by Audra North
Her mouth dropped open in what might have been surprise, but her eyes were soft and unfocused and her breath was coming fast and shallow. She wanted him. He’d suspected it for a while, but he hadn’t been certain until today.
But she didn’t say anything, and the silence grew more uncomfortable. “Should I leave before you call the police on me?” He tried to laugh, to make it into a joke, but what if she truly was more alarmed than aroused?
At least his words finally got through to her, making her shake her head and let out a slow, “No-oooo.”
It didn’t sound that convincing, but before he could tell her to forget it, she snapped to attention, rose from her chair, and strode past him to the door of her office.
Great. She’d realized that she was alone with a psycho doctor who had told her he wanted to get into her pants, and now she was running for her life.
Instead of leaving the room, though, she shut the door.
Shut them both inside.
His pulse sped up.
She leaned against the door. “What happens if we do, er, get involved? We spend a week together, and then what?”
He felt a thrill roll through him.
“And then that’s it.” He said it as gently as possible but meant it. The way he’d been feeling lately, there was no way he could commit to more. He already had too much stress in his life, and this week was about letting it go, not about adding—especially not a relationship. “I volunteer here during the day, and at night, we…get to know each other better. Just for the week. When it’s over, we part ways and go back to the way things were. Meeting in the ER as professionals.”
Her cheeks were bright red.
“Uh, wow. Okay. That’s an interesting proposal.” She swallowed audibly. “But what if I say yes and it turns out to be an awful idea?”
He took a step forward. “It won’t be awful.”
“How do you know?”
How did he know? Because now that the idea had gotten into his head, it wasn’t getting out. He’d fallen asleep to memories of the way she’d touched him, then woken this morning with a dream image of her still fresh in his mind, need for her thrumming through his entire body.
It would be earth-shattering without either of them having to try.
It didn’t mean he wasn’t going to pass up this opportunity to demonstrate that to her, though.
He stepped closer again, bringing his body only inches away from hers. “Because of this,” he said softly, before dropping his lips to hers.
Chapter Three
He was right. It wouldn’t be awful.
Carrie reveled in the feel of Greg’s mouth on hers. His lips were soft, but he applied the perfect amount of pressure, letting her adjust to him by degrees before slipping his tongue inside in short, gentle licks, making her grab at him in an effort to get him to go deeper, harder. But he didn’t budge. In fact, he hadn’t even touched her anywhere else. He was still standing inches apart from her, his mouth the only part of his body coming into contact with hers.
And all the while, damp heat was building between her legs.
The need rose up so quickly that when he pulled back seconds later and stepped away, she nearly cried at the loss.
He stared at her for a moment, a satisfied smile on his face. “I know.”
Part of her wanted to turn him down for being so smug. And he wasn’t even being smug, not really, when they both knew how good it had been. He was being honest. Hadn’t she told herself, time and again after what had happened with Eddie, that she didn’t want to be used again?
And here she was, contemplating being used for sex by Greg. Except while Eddie hadn’t been truthful about what he was doing, Greg was telling her up front. Temporary, just sex…could she accept being used if it didn’t mean anything?
Either way, she wanted him. That much was clear. She wanted to pull him to the floor and have him right there, right now, to ease this aching need that she’d been carrying around for too long. And if that kiss was any indication, the pleasure would be intense.
Slow down. That was the first kiss you’ve had in a long time. Don’t be too hasty.
She forced herself to calm, releasing a ragged breath. “Okay, so it would be good. And as long as we’re being honest…I want you, too. I have for—well, for a while. But I need to think about it. The idea of a temporary…thing is appealing. But I can’t say yes yet. Not like this, when it feels like an arrangement. Like I’m—buying something. Or selling it.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not sure. I need to think about it.”
She grabbed the door handle to pull it open, but he spoke again, stopping her. “Wait. That’s fair. I understand, and it’s fair. What if I come tomorrow, anyway, with no obligation on your end and no expectations on mine, and at the end of the day, if you still feel the same way, then we’ll walk away with no hard feelings?”
