by Radclyffe
“I’ll do no such thing. I know exactly what will happen. I’ll spend two days traveling to some city I don’t want to visit so I can be stuck in a hotel where I don’t want to stay, only to discover that I can turn around and come back home four days later, and then I’ll have to reschedule God knows how many appointments. It’s a lot of bother over nothing.”
“Why are you being so stubborn?”
“I’m not being stubborn—I simply know how things would look if I turned tail and ran away in the face of a little bad weather.”
“Look bad to whom? Who are you trying to impress?” Of course she knew—appearances counted for everything with her mother. Her social status was her most coveted possession.
True to form, her mother said icily, “I hold a position of some importance in the community, whether you believe that or not. Since there’s a crisis, as part of the board of the local Red Cross, I should certainly be here to help make decisions. In fact, I’m going to call them as soon as I get off the phone with you.”
“I can’t do anything to change your mind, can I?”
“It’s absolutely not necessary.” Her mother paused. “Are you leaving the city?”
“What?” Dara closed her eyes. “No, Mother, I’m not leaving. I’m a doctor, remember? This is an emergency management situation and…I’m working.”
“There, you see? We’re just the same.”
“Please answer your phone from now on,” Dara said quietly.
“Yes, darling. I really must go now.”
“Be careful,” Dara murmured as the call ended. Leaning back, she clicked off the television. She really didn’t want to watch Catherine any longer. Profound sadness welled in her chest, and she chided herself for still being disappointed every time she and her mother failed to communicate. When her phone rang, she answered automatically. The hospital again. Of course.
“This is Dr. Sims.”
“Were you sleeping?” Sawyer asked.
Dara’s energy returned with a swift jolt to her midsection. A very nice warm jolt. She had to smile. “I tried. You?”
“Tried. Are you going back in tonight?”
“Probably not until morning. Everything is on autopilot at the moment, but I’m on call. So…who knows.”
“Hungry?”
The rest of Dara’s fatigue dropped away on a wave of anticipation. “Famished.”
“Chinese or pizza?”
“Chinese—no octopus.”
Sawyer laughed. “Roger that.”
“I’m at—”
“I have your address.”
Chapter Twenty
Dara slid her phone onto the glass-topped coffee table in front of the sofa and did a quick scan of her living room. She hadn’t had a visitor in weeks. Now that she thought of it, possibly months. Her mother never dropped by, and when she saw Penny outside work, it was usually at Penny’s for a meal with her and Sampson. She really ought to return the favor and have them over, but then she’d have to cook. Wow—Penny was right, she really did need to up her social game. Not that she really felt anything lacking. She had friends—at least, she had Facebook friends—and they counted, didn’t they? Her college roommate, her friends from anatomy class, forever bonded over their first-year med student experience with a cadaver, her fellow residents scattered now around the country. She followed what was happening in their lives, took note of their children, and birthdays, and family events—even posted a response once in a while. She didn’t really have much to share, but she wasn’t avoiding having a social life. Not really. Most of her personal interactions centered around her work—she spent twelve hours a day with other people, people she considered not only colleagues but friends. In the brief moments between seeing patients and running the department, she talked to them about what she’d read or seen on television or might see at the movies if she ever got the time. The hospital was her world, and her condo was just the place she went to sleep and, occasionally, when she wasn’t too tired, to read a book. Her connections with Penny and the ER staff fulfilled her need for human contact. Okay, maybe not all her needs, but she wasn’t lying awake at night worrying about her lack of a sex life. Sex required at least a basic relationship with someone she would want to say hello to in the morning, and she hadn’t met anyone who stirred her up enough to want to go there.
Stirred up. Like she was right now. Totally different. She was rusty at the face-to-face social end of things. Not the end of the world. No reason to panic. So she was a little out of practice entertaining. She hadn’t grown up in her mother’s house without knowing exactly what should be done, even if they’d had staff to do it. The mental checklist appeared, and she ran down it. Sawyer was bringing food, check. Drink.
