The M.D. Courts His Nurse (8 page)

She shuddered, a throaty moan escaping her, when his fingers gently parted the delicate folds of her sex like petals, driving her with quick intensity to a climax. The speed of it shocked her and only made her greedy for more.

“I want you inside me,” she begged, fumbling to un-buckle and lower his trousers.

“I want me inside you, too,” he assured her, gazing deep into her eyes. “But one of us has to be responsible. I don't have any protection. How 'bout you?”

“Believe it or not,” she confessed, “until this moment that's never been an issue with me—almost, a few times, but not quite.”

He stared down at her as if not quite believing.

She controlled her reeling thoughts long enough to persuade him. All she knew now was want and the fiery drive to appease it. John Saville was another woman's lover and would probably never be hers again, but time was standing still for once. All the instincts that saved her from Brian had abandoned her. She only knew that while her mind told her it was long-suppressed carnal greed driving her, her heart had her fooled that it was love. She wanted John Saville, wanted him now, because all the lies had lined up just right, and she was blinded and, oh, so hungry.

“This should be the absolute safest time for me,” she whispered, pulling him onto her. “That's as responsible as Nurse Becky can be right now, Doctor.”

He closed his eyes as if the emotions inside him roiled in conflict. Finally, as if damned, he settled himself between her thighs. “Don't be nervous,” he soothed as he entered her. “It's going to be nice, you'll see.”

Mixed in with the breathless heat of her desire was a little fear of the unknown, but he'd told her the truth. For just a brief moment, as he opened her tight resistance, she was uncomfortable. But he was gentle, and the slight pain immediately gave way to massive wellings of pleasure that made her whisper for more.

His gentleness, in turn, gave way to an insistent masculine hunger that made his hips move faster and faster, plunge harder and harder. Again, yet again, she rose on fast waves of sexual climax, each one stronger and more satisfying than the one preceding it.

Finally, just when she was sure the intensity of her responses must make her pass out, he exploded inside her, taking her up with him one last time in a mutual peak of ecstatic pleasure.

Once again exhausted, though this time by pleasure, he drifted off to sleep. Her last coherent picture was a dazed tangle of arms and legs before she joined him in slumber.

J
ohn's eyes slowly focused on his watch: 3:15 p.m.

“We've been zoned out for hours,” he marveled.

Still curled up beside him, Rebecca knew she was awake by her sudden self-consciousness about her nudity. She pulled the sheet up to hide her exposed breasts, but she made no effort to dress because that would mean leaving his side and killing the moment.

Sick in her heart, she came to the desperate realization that she was heading for a fall. She might rationalize that she had taken John Saville to her bed as a Mr. Right-Now, but deep down she knew he meant more. Much more. And she had no right to him. What they'd done was wrong, without commitment, and there had been none. They'd let the moment take them by the throat, and now he would have to leave, and she would have to pretend the most earth-shattering joy she'd ever known had never happened.

“Maybe I shouldn't ask,” he said, lips brushing her ear, “but was your first time worth the wait?”

“Mmm,” she replied with a mysterious, hurt little smile. “Remember, Doctor, I have nothing to compare it with.”

“That disappointing, huh?”

“Well, if you must know, I…I really have no complaints to register.” Even to her the words sounded forced and distant, but she was too afraid to relinquish her cover and blurt out the truth of what she felt.

She glanced down. “Only a tiny bit of blood, too. Is that usual?”

“Concerning the deflowering of virgins,” he assured her, “I can only quote my worthy nurse—I have nothing to compare it with.”

“So it was a first for both of us, huh?” Her lips, swollen from the passion of their kisses, tilted in another little smile.

He kissed them, and she suddenly felt another stirring of desire. Yet at the back of her mind the seeds of doubt had already been planted.

The passion of their lovemaking had been deep and undeniable, but, she reminded herself, it was almost accidental. They had bonded during a terrible emergency, then gotten mutually turned on by unintended physical contact during sleep.

Sure, the secret truth was that she had probably fallen for him, and she was ready and eager to keep right on going. But caution was back in terrible force. Now, more than anything, she wanted to retain her pride. She had to be coldly rational and not let him or the experience with him make her fall. Their joining had been a heat-of-the-moment thing, no more. Tomorrow she had to show up for work and allow him the same benefit without being clingy and needful.

They were not in love, she told herself. Hell, they hadn't even been on a date. She had to keep things cool so she could continue with her job. So she wouldn't get hurt.

She looked at him, desperately wanting to be glib. Instead, his appearance made her smile.

“What are you grinning about now?” he demanded.

“A word I used to mispronounce—bedraggled. I used to say ‘bed-raggled' instead of bedraggled. But bed-raggled is exactly how we look now.”

