by Lily Evans
My exhausted brain couldn't process this new information. "You're a doctor but you don't call yourself doctor?" I found myself mesmerised by the way he was sliding his hands together, methodically working at each finger now. "But I don't understand. You're scrubbing up like you're planning on performing major surgery…" And as he shot me another pitying look over his shoulder, the penny dropped. "Oh no. God."
Luke grinned, rinsing his hands. "Most of my patients just call me Mr Foster," he teased, turning off the taps with his elbows and pulling down some paper towels. "And you can carry on calling me Tosser if you like."
I watched open-mouthed as he donned the gloves the doctor had opened on to the newly re-laid trolley, my heart starting to pound noisily.
The stocky guy in red board shorts who'd rescued me from the rising tide, the same bloke who'd held me in his arms while I cried, kissed me more passionately than I'd ever been kissed and then buried himself deep inside me again and again until I'd wailed with pleasure was a surgeon. This was becoming too surreal for words.
"Luke," I faltered, watching nervously as he seated himself at my side and began to draw up another syringe-full of local anaesthetic. I still couldn't quite get my head around the idea he was going to do this. It seemed much too intimate somehow. Yet we'd had sex. How more intimate could it get?
"It's okay babe. I promise I know what I'm doing."
"It's not that."
He nodded, his eyes softening as they met mine. "I know." And rising slightly, he leaned over to kiss me. "This feels pretty weird for me too. But I'm not prepared to watch someone butcher your arm when I know I can do a much better job of patching you up."
"Cocky sod," I muttered.
He smiled, unperturbed. "Though I'm not going to lie to you. There's no quick and painless way of doing this first bit. The stuff in here's acidic," he gestured towards the syringe, "and the faster you squirt it in, the more it hurts. So I'm going to go nice and slow—"
"Wonderful." I experienced a strong desire to bolt.
"—and I want you to start counting to ten. Out loud. By the time you get there, I'll be done."
"Ten?" I regarded him with horror. "As in seconds?"
He grinned, nodding. "But in about two minutes from now, all that nasty pain will have gone away."
Oh. That sounded better. "You promise?"
"I promise," he agreed solemnly.
I gave a shaky sigh. It didn't seem as though I had much choice. "Okay," I whispered at last. "Just do it." And bracing myself for the sharp scratch, I closed my eyes.
***
"Becks. Becks."
Though I could hear the voice, I ignored it, sliding back beneath the surface, invisible arms dragging me back into slumber. It seemed much too much effort to answer. I was warm, I was comfortable and my arm didn't hurt anymore.
"Hey!" Luke's soft chuckle hurtled me towards consciousness. "I could develop a complex, you know. Every time you're with me you nod off."
"Oh." Forcing my eyes open, I strained to see in the darkness. To my astonishment, I realised the car had stopped and we were back in the hotel car park. I must have fallen asleep the moment we'd left the hospital. "I'm so sorry."
"It's okay." He reached across to stroke a stray curl away from my face, his touch sending a delicious quiver down my spine. "But I think I should get you to bed."
"Really?" I murmured, raising my eyebrows suggestively then rather spoiling the effect by yawning hugely.
He gave another chuckle. "Somehow, I don't think you're up to more meaningless sex tonight, babe."
"Hey, you said it wasn't meaningless." At least, I thought he had. Oh God, had I dreamt that?
To my relief he smiled, cupping my cheek in his hand. "I did," he agreed. "But you didn't."
I gave a startled giggle. "Well, you didn't exactly give me a chance, did you? Barging into that room like that, like a bull in a china shop."
Though he'd been far from bullish afterwards. He'd been amazing. I'd watched in awe as he set about repairing my tattered arm, cleansing the wound with meticulous care before manipulating the jagged edges back together again. Then wielding surgical instruments with astonishing ease, he'd started placing sutures, his rapid movements soon becoming a blur. The end result was twelve beautifully neat stitches. I was beginning to get the impression Luke Foster was something of a perfectionist.
"So?"
"Oh." I met his intense gaze, suddenly appreciating how anxious he was to hear my reply. "I don't think I've ever had more meaningful meaningless sex."
