by Radclyffe
Chapter Twenty-one
Dara’s legs felt just the teeniest bit shaky. More than a teeny bit. She clenched her fist in the fabric of Sawyer’s T-shirt and turned to steady herself with her butt against the counter. She didn’t let go, though, dragging Sawyer with her, keeping Sawyer’s mouth over hers. Somewhere in the last remnants of her still-functioning brain she knew she’d been kissed before, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember another woman’s mouth that fit so well, another woman’s lips so insistent and sure, another woman’s breath mingling with hers as if she was being stroked from the inside out. A flood of sensations too overpowering to define stole through her. Awareness of excitement pulsing deep inside, awakening of a desire so acute she ached, amazement at the sure and certain knowledge she’d been searching for this feeling without even being aware of it. The kisses brought warmth where she’d been cold, light where there’d been shadows, and answers to questions she’d been asking forever.
Too much to process, too good to need words. Thoughts too fleeting to grasp, her body registering rightness in every cell. Her mind was ablaze, burning reason to ash, but she could feel. Oh, could she ever. She slid her free hand around the back of Sawyer’s neck, and the dark strands of hair curled through her fingers like silk and satin, sunlight and shadow, and every mysterious force she’d ever imagined. Now she knew hunger in a way she’d never been hungry before. She ached for Sawyer’s touch to fill her, take her, satisfy her.
She swept her tongue over Sawyer’s lower lip, letting her teeth graze ever so lightly over the indescribably sensuous surface. Tasted something tangy and strong, like Sawyer.
“You taste like…” Dara murmured against Sawyer’s mouth. “Damn. Something really good.”
“Wintergreen.”
“Mmm. I now love wintergreen.”
Laughing through the kiss, Sawyer cupped Dara’s hips and pulled her closer, keeping her mouth exactly where it should be, covering Dara’s.
“Don’t stop,” Dara whispered.
“Not going to,” Sawyer said, deepening the kiss again, sliding the tip of her tongue more insistently between Dara’s lips, demanding more. She wasn’t stopping even if she couldn’t breathe and her vision was hazy and she might be having a heart attack. As long as Dara kept kissing her back, she’d hold her ground. Dara’s tongue darted into her mouth and she teased back.
Dara released her grip on Sawyer’s shirt and stroked the ridge of her collarbone with her fingertips, letting her palm splay over the muscles below. Sawyer sucked in a breath, and Dara pressed a little harder, making Sawyer’s grip on her hips tighten. Oh, Sawyer liked that, did she? Heady with the power of pleasing, Dara caressed the angle of Sawyer’s jaw and nipped at her lower lip. “You have a fabulous body.” She sucked the spot she’d just bitten. “I have wanted my hands on you since…mmm, day one.”
“All yours,” Sawyer muttered, pressing closer.
Sawyer’s hard muscles and hot, demanding kisses pulled Dara back into the whirlwind. She wasn’t going to be able to hold it all in much longer. She murmured in the back of her throat, a plaintive note of need escaping on a rush of pleasure. “Oh.”
If Sawyer had heard that faint cry, half groan, half whimper, at any other time, she would’ve thought it was pain, but she knew it wasn’t. No, definitely not pain, not with the way Dara’s hands raced over her body, the way she answered kiss for kiss, touch for touch. Sawyer got the message, reveled in it. Approval, welcome, invitation. The kiss exploded into the rest of Sawyer’s body, almost too much, too good, to absorb. The firmness of Dara’s thighs fitted to hers, the softness of Dara’s cheek beneath her fingertips, the fullness of Dara’s breasts against her chest. Everywhere the fire. Too many barriers between them, cotton and silk, irritating and distracting. She wanted skin, wanted deeper than that.
Grumbling impatiently, Sawyer caught the back of Dara’s shirt between two figures and tugged the tail free of her pants, sliding just the tips of her fingers underneath, tracing a slow circle in the hollow at the base of Dara’s spine. So much better, sweet and seductive, like Dara’s mouth. She eased her leg between Dara’s, trapped her gently but inescapably against the counter. Dara arched her back, exposing the sensuous column of her neck that tantalized and taunted. Sawyer kissed her way from the angle of Dara’s jaw down her throat, breathing in the intoxicating scent of sunshine on white sand.
