Just Like That (11 page)
“I need to kiss you.”
Her eyes widened and the heat that seemed always just below the surface, flared.
“Is that okay?” he asked. He didn’t want to take advantage of her weakened state.
“Of course it’s okay,” she said.
Something about that made him want her, intensely, all over again. As if she’d said “take me now” or had stripped naked right in front of him. The “of course”, the implication that he didn’t have to ask permission, that he somehow had a right to kiss her, made him want that kiss more than anything he could remember wanting in a very long time.
He gently took her face in his hands and stroked his thumbs over her cheeks. He looked at her for a long time, wanting to savor the moment. He drank in the look of desire in her eyes, in spite of the fact she’d just come from the ER. He drank in the way she stood there, accepting his touch, letting him look.
Slowly he lowered his head, loving the feel of anticipation, hoping she felt it as well.
When their lips touched, it was like all the other times, with want and longing and passion welling up.
But it was also…different. It was gentle. The other times when he’d kissed her he’d wanted to nearly devour her, he’d wanted to push on harder and faster to the ultimate culmination. This time, he wanted to draw it out, to enjoy it, to remember it later. For her to remember it later. He wanted this to be that kiss that brought her fingers to her lips and made her close her eyes to remember.
No pressure at all.
He felt her lift her hands, but while her left hand fisted in the front of his shirt, the cast on her right hand bumped against his chest.
She sighed against his mouth, but it was in frustration.
He lifted his head.
She did stare up at him and she pressed her lips together, which was almost as good as lifting her fingers to her lips. Then she smiled a slow, sweet smile. “That was nice.”
“Very,” he agreed, his hands still cupping her face.
“I want to touch you, though.”
“Touch anything you want.”
“I could only do half of what I want.” She held up her right hand.
He smiled. “I think half of whatever you would do to me would be better than all of what anyone else would do.”
Just then her stomach growled. He laughed. “Maybe we should take care of that first.”
“I guess it has been awhile since I ate.”
63
Erin Nicholas
It was two-thirty in the morning.
“I guess it’s granola bars,” she said, stepping back. “I can’t even peel a banana one-handed.”
“And you shouldn’t even try,” Sam reminded her. “The great thing is, I’m here. And I can not only peel bananas, I can make a grilled cheese sandwich that will make you cry.” Her stomach rumbled louder. She laughed. “Except that I don’t have any cheese.”
“Eggs?”
“Yes.”
“Then grilled cheese will have to be another night. It won’t be gourmet cooking, but you won’t go hungry. And if we exhaust my repertoire then I’ll take you out.” She laughed. “I’m not sure anyone could ever fully exhaust your repertoire.” He flipped the lock of hair that fell against her shoulder. “Brat. I’m talking about my kitchen repertoire.”
“How big of a repertoire are we talking about?”
He thought about that, mentally counting the things he could make that would turn out edible. “It will get us to Tuesday.”
“Five things?” she asked, laughing. “I might be in trouble here.”
“Then I can start over at the top, we can order in, we can go out, or I can guilt my sisters into cooking and bringing it over. I think we’ll survive.”
She was still smiling as she looked at him suspiciously. “What things are on your menu, exactly?
Besides grilled cheese and, apparently, some kind of eggs.”
“I’ll have you know that I can make two kinds of eggs.”
“And you’re counting them both in the five things?”
“They’re two different things,” he said with mock affront.
“We’ve got two kinds of eggs, grilled cheese, and…?”
“Grilled steak.”
“Of course.”
“Of course?”
“You’re definitely a steak kind of guy.”
“Thanks.” He did consider that a compliment.
“What’s the fifth thing?”
“Grilled burgers.”
She looked at him, as if waiting for the punch line, then started to laugh. “You can add grilled hotdogs and grilled chicken to your list, since if you can grill a burger you can grill those.” He considered that. “Hey, that’s true. We can survive until Thursday.”
“Except that I don’t have a grill.”
64
Just Like That
He shrugged. “I’ll bring mine over.”
