Healing Her Emergency Doc

by Caroline Anderson

  ‘I...’

  He held his breath, his fingers threading gently through her hair, sifting it, waiting. He felt as much as saw the moment she crumbled, the moment common sense flew out of the window, and she tilted her head back and met his eyes.

  And then she nodded, just the tiniest movement, and he felt the breath leave him in a rush. He wrapped his arms around her and held her for a moment, then turned and led her back into the hotel, picked up his key and walked with her to his room in a silence taut with promise.

  He fumbled the key card and had to try again, and then they were in, the door closed behind them, and the only sound in the room was their ragged breathing.

  He lifted a hand and touched her face, reading her eyes in a way he’d not really been able to in the dim light of the car park.

  Want, need—and still a trace of uncertainty? He didn’t want to see that. Didn’t want her to feel she’d been pressured to do something she’d later regret. Above all he didn’t want her to feel ashamed, of all things.

  ‘Are you sure about this? I don’t want you doing anything you’re not happy with, anything that’s going to make you feel bad about yourself.’

  And it was gone. The uncertainty, the hesitation, the doubt, gone from her eyes in an instant with those few words, and he felt the breath leave him in a silent rush.

  * * *

  Was she certain? No. Was she bottling out this time? Also no. She’d waited far too long already and she wanted an end to the nagging ache of longing that had plagued her for years.

  She took a step back from him, shrugged off her coat and dropped it over the back of a chair. Her boots followed, then the baby-soft jumper the same blue as her eyes, peeled slowly over her head.

  ‘Well, are you going to stand there like a voyeur, or are you going to join me?’

  He let out a strangled laugh and ditched his coat, then caught her hands as she reached for her jeans.

  ‘Wait,’ he said gruffly. ‘I want to do that.’

  But not yet, apparently, because he heeled off his shoes, tugged his shirt over his head and reached for his belt.

  ‘Wait. I want to do that,’ she echoed.

  He stopped, his mouth quirking, one eyebrow raised over eyes the colour of a dark winter sea, the storm still raging in them even though he was still.

  She laid a hand over his heart, felt the skin like hot silk beneath her fingertips, the soft brush of hair against her palm over the heavy pounding of his heart. She could feel its echo in her throat, hear it in her ears, the want, the need. Her hand moved down, feeling his muscles tighten beneath her fingers, pulling the end of the belt out of the loops, tugging it back to release the prong from the leather, sliding it free so she could reach the stud.

  ‘Wait.’

  He stepped back and slid his hands into his pockets, pulled out his wallet, keys, a handful of coins which he dumped on the bedside table. He turned the bedside lights on low, cut the overhead light and then held out his hand to her.

  ‘Come here.’

  Heart thrashing, she took a step towards him, mesmerised by the storm of need raging in his eyes.

  So much need. And it definitely wasn’t flattery, because his pupils were dilated, his breathing fast and tight, his focus absolute. He wanted her. He really, really wanted her.

  She felt his hands on her waist, hooking into the top of her jeans and peeling them down, down, over her legs, and she could hardly breathe. She wiggled her feet free, socks and all, and straightened up in just her underwear, and he swore softly under his breath and reached for his own jeans.

  ‘Uh-uh. Mine.’

  She slapped his hands away lightly, and he gave her a smile that was mostly grimace and dropped his hands. She slid her fingers inside his waistband, feeling the tantalising brush of hair against her hand, and his abdomen went as taut as a drum, the breath hissing out of his mouth as the zip slid down.

  She hesitated, a sudden wave of doubt sweeping over her. Was she crazy? How would she feel tomorrow? Not ashamed, not now, because this was on her terms and as he’d said, she had a right to a life, but was she just setting herself up for heartache?

  She felt his knuckles graze her cheek.

  ‘Hey.’

  She looked up and met his eyes, and saw reassurance.

  ‘It’s OK. You can still change your mind if you want,’ he said softly, and she blinked.

  No way. It wasn’t that, more the fact that once done, this could never be undone and she wasn’t sure she’d be strong enough to lose him once she’d let him that close.

  But there was nothing to lose. She didn’t have him, never had had, and there was no future for them. This was just a one-off, their farewell, closure on their unfinished business. Her last chance. And this time she was going to take it.

  ‘I do want to. We’ve waited a long time for this. Let’s not wait any longer.’

  She laid a hand against his jaw and felt it clench, felt the movement in his throat as he swallowed.

  And then he nodded, and a gentle smile touched his lips. ‘OK. But let’s take it slow. I’ve waited seven years for this, I want to do it justice.’

  His eyes were serious, curiously intent, and he let go of her hand and threaded his fingers through her hair, his mouth finding hers again, slowly building the tension until she wanted to scream.

  He moved on, his mouth teasing, tormenting, over her jaw, the side of her neck, then lower, down over her collar bones, pausing at the little hollow between them, then on, his tongue lazily tracing the edge of her bra over her thrashing heart.

  ‘We’ve got too much on,’ he muttered, and kicked off his jeans, shucked off his shorts and socks and then gently peeled away her underwear. Then he stood back and looked at her, shaking his head slowly from side to side as his eyes raked her body hungrily.

