by Sarah Title
She was definitely going to kill him. That was his last conscious thought before her arms wrapped around his neck and her lips pressed into his. In an instant, she pulled back, her cheeks red, her eyes wild. He saw her lips start to form words. Oh no, he thought, don’t stop, and something wild broke in him. He grabbed her waist and pulled her closer so her feet tripped over his and she was leaning into him. He saw her lips quirk up into a smile and in an instant he was there, and she was exactly like he imagined—cinnamon and snow—but she was warm, so warm.
How could she taste like snow and be warm? Her hands raked through his hair and he let himself be held closer, let her lips part his, let her tongue in to explore and destroy him. He groaned, wrapped his arms more tightly around her waist, one arm moving up her spine to fist in her hair. She shivered and he moved in closer, gliding down her hips, feeling the heat of her skin through her thin scrubs.
He had never, ever felt a kiss like this.
He had also never felt the sharp corner of an exam table in his backside before. He jumped, and accidentally let her go.
“Whoa.”
He was thinking it, and it might have been he who said it, but he looked over at her, hair mussed, lips swollen, cheeks red, and he thought maybe it could have been Billie. He felt weak and dizzy and a little sweaty. He reached up a hand to rub the back of his neck.
“Oh my God! The goop. I’m so sorry!”
Billie came at him with a paper towel, wiping his hand and the back of his neck. The clear ultrasound gel that had been on her arm was now covering his neck.
“Ugh, gross. I got you all wet.” Billie stopped what she was doing, looked up at him. He could actually feel the heat of her blush roll over him. “That didn’t come out right.”
He laughed, took the paper towel from her. It wasn’t really helping. He didn’t care.
“It’s fine.”
“OK.” She took a deep breath, backed up. “Sorry about that. I don’t know what came over me.”
“What came over you?”
“Yeah, to . . . sorry. Sometimes I just . . . forget. To keep my hands to myself. Sorry.”
“Please stop apologizing. It’s not good for my ego.” He gave her what he hoped was a rakish smile.
She laughed and he saw her shoulders relax.
“OK, well. Thanks for fixing the ultrasound. That’s really huge, actually.”
“That’s OK. Glad I could help.”
She smiled. He would have fixed any broken thing for her if she kept smiling at him.
“That’s an interesting sales tactic. I hope you don’t work on commission.”
Crap. He hadn’t even been thinking about that. He really was the worst salesman in the world.
Ed was going to kill him.
But it was Ed’s fault, really. Ed shouldn’t have sent him into a sales territory he knew nothing about with equipment he was still learning. Trial by fire, he had said. What a dick.
Although he had given him a job.
Dammit, why did everything have to be so complicated?
“So, where are you staying?”
Andrew snapped out of his Ed-bashing. Where was he going to stay while his car was being repaired?
“Um—”
“Well, there’s plenty of room at my place.”
Suddenly everything in Andrew’s life was perfect. Roses were flying out of rainbows. Unicorns were dancing jigs.
“Oh, I couldn’t—” Shut up, Andrew!
“I figure you just saved us a boatload of money, the least I can do is put you up until your car gets fixed. It’s not a big deal, really. I live with my dad.”
The unicorns stopped dancing. But still, a warm bed. Probably warmer than the hospital.
“That would be great. Thanks.”
Everyone in Hollow Bend was so nice. What the hell was this place?
Chapter 5
“I hope you’re not allergic to animals,” Billie said to him as she unlocked the front door. He heard the telltale scratch-scratch-scratch of claws on the floor, and she started to do what looked like some kind of dance: hip on the door, one leg inside, feet shuffling. It was oddly graceful. He was impressed.
“Nope, not allergic.”
“Good,” she said, and he was pulled inside by the lapel of his coat.
“Sorry about that. Pepe likes to make a break for it.” As if on cue, a small, brown and white furball came rushing past, heading straight for the door. Billie pushed Andrew aside and got a foot in front of the door.
Andrew took a step out of the way, tripped over a cat, and landed on his butt.
