The Darkest Sunrise (The Darkest Sunrise Duet Book 1)

by Aly Martinez

  Breath flew from my lungs when my back roughly met the wall, Porter’s chest hitting mine, his hips pinning me, and his hands showing the slightest of trembles.

  Only then did I realize Porter wasn’t angry at all.

  He was completely and utterly overwhelmed.

  Circling my arms around his neck, I kissed the side of his face and whispered, “Baby.”

  “They’re taking him as a patient,” he stated, his voice breaking as he tucked his face in my neck.

  I swirled my fingers in the short hair at the nape of his neck. “Laughlin is going be his primary, but Whitehall is going to be writing the orders remotely.”

  His shoulders gave the softest of shakes. “They’re gonna treat my boy, Charlotte.”

  My heart splintered as I clung to him tighter. “They are. And they’re amazing doctors.”

  “Jesus,” he cursed, his shaking fingers biting into the back of my head. “I can’t repay you for this.”

  I kissed his face again. “You make the world stop, Porter. This was the least I could do.”

  He shifted his body, bringing himself closer, but he never looked up. “Are you done getting your head straight?”

  “No,” I admitted.

  He nodded. “You ready to let me help you do that yet?”

  I closed my eyes and breathed, “Porter. I don’t—”

  His deep and masculine voice became desperate. “Let me in, Charlotte. We’ll take it slow and start in the dark if that’s what you need. But I want you in the light, sweetheart. Whatever it takes to get you there, I’ll do it. I just need you to let me in so I can try.” His head popped up, and his eyes blazed with emotion, but it was his lips, not his words, that translated it.

  A shiver ran down my spine as he kissed me with earth-shaking reverence.

  “I missed you,” I confessed against his lips.

  “We don’t have to miss each other. Just let me in,” he pleaded before another kiss.

  My lungs constricted and my heart swelled. He had a point. We could take it slow. I’d been sitting still as the world had spun around me for ten years. There was no rule stating that we had to jump in feet first. Maybe a quiet stroll, where we both eased into the light, was exactly what we needed.

  And this was Porter. I wouldn’t mind the extra time spent growing things with him because he’d be there with me every agonizing baby step along the way.

  I was still clinging to his neck when I felt the first of my fingers slip off that cliff.

  And it was only that split second of realization that made me say, “Okay, baby.”

  All at once, he pulled away from my mouth and set me on my feet. The tip of his finger traced my hairline as he tucked a tendril of hair behind my ear, and then he rested his forehead against mine. “Tonight. I’m coming over to your place. It’s going to be late and I can’t stay long, but I’m not waiting a single night longer to start this with you.”

  I nipped at his bottom lip. “I’ll text you the address.”

  He smiled a classic Porter Reese heart-stopper, pecked me on the forehead, and released me.

  And then he immediately took my hand and intertwined our fingers.

  His warmth flooded my system, and I giggled as he guided me to the door.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked, his hand poised on the knob.

  I lifted our braided fingers in the air. “It’s just you really have a thing for holding hands.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Does that bother you?”

  “No. Not at all. I mean, it kinda freaked me out at first, but I like it now. It’s you.”

  He smirked and tugged on our joined hands, forcing me against his chest as he held them behind his back. Tipping his head down, he brushed his lips with mine. “You’re hard to read, Charlotte. But your hands always tell me the truth.” His voice got low and husky. “You grip me tight when you’re nervous or anxious. You squeeze me soft when you’re being sweet. And you pull it away when you’re trying to hide.” He nuzzled his face with mine and breathed, “Tonight, we’ll figure out what your hands do when I’m making you come.”

  “Jesus, Porter,” I exhaled and gripped his hand tight.

  He moved our linked hands from behind his back and lifted them in the air, pointedly tipping his chin at my death grip. “I’m going to assume that’s what they do when you’re turned on.”

  I laughed and shook my head. “Courtesy FYI: It’s still not attractive when you’re arrogant.”