She frowned slightly. “You’ll bring your grill over here?”
“Sure.”
“And some clothes, I assume?”
“I know you want to get me naked, but I have to wear clothes when I’m on the patio grilling. I could cause a car accident this close to the road.”
She laughed, even as she mentally pictured him naked on her patio. She had a surprisingly easy time doing so too.
“You’re picturing me naked, right?” he asked.
She felt her cheeks heat. “Of course not. I’m trying to think about how I can make lasagna with one hand.”
He’d moved in close, only inches separating them suddenly. “I’m picturing you using one hand very effectively.”
Her inner thighs liked the sounds of that. “Very effectively cooking food?”
“No,” he admitted, with a roguish smile.
“Isn’t that what we were talking about?”
“Yeah, but it seems that all trains of thought lead back to you and me having sex.”
“It does, doesn’t it,” she said softly.
“I have a feeling that if we follow some of those trains, I won’t be thinking much about food,” he said, his voice also having dropped.
“
Some
of the trains?”
“I’m here for the next one hundred and forty-four hours, I think we’ll have the time.”
“What happened to seventy-two hours?”
“I distinctly heard Dr. Dawson say that I should stay for eight days.”
“That’s more than one hundred and forty-four hours,” she pointed out, ignoring how nice it sounded to have Sam all to herself for eight days.
“Right, it’s like two hundred and forty hours.”
“That’s more than eight days.”
“Is it? Well, he’s the expert. Can’t argue with the specialist.” She finally laughed and shook her head. “You’re kind-of impossible.”
“You’ll learn that arguing with me can be very frustrating.”
“I have no trouble believing that.”
“You might as well not do it.”
“Interesting concept.”
“Do you want scrambled or fried?”
65
Erin Nicholas
She must be getting used to the quick changes in topic of conversation with Sam because she answered easily, “Neither. I think I have some deli turkey. We can have sandwiches.”
“You can’t make a sandwich with one hand.”
“I probably could.”
“It won’t be easy.”
“No.”
He stood looking at her. “And?”
“And, what?”
“Say it.”
“Say what?”
“That you need me. That it’s a good thing I’m here. That it’s a good idea for me to stay.” She sighed. It was practical. He was here, he was willing, he was able to help her with the things she was going to need in the next few days because of the cast. But more than that, it was appealing. She liked him. But that damage was already done. Why not let Sam Bradford, the sexiest man she’d ever spent time with, wait on her hand and foot for a few days?
“It’s a good thing you’re here. It’s a good idea for you to stay.” He grinned like she’d just announced he’d won an all-expense-paid trip to Hawaii, then pulled her close and kissed her on the top of her head.
“You are a very intelligent woman.”
“Thank you,” she mumbled against the front of his shirt. She inhaled, pulling in the wonderful scent of him.
“Let’s eat,” he said, oblivious to how much she was enjoying having her nose against his shoulder.
Sam did well with making the sandwiches, which of course she teased him about. He insisted that making sandwiches didn’t count as cooking, since there was no heat involved, but she maintained that this expanded their menu by at least a few more days when all the deli meats and peanut butter were considered.
They’d laughed, teased and talked as they ate, but about nothing too serious. They talked about their work and compared stories about patients they’d treated, without sharing names. But she was truly exhausted and as the food filled her stomach, the weight of fatigue, adrenaline let-down and the sheer lateness of the hour began to pull at her until she felt like holding her head and shoulders up was a contest she was about to concede to gravity.
“Let’s go,” Sam said, pushing his chair back and standing.
“What?” She blinked up at him.
“I just asked you two questions and you didn’t even hear me. Time for bed.” He lifted her from the chair with a hand under her elbow.
66
Just Like That
A few hours before, hearing Sam say “time for bed” would have sent her pulse racing, but it was definitely a sign of complete system shut-down that she barely registered anything other than “bed” and her body’s desire to be there…for sleep.
“Sorry,” she mumbled as he steered her down the hall.