“Oh my gosh! Are you OK?” Billie rushed to his side, as did Pepe, comforting him with kisses to the face. Pepe, unfortunately.
“Fine,” he said, gently picking up Pepe and setting him on the ground. Billie offered him her hand, and she hoisted him up. “My, uh, shoes are slippery.”
“No, that was PeeWee. She likes to interfere with human feet.”
He looked around the house, stepping in carefully. The hallway opened to a large room with a small television in the corner and a lot of big, comfortable-looking furniture. There was a stairway along the back of the room, and, on the other end, a swinging half-door that looked like it led to the kitchen.
Every inch of it was covered in Christmas.
There were stockings hanging on the fireplace, pine garlands snaking around every snake-able surface, sparkling knick-knacks on every shelf. In the center of the room was a huge Christmas tree, way too big for the space, halfway-covered with ornaments and tinsel and lights.
Underneath the tree was a variety of sleeping creatures: a massive orange tabby cat, a German shepherd with gray around his mouth. PeeWee strolled over to join the menagerie and sat in front of a cat so gray it was almost blue, and continued to stare at Andrew. A black and white dog woke up and came over to Billie, sniffing her hand and accepting her pats to his head.
“Hi, Sniffer. Did you miss me?”
“You have . . . a lot of animals.”
She sighed. “I know. I have a bad habit of taking my work home with me.”
“But . . . where do they come from?”
“A few strays. Mostly people bring them in because they’re sick, but then they can’t afford to pay for them. Sometimes we can work out a payment plan, sometimes they decide it’s not worth it. Sniffer bit a woman wearing a fur coat. His owners wanted to put him down.” She scratched behind Sniffer’s ears. “Those people were fools,” she said to the dog.
“So, the sick ones, you fix them anyway?”
“Well, I don’t. My dad does. Or Keith. They’re the actual vets. I just don’t tell them that they’re doing it for free. Hi, PeeWee,” she said to the cat as she strolled between Billie’s legs, arching at her touch. Sniffer sniffed the cat, then sat patiently and looked up at Billie.
“And your dad doesn’t notice that sometimes when he comes home from work there are more animals than when he left?”
She just shrugged.
“So you just keep them.” Sniffer sniffed Andrew’s hand, and he idly petted the top of his head.
“Yeah, for a while anyway. I can sometimes get them set up with a rescue organization, especially the puppies. Some of them get adopted. Some of them, you know, just need—” she covered PeeWee’s ears “—a nice place to be before they die.”
She looked so sad when she said that. His heart broke for her. What would it be like to give and give, and be left with nothing?
The front door opened, and there was an immediate flurry—half the animals toward the door, half away. Andrew reached out and scooped up Pepe. He had always been a fast learner.
“Hello, sweetheart!”
Billie didn’t move, just sat there stroking PeeWee. Andrew looked over at her expectantly.
“That’s my dad. He’s talking to Diablo.” She indicated the big German shepherd who was running down the hallway and back to the door, wiggling madly.
“Billie?”
; “Yeah, in here!”
Dr. Monroe didn’t look much like Billie, except in the eyes. He was tall, and his white hair was wild from pulling off his hat. But they had those same green eyes, bright and sharp. Andrew felt less inclined to kiss him, though.
“Dad, this is Andrew. He’s going to stay with us for a bit.”
That elicited nothing more than a friendly handshake. “Hi, call me Jim. Merry Christmas.”
“Thanks. Nice to meet you, sir. Jim.”
And that was that. No questions about what this strange man was doing in the house with his innocent, very kissable daughter, no wondering how a stranger ended up in this town at all. Just nice to meet you and I hope you like chicken.
“Libby sent over a casserole,” Jim Monroe said, rubbing his hands together.
“So, Andrew, how are sales?”
Billie’s father had finally stopped shoveling Libby’s famous chicken and dumplings casserole into his face. Not that she could blame him. It was really, really delicious. And ever since Cal Carson had had a heart attack, that kind of cooking was off-limits in the Carson household and Libby had to get her down-home cooking fix. Billie didn’t mind being a guinea pig, although she should probably get her dad to start watching his cholesterol.
