by Tawna Fenske
I love that food is Mark’s love language, or that he’s trying to use it to speak to his pregnant wife. “There’s no real medical science behind what women crave during pregnancy,” I say. “I had a patient who craved rubber.”
“Rubber?”
“Like tire rubber. Her wife found her chewing on a hunk of old tire and called me all concerned.”
“What’d you do?”
I shrug. “As long as she’s not actually swallowing it, I don’t see the harm. There are far worse things you could put in your mouth.”
“Huh.” Mark spends way too long considering that. “Guess I could just take her to the grocery store and let her point out things that sound good.”
“That sounds like a plan. She’s got an OB/GYN already?”
“Yeah. And lots of those prenatal vitamins.”
“Perfect. Sounds like you’ve got it covered.”
He scratches his beard again. “Yeah, I just—I want to do my part, you know? Besides knocking her up in the first place.”
“I wish I knew more patient spouses like you.” I clap Mark on the shoulder. “Seriously, man. You’re already a great dad to Libby, and you’re going to be an amazing one to the new baby.”
“Yeah?” There’s a hopefulness in his voice that surprises me. “I just don’t want to fuck it up.”
“You’re gonna do great.” I’m dying to get next door to check on Izzy, but I’m not a total asshole, so I take a few minutes to help gather plates. “Can I help you get these in the dishwasher?”
“Nah, it needs to be emptied.” Mark lumbers over to the counter with an armload of beer steins. “Go on, get out of here. Austin’s checking on her, but you’ll feel like shit until you do it yourself.”
“Thanks, man.” Not just for the dismissal, but for not minding that I’m hustling to his sister’s place. As I reach the door, I turn and face him. “Did you have Austin run a check on the guy?”
“Yeah.” Mark’s brow furrows. “Couldn’t find much, but it wasn’t tough to connect him to Izzy’s family. Guess he’s some kind of bodyguard or something?”
Or something rings in my mind as I nod. “Yeah. Jury’s still out on whether he’s dangerous.”
Mark nods. “I’m glad you’re looking out for her.”
It’s the closest thing I could get to brotherly approval of my relationship with Iz, and I can’t help feeling warm all over. “Thanks, man.”
I’m out the door in an instant, trudging through a thin crust of snow to reach Izzy’s front door. Austin’s car is gone, which means he already collected Brian and left. A thrill ripples through me at the thought of spending an evening alone with Iz.
But as I step up to the front door, I see two figures inside. Dante stands facing Izzy, hands clenched at his side. She’s staring him down, not fearful, but definitely not happy.
When he takes a step forward, I don’t stop to think. I just shove through the door, banging it against the wall as I storm through in time to hear the words that make Iz blanch.
“…better watch your back.”
I clench my fists and shout at him. “Get away from her, Dante.”
He turns, eyes flashing surprise. Maybe it’s my dramatic entrance, or maybe the use of his real name. Glaring at me, he holds his hands up with palms facing out. “We’re just talking, Parker.”
I ignore him and face Izzy. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. We really were just talking.”
Dante lowers his hands but doesn’t make a grab for the gun strapped to his ankle. I’m unarmed, but Izzy’s block of kitchen knives sits two feet away with the gleaming chef’s blade on the end. I could grab it if I had to, but I don’t get the sense that’s necessary.
I keep my eyes on Izzy. “You want me to let you get back to your conversation?” I watch her face, gauging her level of discomfort. If she’s in trouble, I’ll know.
She shakes her head slowly and turns back to him. “Dante was just leaving. Weren’t you, Dante?”
He looks at me and scowls. “Deadeye.”
I blink. “What?”
Dante clears his throat. “Your nickname in the Army. How’d you get that?”
Holy fuck. “Haven’t heard that in years.”
The fact that Dante has means he’s dug deeply into my background. He’s still staring at me, waiting for a response. There’s no reason not to share, and maybe a good reason I should.
“Military physicians learn basic Army marksmanship, but I took it a step beyond that.” Way beyond. Anytime I wasn’t with patients, I was practicing at the range. “Got pretty good with a pistol.”