Wine.
Hell, did she even have a bottle of wine? Did Sawyer drink wine? She didn’t know. She didn’t know a lot of things about her, really. What she did know seemed to be the important things—Sawyer had a sense of humor, she was fiercely dedicated to her work, she had no problem being in control but also was willing to listen to others who knew what they were doing. And Sawyer had the most disconcerting way of surprising her. Like right now. Calling out of the blue, making the first move. Dara stopped short.
Was that what Chinese food was, a first move? A move toward what? She wasn’t a stranger to dating, just because she didn’t spend much time thinking about the next one or why she hadn’t met anyone she really wanted to see more than once. She couldn’t fit Sawyer into the usual dating picture—she already knew more about Sawyer, and had told Sawyer more about herself, than she’d ever revealed to another woman after half a dozen dates. Nothing about any of the countless moments she’d shared with Sawyer felt remotely date-like.
So this wasn’t a date.
She thought about that as she raced around, straightening the few things that were actually in the same place they’d always been in. She barely made a ripple in her own life outside the hospital. From the moment they’d met, Sawyer made more than ripples—she made waves. And Dara liked it.
Fine. She admitted it. Terrible timing or not, she liked the way Sawyer sharpened the colors in her life, the way she made her skin tingle, the way she looked at her like she was fascinating and special. Thank goodness the sheets were clean.
Dara laughed out loud. Okay—getting way ahead of herself. But even that foolishness felt good. No one had to know what pictures she entertained in her head.
One last look around. The place was neat. The refrigerator was woefully bare.
But, thankfully, she had three bottles of wine, one red and two white, and that should work. She had one other big problem.
She was standing in the middle of her kitchen in sweatpants and a ratty T-shirt she’d pulled on when she’d stripped off her scrubs earlier. And she’d been wearing those scrubs for longer than she cared to remember. Well, she was an expert at the three-minute shower.
The shower probably took two and a half, which was good because she needed that time to apply just the teeniest bit of makeup so she didn’t look like the walking dead. Or at least like she hadn’t been dead for six months before she reanimated.
When the doorman rang up to say that Sawyer was in the lobby and to ask if he should send her up, her hair was dry if loose and a little on the wild side, her makeup, what there was of it, hid the smudges under her eyes, and she was wearing skinny jeans and an open-collared cobalt silk shirt that Penny always told her made her eyes look like the ocean on a summer’s day. She always laughed when Penny said that, but tonight she hoped it was true.
She was ready for a date, and maybe Sawyer was here to talk about work.
Well, no matter. She could look good all the same. She hoped. “Thanks, Ernesto. You can send her up. And, Ernesto—you should be thinking about leaving before the hurricane hits.”
“Not me, Doc. I have a job right here taking care of the building and all of you. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Your family?”
“My
wife and kids are staying with friends inland.”
“You be careful, then.”
“You too, Doc. Your friend is on the way.”
When the knock came on her door, she didn’t even pretend that she wasn’t waiting for it. She opened it instantly.
“Hi,” she said, all of a sudden uncertain. Sawyer carried a big brown paper bag under her arm that looked like it was full to the brim with containers, and she was wearing a tan T-shirt stretched sinfully tight over her chest and stomach, tucked into camo pants with a web belt cinched with a bronze metal clasp, and rough leather brown boots. Uniform. Working dinner, then?
Sawyer raised an eyebrow. “Hi. You sure I’m not barging in?”
“No, of course not. Come on in.” Dara held the door open so Sawyer could enter. Good going, Dara. Way to get awkward right away. “I appreciate you bringing dinner.”
“I don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough of canteen food and MREs.” Sawyer handed Dara the bags. From Dara’s expression when she’d opened the door, she was as surprised to see Sawyer as Sawyer had been when she’d decided to call her. She’d found a slim window of time when she’d done all she could do for a few hours at least, and her first free thought had been of Dara, followed by a powerful urge to see her. And here she was. She wanted an excuse to see her, and dinner seemed like a good one. She wasn’t sure where she was going to go from there, especially if Dara expected they’d be having a working dinner. She could do that, probably had to do that at some point, but right now, she wasn’t thinking about anything except the thunder of pleasure that rumbled inside her. No point pretending otherwise. “Besides, I didn’t know when I might get another chance to see you—when we weren’t both in the thick of it.”
