by Radclyffe
“Not a change. A discovery.” Wynter clasped the back of Pearce’s neck, pressing Pearce’s mouth harder against her skin. “I love your mouth on me. I love your hands on me. I love your hands inside of me.” She moaned as Pearce’s teeth closed on the muscle in her neck. “What do you think that says about me?” She squeezed Pearce’s neck harder and whispered, “Suck me.”
Gasping at the small point of pain, Wynter dropped her head back, urging Pearce on. “I love the way you get wet for me. I love how hard your nipples are when you’re excited. I love feeling you come when I touch you. When I touch you.” She moaned. “God, that feels so good.”
Pearce pulled away, her chest heaving. “Fuck. You make me so crazy, I don’t know what I’m doing half the time.” Tenderly, she kissed the mark she had left. “Sorry.”
“I’m just sorry we don’t have time for more.” Wynter kissed her hungrily, thrusting her tongue into Pearce’s mouth, then pulling away just as abruptly. “I want you so much right now.”
“We can’t go back,” Pearce said, running her thumb over Wynter’s mouth. “And we can’t make up for lost time overnight.” She grinned. “I’m not entirely certain I can even walk.”
Wynter smiled, her lips full and flushed with arousal. “Good.” With a sudden powerful thrust of her hips, she dislodged Pearce, who landed on her back on the bed with a surprised grunt. “Go shower. If we’re late for rounds, the senior resident will be pissed.”
“Tease!” Pearce made a grab for her. “The senior resident’s already pissed.”
Laughing, Wynter rolled off the bed and danced out of reach. “Then I guess it’s a good thing you can’t run.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Pearce carried her coffee to the round table in the far corner of the cafeteria where Wynter waited with Bruce, who had been on call Saturday night. Wynter looked up and smiled at her, and Pearce felt a flutter in her chest. She grinned, her eyes traveling from Wynter’s face down her body. She frowned when she saw the bruise low on Wynter’s neck, exposed by the vee of her scrub shirt. She raised her eyebrows and tugged at her own shirt, mimicking covering part of her throat. Wynter blushed and adjusted hers. Remembering exactly how that bruise had gotten there, Pearce had to admit to a small surge of pleasure. As she sat down, she saw Bruce staring at her with a pensive expression on his face. She met his eyes and held them until he looked away. Then she took her list from her shirt pocket, unfolded it carefully, and set it in front of her. “Okay. From the top.”
After they’d run the list of patients and Bruce had left for home, she and Wynter were the only ones remaining at the table. “Tired?”
“A little.” Wynter smiled. “Good tired.”
“Hopefully today will be slow and you’ll have a chance to catch a little sleep.”
“Are there any admissions this afternoon?” In recent years, insurance companies had revamped their reimbursement scale to force physicians to bring patients into the hospital on the day of surgery rather than admitting them the afternoon before and keeping them overnight prior to their procedures. When previously there had been a dozen or more patients admitted to the hospital in the afternoon for surgery the next day, now there often were none.
“We’re still expecting the transfer from Harrisburg that was supposed to come in yesterday morning. If the bed situation has eased up, she’ll probably show up this afternoon.”
“The one with the leaking anastomosis?”
“Right.”
Wynter looked down at her list. “She’s coming to your father, right?”
Pearce nodded.
“Do you think he’ll want to operate tonight?”
“It depends on how she looks.” Pearce finished her coffee and rolled the cup between her palms. “He’s got five cases scheduled for tomorrow. If it looks like she’s going to need to go, he’ll do it tonight so as not to back up tomorrow. If she looks like she’ll hold off a couple of days, he might wait until Tuesday.”
“If her surgery was six days ago and they think she’s leaking, she’s not going to hold for another couple of days. I’ll get another CAT scan as soon as she arrives and get started on the preop tests.”
“Page me when she comes in.”
“It’s not necessary. You’re off today and—”
“She’s a new admission to the service. I have to see her.” Pearce set her cup down. “You can call him with your assessment. I won’t get in your way over it.”
