember correctly, your residency ends soon.”
Perfect, a reminder of just how drastically her world was about to change. “That’s right. Time flies.”
Ms. Marlow chuckled. “Well, we have several candidates for the full-time position in the ED and, as you know, you are our top pick.”
“I do, and I’m honored.”
“The thing is, we really need to get your answer so we know if we should be considering other physicians for the position.”
“Of course. I understand.”
She really didn’t want to lose this job. It was, by far, the best she’d been offered locally. And if she wasn’t going overseas, she wanted to stay near her family. But if she signed the contract, she’d be bound for two years.
“I have a few family things to work out before I can say yes,” she told Marlow. “Do you mind if I get back to you in a week or two?”
“The sooner, the better.”
“Understood. Thank you so much.”
Emma disconnected and exhaled heavily. She needed to just pull the trigger and take the job. She wouldn’t know any more about the house potentially paying off her student loans in two weeks than she knew now.
“Shit.” She hated the claustrophobia tightening her chest. So she’d have to put off her dreams another couple of years? So what? At least then she’d have the two years post-residency that Doctors Without Borders required for physicians to work with them.
And shit, she really wasn’t going to get any sleep now.
She lifted her phone again and dialed Maizey.
“Hey there,” Maizey answered. “You must be reading my mind. I was going to call and see if you wanted to get together for lunch today.”
Emma was starving after her night with Dylan. Maybe after she’d eaten and hashed things out with Maizey, she
would actually be able to get some sleep. “I’m thinking breakfast.”
“Then I guess I’m thinking I’ll meet you at Rusty’s Cafe in twenty.”
Emma’s shoulders relaxed. “Perfect.”
An hour later, Emma stabbed the last bite of pancake with her fork and slipped it into her mouth, then sat back in the booth with a sigh. She’d decimated her breakfast of two eggs, four bacon strips, and three blueberry pancakes the size of dinner plates.
A light rain had started falling right before she’d arrived at the restaurant, and it showed no signs of letting up.
“If that’s what great sex does to a person,” Maizey said, sipping her coffee with an amused smile, “then my sex life is definitely substandard.”
Emma’s belly might be full, but her heart was still tied in knots. She picked up her ice water and pushed her plate toward the middle of the table. “Shitty advice, by the way.”
“I disagree. You’re absolutely glowing.”
That was true. She may not know what she looked like, she may be anxious about the fallout, but her body was still thrumming happily from her night with Dylan. Her mind veered toward the memory of his sweet nothings murmured during sex. The way he looked at her, touched her, pleasured her. Dylan Wright was still a dream lover. Too bad he was as dependable as a meth addict coming off a high.
“Sex was never our problem,” she told Maizey, “and it’s not going to solve this one either. All it did was open old wounds. Now I have to get over him all over again.”
“You wouldn’t have to if you’d give him another chance.”
“No.” Emma was shaking her head before Maizey even finished the statement. “No way. A girl can take only so much heartache.”
Maizey tipped her head and studied Emma, eyes narrowed. “I never took you for a coward. After all the years you’ve pined for him, following his career, letting your love for him ruin your relationships, I would have never believed you’d throw away the chance to be with him again.”
“I have not let my feelings for him get in the way of other relationships. And I haven’t been pining for him either. I’ve been out here, living my life.”
Maizey sputtered a yeah-right laugh. “You may as well sign up for the convent now if you’re not going to give him another shot, because pushing your feelings for him aside sure isn’t helping you make a love connection. And I’m talking about more than Liam. There was Ben, Jarred, Dalton—”
“None of those breakups had anything to do with—”
“Save it for someone who doesn’t know you like I do.” Maizey shook her head like a disappointed mother. “You do realize that sex is sex, right? I mean, I know you haven’t slept with a lot of guys, but there’s only so many ways to do it. The real pleasure comes from being crazy about the person you’re with. Emotions add spice to sex the way salt adds flavor to food. And don’t even try to tell me sex has ever been this good with Liam, because I’ve never seen you glow or heard you rave, and if you were going to do either, you would have done it by now.”
Emma opened her mouth to blast back, but her memory flooded with the feel of her body catching fire the minute Dylan touched her. The thrum of her heart when his mouth was on hers. The thrill rushing her blood when they were skin to skin. Nothing remotely the way she responded to any other man.
She was beginning to see why they’d always had such amazing sex—they’d always been head over heels in love with each other.
And now what? Now what in the hell was she going to do? If she pushed him away and blocked any chance they could try again, she was risking a life of mediocre love. If she gave in to her deepest desire, she risked her very fragile heart.
She dropped her elbows on the table and her face in her hands. “Fuck me.”
“I know just the man to take you up on that offer.”
Emma dropped her hands, half laughing, half crying. Her mother and Maizey were right. Emma had emotionally jailed herself, unwilling to take Dylan back, unable to give her heart to anyone else.
“I can’t talk about this anymore. You’re not being rational, and I’m in no condition to make a decision that big.” Emma crossed her arms and purposely changed the subject. “Vanderbilt called this morning. They want an answer.”
“And?”
“I’ll have to take it.”