“Oh. Well then, I’m glad you’re here. And the food—that’s good too.” Laughing, Dara added, “Kitchen’s this way.”
“Nice place,” Sawyer said, taking in the gleaming stainless-steel appliances, and glass-fronted cabinets, and a white quartz-topped island that separated the kitchen from a dining area big enough to seat six at a natural wood table and chairs. Through a wide archway, she got a glimpse of a living room with sliding glass doors opening onto a balcony. A million-dollar condo overlooking the ocean.
“Thanks,” Dara said offhandedly.
Sawyer’d never given much thought to Dara’s family, or what that meant. Even faced with the subtle elegance of Dara’s condo, she still couldn’t see Dara in the role of heiress. Dara might have been born to privilege, but the Dara she knew was driven by something wholly personal—a sense of responsibility and obligation.
Dara was the substance. All the rest was meaningless. Besides, nothing in the condo was as captivating as Dara, who’d look amazing in a tent in the middle of the desert. Sawyer came around the side of the island into the space where Dara worked. Dara looked good in scrubs, hell, she looked gorgeous soaking wet with her hair in crazy tangles and rainwater dripping off her chin. But tonight, she looked spectacular. “You look great, by the way. I mean, you always do, but tonight…I’ve kind of run out of words fancy enough to say what I mean.”
Dara paused with plates in her hand and studied Sawyer. “You’re doing just fine. And thank you. You look very good too.”
“I’m sorry I’m not dressed for dinner.” Sawyer shrugged. “I don’t have any civilian clothes packed, in case you were wondering.”
“I happen to like the way you look.” Dara laughed. “Do you ever actually wear civilian clothes?”
Sawyer grinned. “Sometimes. If I’m at the beach.”
“You actually go to the beach?” Dara set the plates down and paused before pulling silverware from a drawer. “Are you a chopsticks person?”
“Definitely chopsticks.” Sawyer unpacked the food containers and put them on the place mats spread out on the countertop. “Sometimes I make it to the beach. I was there on my leave, like I told you. I was wearing shorts and a tank top, but come to think of it, they were army issue too.”
“Of course they were.” Dara’s brows drew down. “Right. That’s where you met Catherine.”
Sawyer grinned. “She’s something, isn’t she?”
“She’s something, all right,” Dara muttered. “Do you like wine? I’ve got a cabernet, a sauvignon blanc, and a white burgundy.”
“The red is good.”
Dara handed her a bottle and an opener. “You do that, and I’ll get glasses.”
“Sure. Anyhow, if Catherine gets the word out, and that gets people moving, gets them out of the danger zone, I won’t have much complaint.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Dara stared at all the food. They were obviously expecting an army. “This looks great, by the way. And you are right about Catherine. What she’s doing is important, and I’m being petty.”
“Nah. That’s not really like you,” Sawyer said, opening containers. “I wasn’t sure what you like, except not octopus, so I got a lot.”
“You hit it with the moo shu and the cashew chicken.” Dara sighed. “Oh, and that’s not true about me not being petty. I have my moments.”
“So what’s bugging you?”
Dara stalled for time and fiddled with preparing her pancake. “Catherine is very good at what she does, but I dislike the way she keeps getting personal with you. For a story.”
“Thanks.” Sawyer hesitated. “I’m not used to people worrying about my feelings that way. So, ah—I appreciate you caring.”
“Well,” Dara said, “I know you can take care of yourself, but I could see she was bringing up things that hurt you and I…well, that and other things just made me a bit crazy.”