Oh, God, this felt so wrong. Yet so right. And his proposal seemed fair enough. If she still felt uncomfortable tomorrow, it’s not like she’d run into him anywhere else except the hospital. She wasn’t worried that it would be too uncomfortable there. Emergency rooms were supposed to be uncomfortable. It would be a minor blip on the radar.
She blew out a nervous breath. “Okay. Deal.”
Thank God she was still holding on to the door handle, because she needed something to help support her when he smiled like that at her. Sexy and triumphant and—oh my God he is coming closer. Don’t faint. Don’t faint.
His fingers landed atop hers, and he turned the doorknob with both their hands, letting it swing open before he nodded and dropped a kiss on her cheek. “I’ll be here tomorrow morning at nine.”
With that, he was gone.
…
Greg sat in the corner of the rec room, alternating between watching Carrie and flipping through a stack of magazines on boring topics like gardening and fishing.
Yesterday, he’d left New Beginnings feeling more relaxed. He hadn’t even realized he’d been so tense. But somehow, seeing Carrie again had loosened him up, and he’d been surprised to find how exhausted he was underneath that tight coil of stress that he usually carried around with him.
He’d gone home and slept the day away, and when he woke in the morning with the fading image of a dream he’d been having about Carrie, he couldn’t get ready fast enough to drive back to the residence and see her again.
Except now, one hour into his first day as a volunteer at New Beginnings, he wanted to scream with frustration. Apart from a few minutes of conversation this morning, he’d seen her only long enough for her to send him to the rec room, where he was bored out of his mind. Most of the residents were talking quietly over board games or dozing in their chairs. There were no crises for him to attend to, no heart attacks, not even headaches. Everyone here was healthy enough, or so it seemed.
Of course, that didn’t mean that something couldn’t happen any minute.
The doubt wouldn’t leave him alone. He was just so goddamned on edge. His skin felt tight, and the only thing that eased the discomfort was thinking about how good it would be if Carrie said yes to spending these nights together.
He needed her to say yes.
He was about to set aside the magazine he had in his lap and go find her, to demand an answer, when she walked into the rec room, and the tension in his nerves eased.
There was something about her. Soothing and arousing at the same time. She gave him a small wave before moving to each resident in turn, stopping to converse with every one of them. Watching her wander about the room, occasionally moving furniture to accommodate the wheelchair-bound residents, or helping an elderly man with a walker to stand up, her body bending, turning, and performing all sorts of impressive physical maneuvers, it was hard not to notice how flexible she was. She was probably amazing in bed.
Fuck, he was messed up. From anxious to relieved to turned on in a handful of minutes… What the hell was he doing here? She was sweet and good and cared about the people in
her residence, while he—he wanted to get into her pants for a week and then get back to work.
Shit and damn. What kind of person did that make him?
On the other hand, she hadn’t objected to his proposal of a week of fun, no strings attached. In fact, she’d seemed almost relieved when he’d insisted that it would only be a temporary thing. And if both of them were okay with it, why not?
But something was still nagging at him. She seemed like someone who made connections easily. The way she came to the ER for the residents who needed her, no matter the time of day. The way she’d handled his anxiety attack yesterday, putting her grief aside to help him. It didn’t match up with a woman who could have even a brief fling and remain unattached.
That wasn’t his problem, though, was it? He’d been honest with her. She knew what she’d be getting into if she said yes.
Satisfied, he tried to focus on the article on “Best Bass Lures” but he finally gave up and leaned back against the upholstered chair he was sitting in. Almost every seat in this place felt like sitting on a plush cloud, what with all the cushions and blankets and orthopedic everything.
“So you’re a doctor,” a voice rumbled out of the blue, making Greg jump. He looked over at the chair next to him, which had been empty a moment ago, and almost shouted at the sight of Clint Eastwood sitting next to him.
