One thing was certain, she'd go crazy if she had to sit around all day wondering where Pearce was and what she was doing, and with whom.
She glanced at the leather coat she'd dropped over the rocker next to her bed, then idly scanned the dresser where her wallet and keys and...
Pearce's keys...lay jumbled together. She opened her phone again.
"Mina? I'm sorry. Do you think I can bring Ronnie over for an hour after she wakes up?"
"Chloe is coming by with her kids, so we might as well make it a party. Bring her by whenever."
Just after noon, Wynter walked down the narrow driveway toward the garage where Pearce kept her vehicles. Both doors were open, and somewhere in the cavernous space, Patti Smith wailed about the night.
Wynter unzipped her parka and removed it when she stepped inside.
The CD was so loud that Pearce couldn't have heard her coming even if she hadn't been almost entirely underneath the body of the Corvair. All that was visible were the bottoms of her blue jeans and the soles of her scuffed workboots. Wynter knelt down, contemplating how to announce herself without startling Pearce. As if sensing her presence, Pearce shifted one booted foot to the concrete floor and propelled the dolly on which she'd been lying out from underneath the car. Wordlessly, Pearce turned down the portable CD player by feel, then lay on her back on the wooden slab looking up at Wynter, who leaned over her from two feet away. A smudge of grease streaked Pearce's cheek just below her left eye, and there was a small scrape on her chin. She wore no jacket, only a stained gray T-shirt that had pulled free from her jeans.
They stared at one another until Wynter reached down and wiped the grease away with her thumb. Then she brushed Pearce's chin adjacent to the scrape. "Didn't anyone ever tell you that you shouldn't lead with your chin?"
"You should see the other guy."
"I parked your car across from your house."
"Thanks."
"I can't stay very long. Mina's got Ronnie, and I need to spend time with her on my day off."
Pearce sat up and straddled the dolly, her legs kicked out in front of her, her hands resting between her parted thighs. "Good. I understand."
Wynter knelt on the cold hard floor and framed Pearce's face with both hands. "I don't think you do. I don't know that I do. But we need to talk about last night."
"Wynter," Pearce said quietly, remaining still although her every instinct screamed to get up and back away. Or finish what they'd started the night before. "You're a great person. Terrific. But we can't...get involved."
"Why is that?"
The muscles in Pearce's belly quivered, a rush of heat raced along her spine, and everything she had figured out in the last six hours as she'd welded and winched and created order out of disorder began to slip away. Every reason why that kiss had been a mistake seemed negotiable now that Wynter was here and she could see her eyes and hear her voice and feel the warmth of her hands. "Too complicated," she finally managed to rasp.
"I agree with you there," Wynter said gently. She leaned forward and lightly kissed Pearce on the mouth, then drew back. "Just checking."
"Checking what?" Pearce's chest rose and fell as if she had been running for miles.
"To see if kissing you still made me want to climb inside your skin." Wynter drew her fingers over Pearce's mouth. "It does."
"Jesus, Wynter." Pearce closed her eyes. "You're straight. You've got a kid. We're both residents, and it would take about three days before everyone knew we were fucking. I don't have time for a relationship. I don't even want a relationship." She opened her eyes. "And I'm done sleeping with women who are sleeping with men."
Wynter leaned back on her heels and rested her hands on her thighs. She held Pearce's gaze and said very clearly, "The last one is easy. I'm not sleeping with anyone at all." She took a deep breath. "The other ones are a little more problematic, except for Ronnie. She's a given. I don't know if I want a relationship either. I don't know if I'm straight. I don't know if I'm not. As to who knows what about anything we're doing, I don't care." She pressed her hands harder against her thighs to hide their trembling. "Your turn."
"No strings. No promises. We see what happens." Pearce reached behind her, found the body of the car, and used it to push herself up. She rested her backside against it, because her legs were shaking. "That's all I've got to offer."