He touched the wild, tangled mane of her hair. She noticed even his short coal-black hair was so mussed the part had disappeared.

Almost grimly, he looked over her shoulder and heaved a sigh. “The light's blinking like crazy on your answering machine,” he said with resignation. “I didn't even hear the phone ringing. I guess it's turned off.”

“Nope,” she blurted out.

They both looked at each other in amazement.

“I guess we were tired,” she offered.

Unwilling to speak her thoughts out loud, she wished she could immerse herself in their lovemaking until everything mundane and ordinary was washed away again.

But that wasn't the real world. And the real world was intruding with each passing second, and with each flashing light on her machine.

“Maybe you'd better check it,” he suggested. “They might be looking for me.”

She wanted desperately to ask him if it would shame him to be found asleep in her small apartment, but she didn't want to ruin the moment with a truthful answer. Memories of Brian assailed her. She knew she had to manage this incident so it turned out differently, but the only route seemed to be to detach, to assiduously remain uninvolved and without expectation.

That meant she couldn't let herself fall into bed with him again. Lovemaking was only going to lead to confession and ultimately rejection. She didn't want the messiness of it. Her heart was tattered enough.

Stoically she left the bed and quickly began to dress.

He lay back and watched her, sensing the change in her manner.

Standing, he slipped on his trousers as she crossed to the answering machine and poked the play button.

“Becky, hon,” boomed an overly jovial male voice, “it's Dad. I'm calling from my hotel room in Greeley, Colorado. I just saw your picture on the news. Congratulations. I'm really proud of you, kiddo. I should be coming by to see you in a couple of weeks, assuming you aren't too famous to squeeze the old man in. Later, hon.”

John stared at her as the message clicked off, his face blank with surprise.

“Saw your picture on the news?” he repeated. “Did you notice any reporters up there on Copper Mountain?”

“I spotted a van that said Action Four News on the side,” she told him. “That's a station out of Helena. But I didn't notice any cameraman. Of course, I wasn't really looking.”

She played the next two messages. Similar congratulations from Lois and Hazel, plus an assurance from Lois that she had taken care of rescheduling patients and would be holding down the fort.

By now John, too, had dressed. “Guess I should pick up my car before birds nest in it,” he suggested.

She wondered if he was anxious to be gone. She assumed he was. To her, her whole life had changed; as for him, he was probably ready to get the day rolling after a one-night stand.

Forcing herself to be practical, she went to get the car keys. On the outside, she was calm and easygoing; inside, she was roiling with anxiety.

She had never given her virginity to anyone. Now she had to accept that her night with him was just a meaningless tryst. It had come out of the adrenaline and exhaustion of
the accident the night before, and it would dissipate as soon as they stepped out the door into the daylight.

She might fall in love with him, but he might not want a nurse with a cramped apartment and no status. And she had to accept that, as she had accepted Brian's rejection.

“I'm ready to drive you to the office,” she replied, more coolly than she wanted to.

He stared at her.

When he kissed her one last time before they went outside, she thought she felt him holding back a little.

And it was only appropriate behavior, she told herself. They needed to cool out and be practical. Nothing had changed. He was still destined to see Louise Wallant his next weekend away, and she was still a single girl.

Nothing had changed.

Yet in her heart she feared everything had changed.

 

From the sublime to the awkward is but a step, Rebecca lamented as she drove John back to town.

Outwardly she was calm and at peace, even glowing. But inwardly she alternated between sadness and bewilderment as she grappled with what they had just done and what it meant.

It wasn't that he'd turned into a beast or anything blatant like that. But then she had felt her heart sink like a stone when he mentioned her answering machine. When the world intruded, she knew it would end, and the world intruded quickly, like the opening of the floodgates.

A tumult of silent misery swept through her. Next to her in the car, the good doctor was still being affectionate but growing distant. Perhaps what they'd done weighed heavily on him, too. Along with regret.

After all, it was one thing to grab a quickie when the opportunity was presented, another altogether to let it interfere with one's day.

What was it Hazel had called Louise? A target of opportunity.

And now she had become one, too.

“Lo's still here,” she commented as they wheeled into the clinic parking lot, speaking mainly just to break the awkward silence between them. “There's her car.”

“Thank God one of us has a work ethic,” he quipped.

He'd obviously meant it for a joke, but she couldn't even force a small laugh. She sat with the motor idling, waiting for him to get out and agonizing at the awkwardness of the moment.

His arms began to lift, as if he meant to embrace her. But then a shadow seemed to cross his face, and he ended up simply bussing her cheek quickly.

