THE MAVERICK DOCTOR AND MISS PRIM/ABOUT THAT NIGHT... (11 page)

“Callie, Sawyer!”

They turned their heads as one of the nurses shouted over to them.

“We need you in the treatment facility. There’s a few patients with symptoms that need checking out.”

They looked at each other and swiftly dumped their bags at the entrance.

“Guess we can do this later,” Callie said flatly.

His gaze met hers. “I guess we can.”

There was something in the way he said it. The tone of his voice. The way his eyes held contact with hers. The way there was a hint of smile on his face. It sent a weird tingle down her spine.

All of a sudden that excited nervousness didn’t seem so odd after all.

* * *

Callie looked down at her map as they walked along the corridor. “Next left,” she said.

It was late and they were both tired. Checking over a few symptoms had taken a lot longer than expected.

Sawyer pushed open the plain white door with the number seven on the front. It opened into a large sitting room with white walls and red carpet and a sofa. It was much bigger than she’d expected. An open-plan kitchen stood at one end of the room with a door to another corridor at the bottom.

Callie was a little shocked. It was much better than she had expected. “I thought it would be like student accommodation.” She gave a little shrug, “You know, kind of drab and definitely tiny.” She pressed her hand down on the comfortable sofa with matching cushions. “I guess not. Who do you think stayed here?”

“Who cares?” Sawyer had made his way to the pristine white kitchen and started to rummage through a cardboard box sitting on one of the worktops. “Wonder where this came from? Gotta love those planners. I’m starving.” He emptied the contents onto the surface—milk, bread, butter, cereal. Callie automatically opened the door to the fridge and started depositing the perishable items inside.

“Yes!” He punched his hand in the air as if he’d just won an award.

“What is it?”

“My favorites.” He pulled out a packet of chocolate cookies and ripped it open. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was.” He tilted his head at her as the cookie disappeared in two bites. “Who sorted all this stuff out? Was it Alison?” He looked back in the box. “Because I swear, if I find a tuna pizza in here I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” She swatted his arm. She almost felt relieved. He was back to his relaxed self again. The way she preferred him. The way he was when he didn’t feel as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Along with two very sick kids.

He squinted. “It’s a bit bright in here, isn’t it?”

Her eyes swept around the unexplored apartment again. It was clear neither of their other colleagues had found their way here yet. She nodded and flicked the overhead light back off, plunging them back into darkness. She walked over and pulled the curtain at the window, which looked onto the rest of the industrial site. Dim light flooded through the kitchen. The moon was high in the dark sky outside and the external lights surrounding the buildings let a little more light into the room.

It was nice. Kind of private.

Sawyer flicked the switch on the kettle. “A coffee pot and some decent beans obviously weren’t on the inventory.”

“And that’ll be my fault, will it?” In the dim light Sawyer didn’t seem anywhere as near as intimidating as before.

Maybe that was what he needed. To be out of the hospital environment and the things he was obviously struggling with. Maybe this—an environment like someone’s home—made him feel more chilled. More easy to be around.

Or maybe she was remembering the last time they’d been in a darkened room together. Because she was feeling herself drawn towards him, her feet on autopilot.

She was up close, just under his chin. He turned back round and gave a little start at her close proximity. Was she reading this all wrong?

But from the lazy smile that came across his face she obviously wasn’t.

He leaned one elbow on the counter top. “Did I say it was your fault?” He was so close that his breath warmed her cheeks.

“You didn’t have to, but it always seems that way.”

He lifted his hand and rested it gently on her hip. “Maybe you’re just a little too uptight. Maybe you need to stop following the rule book all the time.” He moved forward in the darkness, his lips brushing against her ear. “Maybe—just maybe—you need to learn to relax a little.”

It was the way he said it. His tone of voice. She hadn’t read anything wrong.

She was reading everything perfectly. He thought she couldn’t throw the rule book away? Even for a second?

Under normal circumstances she would have been horrified. But nothing about this was normal. And nothing about how she felt drawn to this man was normal.

Maybe for just five minutes she could follow her own rules. Not the ones that felt safe.

She looked at him steadily in the dim light. “Maybe. I was just thinking the same thing about you. Maybe you need to learn to relax too,” she whispered.

For a second nothing happened. Her breath felt caught in her chest. Her skin prickled. What would he do?

It was almost as if she could see him thinking, weighing up things in his mind. Had she just made a huge mistake? The wait was killing her.

Then she felt it—a warm hand slipping into hers. It electrified her skin. He pulled her over towards the sofa and sat. He tugged her down next to him, the moonlight spilling over them both.

Maybe she should feel a little intimidated by how close they were. If she leaned forward right now she could brush her nose against his. But she didn’t feel intimidated at all. She didn’t feel they were close enough.