Wynter stood, took a step forward, and pressed full length against Pearce. She put her arms around her neck as she had the night before and kissed her. Unlike the night before, she took her time, starting with a light play of the tip of her tongue over the surface of Pearce's lower lip. When she felt Pearce's arms come around her, she slicked her tongue inside just a fraction--in and out again--forcing Pearce to chase the kiss, to follow with her tongue. They teased and tangoed, back and forth, deepening the kiss until they were both moaning. Finally, Wynter braced her hands against Pearce's shoulders and pushed away, panting.
"No strings. No promises. We see what happens." She turned and retrieved her jacket from the floor. "Come to dinner tonight. Seven o'clock."
Then she walked away.
* * *
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Pearce waited until Wynter reached the end of the driveway and disappeared from sight before slumping to the floor, her back against the side panel of her Corvair. She sat with her legs straight in front of her, her hands in her lap, her head back, eyes closed. Her lips tingled. Her face was hot, the thermal imprints of Wynter's hands branded in her skin. One breath. Two. She still couldn't get enough air.
Her stomach was tense, her chest constricted.
Wynter had taken her by surprise the night before. Pearce knew that she'd invited the kiss with her unconscious embrace, but she hadn't been prepared for the intensity of Wynter's reaction, or her own response. Wynter's mouth, her hands, had been insistent, taunting and sweet and unapologetic. Pearce was used to women who made their needs clear, and usually she had no problem giving them what they wanted, taking her own pleasure in the process. Last night, her instantaneous and uncontrollable arousal had disassembled her. She'd craved Wynter's touch with the desperation of a drowning woman clawing her way toward the ocean's surface. She felt the same way now, and it scared her in more ways than she could count.
All her life she'd had one goal--to fulfill her father's expectations.
His requisites had never been spelled out for her, because they'd never needed to be. From the time she was aware of herself in the world, she'd understood her heritage and her destiny. Nowhere in the design had there been room for anything other than ambition and accomplishment.
No blueprint for love, no roadmap for a relationship, no outline for life other than a professional one. She did have the model of her parents' marriage, which appeared to be have been one of mutual convenience and polite propriety, absent of passion or real companionship. She'd learned her lessons well.
The superficial liaisons she'd allowed herself satisfied her needs and never interfered with her aspirations. In less than five months, she'd be the chief surgical resident at one of the premier institutions in the country and on her way to achieving everything she'd set out to accomplish. Everything that was expected of her. Everything that she wanted. Success was within sight.
She opened her eyes to the empty garage, seeking the familiar to remind her of who she was. But she could still see Wynter's face. Still hear her voice. Still feel her. And that was not part of the plan.
No strings. No promises.
Whatever it took, that's the way it had to be, because there was no room in her life for complications or diversions. And if she doubted that, she had only to remind herself that Wynter was very likely to wake up some morning and realize that she'd let her body overrule her senses.
And then she'd be gone.
"Just let it play out and don't take it too seriously," she muttered as she pushed herself to her feet. Satisfied that she had things under control, she ignored the thrum of excitement that lin
gered in the pit of her stomach. Dinner was just dinner. Everyone had to eat.
v The phone rang just as Wynter was sliding a roast into the oven.
She caught it on the fourth ring. "Hello?"
"Hey, whatcha doing?"
She smiled at the sound of her sister's voice. "Cooking dinner."
"What's the Little Princess doing?"
"You're the only one who calls her that, which just proves you haven't been doing enough babysitting."
Rosie laughed. "I hear you."
"At the moment, she's trying to push SpaghettiOs onto her fingers.
She thinks they're rings."
"Oh, that sounds so cute."
Wynter glanced over at Ronnie, who had spaghetti sauce in her hair, on her face, and all over the kitchen table as far as her arms could reach. She smiled. "Pretty much. Oh, wait--you should say hi." She held the phone for Ronnie. "It's Aunt Rosie, honey." Ronnie made excited conversation for sixty seconds and then lapsed into silence.
Wynter took over again. "So, what's up?"
"That's what I was calling to ask you. What's happening with Pearce?"
"We talked."
"And?"
"She's coming to dinner tonight."
"Your idea?"
"Uh-huh."
"Do you have ulterior motives?"
