by Jade Allen
Ten hours after my shift began, though I’d spent the day treating cuts and minor fractures, I left that evening with the same sense of satisfaction as I’d left the hospital each day in Baltimore. I was a doctor, and I helped people.
But as I made my way down the few blocks to my father’s house, I experienced something I never had before; a strange, eerie sensation that prickled along my skin and made all of my senses spring to life.
I looked around for something out of the ordinary, but aside from the occasional elderly woman peeping out her front windows, I saw nothing alarming. I willed my ears to pick up odd sounds, but aside from my own heels clicking along the sidewalk and the occasional hum of a car engine down the main street a few blocks over, I heard nothing. The scents were all familiar—pungent pines, the soft scent of roses wafting from Mrs. McGill’s garden and the charred smell of seasoned wood from a fireplace somewhere nearby.
I’d walked along these same streets every day for the past several months, not to mention the years prior when I had walked, skipped, biked and even drove up and down these streets. Nothing ever happened in Westport, plain and simple. It was nothing more than an overactive imagination at work. Perhaps the hospital wasn’t as satisfying as I was trying to lead myself to believe. It would explain why I was suddenly trying to concoct something bizarre out of small-town nothing.
Ignoring the shiver down my spine, I continued the rest of the way home—with nary a sight of a ghost, goblin or whatever creature my mind was hoping to brew up. Once safely behind closed doors, though, my mind was free to turn to what came next on the day’s agenda.
Declan Ross.
I could cancel, except I hadn’t thought to ask for his phone number or where he was staying. So, unless I was going to tell him to take a hike at my door—not an altogether terrible idea—I was stuck. Besides, it was just one drink. So why I stood in front of my bedroom closet, rummaging through my meager wardrobe for something that would knock any guy’s socks off…well, I’d rather not think about the reason why.
Armed with a fitted pair of jeans and an open-back top, I hesitated at the door on my way to the shower, lingering in my room for just a moment longer. It was comforting there, in the same room I’d occupied when I was a kid. My father hadn’t done a thing to change it in all the years I’d been away, so posters of my teen idols still hung on the wall, and the double bed was still covered with the ivory lace canopy Dad had bought for me when I was nine.
I closed my eyes, and I could still see him there, tucking me in on the nights he was home. He might have been away often, but when he was home, he gave a hundred and ten percent. What daughter could have asked for more than that?
Shaking off the memories, I hurried through a shower, washing off the day’s grime and willing the hot water to soothe the tension that had begun to tighten my shoulder muscles.
Just when I’d begun to settle into a comfortable routine in Westport, Declan had waltzed into town to screw it up. I should have been reviewing medical books, or sorting through my dad’s old stuff…not searching for my makeup bag that had remained at the bottom of my suitcase since the day I arrived home. Just a little mascara and lipstick—a woman wasn’t exactly at her most sparkling after a ten-hour shift. I’d have been doing the same no matter who I was having a drink with, I reasoned—and I almost believed it.
That was it, though, since it was just about nine-thirty, and there was no way I was going to let Declan find me primping for our non-date.
Play it calm and cool, and he’ll be out of my life once again in less than an hour, I told myself.
Leaving the bathroom, I barely made it to the kitchen before a knock sounded at the front door. This was it.
I took a deep breath, willed the calmest face I could muster and opened the door to the most gorgeous man I’d ever known. And damn it, it had to be a sin to look that good.
Jeans that looked like they’d been custom-made for his frame—which, of course, they probably were. The man and his family had more money than could be spent in ten lifetimes. His button-down shirt was open at the collar, giving a tantalizing glimpse of the solid chest beneath and the colored edges of whatever tattoo adorned him there. The five-o-clock shadow that had sprouted along his jaw made my lips tingle in anticipation of what it would feel like to drag kisses from his ear to his chin.
“Hey, Sarah.”
Before I could respond, he leaned in and wrapped his arms around me, and it was all I could do to force my hands up in reciprocation as every receptor in my body quivered at the feeling of his rock-hard frame so damn close.
The chaste handshake at the coffee shop hadn’t been accidental; the less touching, the better. Sure, I was a grown woman, no longer the obsessed teenager, but Declan Ross seemed even more potent than he ever had back then. And there was no way in hell I would be that girl ever again.
“Hi, Declan,” I replied as I eased myself out of his grasp.
“You smell incredible,” he told me, his voice not exactly a whisper, but huskier than it had been a moment before. At least, it seemed that way, though it was probably just my imagination.
And so what if I’d used the jasmine-scented wash a friend at work had brought back as a gift from her trip to the Iberian Peninsula? It wasn’t like I’d been saving it for a special occasion or anything.
“Thanks. Are you ready to go?” The sooner I got this over with, the sooner I could get back to the way life was supposed to be.
I looked past him then and noticed the car in my driveway—if one could call the hunk of metal a car. He hadn’t seriously been driving that, had he?
His gaze followed mine and he chuckled. “It’s perfectly safe, I assure you. Well, the guy at the rental shop said it was. And you know how intimate a relationship is between a guy and his car rental agent—he wouldn’t have lied to me.”
