by Tessa Layne
Her eyes sparkled like the gaudy chandelier above them. “Straight talk. Kindness.” She said it with such a wistful note in her voice, Gunnar knew she’d been hurt. Even though he barely knew the mysterious beauty in front of him, he could tell that her heart was pure, true. And he wanted to punch the lights out of whoever had betrayed her trust.
“Then you won’t take offense when I tell you I’d very much like to kiss you?”
Heat flared in her eyes, and she bit down on her lower lip, mouth turning up at the corner on one side. “I’d like that. Very much,” she answered, echoing his words.
The world dropped away when his mouth touched hers, desire rolling through him as they tentatively explored each other. Bringing a hand to her neck, he deepened the kiss, flicking her lower lip with his tongue, nearly groaning when she opened, and he tasted her sweetness. This was it. She was it. He knew without a doubt this was the woman he’d marry.
The memory acted like a sucker punch. “Maybe I don’t like needles,” he muttered, heat racing up his neck. But why reference their first kiss? Unless she couldn’t stop thinking about the two of them, either.
She turned back to him giving him a sympathetic look. “You’re not alone. Most people don’t watch. You can shut your eyes if you like.”
Except that he couldn’t look away. Not from her, not when every movement she made acted like a tractor beam.
“When was the last time you had a tetanus shot?” she asked after she’d disposed of the needle.
Gunnar shrugged. “No idea.”
“Alrighty, then. I’m going to recommend a tetanus shot while we wait for the lidocaine to do its job.”
Suzannah slipped out the door and returned a few moments later with another syringe on a tray. Her movements were swift, perfunctory, as she pushed up the sleeve of his tee and swabbed the top of his arm with alcohol. “Take a deep breath and slowly blow it out.” Her voice caressed him, soothed his rough edges, took him back to a time when she whispered dirty words in his ear. He didn’t even feel the sting.
“You’re good at that,” he said with a little too much gravel in his voice.
“I’ve had a lot of practice.” She moved away again, and he immediately felt the loss of her. “We should be done in a few minutes,” she said with a faint wobble in her voice.
Gunnar might have missed it if he hadn’t been focused on her like a laser, but it was definitely there, and part of him thrilled at the recognition. She put on a headband with a light, and clear glasses, then wheeled over a stand covered with sterile pads and a tray filled with instruments that looked more like torture devices than medical equipment. His stomach lurched at the sight.
“I’m going to recommend you don’t watch,” she said firmly. “You’re numb, but it’s human nature to flinch.” She narrowed her gaze. “Do I need to bring you a bucket before I start?”
“Hell, no,” he growled.
Her mouth quirked. “There’s no shame in keeping one close by.”
“I’m ain’t gonna puke.” His stomach gurgled, contradicting him.
This time, she giggled, a sweet sound that made his insides go funny. “You sure?”
“Just do it. I’ll shut my eyes.”
“Alrighty, then.” She flipped on the light, put on clean gloves, and bent her head.
Gunnar shut his eyes and clenched his abs. No fucking way was he going to humiliate himself by puking. No matter how awful his stomach felt.
“You’ll do better if you breathe in and out slowly through your mouth,” she commented. A moment later she spoke again. “Inside stitches are done.”
He hadn’t felt a thing. “You’re fast.” The whole thing surprised him.
She chuckled again. “Like I said, I’ve had lots of practice.”
Four and a half years. Four and a half years of her life he knew nothing about. Except that she’d had a baby and at one time, had been engaged. “Who was Dalton Cavenaugh?” The question popped out before he could stop it.
She froze.
He risked opening an eye, then promptly regretted it. She looked guilty. A nasty green fog crept through him. Had Dalton been her boyfriend all along? Had he been nothing more than a wild fling before she settled down? He ground his teeth at the thought.
“I… now’s not the time,” she answered with a bite in her voice.
Gunnar tensed. “When is the time?”
“Sit. Still,” she snapped, without lifting her head.