He grinned. "Me neither." And then he was moving towards me again, folding me into his arms, his talented mouth landing on mine.
"You've got to get back to the stag-do," I groaned when he finally let me up for air. "If I were Tim, I'd never speak to you again."
"If you were Tim, I wouldn't be snogging you," he retorted, making me snigger. "Don't worry. He's used to me being late for everything. I get held up in theatre all the time. Just one of the many joys of my job. Anyway, we're here until Sunday. I've got time to make it up to him."
"You're here until Sunday?" My stomach gave a jolt. "Me too."
He smiled, reaching for the door handle. "Then I guess I've got time to make it up to you as well."
Oh yeah. The thought of Luke and me together in that huge double bed in my hotel room gave me goose bumps.
"It's probably just as well you've got to go," I sighed, reaching up to touch my lank ponytail as we climbed the hotel steps, Luke's arm once again firmly around my waist. "I can't wait to get in the shower and wash the sea-water out of my hair. And all the sand—yuck."
"You can't have a shower. Not tonight."
"What?"
He sighed. "I knew you weren't listening. Babe, I told you back at the hospital. You can't get those stitches wet for twenty-four hours."
"Oh." I stared at him in dismay. Now that he mentioned it, I could remember him saying the words. But I hadn't equated not getting my stitches wet with not being able to have a shower. How stupid was I? "Wh-what about a bath? I could hold my arm out of the way." Though I was none too sure how I'd manage to wash my hair one-handed.
Lifting his eyes heavenwards, he pushed me up the last of the steps and into the hotel.
The noise from the bar seemed even louder now. I peered through the door as I waited for the receptionist to find my key-card, astonished to see how many punters were packed in there.
"It's always like this on Friday and Saturday nights," Luke said, following my gaze. "The locals come because this is the nearest thing to a decent pub in the village. Plus all the weekend surfers are here too."
I turned to face him, catching what I thought was a rather wistful look in his eyes. "Luke, why don't you go?" I suggested. "You've got me back safe and sound. Go and join the others. I'll be fine now. I'm pretty sure I can make it to my room without you. You've been wonderful but—unh!" He silenced me with another of those toe-curlingly fantastic kisses, reaching around me to take the key card from the smiling receptionist.
"I'll leave you only when I'm damned sure you can stay out of trouble for the rest of the night," he murmured before shooting a dazzling grin at the receptionist who promptly blushed and turned away. "Come on," he said, dropping his hand into mine and leading me up the stairs.
To my annoyance, Luke managed to open the door to my room with the key card on the first attempt. "Not fair," I protested as he laughed at my piqued expression. "I think that thing hates me."
"It's an inanimate object," he said, still looking amused. "It can't possibly hate you. You've just haven't been doing it right."
"Story of my life," I sighed, ducking beneath his arm to enter, wishing I'd taken the time to tidy up before I left. My scarlet bikini was in two misshapen balls on the bed and Luke's sweatshirt was hanging limply from the footboard. "Here," I said, snatching it up and turning around to give it to him. "Thank you for letting me—" But Luke had disappeared.
For a few devastating secon
ds, I thought he'd gone without saying goodbye. Then I heard the taps running in the bathroom.
"What are you doing?" I exclaimed, watching from the doorway as he leaned over the bath, adding the contents from one of the complimentary bottles on the vanity unit to the rapidly rising water.
He straightened up, grinning. "Running you a bath, what does it look like?"
"But—" I was momentarily lost for words. "You said I couldn't get my stitches wet."
"And you won't, not if I have anything to do with it. Come on, get your kit off."
"Wh-what?" He wanted me to strip in front of him? Surely he couldn't be serious?
His grin widened. "Don't tell me you've gone all shy. Becks, we've already had sex."
"Yes, I know, but—" I hadn't been naked. I'd worn his sweatshirt the whole time.
He rolled his eyes. "Babe, I saw you in your bikini. That didn't exactly leave much to the imagination. Besides, do you have any idea just how many breasts I've seen?"