Dante looks at Izzy, gauging her expression. “He mastered rifles, too. Even a Mk-19.”
“Automatic grenade launcher,” I say for Izzy’s benefit. “How the hell do you—”
“You were an expert shot.” The nod he gives is completely unreadable. “Not normal for an Army doc.”
“It is if you’re hoping to get assigned to a Ranger unit.” That was the plan, a more combat-based experience than most military physicians get.
But it was what I wanted. I stare at Dante, willing myself not to blink. “Is there a reason you know all this?”
Shrugging, Dante takes a step back. “Have a good night.”
And with that, he strolls out the door. I watch to make sure he’s really gone before I step to Izzy’s side. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I—” She stops herself and swallows. “Thank you for coming.”
“He threatened you?”
She nibbles the edge of her lip. “Not exactly.”
“Not exactly? He told you to watch your back.”
She winces like it stings to hear the words again. “It wasn’t a threat, exactly. I don’t think.”
I don’t know what to make of that answer, but Iz looks small and cold and my urge to pull her into my arms wipes out all my other urges for the moment. I step forward and open my arms, giving her the choice. She leans into me, burrowing her face against my chest. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“I’m glad I’m here, too.” I stroke her hair, wondering what I’m missing here. If there’s something Iz wants to say to me. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
Her head moves against my chest as she nods. “Yes. What’s Deadeye?”
I close my eyes and breathe in the scent of her hair. “A nickname,” I tell her. “Passing basic Army weapons training earns you a badge. Most Army docs call it good with that.”
“But not you?”
I pause, then shake my head. “You’ve gotta hit at least 23 targets out of 40 to earn the marksmanship badge. Thirty of ‘em gets you one level better—the sharpshooter badge.”
“What’s after that?”
I swallow hard, remembering the buck of the rifle. The dream of where that skill might take me. “Expert. You have to hit 36 out of 40.”
Izzy draws back to study my face. “How many did you hit?”
I hesitate. I’ve never liked to brag.
But once upon a time, I took pride in this. “Forty,” I tell her. “Every year, four years running. Guys started calling me Deadeye after that. It’s—a compliment, I guess.”
“I see.” The way she looks deep into my eyes, I think maybe she does. “This was part of your plan. A military career.”
I nod, arms still wrapped around her. Her heart thuds against my chest, and lamplight flickers in her eyes. “I planned to do a couple tours,” I admit. “To eventually be assigned to Ranger Regiment.” How fucking proud my dad would have been.
Realization flashes in Izzy’s eyes. “But you came home when your dad died.”
“Yeah.” I swallow hard, conscious of the lump in my throat. “I was ready to sign on for a second tour, but my mom needed me, and my sister—well, her marriage fell apart within a few months of the wedding.”
She nods as her green gaze holds mine. “So you know what it’s like to make sacrifices for family.”
“Yeah. I do.” I’m not sure
why she’s dwelling on this, but it seems to matter to her. “I had a plan once. A set of goals that I worked really hard to hit.” I take a breath, trying to think of how to phrase this. “Plans change. The future you think you’re destined for—it can become something different in the blink of an eye. Sometimes, that’s tragic. But sometimes—sometimes it’s the best thing that could happen.”
Izzy watches my face. I wonder if she hears what I’m telling her. Never in a million years did I see myself falling for a Southern European duchess who’s bound to return to her home country.
But here we are and maybe—if we’re really fucking lucky—plans could change again.
“What are you thinking?” I ask softly.
Izzy takes a breath. “I think we both understand duty.”
It’s an odd thing to say, and I’m not sure how to take it. “You mean military service or family?”
“Both.”
I shake my head slowly. “Family’s about love, not duty.”
Iz gives me the tiniest of smiles and tightens her hold around my waist. “Could you do something for me?”
“Anything.” It’s a normal turn of phrase, but I swear I’d walk naked through the produce aisle if she asked. “What do you need?”