The air crackled between them. Gunnar’s thoughts tore through him like buckshot. He couldn’t believe she’d faked everything between them in Vegas. Lying didn’t suit her. She’d never come across as a manipulator. Even now, he could read her emotions as clear as day. But what if he’d just been a fool? Had been looking for something that was never there? But kisses didn’t lie. He’d kissed enough women to be sure of that. And she’d kissed him like she’d been in love with him.
“Done.” Whatever she’d been holding clattered to the tray. Her hands returned to his forearm, wrapping it in gauze. “You’ll need to keep this dry for forty-eight hours. Then you can shower.” She was all business, wheeling her cart to the counter, refusing to look at him.
“The inside stitches will dissolve in two or three weeks. I’ll need to see you back here in ten days to look at removing the outer stitches. No heavy lifting at least until then. No work whatsoever the first forty-eight hours, and if you insist on working after that, be sure to clean the wound site twice a day.” She reached for a pad on the counter and started scribbling. “I’m going to give you a prescription for codeine–”
“Don’t need it.”
She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “And one for a strong antibacterial ointment. There are all sorts of microbes on a ranch that could give you a nasty infection at the wound site.” She held out the papers, then looked up, baby blues filled with turmoil. “Any questions?” she asked with a little catch in her voice.
Millions. Like, why the catch in your voice? And why was I not good enough? He was almost afraid to hear the answer to the latter. He opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again before he made a fool of himself. He needed to stick to his promise of staying the hell away from Suzannah.
“Do you need a ride someplace?”
So tempting to say yes. He shook his head. “I’m good, thanks.”
“Here.” She rifled in the drawer and walked over to where he stood, holding out a card. “Don’t hesitate to call if you have any questions, or if the wound changes color. It will be red and swollen the first couple of days. If it gets hot, or you get a fever, I want to know about it right away.”
He took the card, fingers brushing against hers. Electricity shot up his arm. Her tiny gasp registered somewhere in the recesses of his brain. She’d felt it too. “I bet he never kissed you like this.” Before he could stop himself, before his right mind shouted what the fuck are you doing, asshole? Before rational thought slammed on the brakes, he’d taken her mouth, claiming her with a possessive ferocity that brooked no arguing.
In the eternity that stretched between one second and the next, she stiffened, and then melted into him with a groan, kissing him back with equal anger, equal fervor, tongue battling his as she clutched his shirt.
This was too much, too intense, and yet they both threw fuel on the fire consuming them. Keeping his mouth on hers, he walked her back to the door, bracing his injured arm above her head, slipping his other hand underneath her scrubs to find the soft flesh at her middle. She yanked his shirt from his jeans, scraping her fingernails along his lower back, before sliding her hands beneath his boxer briefs to cup his ass.
She angled her hips to press her pussy against his erection, and he swore he could feel her heat melting the brass of his zipper. “Suzannah,” he groaned, running his fingers along the sweet curve of her spine.
“No talking,” she bossed, reaching for his belt.
So… she wanted a hate fuck? An angry, hot, winner take all, pounding until
they were both exhausted fuck? He’d give her everything she wanted, and more.
He nipped at the sensitive spot he remembered existed a little below and just behind her ear. Her skin tasted sweet-salty, and he caught a whiff of her perfume, a heady combination of jasmine and citrus. Something hooked deep in his chest at the recognition, like a part of him he’d locked away had stepped back into the light. He caressed the curve of her breast, reveling in the fullness, thumb sweeping across her already aroused nipples. Rolling one between his thumb and forefinger, he took her mouth again, inhaling the moan that came from deep in her throat. Her hips rocked against him, seeking friction.
She worked his zipper down and reached into his shorts, taking the length of him. Gunnar’s eyes nearly rolled back into his head, it felt so good. Like a homecoming. “Hell, ’Zannah,” he said, slipping and calling her by his pet name for her. The one she’d admitted no one ever called her.
“I said no talking,” she growled low and sweet, capturing his lower lip between her teeth and biting gently while she gave a gentle upward tug on his cock. Electricity raced up the back of his legs, settling in a fiery ache deep in his groin. He had to regain control of the situation fast, or she’d bring him to his knees in seconds.