  He grinned, well…arrogantly. “I see you’re still lying to yourself.”

  I rolled my eyes, but I was helpless to stop the laugh that erupted from my mouth.

  His smile grew as he pulled the door open and stepped into the hall. With his heated gaze anchored on mine, he stretched his arm long and held on to me until the distance between us forced him to let go.

  So. Fucking. Porter.

  I moved to the doorway and propped my shoulder on the jamb to enjoy the show of him walking away.

  And then my heart stilled when I saw Rita standing at the nurses’ desk, Hannah on her left, Travis on her right, her apology-filled gaze locked on me.

  I sucked in a sharp breath as I watched Porter hurry to them. He hooked them both around their necks before hugging them to his thighs, saying, “All right, pipsqueaks. Let’s get out of here.”

  Instinct told me to turn away. But I stared, unable to stop myself.

  Hannah giggled at her father, while Travis fought a smile and spun out of Porter’s hold.

  “Dad, stop,” he complained. Suddenly, his dark eyes landed on mine and my whole body jerked at having been caught.

  “Hi,” he said, lifting his hand for a finger wave.

  My stomach rolled, but I somehow managed to return the gesture.

  Porter’s gaze snapped to mine, concern so heavy in his eyes that I felt the weight of it sweep over me.

  “Trav, lead the way out,” he ordered, and the kids took off, but Porter came straight to me.

  “I’m okay,” I assured, forcing a smile, before he could get a word out.

  He cupped my jaw, his thumb gliding across my curved lips as he scolded, “Rule number three, sweetheart.”

  No faking it.

  I covered my hand with his and turned into it so I could kiss his palm. “Rule number two, Porter.”

  No judgments.

  He sighed and dropped his hand. Bending forward to touch his lips to my hair, he murmured, “Tonight.”

  My stomach fluttered as I nodded and whispered, “I’ll leave the light off for you.”

  With one last smile and a wink, he took off, his long legs stretching to catch up with his kids.

  And then he was gone.

  Until tonight.

  “Come on, Charlotte,” Porter growled into my ear.

  My hands were pinned over my head, our fingers laced together, and my legs were wide as he drove into me, hard and fast.

  “I’m close, baby,” I panted.

  Porter hadn’t even said hello when he’d arrived at my apartment that night. That is unless you counted him stripping my bra off (again, over my head) and latching his hungry mouth over my nipple. In which case, it was quite possibly the best hello anyone had ever given me.

  His talented fingers had been in my panties before I’d managed to get his shirt off.

  Though, I assumed this was what you got when you answered the front door at eleven thirty at night in nothing but a few scraps of black lace and a pair of heels that even I had to admit were sexy as hell. This setup had required another trip to the mall after work, another blowout at the hair salon, and, yes, another trip past the MAC counter. But, given Porter’s reaction, it was worth every penny.

  I had come on his hand before we’d even made it out of my living room.

  And then I’d come again on his mouth before we’d even made it to the bed.

  And, now, I was about to come on his cock, thankfully on a soft mattress, but that was about the only thing soft about it.


  My cheeks were raw from the scruff on his jaw, and my breasts were tender from his constant attention.

  While we both liked the darkness, that wasn’t an option for Porter that night. My apartment probably looked like an airport runway leading to the bedroom. As we’d banged into walls and knocked over the few picture frames that decorated my apartment, Porter had turned on every single light he could find.

  He was a gorgeous man, so I did not complain about getting to watch his abs ripple as he rolled his hips with every thrust. Nor did I complain about the view of his back tensing as he feasted between my legs. And I sure as hell wasn’t about to complain about getting to witness the indescribable beauty of Porter Reese losing himself inside me.

  “So fucking perfect,” he growled, planting himself to the hilt, his gaze so heated that it caused the cool air to pebble my skin. After releasing my hands, he hooked his arm under the backs of my knees and pressed them high.

