Instant Gratification

by Jill Shalvis

  Over the plate, she waggled her brow in the direction of Emma. “You aren’t going to catch anything with that scowl.”

  “I’m not trying to catch anything.” Irritated now, he grabbed his plate and headed for the door.

  “Where are you running off to?” Annie asked.

  “I just thought our guest might appreciate some privacy. With his girlfriend.”

  Emma grabbed a piece of toast and slathered it with jelly. “Oh, I’m not his girlfriend.”

  “Nope.” Spencer shook his head. “I date women who are much nicer.”

  Emma rolled her eyes and stole his coffee, while Stone tried not to acknowledge the relief rolling through him.

  “See?” Spencer said to Stone, gesturing to Emma, now sipping his coffee. “Not nice.”

  Emma ignored him. “So,” she said to Stone, innocently and daintily licking some jelly off her thumb. “Been to the bar lately? Where the three women jumped you? Because I brought you a shot of antibiotics. I wouldn’t want you to catch anything.”

  His belly quivered, though he had no idea if it was from sheer lust of watching her tongue lick her thumb, or fear of her needles. “I’m good.”

  Annie barked out a laugh.

  Spencer had stopped eating and was looking at Stone speculatively, probably wondering how three women had gotten the best of him, since he was by no stretch a small guy.

  “Listen,” Emma said. “Three women jumped you in a bar.” She flashed him a look of mock sympathy. “They beat the crap out of you. That’s got to be traumatizing to say the least.”

  “It’s not so bad.”

  “Come on, Stone. You must feel violated.”

  Annie snickered. Stone shot her a look, and she tried to control herself.

  “Anyway,” Emma went on. “I’ve been worried about you, so I located a counselor in the area, someone you could talk to.” Her mouth curved gently, only those razor sharp baby blues revealing her sharp wit.

  Stone was well used to his brothers fucking with him. That’s what brothers did, fuck with each other’s head. But a woman? This was new for him. And oddly…stimulating. “I think I’m going to be okay.”

  She arched a brow. Daring him to admit the truth. “Annie told you,” he said with a sigh.

  “That you’re on a volunteer search and rescue team and you were called out to save a guy who’d gone off a cliff on his rock climb? That said guy panicked once you had him halfway up the cliff to safety, knocking you down about fifty feet? Yeah, she told me. You might have told me.”

  He looked at Annie, who was suddenly very busy at the stove.

  “Oh, and given the redness I see around some of your cuts and bruises, you do need the antibiotics.”

  “You said I looked good.”

  “That was a few days ago. You don’t look good now.”

  She let him start sweating over that one for a beat, before she shook her head. “You fell off a cliff and you’re scared of me?”

  “Hell, yes.”

  She stood up and headed toward him, and he stumbled back a step, smacking right into the door.

  Spencer winced.

  Annie cackled.

  “Careful,” Emma said, still coming at him. “Your ribs.” She reached her hand into her bag.

  Oh, Christ. He pictured another needle and felt his skin go clammy. His stomach went queasy. This wasn’t working for him, not one little bit. Not unless she was going to strip down for him again. “I don’t need—”

  Still looking at him, she pulled out…a prescription bottle. “Are you afraid of pills, too?” she asked innocently, when he was beginning to suspect there was nothing innocent about her at all.

  Annie snickered again.

  “I swear to God,” he muttered in her direction.

  Emma lightly smacked the bottle against his pecs, a fact he found interesting—was it his imagination, or did she touch him a lot?

  More importantly, did she do it on purpose? It was worth finding out, and testing, he leaned into her, just a little.

  Her pupils dilated.

  Check.

  Her nostrils flared.

  Check, check.

  If they’d been wild animals, their foreplay had just been conducted. Still testing, he lifted his hand and covered hers, still against his chest.

  She stared down at their now entangled fingers around the pill bottle, then lifted her gaze to his. Her breathing had changed.

  Quickened.

  Test over, he decided, his own breathing changing as well. Because oh hell yeah, she was aware of him, every bit as much as he.

  Which meant she was all bark and no bite.

  That was very good to know.

  “Twice a day for seven days,” she murmured, her voice a little thick. “Come see me in two.”

  “For..?” He was imaging all sorts of things.

  “I’ll take out your stitches.”

  Okay, she had a little bite.