Gunnar offered a silent prayer of thanks for scrubs. One pull on the drawstring, a quick yank, and he was staring at pale pink lace. He inhaled sharply – he’d been the one to introduce her to sexy underwear, and the discovery she hadn’t reverted back to cotton boy shorts sent a ripple of satisfaction through him. He’d never look at her scrubs the same way again.
She whimpered, sliding her thumb across the slick head of his cock. He got the message. Now was not the time for subtlety. He went straight for the elastic, peeling aside the thin fabric to expose her sweet pussy. Fuck. She was soaked. The scent of her arousal hit his nostrils, and he buried his head against her neck, inhaling deeply and dragging his tongue down to her collarbone. “Tell me you missed this, ’Zannah,” he ground out, sliding a finger into her slick heat. “That no one makes you come the way I do,” he said, throwing her words from years ago back at her. He was overcome with a primal urge to claim her, to mark her as his, to remind her how good it had been between them.
She answered with a cry, and a roll of her hips, but no words.
Not good enough. Not this time. Not after the hell he’d been through. “Say it.” He rubbed her clit, sliding her arousal over the protruding nub. Her hips bucked and she moaned, bearing down on his finger. He slipped in another, scissoring and stretching her, filling her the way she used to beg to be filled. “Say it,” he said roughly.
“Yessss,” she hissed, glaring at him, eyes snapping.
He grinned at her, before taking her mouth again, plundering her sweet recesses and letting her ride his fingers. But they weren’t done. Not by a long shot. And he wasn’t about to let this be a one-way pleasure street. Sweeping his tongue against hers one last time, he broke the kiss, breath coming in short, harsh gasps, and he slipped his arousal coated fingers from her. She cried out with a scowl.
“Look at me ’Zannah.”
She lifted her eyes, hazy and glittering with lust. Gunnar’s breath snagged. She was damned hot like this, cheeks flushed pink, hair pulling from her ponytail, mouth swollen and soft. All the reasons why he hadn’t been able to stay away from her the first time around came flooding back. He touched her lips, like satin under the pad of his finger, and coated them with her essence. She gasped, eyes widening slightly, then bit down – hard, cleaning her arousal from his finger like a kitten with a bowl of cream.
His cock jerked under her grip, balls aching with the need to bury himself deep inside her. “Tell me you’ve got condoms close by, beautiful.” Desire roughed up his voice. He couldn’t help it. She twisted his insides into a knot.
Suzannah jerked her chin toward the cabinet. “Upper left.” Her voice came out strangled, desperate.
Gunnar kissed her again, deeply. Tasting a hint of her sweet, salty musk. “Don’t move.” He stepped back, cock bobbing out of his jeans like a flagpole as she released him. He found a fishbowl of condoms on the top shelf, and tore one open, sheathing himself with his good hand. Returning to her he braced his good arm above her head. “Take off your shirt. I wanna see those glorious tits.”
Keeping her gaze locked with his, she whipped off her top, then paused, hand hovering over the front clasp of her lacy bra.
“You’re gonna have to take it off if you want my mouth on you,” he cajoled. Her breasts had always been sensitive, and on more than one occasion he’d brought her to orgasm only by teasing her nipples.
A determined look flashed briefly across her face, and she flicked the clasp. Gunnar’s heart nearly stopped. Her breasts were as luscious and full as he remembered, but he’d been utterly unprepared for the effect that they had on him like this. The creamy flesh was streaked with tiny silvery stretch marks, and her nipples stood prominently in the center of rosy dark pink circles. Jealousy tore through him. He’d wanted this, wanted her to be the mother of his children. To see her body swollen and ripe with his seed, to see her nursing their child. Someone, not him, had been the lucky one. And that someone, that asshole, was no longer in the picture. Who left a woman like Suzannah high and dry?
The angry, jealous monster in his head told him it served her right. But that wasn’t who he was. Not really. He’d been raised to be a caretaker. A provider. A goddamned gentleman. And good men didn’t leave women to struggle alone. By God, even if it killed him, he’d help her. However he could. And if she let him, he’d give her as many orgasms as she requested. Maybe that made him a pushover. For certain, it made him a damned fool. But he couldn’t stay away from her.