  ‘You are beautiful, you know. Beautiful and as sexy as hell. Do you have the slightest idea how much I want you?’

  His voice was gruff, hoarse with emotion, and she felt her knees buckle. Definitely not flattery.

  He pulled her slowly up against him, sucking in his breath as their skin came into contact from top to toe, and his mouth found hers again, urgent now, touched with desperation.

  Was hers? Probably. If it wasn’t she had no idea why because she was desperate now, desperate for the feel of his body on hers, in hers.

  His hands were all over her, deft and clever, and then suddenly they were gone, and he was throwing back the bedclothes and reaching for her again.

  They fell onto the mattress in a tangle of legs and roaming hands, his body taut and hot against hers, one leg nudging hers apart as they rocked against each other. Then he paused and groped for his wallet, swearing softly under his breath as he fumbled with the little foil packet.

  She took the task out of his hands, dragging a shuddering groan from low down in his chest, and then she was back in his arms, skin to skin, heart to heart, their bodies merging into one, engulfed in a fireball of need and tenderness and sensory overload like nothing she’d ever known before.

  He held her as it ripped through them, his body stiffening and then sagging in her arms as the tension drained out of them, leaving them spent and breathless.

  And when the last flickers had died away and their breathing had slowed, he turned down the light, pulled the covers over them and cradled her wordlessly in his arms, one hand stroking her back with a gentleness that unravelled her. She could hear the slow, steady beat of his heart under her ear, feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed in and out, the slackening of tension in his muscles as he slid into sleep and his hand went still.

  She felt her eyelids drooping, felt her body sinking into oblivion, then reality wrenched her awake.

  Millie.

  Poor Millie. She’d forgotten her—forgotten everything, in the storm of white heat and tender
ness that had engulfed them—and the last thing she wanted was to leave, because she knew this would be the last time she saw him alone, the last time he’d hold her. But she had no choice. She had to put Millie first.

  She feathered a gentle kiss against his cheek. ‘Tom, I have to go. I can’t leave Millie.’

  ‘Mmm.’

  Had he really heard? She wasn’t sure, but she eased out from under his arm, wriggled off the bed and pulled on her clothes, glad he’d left the light on low so she could find them. Should she leave him a note? Maybe, but she didn’t have a pen or paper.

  Should she wake him?

  No. He’d only talk her into staying longer, and the poor dog was waiting. Time to get back to reality.

  She laid a gentle kiss on his cheek, picked up her coat and with a last regretful backward glance she let herself out.

  * * *

  He woke to silence.

  Silence, darkness, and a cold, empty space beside him. Levering himself up on one elbow, he turned up the light and scanned the room, but all trace of her was gone, leaving nothing behind but memories and the lingering scent of her perfume on the sheets.

  Why had she left? Had she said anything to him? He didn’t think so...

  He let out a sigh. Millie. Of course.

  He flopped back onto the mattress and stared at the ceiling, his mind filled with images of her body, the taste of her still in his mouth.

  She’d been amazing. Incredible. He’d never felt so connected, so involved, so deeply certain of what he was doing. Not now, though. Now, she was gone, and reality slapped him firmly in the face.

  They were going nowhere. Or at least, not together. One of them was going to get the job, and the other would be who knows where.

  Would he be the one to get it? He hoped so, even though it would mean that Laura didn’t, because this job was far more to him than a means to an end, a leg-up on his career ladder. It was a lifeline, a completely fresh start when the future he’d thought was mapped out in front of him had crumbled into dust.

  Not that Karen had had the decency to tell him she’d already moved on, she’d just left him to find out in the most painful and humiliating way possible.

  And now he’d slept with Laura, and stirred up another whole welter of emotions that would have been better left untouched.

  It was his own stupid fault. He shouldn’t have raised the subject, shouldn’t have dragged it all out of the closet where it should rightfully have stayed for ever. He should have let her go when she said she was going, but no, he’d had a better idea and they’d ended up in bed.

  He shut his eyes, but he couldn’t shut out the images of her body, couldn’t shut out his memory of what they’d shared.

  Idiot. Oh, well, it was done now, and if nothing else it would be a memory he’d treasure.

  He so should have left her alone.

  He punched the pillow and rolled onto his side, but sleep eluded him and when he finally dozed off his dreams turned to nightmares. He was running through a forest in pitch blackness, gripped by terror, with someone or something close behind him. He could hear their breathing, feel them clawing at him, and then he tripped and fell headlong—

  He woke with a jolt, his heart racing, and swung his legs over the side of the bed, turning up the light and driving back the shadows. Gradually his heart slowed, and he got up and went to the bathroom and stared at himself in the mirror.

  His eyes were wide, and he could see lingering traces of the terror he’d felt. Why would he dream that? It had been so real, so terrifying, that he could have been there, could have reached out and touched the trees, could have tripped over those roots—

  Like the kerb? Was that why he’d dreamt it? Laura had teased him about not seeing it, but he genuinely hadn’t seen it, and that worried him now, thinking about it. It wasn’t the first time he’d stumbled in the dark, but he’d blamed it on eye strain, tiredness, working ridiculous hours in artificial light, vitamin A deficiency—it could have been anything, really.