"Not counting all the ones belonging to your female patients, you mean?" I quipped, gazing at the foaming water with longing but feeling inexplicably nervous.
I heard him groan. "Ha ha, very good. Come on, Becks." He moved towards me, pulling me into his arms. "Let me wash your hair. You know you want me to."
I did. I buried my face into his shoulder, moaning softly. "Maybe if I put my bikini back on?"
"Becks." I heard his soft chuckle then felt warm hands sliding beneath my T-shirt. "By all means stop me if you really want to but—" there was a slight tug and I realised he'd unhooked my bra "—I think you and I both know I'm going to see you naked sooner or later. It might as well be sooner."
"Luke," I mumbled, shivering slightly as his fingers caressed my bare skin. "Shouldn't you go and join the others?"
"Will you just shut up about them?" He nuzzled the side of my neck and I gave a whimper of pleasure, tipping my head to afford him better access. "It's ten o'clock and the bar stays open until two. There's plenty of time."
"I know, but—"
"Ssh." And then his mouth was on mine again. Kissing me deeply. Thoroughly. Until I couldn't think of any reason at all to keep my clothes on. Which was probably just as well, because by the time I came back to my senses both my cardigan and T-shirt were missing and my jeans and knickers were around my ankles.
He chuckled, sweeping the loosened bra from my body before crouching down to pull off my shoes. "You're beautiful, Becks," he said gently, looking up at me as he helped me step out of the puddle of clothing. "I don't know why you didn't want me to see you."
The heat of his frank appreciation made me feel oddly light-headed. "Daniel—Daniel used to say that my breasts looked like—"
"Ah. Stop right there, I get it." He held up his hand, straightening up. "I think we've just established that your ex-fiancé is an even bigger tosser than I am." Resting his hands on my shoulders, he allowed his gaze to sweep down between us for a much longer look. "Nope. Nothing at all wrong with those puppies. Take it from me, babe. You're gorgeous."
I gave a soft snort. "No wonder you've had so many women, Luke Foster."
He smiled, brushing his lips over mine once again. "I guess I deserved that." And releasing me to turn off the taps, he then delved into the pockets of his jeans, producing a large clear plastic bag and a roll of surgical tape.
"Don't tell me," I said wryly as he slid the bag over my right hand and smoothed it up over the bandage. "You always carry these things around with you, just in case?"
"Must've fallen in there while we were at the hospital," he said with a grin, wrapping tape around the open end at my elbow. "Funny how that happens sometimes."
I shot him an incredulous glance. "You were planning this all along?"
"I've known a lot of women, remember? I had a pretty good idea you'd want me to do this." He motioned towards the tub. "In you get."
The water was wonderfully warm. I sighed with gratitude as I eased myself down, Luke taking my injured arm and resting it along the side of the bath. But when he started unsnapping the buttons of his denim shirt, I stared at him in surprise. "You're getting in with me?"
He gave a deep chuckle. "I'd love to, but I won't. There's no way I'd ever get round to washing your hair if I did. I'm just taking this off so I don't get soaked."
I twisted round to look at him as he knelt down on the tiled floor behind me, wedging himself into the small space between the end of the bath and the wall. "That doesn't look comfortable."
"Yeah well." He removed the hair band securing my ponytail then leaned across to pick up the vase of artificial flowers on the vanity unit, tipping them out on to the floor. "It's been one of those days," he muttered, sinking the vase into the water.
I gave another snort, recalling the precarious nature of our coupling on the rocks before groaning with bliss as warm water flowed over my head.
"Close your eyes." There was a pause in which I heard the opening click of my shampoo bottle then I felt his hands in my hair. And starting at my temples, he began to build up a lather, massaging my scalp with the pads of his fingers as he went, using slow, rhythmical, circular movements. Dear God, it felt like heaven.
He laughed as I whimpered helplessly, his strong fingers working steadily downwards towards the nape of my neck, still kneading in those tight, firm circles. I'd been completely unprepared for how good this would feel. The whole of my head had become an erogenous zone. "Luke," I gulped, a tingling wave of arousal flooding over me. I could feel my nipples hardening, a familiar, pleasurable ache building low in my tummy.