  Actually, probably more than a little. “I can take them out myself.”

  “Come to me, or I’ll come to you.”

  He liked the sound of that—her coming to him, on him, all over him, but he knew better. The woman was bloodthirsty. Plus he’d seen her steely, fierce determination up front and personal. Come to her? He’d love it, only it wasn’t going to happen. “Sure thing,” he said. “Two days.”

  Or never.

  Chapter 8

  To Emma, Spencer was cute in a Clark Kent sort of way; dark hair, dark eyes, and a helpless smile made all the more disarming for the simple sexy dimple that went with it. He had a lean runner’s body that belied how much he ate, and a career in the surgical world that men twice his age would kill for.

  But he had a fatal flaw. Emma called it Fickle-ality. He couldn’t settle, on anything.

  Period.

  Still, as a best friend, it worked, and while she ran the clinic that day, he happily occupied himself in the great outdoors; kayaking, hiking…

  That night, not content with the stack of casseroles to choose from, he cooked. Emma sat on the small kitchen counter and watched him throw some ingredients into a pan, from which came forth the most mouth watering scent. “What is that?”

  “Roasted tomato mozzarella and eggplant pasta.”

  It never failed to amaze her—a professional water burner—that Spence was every bit as talented in the kitchen as he was in the operating room.

  “Oh, Kate dumped me,” he said, topping off their glasses.

  Ah. That explained why he was here early. He’d gotten bored. “Didn’t you date her only twice?” she asked. “That doesn’t count as a dumping.”

  “Yes it does,” he said. “Which also qualifies me for make-up sex.”

  “Kate’s in the Sierras?”

  “I meant you.” He smiled, his dark eyes warm and affectionate. “I get another shot at you.”

  Yeah, right. He wasn’t looking for another shot at her, he wasn’t looking for anything but fun and they both knew it. It was why they made such good friends, because they didn’t need anything from each other—perfect—as they didn’t have anything to give each other. It was a selfish relationship on both sides, and also the only lasting relationship in either of their lives.

  He came close and ran a finger over her jaw, rimming her ear.

  “Let me save you some time on the foreplay action. We’re not sleeping together, Spencer.”

  He merely topped off her wine with a small smile, clearly confident he’d change her mind.

  After dinner, she showed him to the tiny spare bedroom. Spence caught her hand there in the hallway and flashed her a quick grin. “So what size bed do you have in your room?”

  With a laugh, she looked him in the eyes. His thick hair was as unruly as his heart, dipping low over his forehead. He wore designer threads, and managed to look like he’d just thrown them on. He was rich, incredibly talented with a scalpel, and fun.

  If she’d taken him inside her heart, he’d have broken it in ha
lf a long time ago.

  Which was okay. She didn’t have the urge to take him into her heart. She didn’t have the urge to take anyone in her heart. Her life was good as it was.

  So good.

  And she couldn’t wait to get back to it. “A queen-size bed.”

  “Nice.”

  “Perfect for one.”

  “Or two.”

  “Or one.”

  “Aw, Em.” He stepped into her, pressing that runner’s body to hers as he slid a hand up her side, gently squeezing her waist. “It’s been awhile.”

  “Yes, since you were dumped on your sorry ass by Margarita.”

  “As I recall, you comforted me quite nicely.”

  “You don’t need comforting, Spencer. Not tonight.”

  “Sure I do.” Bending his head, he nuzzled her neck. “I’m in the big bad Sierras. I’m scared, Emma.”

  She laughed and pushed him away. “Stop it. You don’t need me tonight. We both know it.”

  He cocked his head, studying her in the dimly lit hallway. “Actually, I think that’s in reverse. You don’t need me.”

  “Not in my bed, no.” She took his roaming hands in hers and then hugged him. “But I needed you here, and you came.”

  With a sigh, he hugged her back. “I’ll always come for you, Emma. Always.”

  The next day, Emma woke up to dark, wet skies, which fit her mood. She called to check on her dad, who was in the middle of fishing. She treated three thirteen-year-old boys, brought in by their scolding mothers. Seemed that the boys had been pretending to be the Wilder brothers, and had gone hiking in a gully near a river to catch crawdads, and instead had caught poison ivy.