“I know,” Wynter said gently. “I just thought I could give you a break.”
“It’s okay. I feel fine.”
“I guess you’re used to all-night recreational activities,” Wynter said with the barest hint of sarcasm. She couldn’t help thinking of the appreciative looks cast in Pearce’s direction by more than one woman.
Pearce studied Wynter, her expression placid. “It’s probably good that we’re sitting in the cafeteria on opposite sides of the table. Otherwise, I’d be tempted to kiss you. You’re very sexy when you’re jealous.”
“I’m not jealous!”
Pearce grinned.
“I’m not.” Annoyed because it was true and Pearce had noticed, Wynter retorted without thinking, “I suppose you think I’ve never stayed up all night screwing before?” The instant she said it, she regretted it, especially when she saw Pearce’s eyes darken and her jaw set hard. “Pearce—”
“I’ll be on my beeper if you need me.” Pearce pushed her chair back and stood.
“Please don’t go. I’m sorry. That was thoughtless.”
“No, I’m sure it’s true. I do know where babies come from.”
“Damn it,” Wynter seethed, looking around the room, aware of their fellow residents everywhere. She couldn’t chase her without creating a scene. “Please. Five minutes.”
Pearce wanted to walk away. Wynter was like no woman in her experience. She was used to wild sex with wild women who were unfettered or, at the very least, unconcerned about their attachments. She’d never been jealous of who else they were sleeping with and definitely had never cared about anyone in their past. Since the moment she’d learned that Wynter was married, she’d steadfastly refused to think about it. Now that she’d touched her, held her, made love to her, thinking about her being with someone else incensed her. She knew it was crazy, and she couldn’t stop. She took a breath. “Look. It’s okay. You don’t have anything to explain to me.”
“If you don’t sit down, everyone in this room is going to hear that you’re the best lay I’ve ever had.”
“Uh…” Pearce coughed and her mind went blank. She did the only thing possible. She pulled out the chair and sat back down.
Wynter leaned forward, her eyes fierce. “Do you remember what I said to you this morning? About how I felt when you touched me? When I touched you?”
Pearce swallowed. Her head was buzzing. “Wynter—”
“Be quiet and listen. I can’t think of any way to say this that doesn’t sound like a cliché, but it’s true. I’ve never been so present, so much myself, as I was with you last night. That means everything to me.”
Me too. Pearce knew it, and she had no idea what to do with that fact. She shook her head, barely recognizing herself. “You must think I’m nuts, going off about something that’s already over.”
Wynter smiled. “No, not really. I think you’re sexy when you’re jealous.”
“Ha.” Pearce felt the tightness in her chest ease. That means everything to me. She’d been told some pretty outrageous things by more than a few women after a night of passion, but nothing anyone else had ever said to her had made her feel quite so good. “So how about I drop by later on today, see the new admission, and take you to din—”
“Damn,” Wynter muttered as she looked down at the readout on her beeper. She looked up as Pearce’s beeper went off and when she saw the grim set of her face, she knew. “The chief?”
“Yeah.” Pearce stood. “You too?”
Wynter nodded. “You don’t thin
k—”
“There’s no way he’d know, and even if he did, as long as it didn’t interfere with work, it wouldn’t be a problem.” She smiled and wished she could take Wynter’s hand. “Come on. Let’s go see what he wants.”
Taking a breath to settle herself, Wynter nodded. “Aye aye, Chief.” At Pearce’s grin, she added, “And don’t get too used to that.”
*
The surgery offices were deserted at 8:00 a.m. on Sunday. The door to Ambrose Rifkin’s personal office stood open beyond the large partitioned area where his secretary usually protected his domain. Despite the open door, Pearce knocked.
“Come.”
Ambrose Rifkin, dressed in scrubs, reclined behind his desk with his leather chair tilted back and a file folder balanced on his knee. Despite his casual demeanor, neither Pearce nor Wynter spoke until he finished making a note in the margin of one of the chart pages, closed the folder, and dropped it onto his desk. He sat forward and looked from one to the other.