“Such enthusiasm.”
“I still want to go overseas.”
“You can still do that and work at Vanderbilt.”
“For a couple weeks a year? Feels like it’s almost not worth it. I’m not doing this to make myself feel better, I’m doing it to make a difference.” Her conversation with Dylan filled her head and added doubt. “How much of a difference can I make in two weeks?”
“That’s black-and-white thinking, Em. Every person we help spreads hope. Every medical professional we teach passes the information on. What we do has a ripple effect every day, no matter where we are in the world.”
“Maybe.” But she wanted more. And by the time her contract with Vanderbilt ended, she’d be thirty-one. There was marriage and kids to consider, though both prospects looked pretty damn bleak right now. Maybe she wasn’t destined for kids or a family. Maybe she’d always been meant for the nomad lifestyle of a humanitarian aid worker.
Her phone pinged with a video message from Dylan. When she tapped into the video, she saw a slow sweep of Aunt Shelley’s kitchen with the wall between the kitchen and the living room gone.
“Wow. That was fast.” She showed Maizey. “Isn’t that fantastic?”
“Oh my God, what a difference. Who knew taking out one short wall could make it look so much bigger?”
Maizey took the phone, turned on the sound, and watched the video again.
Dylan’s voice came over the speaker. “Hey, beautiful. Making progress. This would be so much more fun with you here, but I’m not sure I’d feel safe giving you a sledgehammer while I was within striking distance. Call when you’re free, I really need your input on some of the design changes before I tear apart the kitchen, and by the way you ditched me this morning, I’m obviously not able to read your mind the way I once could, ’cause I was ready to swear I could get you to stay. You’re going to have to help me out here.”
He paused as if he wanted to say something else. The look in his eyes clearly told Emma he wanted to say something like last night was amazing or I can’t stop thinking about you or I need you, come over now, but he said, “Talk soon” and disconnected.
Maizey looked up. “Jesus Christ, he’s so sweet.”
“There.” She pointed at the phone. “Now. But take my word for it, he’s not so sweet telling you he doesn’t love you anymore and wants you out of his life. Nope, not sweet at all.”
“He’s trying, Emma. He’s doing all this for you.” A plea rang in Maizey’s voice. “He was a kid. He did the best he could. He messed up, but he did it for the right reasons. You’ve got to find a way to forgive him so you can get past this. Whether or not you decide to be with Dylan isn’t as important as just putting this mess to bed. You’ve been carrying this burden too long.”
Maizey was right about resolving her feelings for Dylan. But she also knew that trusting men hadn’t worked for her for nearly a decade, and it wasn’t going to change overnight. And she sure didn’t need a man jumping in and trying to fix her life. If there was one thing Emma learned bone-deep, it was that no one could be trusted to take care of her. She had to take care of herself.
Which meant it was time for Emma to take back some control.
14
Dylan hauled the sledgehammer above his head and swung. The heavy metal head blasted through old sheetrock. Gypsum cracked, and powder exploded into the air. It only took two more blows to expose the framing for the wall between the two larger bedrooms, where the new Jack-and-Jill bath would go.
Dylan set the hammer aside and pulled at a few small pieces of drywall clinging to the studs. He tossed them into a pile by the door, pulled down his face mask, an
d drank half a bottle of water. Despite the safety goggles, the dust in the air stung his eyes. And, damn, the extended manual labor cut at his nerves like razors.
Still, the pain only diverted his thoughts from Emma for a few minutes at a time. She’d been working shitty shifts for three days and said she didn’t have the time or energy for anything but a few texts. But Dylan knew she was distancing herself. Putting time and space between them after their deep, connected reunion. Even she knew what they’d shared wasn’t just sex.
But every time he replayed her detached, flippant exit, his heart dropped like a rock. Their night together had only magnified both his desire and his loss. Fantasizing about what it would feel like to touch her again, kiss her again, hadn’t come anywhere close to the reality. Sheer bliss. For several long, heavenly hours, he’d been healed. Whole. Overflowing with the kind of joy only Emma could bring.
Then she’d acted like it was nothing and walked away.
Dylan exhaled, picked up a towel, and wiped his face. Logically, he knew Emma had no reason to love him. No reason to want him. And him coming back now was way too little, a lifetime too late. But emotionally, he was a fucking mess.
He took a breath and wandered into the backyard, using the picnic table to help him stretch his limbs and back. After twenty minutes, the pain stabbing him like a hundred hot pokers eased.
His cell rang. He pulled it from his back pocket hoping to see Emma’s name on the screen. Instead, the name of his editor and boss from the network, Charlie, showed up.
“Shit.” Dylan dropped his head back and closed his eyes. Charlie hadn’t wanted him to take this leave and now wanted Dylan on the next plane out. He’d been sending Charlie’s calls to voicemail, but now that he’d been here three weeks, Dylan really couldn’t avoid him without the threat of losing his job. But just the thought of returning to Syria felt like a boulder on his shoulders. He tapped the display and brought the phone to his ear. “Hey, Charlie.”
“Dylan, finally. So glad to finally get you.”
“Yeah, sorry. Dealing with family stuff. What’s up?”