In the dim moonlight and up this close she had her best-ever view of his pale green eyes. She’d seen a previous stone that color once in a tiny boutique jeweler. It was called paraiba tourmaline and she’d never seen one again. Which was a pity because it was the exact color of his eyes. And she could see the little lines all around the corners of his eyes. Were they laughter lines? Or were they from the permanent frown that he usually saved for her?

His shaggy brown hair didn’t annoy her nearly so much when she had a close-up view. She kind of liked it. In fact, for a split second she could see her fingers running through it in the midst of...

She shook that thought from her mind, squeezing her eyes shut for a second.
Wow. Where had that come from?

But she didn’t feel embarrassed. She didn’t feel awkward. The heat emanating from his body was warming hers. And she was enjoying it. No matter how crazy that was.

When had been the last time she’d been in this position? This close to a man? It must have been over a year ago.

Harry. Like all the others, he hadn’t worked out either. It wasn’t that there had been anything wrong with him. He had been kind, handsome, considerate. Just what any girl would want. But she just hadn’t connected with him. Hadn’t been able to let herself go enough to plan ahead for a future with him in it. Because that would have meant letting him in. Telling him everything he’d needed to know. And she hadn’t been there yet.

She hadn’t been ready to share.

So what was so different about Sawyer?

Was it that he challenged her to let the rule book go? Was it that he pushed her to do better?

Or was it that he’d lived through the pain of loss himself? Maybe he would understand in a way that no one else could? Maybe that was the truth of why she was drawn to him—a fellow lost soul.

He moved. The shadows had gone from his eyes and there was no barrier between them—no shutters.

Callie’s stomach was in a little knot. Was he finally letting down his guard? Would he actually talk to her about what had happened?

His hand came down on her the side of her leg. His warm hand instantly connected, shooting warmth through her thin scrub trousers.

“So, Callie, are you going to tell me?”

She turned to face him. His hand was still on her leg but now she’d angled her body around to face his so they were almost nose to nose.

“About what happened. To your leg.”

This was it the moment she should pull away. The time for her to retreat into herself and hide away from the rest of the world.

She’d done it before. It was automatic. It was so easy.

Her hands moved, up around his neck.

She was about to take the biggest step she’d ever taken.

“Not now. Maybe later.”

Four words. That was all.

But it felt like a giant leap forward.

It was the first time she’d ever even considered telling someone about what had happened.

He could never know the strength that had taken.

She was sure she started to hold her breath. She believe how distracted she was right now. She was sure he must think her a little crazy.

But she didn’t have time to think of any of these things.

Because she was kissing Sawyer.

CHAPTER EIGHT

C
ALLIE
 
WASN
’
T
 
QUITE
 
sure who made the first move. She didn’t think it was her, but then again she didn’t think it was him. It was almost as if they read each other’s minds and moved simultaneously.

There was no light-hearted kissing. No nibbling. Nothing gentle. Nothing delicate.

From the second their lips locked there were no holds barred. His lips devoured hers, fully, passionately without a moment’s hesitation. And she liked it.

She could feel the scrape of his emerging bristles on his chin against her skin, abrading it as they kissed. Their teeth clashed and they both ignored it, his hand pressing firmly on her back to bring her even closer.

She wanted to run her hands over his body, across his chest and down his back. Everything about her was acting on instinct. The one thing she wasn’t used to.

His kisses moved. Down her neck, along her throat. Then he groaned and shifted position, pushing her onto her back on the sofa and slowly moving on top of her. He pressed her arms above her head, straddling her body, and starting work on her neck again.

She was gasping now, willing him to go lower. Itching to let her hands feel his skin under her palms.

She wrenched one of her hands free and grabbed hold of his hair, pulling his head back up towards her and capturing his lips again. She loved the feel of them. She loved the way he kissed her.

If this was what kissing a bad boy was like, she should have done it years ago.

She moved her head, kissing down his neck and releasing her other hand to slide it around his back. She was pulling him closer, working her hands under his scrub top, dancing her fingers up and down his spine.

She heard him groan and felt his muscles flex beneath her fingers. Somehow knowing she had some control made her feel bolder. She wanted to feel his skin against hers, she wanted to
see
his skin. She pulled at his scrub top, tugging it upwards until he’d no choice but to stop kissing her for a second and pull it over his head.

There. Just what she wanted. Sawyer, bare-chested.

She ran her fingers across the scattered dark hairs on his chest, wishing they were tickling her bare skin. But he hadn’t moved quite as quickly as she had. His fingers were just edging beneath her top. Her back arched automatically towards him, willing him on.

He gave her that lazy smile.
Did this man know just how sexy he was?
Then he bent and whispered in her ear. “Have a little patience, Callie.”

Patience. The last thing on her mind right now.