“Please sit down.”
Pearce and Wynter took the adjoining chairs in front of his desk.
“I just spoke to Tom Larson in Harrisburg. The patient’s on her way and should be here within the hour. Let’s get her directly to CAT scan from the ER. The OR is standing by.”
“I could’ve taken care of that, sir,” Pearce said quietly.
“I was here.” His tone of voice implied that Pearce should have been as well.
She said nothing.
He leaned back slightly and regarded Wynter. In a conversational tone of voice, he said, “Fifty years ago, there were very few general surgical subspecialties. At the time, Isaac Rifkin was the chairman of surgery, and one morning he assembled his senior residents in his office.” He glanced at a framed photo on the far wall that showed six men in white lab coats standing in front of one of the older buildings in the hospital complex.
Wynter followed his gaze. She didn’t recognize any of them.
“He had evaluated his people, and he not only recognized their talents, but he predicted the future of surgery. He sent one to France to study with a noted cranial-facial surgeon. That resident would return and become the first chief of plastic surgery. He sent another to St. Louis to work with a very gifted general surgeon whose practice was all pediatric in nature. That resident would return to establish the Children’s Hospital. He named another to train in vascular surgery, another in cancer, and so on.” He moved his hand across his blotter, as if indicating the world beneath his fingertips, and then he looked at Wynter. “Tom Larson tells me that his chief resident just took six months’ leave for…health reasons. The slot is open, and he doesn’t have anyone experienced enough to fill it.”
Wynter’s stomach clutched and her heart raced wildly in her chest. She tried to keep her expression neutral, but she couldn’t prevent her hands from fisting around the wooden arms of the chair. She’d heard of residents being sent to other programs with no choice in the matter.
“It’s an excellent opportunity for the kind of experience a resident needs to move into an academic position.” He studied her. “I’d like you to go.”
“For how…” Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat. “For how long, sir?”
“Six months. Then we’ll reevaluate the situation.”
Wynter was aware of Pearce shifting ever so slightly in the chair beside her. “Thank you, Dr. Rifkin. I’m honored. Truly. I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
The room was very quiet. Ambrose Rifkin’s face remained composed; his eyes, not quite as dark as Pearce’s but just as sharp, moved slowly over Wynter’s face.
“Why would that be?”
“I have a daughter, and there’s no way I could arrange for child care up there in a reasonable amount of time. We just moved here, and I’ve barely gotten her settled.”
“You’re divorced, aren’t you?”
Wynter felt her face go hot, but she held his gaze. “Yes.”
“But you have a workable arrangement here for the child?”
“Yes,” Wynter said quickly. “The wife of one of the anesthesia residents…” She realized he wouldn’t be interested in the details. “A very good one, sir.”
“And she’s how old?”
“She’s three.” Wynter couldn’t help but smile.
“Three. Well, I can’t imagine that your being absent for that period of time would make all that much difference, since you have established a good child-care situation here.”
Wynter heard Pearce’s sharp intake of breath, but she was too busy trying to understand what Ambrose Rifkin had just said. Then a wave of heat followed by a sudden chill passed through her. “You mean leave her here while I go there?”
“Yes.”
“Sir,” Pearce began, her voice tight. “I don’t think—”
“I’m sorry,” Wynter said calmly. “That won’t be possible.”
Ambrose Rifkin appeared unperturbed, as if Wynter had not just told him no. “Since she’s not in school, or—”
“Sir, I wouldn’t care how old she was or what the situation. I’m not leaving her for six months. It’s difficult enough as it is with the amount of time I have to spend away.”
“I see. And what are your plans for the future, Dr. Thompson?”
“I’ve always planned on a subspecialty in breast surgery. I’ll be looking for a fellowship after I finish general surgery.”