Not actually the real actor. But a damned-near look-alike. The same white hair, sharp blue eyes, and strong nose. A stubborn set to that square jaw that complemented the man’s military-straight posture. The stranger was looking at him as though assessing Greg’s worth, and Greg got the impression that he was found lacking.
“Yes, I’m a doctor,” he replied, trying but failing to look as cool as the other man. You’re going up against Dirty Harry, man. No one would win that contest. “I’m Greg Stanton.”
The man humphed and flicked his eyes down to the open magazine on Greg’s lap. “You don’t look like an angler to me.” And then he gave a wise-ass grin and said, “Then again, you don’t look like a doctor, either.”
Greg’s brows drew together. Carrie hadn’t warned him that one of the residents was a surly old bastard.
At Greg’s expression, the man threw back his head and cackled, but the laugh was short-lived. Within a few seconds, he was coughing so hard that he started wheezing.
Oh, shit. No. Greg jumped up, magazine sliding to the floor. Nebulizer. Oxygen. Stabilize him. Don’t lose him. Even as he scrambled to respond, he struggled to move his tingling arms, which suddenly felt like concrete blocks attached to his shoulders.
“Robert.” Carrie’s voice broke through the edges of Greg’s consciousness, and he realized that she was already next to the older man, one hand placed gently on his back, moving in a soothing, circular motion. “Jeanne is going to get your inhaler. Can you nod if you understand me?”
Carrie is here. Everything is going to be okay.
Slowly, Greg sank back into his seat, watching as Robert nodded, his breathing calming quickly, almost as if by magic. There is something about simply being near her that seems to have a healing effect on everyone.
In the next second, Robert gasped out, “I don’t need that damned thing. Tell her not to bother.”
She tsked. “You do need it. I don’t think I could bear it if you got sick again,” she told him, and his blue eyes softened.
“It’ll take more than a little pneumonia to bring me down, missy,” he growled. But then he winked at her and gave her a cheeky grin. “But far be it from me to argue with a beautiful woman. I’ll use the inhaler, only because I’m a sucker for a pretty girl.”
She laughed. “You’re such a charmer.” But then she looked over at Greg, and he couldn’t miss the question in her eyes.
Are you okay?
So she’d noticed. Had it been that obvious? Or was it only because she already knew he was having problems? He straightened in the chair and answered her silent query with a sharp nod, resolving not to let this thing get the better of him.
“And I see you’ve met Greg.” She said it to Robert, but she was still looking at Greg.
Robert flashed that grin again. “Man says he’s a doctor. But he’s lounging around an old folks home on a Wednesday morning. Seems more like a lazy bum to me.”
A smile played on Carrie’s soft pink lips, and a jolt of heat shot straight to Greg’s groin.
“He is a doctor.”
Robert humphed. “I’m eighty-three years old, young lady. I know a doctor when I see one. I was a doctor. There is no way this little boy could be a doctor. He has no bedside manner.”
What? Surly old bastard.
She laughed. “That’s because he’s a surgeon. You were a country doctor. There’s a difference.”
Robert sat up even straighter, if such a thing were even possible. “That does explain it.”
Greg scowled. “Quit talking about me like I’m not even here. And I don’t need a bedside manner when the vast majority of my patients come to me unconscious.”
Robert picked up a rubber-tipped cane from next to his chair that Greg hadn’t noticed before and banged it on the floor. “You’ve spent the last hour reading magazines and staring off into space, but you’ve barely said a word to anyone in this room. We’ll quit talking about you like you’re not here when you quit acting like we’re not here.”
Greg gaped at Robert.
Carrie blushed. “Robert. Don’t get yourself too worked up, or we’ll have to glue that inhaler to your lips.”