“See you tomorrow at work?” he asked, the casualness of his remark crushing her.

She could only nod. Tears were already stinging her eyes and throat. But as she pulled out of the lot, she resolutely defeated her self-pity.

She had often wondered what it would be like when she finally “did the deed.” And she was never exactly sure just what she expected to feel when it was over or what she expected to happen. Certainly not something as old-fashioned as a proposal or a promise of eternal love; then again, neither had she expected this odd letdown, as if she'd simply had her ears pierced and nothing more.

“You fool,” she muttered, her eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. “You impulsive little fool.”

Her biggest mistake was the belief that the bad experience with Brian had immunized her against such vulnerable feelings as she felt now. It was just the opposite—the old wounds had been ripped open all over again, more painful than ever.

Her other mistake was to believe she could manage it all. Blind to her true vulnerability, she had played a stupid
game: how close could she get to the fire without being burned? Fool that she was, she'd gotten more than close—she'd leaped headlong right into the inferno.

Despite her resolution against self-pity, a tear welled onto her eyelash, trembled there a moment, then splashed onto her cheek, warm and tickly as it zigzagged down. She swiped it quickly away, determined anew not to start feeling sorry for herself.

“If he thinks I'm going to guilt trip him,” she promised her reflection in the mirror, “he can just get over it. I can manage this. I
can.
”

She'd learned to expect nothing more from any man than he was willing to give. She hadn't once begged Brian to take her back after he unceremoniously dumped her as a hindrance to his lofty career. And she wasn't about to glom on to John Saville, either. Apparently, the number-one challenge for young and good-looking, self-centered doctors, was to keep gold diggers and small-town nothings from blocking their flight paths.

Well, they didn't have to worry about her. She was happy to stay well out of their way.

It occurred to her that she didn't want to return home right now—not when the sense of his presence was still so strong there. She glanced over her shoulder at the stack of overdue library books on the back seat. Right now any excuse would do.

Rather than return to her apartment and ensure the continued laceration of her heart, she decided to visit the county library. She could return the books and spend some time in the periodicals room. That had long been a refuge when she desperately needed to stop her thoughts for a while. Right now she desired nothing more.

 

“Rebecca! Yoo-hoo, Rebecca!”

She hesitated halfway up the black granite steps of the
county library, not immediately recognizing the voice that was calling her—nor liking it, either. It was shrill and unpleasant, like a crow squawking.

She turned around and saw a trim, attractive woman in her fifties wearing a navy two-piece pant set. Rebecca's stomach went leaden with dread when she recognized—of all the rotten, ironic luck—Barbara Wallant, Louise's mother.

Politeness made her wait for Barbara to catch up even as Rebecca groaned inwardly at the cruel timing.

“Becky O'Reilly, what brings you to the library in the middle of the afternoon?”

She bit back the temptation to reply sarcastically,
A 1990 Ford Bronco brings me.

“I thought you were working for John Saville?” Barbara added.

“Hi, Mrs. Wallant. I am, it's just, um, we were called out last night to an accident scene. It kept us pretty late, so today is an unscheduled day off.”

Obviously Barbara had not seen the TV news yet or she would already know about the Copper Mountain tragedy. She glanced at the books Rebecca carried.

“Well, it's wonderful, Becky, that you're trying to better yourself.”

“They're just mystery novels,” she replied dryly, but Barbara gushed on as if not hearing her.

“You're still so young,” she smarmed. “The whole world is your oyster, you know. Why settle for being an L.P.N. when you can earn an M.D. like John?”

John.
Well aren't we chummy, she thought. And that last remark was precisely what she did not need to hear right now. Barbara's tone implied that nursing was on a par with flipping burgers for a living. But then, it was typical of the woman, whose tone and manner toward her, ever since Re
becca's mother had died, conveyed a sort of friendly, up-beat pity that had always irked her.

Barbara was never so uncouth as to openly boast about having snared a rich husband herself. But smug superiority oozed from her tone:
Poor little orphan Becky, her mother dead, her father might as well be for all the good he is. Why, Hazel McCallum is practically the poor thing's only parent.

“As for me, I came to research the county archives,” Barbara explained without being asked. “You may have heard that the governor's wife has asked me to give the annual address to the state historical society.”

“How nice,” Rebecca responded mechanically.

“Isn't it? But then again, I cannot really claim that I'm all that surprised. The Wallants, you know, were among the very first pioneers to settle the valley.”

“Yes, I do know that,” she replied, keeping the sarcasm out of her tone only with an effort. She felt the real point of the comment: the O'Reillys, in sharp contrast, didn't arrive until the 1930s, penniless trash driven west by the Great Depression.