His voice was rugged, husky. A perfect voice for the middle of the night in a darkened room in a place that belonged to neither of them. It seemed all the more wicked. All the more illicit.

He started tugging her top over her head. His eyes widened at the pink satin push-up bra he revealed. Callie was a girl who loved her fancy matching underwear, no matter what clothes she was wearing on top.
Thank heavens for small mercies.
Just wait until he reached the thong.

He didn’t hesitate for a second. His gaze was fixed on her breasts enclosed in the pink satin. “So you have a thing for pale colors and matching sets? Last time I saw you half-dressed it was in lilac.”

His voice was lower. Growling. And it turned her on a lot. “I have lots of matching sets.” She raised her eyebrows and gave him a calculating smile. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Red,” he groaned, as his palms skirted the outside of the bra cups. Her breasts seemed to be swelling at his touch. But the appreciation of her underwear was momentary. Sawyer cut to the chase—his patience obviously as limited as hers. He reached behind her back and released the clasp, her bra flung aside a moment later, releasing her breasts into his clutches. As his teeth brushed against her peaked nipple she could begin to feel the throb between her legs.

“Or maybe emerald green.” He tweaked, licked and blew his hot breath across her as she moaned beneath him. Her hands kept trying to move, to make further contact with his skin, to get between them and reach down below. But he kept moving, changing position and diverting her attention.

This man had talent in the diverting attention stakes.

Her legs automatically widened and he moved from straddling her to bringing his legs between her thighs. Again she acted on instinct, raising her hips and tilting her pelvis towards him. Thin scrub trousers couldn’t disguise what lay beneath and she gave a little gasp.

His hand slid beneath her scrub trousers, sliding first across her pelvis then down along her thigh, his fingers tracing the line of her scar. But she didn’t flinch, she didn’t jerk the way she had when some other lover had touched it. This felt easy, this felt natural. His hand ran back up the inside of her leg, sending a rush of blood to her groin, working his way around her buttocks and smiling as he played with her thong. He gave a little tug and there was an instant ping, along with a loosening sensation. Thirty dollars gone in one tug. She could almost visualize the thin gossamer straps breaking. It only excited her more.

His fingers crept back around to the front, coming into contact with her pubic curls. She moaned and opened her legs, willing his fingers closer, and her frustration built.

The scrub trousers were annoying her now. She didn’t want any barrier between them. She didn’t want anything between them at all. She moved his arms out of the way to give her a clear path to where she wanted to go.

She pushed her hand down the front of his scrub trousers, ignoring his boxers and sliding right inside. She could feel his back arch and she wrapped her hand around him. Finally. Just what she wanted.

His mouth was moving lower now, his fingers still dancing a fine tune as she moaned in response. This bad boy certainly knew how to play her.

“Anyone home?” The door of the apartment slammed loudly.

They froze. For a few seconds neither of them moved.

Dan. It was Dan. The bright light flicked on, sending illumination over their bare skin. Sending them both into instant panic.

Sawyer pushed himself up, pulling his hand out of Callie’s scrub trousers and starting to stand. Callie’s head jerked from side to side, trying to find where Sawyer had flung her bra.

That was as far as they got.

Dan had obviously walked the few steps into the apartment and his jaw dropped.

Callie could have died.

She didn’t even have time to cover her breasts—her scrub top had been flung far behind in her in the midst of passion. Sawyer let out an expletive and stepped in front of her. “Give us a second, will you, Dan?”

Dan gulped. “Sure.” The color spread rapidly up his cheeks as he walked back outside in stunned silence.

Sawyer closed the apartment door and leaned against it.

Callie felt the tears rapidly building in her eyes. She wanted to die of embarrassment. She felt like some teenager caught in a compromising position.

The silence in the room was deafening. She moved quickly, threading her arms back through her bra, fastening it and pulling the crumpled scrub top over her head.

Dan’s face was haunting her. He’d seen her almost naked. A guy she hardly knew.

Sawyer was still standing with his back against the door, his eyes not meeting hers. The obvious bulge was still apparent in his thin scrub trousers. And the irony of it hit her.
Another guy she hardly knew
.

This wasn’t her. She didn’t act like this. She sometimes didn’t even kiss on the first date.

But Sawyer had literally been by her side since she’d arrived in Chicago and the attraction had been instant. Instant but ignored.

This was the worse possible time for her. She needed to be a leader—someone that people could respect and respond to. What if Dan told the others what he’d just seen? That the doctor in charge of the potential smallpox outbreak had been lying half-naked on the sofa with a guy she’d just met?

What if he told them that her mind certainly wasn’t on the job? That she was focusing on something else entirely?

She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to push the horrible thoughts from her mind. Could this be any worse?

Yes, it could.