“You feel amazing,” Sawyer whispered, frustrated with no way to describe how touching Dara had somehow become everything, the only thing, she needed to live. Air, water, food—she could survive without them, but some hidden well within her had suddenly been tapped and need rushed forth, a flood that defied boundaries. “I don’t want to stop.” She closed her eyes tightly, kept her hands very, very still. “I think I have to stop.”
Dara pressed her forehead against Sawyer’s cheek and let out a long breath. “Are you being all responsible now?”
“Hell no—practical.”
“Worse.” Dara laughed shakily and leaned back, her body still pressed to Sawyer’s, both arms around her neck. “You’re a hell of a kisser.”
Sawyer grinned. “I think I’m highly motivated to perform well.”
“Oh, really?” Dara nibbled at her chin. “Why is that?”
“You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever kissed.”
Dara’s gaze grew heavy. “Careful what you say if you intend to stop kissing me.”
“I don’t intend to stop. Just delay a little.” Sawyer kissed her quickly, just a little to stave off the choking need. “Because honestly, if we keep going, it’s going to get really hard to stop. If my phone rings, or yours does, I still want enough sanity left to answer it.”
“I don’t suppose I have to mention this is terrible timing,” Dara said, laughing wryly. “Like maybe the worst ever.”
“Maybe not.” Sawyer clasped Dara’s waist lightly, fingers curling just above her hips. She probably ought to step back. Dara hadn’t argued about putting on the brakes, and she agreed—at least her head did. Her body wasn’t entirely on board. But the clock was ticking, and even though she could be reached in an instant for any kind of problem, and everything that needed to be done was under way, she still was stealing a little bit of space for herself when she had no right to it. But now that she was here, now that she’d touched her, now that she’d kissed her, she wasn’t going to let go until she had to. “I’ve never paid much attention to timing, but I never really had to. I don’t have much in the way of moves, so I haven’t perfected much in the way of a bedroom campaign.”
“Believe me, your lead-up to the frontal assault is stellar.” Dara tapped the center of Sawyer’s chest with a closed fist. Gently, but enough to pull all the excitement into one hot ball in the middle of Sawyer’s stomach. “You, Colonel Kincaid, have moves you don’t even know about.”
Sawyer closed her hand over Dara’s fist. “Is that right?”
“Oh, that’s very right. And I’m not about to tell you any more than that. I prefer to be the only recipient of said moves.”
“Are we discussing rules of engagement?”
Dara took a breath. She hadn’t intended to go there, certainly didn’t have any right to, or maybe not even any reason to. But there it was. In fact, there it had always been, since she’d first seen Sawyer and wanted to know who she was, since she’d become addicted to the wry grin and intense flash of intelligence and passion in her eyes, since she’d detected the gleam in Catherine Winchell’s eyes when she looked at Sawyer and known exactly what it meant. She hadn’t liked the idea of all that heat and power and too-sexy-to-live focus being directed anywhere else when there’d only been professional interest between them. Now there was a kiss—and if she was going to be totally honest with herself, even in secret, more than a kiss. So yes, she was going there. Foolish, possibly. Premature, probably. But time was not on their side, and she couldn’t turn back the rising tide of desire and surprising possessiveness that came over her when she
so much as looked at Sawyer.
Carefully now. No matter how crazy Sawyer’s kisses made her, or how reckless, she still had enough sense left to maintain boundaries, even her own.
“Nothing too complicated,” Dara said lightly. “But since I don’t usually kiss women I’m not serious about…” She shook her head. “No, let me clarify. I’ve kissed women for a lot of reasons, many of them not very serious reasons either, but I’ve never kissed anyone the way I just kissed you. I’m not asking you to tell me how many women you’ve kissed—”
“Not all that many, and not a single one I can remember,” Sawyer said, her throat tight and her belly tighter. “If I didn’t need to be back soon, I’d kiss you again. And then I guarantee I’d want a lot more than kisses.”