  One of the mothers paid with a chicken cheese casserole. Another paid with a check that couldn’t be cashed until the first of the month. The third had a credit card and enough gossip to leave Emma’s head spinning. She learned a whole host of things she didn’t care about, but the one bit of supposed news that stuck with her was that Big Foot had made another sighting—Big Foot?!—but everyone was pretty sure it was just Old Man Pete terrorizing the tourists again.

  Good to know.

  When the stupid cow bell jangled midday, a woman came in and shook off her wet, lightweight jacket. Emma recognized her as the woman she’d seen in the frozen aisle of the grocery store, the one who’d told Stone she hoped that Cam got dumped by his new fiancé. She wore black jeans and a black t-shirt, with a white and black checkered apron that said Wishful Delights. She was carrying a matching black and white bag that smelled like heaven as she limped to the front desk. “I hope to God you and your big city airs can handle a toe infection.”

  Emma did her best to hide her irritation at the “big city airs” comment. “Toe infections welcome.”

  The woman, dark brunette, exotic and beautiful, laughed, a low husky sound that probably drew men like moths to a flame. “So it’s true then, you did actually find yourself a sharp wit. Thank God.”

  When Emma just stared at her, her patient let out a breath. “You don’t remember me.”

  “I remember you from the grocery store. You have a dislike for the Wilder brothers.”

  “Ha! No, that’s actually not quite accurate. I had the great misfortune of loving one. But that’s another story altogether. I’m Serena Salvo, from your first grade class. Class bitch,” she clarified.

  “The teacher’s pet,” Emma said, remembering now. “You were the one who always got to go out to recess first.”

  “Ah, now it’s coming back to you.” She grimaced. “Remember, it was all a long time ago, right?”

  A rush of childhood memories hit her. Emma had been the quiet bookworm, a nerd in-the-making, in a town that prized athletics over brains. Her school life had been hell. “You sat behind me and cut my ponytail off.”

  “Okay now that was an accident,” Serena said over her shoulder as she limped toward the exam rooms.

  “You lifted it up like a trophy and laughed.”

  “Hello, first class bitch, remember? But if it helps, I’m extremely remorseful.”

  “Only because you got caught.”

  “Well that,” Serena agreed, preceding Emma into the first room. “And because I lost dance lessons for a month.”

  “I looked like a boy for three months.” Emma sat on the doctor’s stool and began a new chart.

  “Yeah.” Serena winced as she sat on the table. “Jeez, I was thinking you’d be over it by now, but just in case, I brought incentive.” She held up that delicious smelling bag. Wriggled it. “See? I’ve turned over a new leaf.”

  “What is it with people bringing food instead of cash?”

  “Oh, I have a checkbook, too. Now aren’t you glad to see me?”

  Emma studied her face. She had been a beautiful little girl and that hadn’t changed. She’d been mean-spirited, and Emma hoped like hell that had changed. “You once ratted me out for copying, when it was you who copied. I lost hall monitor privileges.”

  “Ah, so you still have the memory of an elephant. Excellent. Do you by any chance remember what happened to the pearl necklace I stole from my mother and lost right before Christmas vacation that year? She’s never forgiven me.”

  Emma sighed again and guided Serena’s foot up to the table. “Your father was mayor. He was a nice man.”

  “He had a heart attack and died when I was in fifth grade.”

  “I’m very sorry.”

  “He was screwing my teacher in the lunch room and the custodian found them. On second thought, that might be what my mother hasn’t forgiven me for.”

  “How was that your fault?” Emma asked, horrified.

  “My teacher.” Emma shrugged. “Who knows. Listen, make this toe thing painless, and I’ll keep you in brownies for the rest of the month.”

  Emma blinked. “No promises about being nice?”

  “Trust me, you’d rather have my brownies.”

  “I don’t intend to be here that long, but I’ll do my best on the painless part.”

  Spencer stuck his head in the exam room door. “Hey, Em. I’m going into town, need anything?”

  “Yes. More patients.”

  Spencer smiled, and looked at Serena. Predictably, he got that look in his eyes that all guys got in the presence of a gorgeous female who knew how gorgeous she was.

  Serena waggled her fingers in his direction and he smiled. “See you later, Em.”

  When he was gone, Serena waggled a brow. “Who’s the hottie?”

  Emma looked at the closed door. “A friend.”

  “He looks like Jack from Lost, which is to say hot as hell.”