Sawyer still couldn’t look her in the eye. He hadn’t even moved to pull his scrub top back on. He was just leaning against the door, his eyes fixed on the window straight ahead.

What was worse than getting caught in a compromising position with the bad boy?

Getting ignored by the man who’d just kissed you as if his life depended on it.

“Are you ready?” His voice startled her. It was almost a growl. Almost as if he thought this was all her fault.

It made her bristle. It made her defensive. It hurt.

She had to work with this man. She had to
live
with this man for the next two weeks. It would be so easy to hide her scarlet cheeks, put her head down and walk out of this room. But she couldn’t. Not like this.

“I’ll be ready to go when you can look me in the eye, Matt.”

His head shot up. He flinched. It was so unfair that he was still standing there, bare-chested, right before her eyes. Men had it easy. He looked startled by the use of his first name—she’d only ever called him that a few times.

Or was he just surprised she’d immediately called him on his reaction?

“Let’s not get into this now.” He turned his back on her, picked up his scrub top, clenching it in his fingers, and put his hand on the door.

“Why not?” She couldn’t think straight. Not after what had just happened.

“What?” He was beginning to look annoyed.

“Why not get into it now?” She gestured towards the door. “I’m really not looking forward to going out there and facing Dan. I don’t even want to think about how I’m going to have to appeal to his better nature not to tell everyone about this.” She shook her head. “My guess is that the last thing he’ll want to do is share an apartment with us. Who would? We’ve just behaved like a pair of hormone-crazed teenagers.”

She stepped forward and put her hand on his chest and he visibly flinched again.
Actions spoke louder than words
. It told her everything she needed to know.

“We have to work together, Matt. We’ve been stuck together in close proximity, under pressure, for the last two days. I guess we’re just going to have to chalk this up to experience.”

Her heart was thudding against her chest. She had no idea if she’d just played him right. She was trying to remain detached. She was trying to be rational. But she didn’t feel that way.

In truth, she was mortified.

Hot and heavy after a first kiss, after only a couple of days.

She didn’t need to justify herself. She didn’t need to explain herself. But she just couldn’t let him think that was her normal behavior.

“I guess there’s a first time for everything.” She kept her voice as steady as she could. He’d finally raised his eyes to meet hers but the shutters were well and truly down again. “It’s probably best for both our sakes, and for the people we’re responsible for, that there isn’t a repeat performance.”

His face remained blank. As if he was listening to her words but not really hearing them.

“If you will let me pass, I’ll go and face the music with Dan.”

He stepped out of her way, remaining silent.

She opened the door and stepped out into the corridor. His silence was angering her now. First he wouldn’t look at her. Now he wasn’t talking to her.

She turned her head to the side, praying he wouldn’t see the tears glistening in her eyes. “Maybe you’d better try and sort out other sleeping arrangements. This situation is untenable.”

* * *

On the outside Sawyer was frozen to the spot, but on the inside he was a bubbling cauldron, full of sulfur and about to explode.

Dan had appeared at the worst possible time—that much was obvious.

And Callie was right. They both had to pray that he would keep things to himself; otherwise Callie’s authority could disappear in the blink of an eye. And in a situation like this that could be disastrous.

He knew that she’d been hurt by his lack of response but the truth was that she was right, he couldn’t look her in the eye. And after what they’d just shared Callie would have wanted some kind of sign. A sign as to whether this had been just a one-off mistake or if it could lead somewhere.

And the truth was he just didn’t know.

Every nerve ending in his body was on fire. Every place that she’d touched his skin seemed to burn. She’d been so willing, so responsive. If Dan hadn’t appeared, chances were nothing would have stopped them.

And how would he have felt then?

Feel.

That was the problem.

Sawyer had been down this road before. Meet a woman in a bar, exchange small talk, have meaningless sex, sneak out before morning.

But all of a sudden the road had changed direction.

No, scrap that, this was an entirely new road.

In the space of a couple of days this woman had started to get under his skin. To invade his senses. To make him feel things that he hadn’t felt since he’d first met Helen.

And it felt like a betrayal. It didn’t matter that Helen had been dead for six years. It didn’t matter that she would have never have wanted him to lead this closed-off life. His impersonation of the walking dead was growing stale, even for him.

But on any of his chance encounters before, he’d never
felt
anything. Apart from the obvious. He’d just been going through the motions. Making sure everything still worked.

This was different. This was nothing like that.

From the moment Callie Turner had appeared on his radar everything had turned upside down.

At first he’d thought he was annoyed because Callum was sick, then he’d thought it was because she was inexperienced. Or struggling. Or getting things wrong. Or all of the above.

But the truth was he was looking for a reason—any reason—not to like Callie Turner.

He was fighting the way he was drawn to her—was curious about her and wanted to know more.