Dara trembled. She couldn’t have hidden how wired her body was even if she’d wanted to, and she really didn’t see any point after what she just said. “If I didn’t have calls to make, family to check up on, and staff to follow up with, I’d invite you to get started on the more-than-kisses right now.”
“So the rules?” Sawyer said huskily. “Just to be clear?”
Dara tapped Sawyer’s chest again, this time with one finger, then touched a place between her own breasts. “If there are to be more kisses, I’d prefer they stay between us until we can decide if there will be a more. Then I won’t have to kill Catherine.”
Sawyer laughed. “I can assure you, I have no desire to kiss Catherine Winchell. Or any other woman. And I’m patient.”
“That I haven’t noticed.”
Sawyer dove in for a quick kiss that she let linger for a second too long. When she pulled away, her vision was hazy. “I can be very patient about some things.”
“Good to know,” Dara murmured. “I guess for now we say this was nice, and let that be.”
“Do you mind if I say it was a lot better than nice? Like amazing.” Sawyer pulled her close, hip to hip, and kissed her again, longer and harder than the last time. “And that I’m going to be thinking about kissing you a whole hell of a lot until I can do it again?”
“Mmm. No argument.” Dara clasped Sawyer’s hands and gently pulled them away from her body. Every instinct screamed for her to reverse course. She slid out from between Sawyer and the counter, grabbing on to the little bit of space like a lifeline. Her control still fluttered like a torn sail in a gale wind. One touch and she was going to forget all the rational things they’d both just said. “We ought to eat something. Especially if all we have to look forward to is vending machine food and MREs.”
“Okay. You’re right.” Sawyer grabbed a container and scooped out noodles. “Where’s your family? You said you had to check on them.”
“My grandmother is in an extended care facility—Shoreline Residential. They’ve assured me they’re well prepared, but you know, I just want to touch base.”
Sawyer pulled out her phone and made a note. “I’ll keep an eye out for the name if anything comes up.”
“Thanks.” Dara squeezed her arm. “How about you? I know you mentioned siblings.”
Sawyer shook her head. “We don’t keep in touch, but they’re not in the area—as far as I know.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Long time ago.” Sawyer sighed and caught Dara’s hand. “But thanks. Your mother left already?”
Dara snorted. “Heavens, no. She wouldn’t leave when there’s anything newsworthy happening.” She closed her eyes. “Argh, listen to me. Let’s just say Mother and I don’t agree on what’s important. So she’s sheltering in place. Which probably means the staff are as well, so she won’t be alone.”
“Better give me her address too.” While Sawyer was tapping in Priscilla Sims’s address, her IM alert sounded.
Dara’s followed a second later.
NOAA weather alert, 8:35 p.m.
Hurricane Leo is currently projected to make landfall in the Miami metropolitan area in fifteen hours as a Category 5 hurricane. Storm surge is likely to reach record heights and extend inland in many coastal areas for as much as half a mile. Wind speeds of 185 mph are predicted to extend hundreds of miles in advance of the storm. Shelters within the affected areas may be compromised.
Dara looked at Sawyer. “We’re talking about thousands of people who are sheltering in place.”
Sawyer nodded grimly. “We need to consider relocating the medical command center outside the Miami area. Jacksonville, maybe.”
“What? We’re right here—we can handle the load.”
“Maybe you ought to evacuate. If you ramp up now, we can help you transfer the criticals you have in house still. I’ve got resources I can give you before Leo lands that I won’t be able to give you in another eighteen hours. This whole area is going to be devastated. We both know that. No power, and all that that means. The hospital could be in trouble.”
Dara sat back, the faintest chill racing down her spine. “You want me to just up and leave?”
Sawyer wanted to say yes. She’d seen what was coming, knew that no matter what they did, people were going to die. Her chest seized, a vise clamping around her heart. “It might be the safest thing for everyone.”