The damn boyish grin on his face caused a visceral response I chose to ignore, focusing instead on if I should put the same trust in the car rental guy.
“I never pictured you as a clunker kind of guy. Hell, your first car was a Mercedes, right?”
“Actually, my first car wasn’t a car, it was an Ecosse bike…and that’s my vehicle of choice these days, too. But, I decided to fly in at the last minute and didn’t bother making plans for something built this century. Are you up for roughing it?”
There was a challenge in his tone and in his eyes; the man knew how to get exactly what he wanted. Maybe it was a good thing he’d up and left me behind. What extremes would I have gone to if he’d turned even a little of that know-how on me back then?
“Alright, daredevil. I promised you one drink; let’s go.” I closed and locked the door behind me, and prayed to whatever deity might be out there circling the universe to just get me through the evening with my dignity intact.
Ten minutes later, we sat in a quiet, back booth in one of the only two bars in town. I should have insisted on a table out in the center of the room, but he’d led the way back to the dimly-lit area and I hadn’t said a word. So, it served me right that I was forced to struggle to not notice the muscled thigh that pressed casually against me or the way my skin tingled every time his arm brushed mine.
It was my own damn fault.
****
I don’t know exactly how it happened. I hadn’t had more than one or two drinks, and yet, an hour later, I was standing outside Declan’s motel room while he unlocked the door with steady fingers. How his hands weren’t shaking was even more perplexing; mine were tremoring so much that the vibrations continued right up my arms.
But I could still back out. I could turn around and walk away.
The great thing about living in a town so small was I didn’t even need to wait for a cab; my house wasn’t more than a ten-minute walk down the road. But as he opened the door, my feet carried me inside without conscious thought.
Or maybe it wasn’t so unconscious. I wanted this, didn’t I?
I’d wanted Declan since I was old en
ough to know what went on between a man and a woman behind closed doors. And in that moment, he was right there for the taking.
So, I didn’t resist when he wrapped his arms around me and pressed me up against the door. I reached for him, wrapping my arms around his neck as I pulled him closer to my mouth.
I wanted to taste him, to feel the warm heat of his lips. I’d kissed him once years ago in a last-ditch effort to make him want me, but he’d stood there rigid, his hands clenched at his sides and his lips closed. But in that moment, his hands were busy exploring my body, grazing over my bare back and my hips, cupping my ass. His tongue was already plying against the seam of my lips. I opened and he slid inside, his tongue moving in an intimate way that spoke of what was to come.
His hands continued to move, and within seconds, he pulled away, just long enough to pull my shirt over my head. When I lifted my arms to aid in the process, he stopped, leaving the fabric wrapped around my wrists. The smile on his face made me shiver with wanting and I clenched my thighs against the tidal wave of arousal that left me aching to be filled.
He must have caught sight of the movement because he laughed low in his throat and leaned in, pressing his thigh between my legs. I resisted the urge to rub against him, but he distracted me a moment later, using his free hand to expertly unhook the clasp of my bra between my breasts in one quick move.
Leaving his thigh where it was, he leaned the rest of his body back, his gaze sweeping over the bare flesh he’d just revealed. “God, you’re beautiful, Sarah,” he whispered huskily, and a new thrill rushed through my body.
Declan Ross thought I was beautiful. The fiery gleam in his eyes and the way his breath had started to come faster told me he wasn’t just sweet-talking me into his bed; he’d meant what he’d said.
Before I could respond, he swooped down and suckled a nipple into his mouth and a tiny cry escaped my lips at the unexpected wave of sensation. He continued to suck, nip and nibble until I wondered if it might actually be possible to reach orgasm from this alone.
I reached for him, fumbling with the fly of his jeans. I wanted to see him naked, to see the chiseled muscle of his body and feel his flesh beneath my fingers. I’d wanted it for so long, an old ache sprung up in recollection of it. I wanted to see him the same way dozens—probably hundreds—of women had seen him when it had only been theory and fantasy to me.
No.
I dropped my hands to my sides. This should stop. I turned my body away from him, my nipple freed from his mouth with the movement.
This wasn’t what I wanted.
“Declan, I can’t do this,” I told him bluntly, though a voice in the back of my head was screaming at me for passing up what I’d wanted for so long.
He met my gaze and I almost caved; the heat in his eyes was mesmerizing. “We’re two consenting adults, Sarah. Of course, you can do this.”
“I really can’t. I’m sorry, I thought I could, but I can’t. I have to go,” I told him in stilted sentences.
He shifted his stance, his thigh no longer pressed intimately between my own, and as much as I wanted to pull him back, I used the shift to slip away from the wall, reaching blindly for my shirt on the floor. He was silent as I slipped it on and hurried to the door. I decided not to chance a glance in his direction, so speaking to the door, I mumbled another apology and slipped outside before I could change my mind.
I proceeded to chastise myself the entire way home. I was right there, so close to getting what my teenage-self had dreamed about for years. And then I’d run out of there like Declan was the plague.
But the thing was, I wasn’t a kid anymore. I knew exactly what kind of guy he was. At least, I knew what kind of guy he used to be, and I somehow doubted much had changed in that department. He was the man who had a different woman on his arm—and in his bed—every night.