  He slid deep, and I moaned as my orgasm tore through me. My whole body convulsed. Toes curling, stomach tightening, core clenching, fingers tingling, breath shuddering.

  “There we go,” he praised as his pace quickened.

  I was still floating through my high when I felt his body tense and a strained whisper vaguely sounding like my name breezed from his lips.

  Seriously fucking beautiful.

  He lowered my legs back to the bed, and his body sagged as he rode his release out inside me.

  I lay there, beneath his heavy but incredibly comforting weight, silently trailing my fingers up and down his back for some time.

  Just when I was starting to believe he had fallen asleep, his head popped up and a gentle smile pulled at his lips. “Hi.”

  I grinned. “Hello to you too.”

  He dipped low and kissed my lips before rolling off me, but he didn’t go far. Propping his elbow on the bed, he cradled his head in his hand and stared at me. “You always answer your door in lingerie?”

  “Of course,” I answered, rolling to my side to face him. “I find it bolsters the neighborhood morale.”

  His lips twitched. “It sure as hell bolstered mine.”

  I laughed and scooted closer.

  He took the hint and shifted to his back, stretching his arm out so I could rest my head on it and curl into his side.

  “How was the rest of your day?” he asked the ceiling.

  “Busy. I spent two hours playing catchup with patients. Sent one up to the hospital. Then I had an early dinner with Gina and Erin before they had to catch a flight back to Texas.”

  His arms spasmed around me, and his lips found my forehead, where he murmured, “You’re amazing.”

  “Not really. It was Japanese, my favorite. So not exactly a sacrifice.”

  He chuckled. “You know what I mean.”

  I draped my arm over his stomach and gave him a squeeze in acknowledgement. “How long can you stay?” I asked.

  He groaned. “Not long. I told my mom I’d be home by twelve thirty.”

  “Ah, curfew,” I teased, doing my best to keep the sadness out of my voice. What I wouldn’t have given to fall asleep in his arms like we had that night on the porch at his brother’s house.

  “I have to be at The Tannerhouse tomorrow night until nine. I’ll be busy, but why don’t you and your girlfriends come by and have drinks?”

  “I have one girlfriend, Porter.”

  “Okay, so you and one girlfriend come by and have drinks on the house. I’ll drive you both home after.”

  I smiled and tipped my head back to peer up at him. “Is there a couch in your office there too?”

  “Yes. But Tanner uses that office more than I do, so you’d have to be wearing a hazmat suit before I’d ever allow you to sit on it.”

  I laughed, and God, it felt so freaking good. It was my favorite part of the Porter Reese effect. “I wish I could, but I’m on call tomorrow night. What about Wednesday night?”

  He groaned. “Can’t. I’m off on Wednesday.”

  Normally, this would have been good news. I didn’t have office hours on Wednesdays, so barring any emergencies, we could have spent the day together.

  But I knew exactly what Porter’s being off meant. He’d be spending the day with his children.

  “Oh,” I breathed, my disappointment obvious.

  “What about lunch on Thursday? I have a manager on vacation, but I don’t have to go in until three.”

  I smiled tightly. “I have patients on Thursdays.”

  His lips thinned, his frustration matching my own.

  “It’s okay,” I told him. “We’ll get together this weekend or something.”

  He sighed and folded his arm under his head. “I’m off this Friday too because I have to work both Saturday and Sunday nights.”

  I didn’t say anything else as I cut my gaze away and began staring at the wall.

  Apparently, this whole dating-a-single-dad thing was going to be a lot more difficult than I’d thought. And that sucked something fierce because I loved spending time with him, even if it was silently in the darkness. Just knowing that Porter was there freed me in unimaginable ways.

  “It’s okay,” he whispered, reading my mood. “We’ll figure it out.”

  “Yeah. I know. But it’s always going to be like this. Us stealing random minutes and, if we’re lucky, hours during the day to be together.”