  But what if she was she right? What if there was something wrong with his eyes—or had he just been distracted? He had no idea.

  He went back to bed, turned the light down again and lay there, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, but they didn’t, not for an age, and even then it wasn’t great.

  He felt his pulse pick up. What if it was something serious? No. It couldn’t be. Could it? His mind started scrolling through all the differential diagnoses, all the terrifying scenarios that could mean losing his sight.

  No. He was being melodramatic and ridiculous. It was just eye strain. Had to be. He’d get his eyes checked, put his mind at rest.

  He groped for his phone. Five-thirty. Early, but not too early, and he knew he wouldn’t sleep again. He threw back the covers and headed for the shower.

  CHAPTER THREE

  HE WASN’T THERE.

  She scanned the tables but there was no sign of him.

  Would he turn up?

  Maybe. Maybe not. After all, she’d run out on him. She asked for a cappuccino, picked up a delicious looking but horribly unhealthy almond croissant and headed for a table by the window, her stomach in knots.

  She should have woken him before she’d left, but he’d been so heavily asleep and she’d had to get back to Millie. Would he have realised that, or would he have thought she’d done a runner again?

  A shadow fell across her and she looked up, her heart picking up speed at the sight of him.

  He was smiling, his eyes warm if a little guarded, and she smiled back, slightly shocked at the wave of relief that deluged her. ‘Hi. Did you get lost?’

  His mouth twitched. ‘Hardly. It’s pretty well signposted. I’m sorry I’m late. There was a queue to check out of the hotel.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. I’m sorry I ran out on you last night, I had to get back to Millie.’

  ‘Yeah, I realised that.’ He glanced down at the table. ‘Have you got everything you need?’

  Everything except him—

  ‘Yes, thanks, I’m fine. Sorry, I should have waited for you, but I wasn’t sure...’

  ‘...if I’d show?’ he finished, and his smile was wry. ‘Let me just grab a coffee. I had something to eat earlier at the hotel.’

  She followed him with her eyes, seeing beneath the beautifully cut suit to the man beneath, the man who’d set fire to her last night, body and soul.

  The real Tom?

  She shouldn’t have slept with him. Should’ve gone home when she’d had the chance, and she wouldn’t be the emotional mess she was now.

  He put his coffee down and slid into the seat opposite her, then met her eyes, his own veiled again so she couldn’t read them.

  ‘About last night,’ he said, his voice quiet and—heavy?

  With regret? Too late, the deed was done and there was nothing either of them could do about it. And anyway, it was irrelevant because after today one of them would be in Yoxburgh and the other one—probably her—wouldn’t. What more was there to say? Nothing that he’d want to hear.

  ‘What about it?’ she murmured. ‘It was what it was—tying up the loose ends. That’s all,’ she lied, because she didn’t want him to think she was going all needy on him.

  An eyebrow flickered up a fraction and hovered.

  ‘Closure?’

  ‘I think so.’

  No, you don’t. You don’t think so at all. You’ll never have closure, not now...

  ‘OK,’ he said after a moment, and she felt a wave of relief. He looked down at his coffee, gave it a stir for no good reason, looked up again with expressionless eyes.

  ‘So—I wonder what today’s going to bring.’

  ‘An answer, I hope—finally,’ she said, her heart giving a sudden thud of nerves. ‘I hope you like Yoxburgh.’

  He frowned. ‘W
hat makes you think I’ll need to?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t you?’

  He gave a soft huff of laughter, his breath drifting across the table and teasing her skin. ‘Because they know you?’

  ‘That won’t influence them,’ she said, not bothering to deny it because he’d obviously worked it out for himself.

  He turned his attention to his coffee, stirring it again. ‘I wonder if they realise we know each other?’

  ‘Yes, they do, because of our CVs. James mentioned it yesterday afternoon, after you’d gone. I was about to leave and he came out, and we had a chat.’

  ‘About?’

  ‘The delay. Basically he just apologised for dragging it out. I told him he had to do what he had to do.’

  ‘And may the best man win?’

  She laughed, and it sounded hollow to her ears. ‘Or woman,’ she said, because she hadn’t entirely given up hope.

  Tom frowned at her, his eyes searching. ‘You really want this job, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course I do, but I only applied because James told me to, and I haven’t got as much experience as you, I’ve had quite a bit of time out with my grandfather and anyway, you’ve—you’re you. End of. They’ll go for you. They’d be mad not to.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s that simple, or they would have decided yesterday.’

  ‘I know. I have no idea why they’re struggling.’

  ‘Because you’re good? Because they don’t want to lose you?’

  ‘But I’m not as good as you. I have less experience.’

  ‘Laura, don’t put yourself down. You’ve always done it. You shouldn’t.’

  ‘I’m not putting myself down, Tom, I’m being a realist. Look, do you want some of this? It’s huge.’

  She tore a chunk off her croissant and gave it to him, and he bit into it, dropping a little scatter of icing sugar down his suit. He gave a disgusted snort. ‘Great. I think this suit’s magnetic. Do you have any idea how hard it was to get the dog hair off?’