Wynter ran water in the sink to wash potatoes and carrots. "Such as what?"
"You know what what. You already kissed her. Are you planning on doing more?"
"I don't know. Maybe. We agreed to see what happens."
Rosie snorted. "Oh please. That's what everyone says when what they really mean is, let's hop into bed at the first opportunity."
"Is that right?"
"Yes, it is, and you're only hedging because Pearce isn't a guy."
"Don't you think that makes sense?"
"I don't know. Does it? You've already kissed her. That kinda cancels out the guy thing, don't you think?"
Wynter moved Ronnie's empty dinner plate out of reach and draped a damp dish towel over her daughter's hands. As she methodically wiped each finger, she said, "I'm attracted to her. I don't know what that means beyond that fact. Maybe nothing will happen."
"What about last night, then?"
"I hadn't planned it. I just...did it without thinking."
"You're not usually impulsive."
"No. I'm not. I've never had a chance to be."
"What if it turns out you're gay?"
"Is this really why you called?" Wynter picked Ronnie up, cradling the portable phone against her shoulder. "Come on, honey. Bath time."
"I guess," Rosie said after a pause. "I mean, I just never suspected...
you never said anything like maybe you were."
"I haven't been keeping secrets, Rosie," Wynter said, hearing the hurt in her voice. "I would've told you."
"Honest?"
Wynter smiled. "Honest. I never thought about it. I was in school, then I was married, then the residency started. Then it all went to hell. My life was either too busy or too crazy to think about much of anything."
"Your life's still pretty crazy, you know."
"I know. She's just coming for dinner."
"Uh-huh. Yeah. Sure."
"Would it bother you?" Wynter sat Ronnie on the closed toilet seat, handed her a bath toy to keep her occupied, and knelt to untie her sneakers. "If it turns out that maybe I am?"
"Would it bother you?"
"I don't think so. Mom and Dad pretty much raised us to believe that people's private lives are private." Wynter tugged off Ronnie's corduroy overalls. "I'm not naïve enough to think it would be easy, but that's never stopped me. You didn't answer my question."
"You know, we never got to talk very much after you went away to school, and I only saw you and Dave a few times a year at holidays.
But you never looked particularly happy to me."
"It wasn't all his fault," Wynter admitted, pulling Ronnie's T-shirt off over her head. "He's a horse's a--" she glanced at Ronnie, "behind, but I wasn't paying very much attention to what I needed or wanted."
"You looked happier last night than I can remember since high school."
"I was."
"So why would it bother me?"
Wynter closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Thanks."
"I love you. I gotta go study. Wayne's got a gig tonight, and I promised I'd be there."
"Have fun."
"You'll tell me when something happens, right?"
" If something happens."
"Uh-huh."
"I love you too. Go study." Wynter set the phone aside and cuddled her daughter. "Ready for a bath with Ducky?"
Ronnie nodded yes, accompanied by quacking sounds for emphasis.
As Pearce climbed the steps to Wynter's new home, it occurred to her that she had never had a dinner invitation like this before. She didn't date. She had neither the time nor the inclination. Most of the time she fell into bed with someone she bumped into at O'Malley's or crossed paths with in the middle of the night in the hospital. She didn't take women to the movies, she didn't go with them to concerts, and she didn't spend Saturday nights in their homes. But here she was.
She shook her head, wondering exactly how Wynter managed to get her to do things she'd never done before. Deciding there was no point in trying to figure out why everything had always been different with Wynter, she rang the bell.
A minute later, Wynter answered, a scrubbed and pajamaed Ronnie in her arms. "Hi. I was just putting her to bed. Come on in. I'll just be a minute."
"Hi." Pearce noted that Wynter looked just as good in her casual jeans, sneakers, and red open-collared shirt as she had in leather the night before. Realizing she was staring, Pearce held out a bottle of wine. "A housewarming present."
"Thank you." Wynter held the door wide. "Do you remember where the kitchen is?"
Pearce nodded, adding a bit shyly, "And something for Ronnie."