Izzy bites her lip, green eyes locking with mine. “Make me forget, Bradley.”
My brain takes an embarrassingly long time to process the request. “I just want to be clear about where the comma was in that sentence,” I say slowly. “Was that ‘make me forget Bradley,’ or ‘make me—'”
Her kiss smothers the rest of my words as Iz pulls me down so my mouth meets hers. She pushes against my chest, backing me toward her bedroom as her tongue brushes mine. I resist the urge to scoop her into my arms, recognizing another need in her. She needs to call the shots. She wants to be in charge, at least this time.
Sliding my fingers through her hair, I let her back me down the hall and through her bedroom door. She doesn’t break the kiss as her fingers fumble with the buttons on the front of my shirt. I let her undress me, aching to do the same to her. But something tells me that’s not the void she needs to fill. Not yet, anyway. I lift my arms to let her drag the shirt off my shoulders, then return my hands to the perfect curve of her waist.
“You’re so soft.”
She smiles, green eyes flashing heat. “It’s the sweater. It’s cashmere.”
I shake my head and smile. “It’s you. It’s all you, Iz.”
With a smile, she drags her hands down my bare chest. “I want you,” she says. “Not just your fingers and tongue, but all of you, buried deep inside me.”
That’s about as clear as it gets on the consent scale, but I still hesitate. “You’re sure? We don’t need to rush things if—”
“We do, actually.” The smile she gives me is full of heat, but there’s something else. Sadness, maybe? But it’s gone in a flash, and maybe I imagined it because she pushes me back on the bed and climbs on top of me, fingers tugging at my fly.
“I don’t want to wait, Bradley.” She frees my cock, dragging my jeans and boxers down my legs in one smooth motion. “Please. Make me forget.”
Her lips graze the head of my cock before I can ask what it is I’m wiping from her memory. Then my own mind goes blank because hello, Izzy’s drawing me into her mouth and sucking and teasing and Jesus Christ, I can’t take much more of this.
“Izzy.” Her name snags in my throat as I wriggle her jeans off while her mouth works magic on my dick. “Slow down if you want this to last.”
She sits up and smiles, moving to straddle me again with only a thin strip of satin between her thighs. “I need you inside me first.” Tugging off her sweater, she reaches behind her to unhook her bra and holy Christ—
“You have the most beautiful breasts.” I reach up to cup them in my hands, tracing my thumbs over her tightened areola. “Like the perfect sketch in a medical text.”
She quirks one eyebrow. “That’s—weirdly sexy.” She laughs and drags a palm down my chest. “Or maybe just weird.”
I run my hands down her sides, making her laugh as I graze something ticklish. “Let me try again,” I offer as my palms move to cup her perfect backside. “The curvature of your gluteus maximus is a perfect specimen of superlative musculature.”
“Thanks.” She laughs, then moans as she circles her hips to rub herself against me. I know enough about reproductive health to recognize we’re playing with fire here, so I grab for my jeans. “Hang on,” I breathe. “Condom.”
“Say something else.” She circles her hips again, groaning as her heat seeps through the thin satin at her center. “Talk doctor to me.”
Call me crazy, but I don’t think she wants me to describe gallbladder surgery. “Right here.” I stroke my thumb over her clit through the damp slip of satin. “Did you know you have more than eight thousand nerve endings in the clitoris? That’s more than double what the penis has.”
She shudders and tilts her head in something close to a nod. “Yes,” she breathes. “More.”
I don’t know if she means the words or the friction, so I go with both. “Only about a quarter of the clitoris is outside the body,” I murmur as I stroke hers again. “Three-fourths of it is located inside.”
Her eyes flutter open, and she smiles. “That’s where I want you. Inside me. Now.”
“I think that can be arranged.” I roll my hips, tilting her onto her back as I drag my wallet out of my back pocket. As I fumble to rip open the condom wrapper, Izzy’s clever fingers curl around me, stroking until I’m nearly mindless. “You’re more than making up for any nerve endings I might be lacking,” I choke out.