Until suddenly his hands were gone. "Hey!" I gave a howl of disappointment. "You can't just—umph!" I spluttered as the water he was already pouring over my head ran over my face.
"Ssh," he said, laughing softly as he lowered the vase for more water. "Keep your mouth closed."
"You b-bastard!"
"Ooh," he muttered, still chuckling. "I think someone nearly came back there. Don't worry, I'm not done."
"What?"
He behaved as though he hadn't heard, rinsing my hair twice more, then reaching for my sponge, plunging it into the now soapy water. As he swept it up over my body, I groaned, loving the rasp of the sponge over my skin. Pushing me forward, he washed my back, again moving in slow, lazy circles, applying just the right of pressure, the remains of the tension in my body melting away. And by the time he pulled me back against him, I was in such a state of deep relaxation I could've fallen asleep, right there in the bath. But Luke had other ideas.
Dipping the sponge into the water again, he drew it up to my shoulders, washing around and beneath each one, moving lower with a frustrating lack of haste. So when he finally, wonderfully, encircled my left breast, I gave a sob of pleasure, that tingling sensation returning full force, a surge of heat spreading southwards across my belly, arrowing straight towards my groin. I watched as both nipples became rosy peaks, the visual only serving to heighten my need. Oh God, I needed to come.
"Hmm," he said in my ear, now languidly caressing my right breast. "Just how close are you?"
I couldn't speak, that was how close. And when he finally slid his hand down my tummy, abandoning the sponge to delve between my thighs, I came the instant his fingers made contact.
"Luke!" I screamed as I bucked violently against his hand, the bathwater sloshing up around me, mimicking the intense waves of pleasure rippling through my womb. "Oh God…"
"There," he murmured, holding me through the aftershocks, planting kisses against my neck. "Just a little something to help you sleep."
He helped me out of the bath, wrapping one towel around my hair and another round my body before pulling me close. "I've got to go," he said regretfully, rubbing my back. "If I don't go now, I'll never go," he gave a soft chuckle as I sent him a hopeful look, "and you need to get some rest."
True enough. But it would've been wonderful to drift off to sleep in his embrace, I thought, watching as he finished fastening the last of his shirt bu
ttons.
"I'll see you in the morning, okay?"
I nodded, staggering after him to the door. "Luke," I faltered as he stepped out into the hall, not quite knowing what to say. "Th-thank you. For everything. I don't know what I would've done if—"
But before I could finish, he swept me into his arms, capturing my lips for another tender kiss. "I'll see you in the morning," he repeated, releasing me with a smile. And as he walked away, he looked back over his shoulder, sending me one last longing glance.
Chapter 4
Thunder.
Waiting for a flash, for another confirmatory rumble, I lay perfectly still, holding my breath, my eyes wide open. I'd hated storms since I was a kid. Though my terror had abated over the years, the wisdom of maturity kicking in, I could never quite forget the trauma of being told at five years old that a friend of my father's had been struck by lightning whilst playing golf. He'd died instantly. Ever since, I'd had an irrational fear lightning could get me anywhere. And even though I could reason I was quite safe here in bed in my hotel room, I knew there was no chance I'd go back to sleep until the storm had passed.
But when I heard the next boom, I realised it wasn't thunder at all.
"What the hell…?" I muttered, sitting bolt upright and staring through the darkness towards the ceiling as though I expected I'd be able to see into the room above. And as the sound of the next crash reverberated through the floor, I scrabbled for the switch that turned on the bedside light, a quick glance at my alarm clock confirming the worst. Two thirty-six. Perfect.
"You bastards," I wailed, collapsing back on my pillows and groaning at the continuing bumps and thuds overhead.
The last thing I could remember was crawling into bed twenty minutes after Luke had left, having half-heartedly dried my hair with the hotel's ineffectual hairdryer. His 'little something' had certainly helped. God, I didn't think I'd ever felt so wiped out after an orgasm. I'd been asleep for maybe three and a half hours, the most sleep I'd had in almost a week and now, thanks to some mind-bogglingly thoughtless hotel guests, I was awake again. Wide awake.