“Don’t apologize, Dani,” he said gently. “You’re worn out. I’m glad you’re ready to sleep. Your body needs it.”
She was going to tell him not to call her Dani, but besides the fact that her brain was barely connected to anything, especially her mouth at this point, she also realized that she liked how he said it. It truly sounded like an endearment from him.
Danika stopped by her bed and started to reach the zipper of her skirt. Belatedly she remembered her cast as she whacked it awkwardly against her hip.
“Damn.”
“I’ve got it.” Sam turned her and unzipped her.
Vaguely, through the fog of fatigue, she realized that Sam was going to have to help her undress and she was in absolutely no shape to enjoy it.
“Sam, I…”
“I wish this was happening differently too,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to her shoulder. “But we’ve got time.”
She liked the sound of that. A lot. And she was way too tired to think about why that was a bad thing.
Sam awoke, pleased when he saw that it was just before eleven and he hadn’t heard a peep from Danika’s bedroom all night. He’d known she was exhausted and the pain pills would have helped her sleep deep and hard, but he was glad to see she’d managed to sleep long as well. She needed it.
He rolled onto his back on the surprisingly comfortable couch in Danika’s living room, letting the sun from the sliding glass door to her porch fall across his stomach in a warm rectangle.
He had never spent the night at a woman’s house who he hadn’t had sex with. He’d slept on some buddies’ couches, but never a woman’s. In fact, he tried to make a habit of
not
sleeping over at women’s houses, whether he was in a comfortable bed or not. It simply wasn’t good to set expectations like that.
With Danika, she had been trying to
not
have him stick around the night before and he found himself wanting her to have some expectations of him. Which should have made him get up, get dressed and get out.
He didn’t like being needed. He’d made avoiding being needed an art form. He could have taught classes for college credit on how to avoid being needed.
67
Erin Nicholas
Yet, here he was. She was hurt and he felt responsible. Staying last night was the right thing to do, no doubt. He didn’t like being responsible, but he couldn’t seem to help being it anyway a lot of the time.
Staying for the next few days was what he was conflicted about. He hated that she was hurt, he hated that he’d had anything to do with it, and—stupidly—he hated the idea of anyone else taking care of her.
But he shouldn’t stay.
That would be the exact opposite of avoiding being responsible and depended upon.
Still…he wanted to.
Down the hall, a door opened and then another shut. Danika had gone from the bedroom to the bathroom.
He smiled, thinking about helping her get undressed last night. She’d unbuttoned the shirt, slowly and clumsily. But she hadn’t been able to manage unzipping her skirt with one hand, so he’d unzipped her, pushed her skirt to the floor, unhooked her bra and slipped the nightgown laying draped over the arm of the chair by her bed over her head. He’d stayed behind her, seeing nothing more than her naked back and her butt covered in the silky panties. But, of course, he’d been hard as a rock within two seconds.
Interestingly, he’d enjoyed brushing her hair and then tucking her in almost as much as he would have enjoyed the things that usually went along with undressing a woman by a bed.
Okay, not as much. But he’d still enjoyed it enough to make going back out to the couch alone not miserable.
He waited to hear her come out, thinking that once she was feeling better, that she had something to eat and had promised not to try to do anything for herself, he’d run home for a shower, new clothes and a few things he might need during his two-week stay with her.
Yes, Dawson had said seventy-two hours. So what? Danika wasn’t seeing him again for two weeks.
Sam was going to stay with her at least until he heard a medical doctor tell him that she was healing.
Ten minutes later, he still heard nothing from the bathroom, but she hadn’t come out.
He’d grown up with two sisters. He knew all about bathroom time.
But Danika wasn’t putting on make-up or doing her hair, so what was taking so long?
He sat up quickly. At least she’d better not be doing those things. She was still a woman and women had a way of being strangely vain about things like bedhead and being seen with smudged mascara. Maybe she was in there trying to make herself presentable before coming out here to face him. Which meant that she was likely trying to use her right hand.