The surly old bastard grumbled, but he leaned his cane back against the chair. She squeezed his hand before giving a little wave to Greg and excusing herself. “I have a bunch of paperwork to catch up on, gentlemen,” she explained, before she was walking away, leaving Greg alone with the old jerk.
Greg watched her walk away, her trim little body weaving through the room and setting his libido on fire with the twitch of her hips.
Next to him, Robert snorted. “If all you’re going to do is try to seduce Carrie and take up space, Boy Wonder, then you should do us a favor and leave. She’s been through enough.”
Greg was stunned. Was he really being that much of an asshole?
Yes.
Damn it. And what did Robert mean, She’s been through enough? Was he talking about Rosie’s death?
Robert watched him closely as Greg slowly closed the magazine and set it on the table. The elderly man’s mouth pinched in a disappointed frown. “Can’t say I’m sorry to see you go,” he barked.
But Greg shook his head. “I’m not leaving.” He met Robert’s eyes and jerked his head to the shelves along the adjacent wall. “I’m challenging you to a game of checkers.”
Robert was silent for a moment, drawing his stubborn jaw even tighter, but Greg didn’t miss the twinkle in those blue eyes.
“Checkers is for pussies,” he finally said, and Greg nearly laughed out loud at the shock of the words. “O’Connor over there will play you at checkers, if that’s all you’ve got.” Robert pointed to a stooped little man, dozing in his chair by the window. “But if you know how to play chess, then I’m happy to beat you at that.”
“I know how to play chess,” Greg drawled.
Robert raised one bushy eyebrow at him and smirked. “Well, then, Doc. Be a good boy and go fetch the board so we can play.”
Chapter Four
By eleven thirty, Greg and Robert had acquired a little crowd of spectators. Sure, some of them were sleeping instead of watching, but at least their chairs were facing the board set out between the two men. And other residents were actually placing bets on who would win this game. When the first one had resulted in a draw, a tall, thin man with only a sparse wreath of white hair left at the base of his head shuffled over and introduced himself as “Arkady” in a thick Russian accent.
“You are good,” he told Greg, “but you don’t have focus to win. Play again with focus and maybe you have a chance to beat Dr. Thorne.”
After that,
more residents walked or wheeled over to offer up some advice or tell a story. A couple of them even recognized him from the times they had been under his care in the ER. He had a hard time remembering them at first, though. Here, where they weren’t under duress and in need of immediate medical care, of course they looked different.
It got to the point where Robert and Greg could barely make a single move without someone chiming in about how only golf was more boring than chess, boasting about how their grandkids were learning to play the game, and so on. One woman, hair dyed a shockingly bright red, suggested that the players add a little excitement to the game by stripping off an item of clothing every time one of them lost a piece.
Greg had been amused to realize that she was looking right at Robert, rather than at him, when she said it.
…
That was how Carrie found them when she walked into the rec room to announce lunch. Greg’s dark hair stood out in a sea of white and gray—and one bright red. She leaned in the doorway for a moment, watching as Robert captured one of Greg’s bishops, and the crowd murmured with approval. Maureen, the redhead, even shouted, “Take off your shirt!” making Greg erupt with loud laughter.
Carrie wasn’t sure where that had come from, but given how happy it made him, it didn’t really matter. God, he was so sexy. She couldn’t stop thinking of Greg’s words yesterday. I want you. I volunteer here during the day, and at night, we get to know each other better. She had tossed in bed last night, feeling restless and needy, imagining what it would be like if she said yes.
“Carrie, are you all right?” One of the aides touched her arm gently. Carrie shook off her daydreams and smiled.
“Never been better. I was just enjoying the game.” And Greg, she added to herself, before announcing to the room, “It’s fun to watch this, and I hate to break it up, but it’s time for lunch.”
Greg heard and looked up, meeting her gaze across the room. He must have seen the desire she felt for him written all over her face, because the laughter still dancing in his eyes changed in an instant to something much deeper, so strong it nearly knocked her off her feet.