“And what about emergency care for all the people who are not evacuating, and even the ones who have moved inland who are going to have injuries?”
“That’s what the Guard is here for. We have the resources to provide critical care in the field, and then we’ll—”
“You can’t really think I would leave?”
Sawyer blew out a breath. “Ten days ago we expected the storm to come up the west coast, or even across the southern end of the state. But now you’re right in the path. This isn’t about personal obligations any longer.”
“Sawyer,” Dara said carefully, “I have a job to do, just like you. My patients would be at higher risk transferring them out now, especially given the logistical challenges, than taking care of them right where they are. And I’m certainly not going anywhere.”
“In light of this last bulletin, the governor and my commander will expect an update from the field about our state of readiness—including our medical support lines.”
“Then you’ll have to do what you think best,” Dara said, “just like me.”
Chapter Twenty-two
Landfall, zero hour
Roc Hotel
Miami Beach, Florida
Harry stood in the open doorway of the balcony on the hotel’s fifth floor, enjoying the complimentary food and beverage service the Roc had provided for any staff who’d volunteered to stay during the storm and assist management in getting the place back up and running after Leo passed. He’d heard some fifty or so guests still remained too, mostly foreign tourists who hadn’t been able to get flights out in time and couldn’t go anywhere else. He wouldn’t mind playing at being a bellman or a porter for a few days—beat the hell out of being crammed into some high school gym with a few hundred strangers or sweltering in his rent-by-the-month room with no AC. He swirled the ice cubes in his margarita and braced himself as the wind and rain picked up, flinging darts of cold water at his face. The palm trees down by the pool bent away from the oncoming gale, their fronds streaming out behind them like the long hair of the girls in high school who’d crammed into his old Caddy convertible when he’d put the top down and gone tearing down the strip, them screaming into the night. He smiled, almost hearing their high-pitched, excited squeals now. Wait a second. Hell, that was screaming—a banshee wail he finally recognized as wind. Goose bumps rose on his skin. Weird how the shore looked even wider than it had a few minutes ago—weren’t the waves supposed to be getting higher? It looked like the water was being sucked out to sea.
His pulse raced, and he gulped the rest of his drink. He wanted a refill, but he couldn’t stop watching, like glancing into the rearview mirror at a red light and seeing a car barreling down, knowing he was going to get hit and not being able to look away. The thatched roof on his poolside cabana bar rose and fell like it was breathing,
straw strands breaking free and shooting away like darts from a blowgun. The air filled with the roar of a runaway freight train barreling down on a curve, and out to sea, a huge black swell appeared, frothing and spuming like a giant creature unleashed from the deep. The sea raged ashore devouring everything in its path, pushed along by a wall of wind so powerful the building swayed and trembled.
“Holy sh—” Harry jumped back as a tree limb as big as his arm flew by the open doors. He was on the fifth floor, for crap’s sake. Rain slanted in and slashed at his face, pounding his body with the force of a dozen baseball bats. Wincing at the beating, he shouldered the slider closed, just catching a glimpse below that damn near stopped his heart. The storage sheds he’d helped fill with poolside tables and chairs upended and spewed twisted furniture into the waves. His bar came apart like a wet cardboard box and sank beneath water that had to be higher than the first floor already. The palm trees gave up the fight and swirled away like a bunch of abandoned pick-up sticks tossed in the gutter.
Somewhere overhead a terrible rending sound was accompanied by a nauseating tilt of the floor. Harry grabbed for a nearby end table and managed to slow his fall as the balcony doors shattered and Leo stormed inside.
Miami Memorial Hospital
Emergency Services Department
Dara and every staff member who wasn’t actively caring for patients crowded into the break room and huddled in front of the television. Catherine Winchell, microphone in hand, stood on a downtown Miami corner. The ocean two blocks away was barely visible as a thin slice of gray a shade or two lighter than the battleship-gray sky down the avenue behind her. She’d braced her back against a sculpted steel lamp pole, one arm looped around it as her body swayed at a forty-five-degree angle, her yellow rain slicker billowing behind her like a parasail.