“That’s a nice field for a woman,” Ambrose Rifkin said with just the slightest hint of condescension. “Not particularly demanding and very little emergency work.”
Wynter said nothing. He was right, insofar as his assessment had gone. A practice limited to surgical treatment of breast disease was usually a Monday-through-Friday, seven-to-five kind of job, and it would allow her time to spend with her daughter. It was also a critical facet of women’s health care, and she’d always been drawn to that. Oncologic surgery was on the forefront of medical science, and she had no doubt that she would be challenged as well as rewarded by her choice. There was no point in mentioning any of those things, because for a man like Ambrose Rifkin, the rewards would be far too meager to satisfy.
“Starting tomorrow, Dr. Thompson,” Ambrose Rifkin said, “I’m moving you to the vascular service as the acting chief.”
“Yes sir,” Wynter said. It was not a particularly welcome transfer, but it wasn’t horrible. Vascular surgery was technically challenging and interesting. She’d miss working so closely with Pearce, but she’d also have more responsibility. It was all part of the game.
“I’ve decided to bring Dr. Dzubrow out of the lab,” the chairman said, turning his attention to Pearce, who sat rigidly upright. “He’ll take over as acting chief on my service. That will free you up to go to Harrisburg. Tonight.”
*
Wynter and Pearce did not speak as they walked side by side to the women’s locker room. Once inside, Pearce went directly to her locker and opened it. She pulled out a handful of scrubs and piled them on the bench. She reached back inside for her lab coat, and then pulled her arm out abruptly and slammed the door so violently that the entire row of metal lockers shook.
“Fuck.” Pearce leaned her back against her locker and closed her eyes.
Wynter sat down on the bench and placed her hand gently on the pile of scrubs, wishing it were Pearce she was touching. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know. You heard him. I’m getting farmed out and he’s moving Dzubrow in.”
“Is it my fault? Because I said I wouldn’t go?”
Pearce opened her eyes and gazed down at Wynter. Slowly, she shook her head. “No. I don’t think so. That took balls, by the way.”
Wynter grimaced. “No, it didn’t. It didn’t take anything at all. There’s no way I’d leave her.”
“He could probably get rid of you for that.”
“Maybe. It wouldn’t matter. It wouldn’t change my mind.”
“Really?”
“Really,” Wynter said quie
tly. It had just begun to hit her that within a matter of hours, Pearce would be gone. For weeks and months and most probably, forever. Life would carry on much as it had before their brief interlude. The sadness was swift and aching. She stood. “It doesn’t mean you won’t get the chief resident’s job next year.”
“Maybe,” Pearce sighed. “Maybe not. He’s grooming Dzubrow for something.”
“Can you talk to him? Tell him you don’t want to go?”
Pearce laughed hollowly. “Sure I can. If I want to finish up with the crappiest rotations and no shot at all of ever getting an academic job.” She tried to focus on what she needed to do to keep her career on track, but all she could think was that she was going to have to walk out the door and get into her car and drive away. That she wouldn’t be able to take Wynter to dinner that night, or breakfast the next morning, or spend another night in her bed—perhaps ever. She couldn’t think about that now. She didn’t have the luxury to worry about her personal life. She sighed and opened her locker again. As she drew out her lab coat, she said, “If I’d known this was going to happen, I wouldn’t have come over last night. I’m sorry.”
“Time has never been on our side.”
“No,” Pearce said. She pulled a key off her key ring and held it out. “Here. To the old resident’s room. Look after…it…for me.”
“I will.” Wynter’s throat ached as she rose and kissed Pearce on the cheek. “Drive carefully.”
“Yeah. I will.” Pearce watched Wynter turn and leave. She ignored the pain in her chest. Loss was nothing new, and she should know by now not to let anyone in deep enough to miss. She shrugged into her leather jacket, palmed her keys, and grabbed her scrubs. Time to move on.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Wynter came instantly awake at the sound of the door opening. The small, windowless room was completely dark, without even a digital clock to cut the blackness.