That was the problem with taking care of the estimable Dr. Monroe. He didn’t seem to need it. He let her think the practice would have fallen apart without her, but the truth was, he took care of himself. He ran two miles every morning on an ancient treadmill in the basement. When it was nice out, he took long walks or bike rides in the evening. He was still sharp, and he was still able to trek all over the county making house calls.
But he was almost seventy, and he couldn’t do it all, not by himself. Not anymore, not like when Billie was little. Then he had worked like a maniac, but he would still pick her up from school every day until she was old enough to walk to the clinic by herself. He could be up all night waiting on her mom to get home, but still be up and running, literally, the next morning.
Billie was terrified that if he didn’t stop, he would end up like Cal Carson. Katie didn’t talk a lot about seeing her father in the hospital after his heart attack, but Billie saw the way even the thought of it robbed Katie of her usual sass, saw how it terrified her. Thank goodness Cal was fine—recovering, but essentially fine. Well, he was pretty gruff and miserable. But, actually, that was not much of a change for Cal.
The thought of losing her father terrified Billie. But, as she scraped her plate clean, she realized the thought of him getting sick terrified her more. She’d always taken care of him, but he had always been able to take care of himself. It felt like a favor, like an act of love. How would it be if he wasn’t able? If she had to take care of him? She would be trapped. It would be a duty, not love.
“Billie, did you thank Andrew for fixing the ultrasound?”
Billie dropped her fork on her plate and dared a look across the kitchen table. She had thanked him, all right. Andrew’s blush matched her own.
“Yes,” they said at the same time.
Dr. Monroe pushed back from the table. “Well, I’m off.”
“What? Dad, you just got home!”
“The MacDonald mares are foaling. I stopped by this afternoon and I could tell Mac was worried with the bad weather. I thought I might as well go over now, while the roads are clear.”
“You’ll stay over?”
“Probably. Vera asked me to, and she made apple cake.”
Billie shook her head. Her dad loved food, sure, but he would have stayed even if Mrs. MacDonald wasn’t baking.
“Can I help you with anything, sir?” Andrew asked.
“Son, please call me Jim. ‘Sir’ makes me feel old.”
“You are old, Dad.”
“You’re only as old as you feel, sweetheart.”
Billie rolled her eyes. At this rate, she didn’t see the point of Keith Carson joining their practice. “Well, you better retire before you’re too old to enjoy it.”
“I’m working on it.”
“Might as well wait until you’re dead, at this point.” She meant it as a joke, but she caught a glimmer of hurt in her father’s eyes. She didn’t mean it like that, she wanted to say. Do whatever you want. Just don’t die.
But the look passed quickly, and so did Billie’s guilt. It always did with her and her father. “Take care of my girl tonight, Andrew,” Dr. Monroe said, placing a kiss on his daughter’s forehead.
Billie blushed again. Her dad would be gone all night. What on Earth would she and Andrew do to pass the time?
After Dr. Monroe had left, Billie changed into huge wool socks, a thick sweater that still managed to be flattering, and snug jeans. Andrew was wrong about her figure under those scrubs she wore earlier. She was petite, sure, but she was curvy in all the right places. While she was changing, he had built up the fire under the watchful eye of her menagerie.
Now PeeWee sat on an armchair across the room and Billie was moaning as Andrew’s thumb dug into the arch of her foot.
He felt a little like he had in high school, seeing how far he could get before his girlfriend’s parents got home. But Dr. Monroe would be gone all night. And besides, they were adults. All three of them. Surely, Billie had dealt with boyfriends before.
Andrew picked up Billie’s other foot and started to rub. The dishes were done, the fire was crackling, and he was taking her father’s orders to take care of Billie very seriously. Jim was a doctor, after all.
“No one has ever rubbed my feet before,” she sighed.