I wasn’t opposed to casual sex. Hell, weekend flings and one-night-stands pretty much summed up my love life. I’d never wanted more than what a brief physical encounter with a man could provide. But this wasn’t just any man, was it? And I refused to be just another notch on the bedpost of a guy who’d occupied my mind completely once upon a time. I’d rather live with the regret of never having, than the heartbreak from watching what I had walk away…again.
It was like money, wasn’t it? I’d never had much, so I couldn’t miss the rich life. But if I’d had a fortune and lost it all, well, I imagined that would hurt much more. So, that was the end of it. Declan would be gone soon and I likely wouldn’t see him again for another decade. And it was best that way.
Chapter Three
Declan
After a taking a cold shower and spewing out every expletive in the book, I was still hard as hell and couldn’t get Sarah’s body out of my mind. If I was smart, I would’ve gone out to look for another woman to drive away every thought of her.
Still, I knew that a substitute wouldn’t do; probably because I’d never been shut down like that before. I’d been minutes away from having her. I’d known there was no way I was even going to make it to the bed, and was more than happy to take her hard and fast against the wall. I would’ve gotten her to the bed eventually…perhaps two or three rounds in…but god damn it, I don’t remember ever so desperately needing to bury my cock in a woman before.
So, what was I supposed to do? Go chasing after her? Fuck that. Sarah was one hell of a woman, but fundamentally, just like the three billion others out there. And since I wasn’t looking for a woman to bear my children or settle down with, what difference did it make if I was screwing Sarah or any one of the other available women in town?
Tiny fragments of an answer flitted around somewhere in the back of my mind, but I had no intention of giving them a moment’s thought. Of course, Sarah was a little different in some ways; we had a history together. As infatuated as she’d been with me, there’d also been more to her, even at such a young age. She was kind and caring, but guarded, too. There weren’t many people who got to know her well enough to know what laid behind her exterior shell.
Aside from that, Sarah Wells was stubborn to the core. When that girl wanted something, nothing could stand in her way. That’s one of the reasons I’d been more than happy to take off years ago. Sure, I’d known she was absolutely off-limits, and I’d done my damnedest to ignore her, but the night she’d come onto me full force had just about done me in.
Not long before that incident, her father had presented me with an opportunity for a life different from the one I’d been forging for myself, and while I’d needed time to think about it, that night had made the decision for me.
If I didn’t get the hell out of town, I likely would have ended up behind bars or with one hell of an angry father after me who happened to know about a thousand different torture techniques—not the kind of father a twenty-two-year-old guy wanted to piss off.
Okay, so yeah, Sarah was obviously different from every other woman out there. Of course, she was. But did that mean sex with her would be worth the effort I’d have to put in?
Fuck yes, it would. The answer came screaming out of every crevice of my mind. And with her quiet moans, soft body and fiery eyes fresh in my memory, who was I to argue?
Alright, I had to come up with a plan. I knew from her response earlier that at least part of her was on board. Her body definitely knew what it wanted, but she’d panicked.
If I had to take a guess, I’d say she wasn’t really used to having casual sex. She was probably the ‘serious relationship’ type that didn’t even start to think about it until she was sure the guy was in it for the long haul. Unfortunately, I was definitely more of a truck stop than a long-haul kind of guy. But all I had to do was get her to see there was nothing wrong with a little meaningless, mutual gratification every once in a while. From there, it would be a simple thing to get her naked, and get myself cock-deep in that wicked body.
So…how would a guy go about getting a ‘serious relationship’ kind of woman to give herself over
to a casual weekend fling? There was no point in playing games and trying to woo her into bed. Sarah would go running in the other direction the moment she figured out what I was up to.
So, it was simple. No lies, no games. Be honest, be blunt.
I wanted to fuck her, and I had no doubt that a good part of her wanted the same.
****
I pulled into the hospital parking lot at exactly five minutes before eleven the next morning. I’d called the hospital and had no trouble finding out that Sarah was in fact working that day, and she wouldn’t be on her lunch break until eleven-o-clock. I had contemplated waiting until after her shift was over to approach her, but I figured if I could stir up a few sparks and leave her smoldering for the rest of her shift…well, hopefully she’d be ready to burst into flames not long after.
I nodded to all the folks who recognized me as I made my way across the lot and through the emergency room entrance, and greeted the ancient figure at the triage desk who must have been there since the Declaration of Independence. The old woman motioned me through when I asked about Sarah, and I found her there quickly, though not in the way I’d expected.
I’d anticipated seeing her bent over a patient’s sprained ankle or inspecting a set of tonsils with a tongue depressor. But the woman I found was calling out orders, examining x-rays and wielding a nasty looking needle that she jabbed into the chest of the man lying lifeless in front of her without a moment’s hesitation. Her back was straight, her eyes were bright, and it was only seconds later when the man coughed, spluttered, and took a wheezing breath, that I saw her shoulders relax—the only proof she’d been under pressure at all.
The woman was confident, competent…and absolutely mesmerizing. I’d never seen Sarah so much in her element, and right then, I understood without a doubt why she’d gone into medicine. She was made for it.