He lowered his head, tracing a silvery stretch mark with the tip of his tongue, down to her aureole, across her nipple standing tall, begging to be cherished. He licked and sucked, flicking it until she writhed against the wall. “Gunnar… please.”
“Please what?”
She answered by wiggling and shimmying until her pants dropped and she kicked a leg loose and hooked it around his hip, centering her pussy over his cock. Another memory came crashing through to the present. A dark hallway, a slinky pale dress hiked over her hips, a red patent leather stiletto digging into his ass. He’d always appreciated her height, how perfectly paired their bodies were, as much then as now. And quite frankly, she was sexier in scrubs and tennis shoes.
He teased his cock at her entrance. God, he’d missed this. Missed her. Missed the way she fucked with glorious abandon, completely giving over to her baser desires. Missed the chemistry that exploded between them like an ancient oak brought down by lightning. He’d never admit it, but she’d ruined him for anyone else, and he wanted to savor this reunion – as fucked up as it might be. How many nights had he awakened, dreaming of her taste on his lips? Her cries of ecstasy echoing in his brain? “Please what, baby?” He slid his cock through her slick folds, rubbing her clit. “Tell me what you want.”
Another growl, laced with impatience. “You. Inside me. Now.”
Her words sounded like music to him, and never had he been happier to oblige. Using his injured arm, he traced a path along her hairline, down her jaw. Tipping her chin, he swiped a thumb across her lip, marveling at her, momentarily struck by the wonder of seeing her again. An ache closed his throat, but just as quickly, he swallowed it back and steeled himself. This was a fuck with an old flame. Nothing more. The bond they’d once shared might be broken beyond repair, but he could at least make this good for both of them.
Keeping his gaze locked on her, he slowly pushed into her tight heat, giving a silent fist pump at her gasp then sigh. “That’s right. You remember how good it feels, don’t you?” Her eyes lit, giving her a wild, unfettered and otherworldly aura.
“Watch your arm,” she ordered, voice high and soft.
“My arm is fine,” he gritted, thrusting his hips and smiling at her moan. Truly, he felt no pain. It might hurt li
ke the devil later, but he was being careful, only using that hand to caress her and take her higher. He gently pinched her nipple, balls drawing tight as she bore down on his cock and pulled her leg tighter against his hip. She met him as a partner in this wild dance, hips rolling to meet his thrusts, heat building between them like an out of control prairie fire until they were both slick with sweat.
With a long keening wail, she seized around his cock, face frozen in the most beautiful expression of ecstasy. It was too much for him, and he followed her over the edge with a guttural cry, emptying himself into her until his vision hazed. He touched his forehead to hers, not quite ready for the moment to end. Her arm wrapped around his neck, and she offered her mouth for a kiss. He complied, then stepped back, reluctantly, to dispose of the condom.
When he turned back around, she gave him a sated smile, the angry snap in her eyes finally gone. Thanks to a thorough fucking. His chest puffed at the thought.
“I don’t think I can feel my toes.”
He chuckled. “Like, I said. I bet Cavenaugh never kissed you like that.”
Her eyes fluttered down, and pink tinged her cheeks. “We never kissed.”
Gunnar cocked his head. “I don’t follow.”
She rolled her eyes. “Dalton and I never kissed. He’s an old family friend and not my type.”
Not her type? Gunnar fought back the spark of hope that flamed in his chest.
She continued, face growing pinker. “My mother planted that announcement. My parents… have certain expectations. And she thought by publishing something in the Star, she could manipulate me.”
Gunnar’s mind whirled. She’d never been engaged to Cavenaugh? Never kissed him? So there must have been someone else? Not Cavenaugh and not him, then who? Heat raced up his spine as the sick feeling returned to his belly. He wasn’t leaving the clinic until this got sorted once and for all. And then, if the asshole who left her to fend for herself was still living, he’d hunt the motherfucker down and introduce him to justice Prairie-style. “Then what lowlife knocked you up and left you high and dry?”