She passed the box containing Bob the Builder's Wooden Race Track set into Ronnie's outstretched arms. "Here you go, kiddo."
"Oh," Wynter said with a laugh. "You're in trouble now. She'll never go to bed."
"I suppose it's too late to take it back."
"Way way too late." Wynter leaned forward and kissed Pearce's cheek. "That was sweet."
Pearce wondered if Wynter could tell that the slightest touch from her made Pearce vibrate like a tuning fork snapped against the side of a table. She was surprised the air around her wasn't moving. "It's just a little thing."
"Would you mind very much setting it up for her while I put the last few touches on dinner?" Wynter smiled sheepishly. "I know it's probably not what you had in mind for the evening, but--"
"It'll be fun," Pearce said quickly. "Besides, I wanna see how it goes together."
Laughing, feeling ridiculously happy, Wynter said, "Let's go upstairs."
Fifteen minutes later, Wynter walked down the second-floor hallway to Ronnie's room, listening to her daughter's delighted laughter.
She stopped in the bedroom doorway to take in the scene. A wooden racetrack in a figure eight sat in the middle of the floor surrounded by half-constructed houses. Pearce lay on her side on one side of the track with Ronnie on the other. Each held a wooden racecar that they propelled more or less around the track. Ronnie seemed to delight in trying to drive hers into Pearce's. After a particularly resounding crash, Pearce made sounds resembling an explosion and fell over onto her back. Ronnie clapped.
Pearce turned her head, saw Wynter, and grinned. "She's tough."
"I should've warned you." Wynter took in Pearce's form as she sprawled unselfconsciously on the floor. She wore the same black boots as the night before, this time with blue jeans and a plain white T-shirt.
The jeans, cinched with a wide black leather belt, rode low on her hips, and Wynter could imagine fitting her body into the vee of Pearce's thighs and the shallow plane of her stomach. Wynter's gaze traveled up to Pearce's face, and when
their eyes met, she had to look away as a wave of heat passed through her. "Let me put her to bed."
Pearce got to her feet. "Should I wait downstairs?"
"Probably," Wynter murmured as she lifted Ronnie. "You're too much of a distraction."
"Oh yeah?" Pearce ran a fingertip down the outside of Wynter's arm. She'd seen the appreciative look in Wynter's eyes, and it'd gotten her stirred up. It didn't take any more than that from her. Just a look.
Not even a touch. She felt a pulse beat between her thighs. "Is that a problem?"
"Yes," Wynter whispered. "Go away now."
Pearce laughed and touched Ronnie's hair. "Night, kiddo."
Ronnie grinned. "Night, kiddo."
When Wynter came downstairs, Pearce was waiting in the living room. She leaned against the sofa, her ankles and arms crossed, a lazy smile on her face. "Everything okay?"
"No," Wynter said, crossing the room to her. "I forgot something."
"What?" Pearce asked nonchalantly, even though the heat in Wynter's eyes had ignited the fire in her belly that always seemed to simmer when she was anywhere near Wynter. This time, she was more than ready for Wynter to put it out.
"This." Wynter put both hands on Pearce's arms and pulled them down to her sides, then leaned into her and kissed her. It was just as she remembered it, only better. Pearce's body was just as hot, just as tightly coiled, but this time, Pearce kissed her back with a ferocity that took her breath away. Pearce's arms came around her hard, and Wynter felt hands cup her ass, felt a hard thigh thrust between her legs. Then she was spinning, and she was against the sofa and Pearce's mouth was on her neck. She arched her back. "Oh God."
"I love the way you smell," Pearce groaned, licking the undersurface of Wynter's jaw. "And taste." She pulled the shirt from the back of Wynter's jeans and slid her hand underneath. "Oh man, your skin's so hot." She caught an earlobe in her teeth and tugged at it. "I want you so bad. Jesus, Wynter." She raked her teeth down Wynter's neck, then licked the faint red mark she'd left behind. "Tell me what you want."
"Pearce." Wynter held her tightly, feeling her tremble, knowing she was holding back. "Pearce." She pressed her mouth to Pearce's ear.
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