“I was raised to be a lady.” There’s an edge to the words, and I sense there’s more to them than playful flirtation. “A lady employs good taste at all times.” She licks her lips and grins. “Right now, I can still taste you on the back of my tongue. I want more.”
“That’s hot.” I roll on the prophylactic and reach for her. “I never knew I had a thing for royal-speak.”
“Just like I never knew I had a thing for doctors.”
“Plural?” I move between her thighs, grazing her slick center. “Should I notify my colleagues you’ll be wanting to make the rounds?”
Izzy groans as her eyes flutter shut. “Not if you do your job, Dr. Parker.”
The challenge is a tease, just like what she’s doing with her hips to move her slickness against me. But the competitive nature that drove me into the Army, that spurred me to finish at the top of my med school class, sparks to life at her words. I know it makes me a caveman, but damn if I don’t find myself dying to leave an impression.
I’m not douchey enough to think the phrase “ruin her for other men,” or maybe I am, because the words creep unbidden into my brain.
“Izzy.” I whisper her name as I sink into her, just an inch or two to start. “Look at me, Iz.”
Her lashes flutter open and her green eyes lock with mine. I move into her slowly, never breaking eye contact as I slide in deeper. This connection, this bone-deep sense of being one with Izzy, it’s not like anything I’ve felt before. She’s snug and warm around me, but my brain spins with other sensations.
The tickle of her hair against my wrist. The soft whimper as I draw out almost completely before sliding back in again. The scent of roses and fresh snow that fills my senses as I drive in as deep as I can get.
“Bradley.” She groans my name as her lashes start to flutter, but she doesn’t close them. She’s getting off on this eye contact, just like I am. “You feel so good.”
She draws me in, using her heels to press the backs of my thighs. With a moan, she arches up beneath me as she tilts her hips. I can feel that tight nub of nerves pressing into me, and I tip my pelvis give her the friction she’s seeking.
“Oh,” she gasps, and I know enough to keep moving like that. “Bradley, God—please.”
I feel her squeezing around me, her body quivering like she’s right on t
he brink of something. I know what it is, so I drive in again, dotting tiny kisses along her earlobe. “Izzy,” I murmur in her ear. “I’ve got you.”
It’s not a phrase I’ve ever used in bed, and I’m not sure what spurs me to say it now. But as I draw back and watch her face, I see the impact they’ve had. A tension I never knew she was holding falls away like a discarded shell. With a gasp, she comes apart beneath me, raking her nails down my back as she cries out.
“Yes. Oh Christ, yes.” She squeezes her eyes shut, arching up tight.
I want to keep watching her, memorizing every crease in her forehead and her soft, hungry cry. But my own pleasure chases hers, hurtling me over the edge.
“Izzy, God.” I drive into her as stars explode behind my eyes. An avalanche of feeling tumbles through my center as she spasms around me, squeezing every last ounce of pleasure from my body.
When the orgasm ebbs, I open my eyes again to look at her. The smile she gives takes my breath away.
“Hi.” She breathes the word on an exhale, cheeks flushing. “How are you?”
“Excellent.” I dot a kiss on her forehead, then another along her cheekbone. “You?”
She nods and the rosy flush in her cheeks spreads to the rest of her face. “Amazing. That was—I don’t even have words for what that was.”
Relief courses through me. I half expected her to have regrets, but there’s no trace of remorse in her eyes. “Thank you.” The words slip out before I realize it sounds like I’m thanking her for sex. Like it’s some favor she’s done through some sense of duty. “For trusting me, I mean. Thank you for letting me in.”
Tears spring to her eyes, and she blinks them back. I replay the words I’ve just said, struggling to pinpoint what I said wrong.
Iz feigns intense interest in the pillow beneath her head. “I wonder where Bree bought these,” she says. “They’re truly the most comfortable pillows I’ve ever—”
“Izzy.” I say her name gently, urging her to meet my eyes. “What’s wrong?”
Her gaze shifts back to mine, and she takes a deep breath. “Nothing. Just—emotional, I guess.”