Dara was blushing, and Sawyer was intrigued and a little pleased. She’d never seen Dara the slightest bit off her stride before. Somehow they’d ended up just a few inches apart, and even that felt like too far. She put her plate down and leaned an elbow on the counter. She wanted to touch her, and because she did, she waited. This was no time to hurry. “What other things?”
Dara arranged food on her plate, carefully not looking at Sawyer. If she took the step, there’d be no going back. They had critical work to do, and injecting the personal into it was a mistake. “Would you like to eat in the living room? There’s always a great breeze at night.”
“I would, yes.” Sawyer left her empty plate where it was. “First, though, what other things does Catherine do that annoy you?”
Dara licked her lips, and Sawyer instantly forgot about dinner, forgot about being tired, forgot about being worried about thousands of troops and ten times that many civilians. She was fascinated, captivated, by the moist pink tip of Dara’s tongue sliding over her lower lip. The hunger that welled inside her now had nothing to do with food. She raised her eyes, found Dara’s gaze on her face, saw that Dara’s eyes were just a little hazy, like the swirling gray-blue of the ocean after a storm. After its depths had been riled up and its tides hurled against the shore, after the wild seas had calmed but riptides still seethed beneath the surface. Something ancient and powerful stirred in Dara’s gaze. “What, Dara?”
“Catherine annoys me because she’s trying to get you into bed,” Dara said softly. There. She’d said it. Sawyer could laugh it off and they’d have dinner and that would be that. Or not. She hoped not.
Sawyer grinned. “You think?”
Surprise, surprise. Again. The amusement in Sawyer’s voice carried a hint of a tease. A whisper of a dare. Well, this was a game she didn’t mind playing. Dara rested her hand very lightly on Sawyer’s waist, just above the top of her pants. “Yes, I think. And, as I mentioned, it annoys me.”
Sawyer sucked in a breath. Dara hadn’t moved any closer, but the touch connected them with the force of an electric field. Sawyer’s heart triple-timed. She’d had women touch her when she’d been naked that hadn’t felt a tenth as good. Right now she’d carry a hundred pounds on a fifty-mile forced march in the Everglades if it meant Dara would keep her hand where it was. Dara had sent a signal. Her move next. “Not
interested.”
“I told you it was petty,” Dara murmured, one finger tracing the top edge of Sawyer’s camos.
Sawyer’s vision narrowed. “I kind of like it.”
“Like what?” Dara asked.
Sawyer swallowed. Desert dry. As light-headed as if she’d been baking in the African heat for a week with no water. “I like that you don’t like her coming on to me.”
“Mmm. Good.” Dara tapped a fingernail on the bronze buckle at the top of Sawyer’s button fly. Sawyer twitched and Dara’s stomach flipped. She should slow things down. Her cell was on the counter. The outline of Sawyer’s was clear in her front pants pocket. Any second they could both get a call. Have to go. Have to say good-bye again. Running out of time again—always running out of time with Sawyer. Not this time. “Do you have a girlfr—”
“No.” Sawyer’s voice was a low growl. “You?”
Dara shook her head. “No.”
“Good,” Sawyer murmured. “Then you won’t mind if I kiss you.”
“I would mind very much if you didn’t,” Dara said.
Sawyer leaned just close enough to kiss her, letting Dara’s palm on her stomach set the distance between them. She was only a little bit taller, and she only had to bend her head a fraction, angle her mouth ever so slightly to cover Dara’s. When her lips glided over Dara’s, she lingered over the path Dara’s tongue had traced when she’d licked her lip. Sawyer focused every sense on capturing the feeling of Dara’s mouth, eager and warm and unbelievably soft. She wasn’t much for going slow doing anything, but this—this couldn’t be slow enough. Carefully, Sawyer clasped Dara’s waist, conscious of smooth silk and firm muscles beneath her palms, and drew Dara closer without lifting her lips from Dara’s.
She wanted the kiss to last her through whatever was coming, to carry her beyond the chaos and the inevitable destruction and danger and death. She needed to believe this kiss, so completely untarnished and sublimely powerful, would somehow survive through all of that.