  “Hey. Look at me,” he urged. His hand went under my chin, where he forced my head back until I had no choice but to give him my eyes. “We’ll figure it out. I’ll rob Father Time for the rest of my life if that’s what it takes to get you. In the meantime, we’ve got phones.” His whole face smiled. “Imagine how much fun we could have if you actually returned one of my texts.”

  My lips twitched. “You’re awkward via text.”

  He smiled. “I’m awkward all the time, sweetheart.” He paused to pointedly pluck my nipple. “It doesn’t seem to have deterred you in the least.”

  And there it was again. A real, honest-to-God laugh bubbled in my throat, warming me in all the right places, but especially the one in my chest.

  “Okay, Porter. We’ll text and I won’t let your awkwardness deter me.”

  “So generous,” he deadpanned.

  We lay there, our bodies flush, naked, and sated, for twenty minutes.

  We talked. Nothing heavy. Just chitchat.

  And we kissed, heavy, long, and wet.

  And then Porter got up, got dressed, and got gone.

  As he had promised after our first date, I spent the rest of the night touching my bruised and swollen lips, but they were split in a smile as I did it.

  * * *

  I’d been optimistic about how much time I’d get to spend with Charlotte when we’d decided to grow something out of the intense connection we felt in the dark. I hadn’t dated anyone since Catherine had died, but it couldn’t be that hard to find time to date, right?

  Wrong!

  Charlotte and I had talked on the phone and texted a lot. But, in the two weeks since we’d officially started a relationship, we’d only managed to see each other four times. The grand total of those hours could have been counted on one hand. Two of those times had been when I’d stopped by her apartment on my way home from the restaurant. Not that her apartment was anywhere close to on my way home from the restaurant. But I’d been so desperate for more than a phone call that I’d taken the hour-long detour past her house. This had resulted in ten minutes of her smiling and a couple of kisses that weren’t nearly deep enough to last me through the week. But it was so fucking worth it.

  With both restaurants up and running, I barely had enough time for the kids. Forget about a social life. Thankfully, Charlotte understood. She was busy too. The other two of the four times we’d seen each other had been when she’d stopped in at the restaurant on her way home and watched me run around while she ate dinner alone at the bar.

  I was starting to lose my mind. I craved that woman something fi
erce. And not just her body—though that was definitely part of it. But I missed seeing her face light with humor. And feeling her melt into my side as if she needed to be there to breathe. I missed the way her heart hammered in her chest each time I’d kiss her. And the way she moaned with contentment when I’d engulf her hand in mine.

  But it was Charlotte, so if the phone and the text messages were all I could have of her, I’d still take it every single time.

  It was now my first quasi-free night in over two weeks. Tanner was out of town, and I had a new manager working his first shift out of training. So, while I needed to physically be in the building in case he couldn’t hack it, I didn’t have to be actively working. I had a full four hours of mostly uninterrupted time to dedicate to a dinner and maybe some quiet time in my office with Charlotte. Yeah. Okay, fine. In the real world, it was a terrible excuse for a date night. And it sucked. Like, a lot. But it was the best we’d been able to swing in weeks.

  We were silently sitting in our booth. Her eyes were aimed at the table while she used her thumb and her index finger to roll a torn-off edge of a cocktail napkin into a ball.

  I knew what was coming, so I released her hand, leaned back, and allowed her the time and space to draw up her courage.

  She did this every day—whether in person or on the phone. One question about the kids. Never more. Never less. At first, it had been jarring, but then I’d figured that it was her way of easing them into her life. She’d caught me off guard more often than not on the phone. But, in person, I could always tell when the question was coming. She’d get quiet, emotionally pulling away from me even if she was physically in my arms. Her breathing would speed and she would nervously toy with the ends of her hair or a necklace or whatever she could get her hands on. After the first time, I’d learned to wait her out.

  She’d ask.

  I’d answer.

  She’d swallow hard.

  I’d kiss her and change the subject to something ridiculous.

  She’d laugh.

  And then we’d go back to doing whatever the hell we’d been doing or talking about before that one question had crossed her mind.