“Ever?” he asked, squeezing her foot and moving up to her ankle. Just to see how far he could go.
“I got a pedicure once.” She squirmed as he massaged her calves. “It wasn’t like this.”
Andrew was starting to wonder what else she’d never done before. That thought stopped him—well, almost stopped him. She had really amazing calves.
“The guys I go out with aren’t usually so . . . attentive.”
He sat back. Had he gone too far?
She sat up a little, pulled his hands back to her legs, a little higher this time. “I’m not complaining.”
“Good,” Andrew said, as if he had all the game in the world. He’d been told his charm was . . . lacking. Yet it seemed to work on Billie. But then, he didn’t really feel like he was trying to be charming. He just really, really liked touching her.
“Very good,” Billie said, pulling his glasses off.
He squinted, his automatic reaction to the near-blindness he experienced without his specs.
“Wow, these must be strong.” She put them on. They were way too big for her face, but they gave her a certain sexy-librarian look he found very appealing. Her eyes widened. “Dang. You’re blind.”
“I know,” he said, reaching to take them back. But she held on to them and placed them on the table next to the couch.
“You can’t see far away without them?”
“I can hardly see anything. You’re pretty blurry right now.”
“Hmm. Maybe if you came closer?”
Yes, if he came closer, he would probably be able to see her a lot better.
Billie almost hated to take Andrew’s glasses from him. They really did things to her. They made her want to do things to him. She’d always been way more into Clark Kent than Superman. But something was stirring inside her, that wild side she got from her mom, clawing at the walls of her chest, demanding attention. This was usually accompanied by a mild sort of panic, sweaty palms, and short breathing that made her wonder if she’d be able to calm down. It didn’t always work, she didn’t always stop it, especially when she drank too much and couldn’t control it, so she went home with guys like Trevor, nice enough guys who were more than happy for her to let off some steam. Looking into Andrew’s blue blue eyes, finally clear without those dark frames hiding them, she felt sober as a stone, and that clawing in her chest had a voice and suddenly it said, him.
He couldn’t see her face si
tting at the other end of the couch with her feet in his lap. Part of her wanted him to stay there, so he wouldn’t see the naked longing in her eyes. But then that voice suddenly had strength, and it had her reaching her hands out to fist in the front of his shirt, pulling him toward her. He got a little tangled in her legs, and there was some awkward scuffling of animal feet out of the way, but he made it. He leaned over her, ran a finger down her cheek. He could see her from this distance, clearly, and his look told her that he liked what he saw.
She counted seconds, hours, before his head finally tilted down toward hers. He was taking forever, making sure she was sure. Oh, she was sure. She wrapped her hand around the back of his neck and closed the distance between their mouths.
And that was it. Her inner beast was unleashed, and she gave Andrew credit for keeping up. His hands roamed down her arms, up her waist, and she gasped and his tongue was in her mouth, battling her, matching her. She tangled her hands in his hair, dark and smooth, and held him close as he explored her with his mouth and his hands.
She had a fever. She must. She was burning, and Andrew’s body lowering on top of hers was the only thing keeping her alive. She let go of her death grip on his hair to run her hands down his back, and he flexed under her touch. She moved up to his shoulders, down his arms—dang, this hipster was built—squeezing and caressing and arching into his touch. He slipped his hand under her sweater and she gasped again at the first contact of his skin on hers. He rubbed her belly, moving slowly—why was he going so slowly?—up to the edge of her bra. She was melting, twisting under him, squirming to get closer.
Suddenly, Sniffer and Pepe were up and barking just a second before the doorbell rang.
Chapter 6
“Whoever that is, they can rot in the ice,” Billie said, her eyes closed and her mouth an inch from his.
“I don’t think that’s how ice works,” Andrew said over the insistent banging on the door that accompanied the doorbell.
“Ugh,” she grunted as she rolled off the couch. “Stay right there.”
So he sat up, adjusted his pants, and tried not to make eye contact with PeeWee, who blinked at him from across the room. He heard shouts from the foyer, but they sounded friendly.