PATIENT CARE (Medical Romance) (Doctor Series)

by Bobby Hutchinson

  They floated through three songs. The next set was a series of polkas, and when it finished and another set of waltzes began, they passed Thelma and James, and Rudy smoothly switched partners.

  “Watch your toes,” James warned Melissa with a grin. He drew her close against his body, and although he wasn’t as accomplished as Rudy, she loved the delicious sensation of being in his arms, being held close.

  “There’s no need to protect my toes,” she assured him after a moment. “If you really didn’t know how to dance before, you must be a quick study.”

  “Thelma’s a great teacher. She even got me through the polka. I should have had someone like her tutor me in high school.”

  “You probably just didn’t practice enough,” Melissa suggested.

  “We’ll just have to keep doing this then, until I get good at it. Grit your teeth and persevere, woman.”

  They twirled and gyrated and laughed their way through some variation of the polka, and when the music changed to a romantic ballad, James pulled her close again. His cheek rested on her hair. The music was slow and haunting, and their bodies moved in unison. Someone had dimmed the lights and opened all the doors, and the fresh evening air poured in.

  Melissa tipped her head up to smile at James, and caught her breath. His eyes on hers were hot, and he bent his head and brushed his lips across hers, the lightest and most tantalizing of kisses. He lifted the fingers curled in his own and did the same with her knuckles. Fire flickered, then caught low in her belly.

  She could feel her pulse thrumming, and anticipation ran through her. It had been so long since she’d been in a man’s arms, so long since she’d been with someone with whom she wanted to make love.

  It was clear to her that that was what she wanted, what she was determined to have. The hand resting on his neck slipped into his hair, soft, thick, sensual hair. She relished the texture of it, traced the shape of his skull with her fingers, and he shuddered.

  The hand on her back tightened, drew her closer. She laid her head on his shoulder. She could feel his heart hammering. She could also feel his erection. To know that he wanted her at least as much as she wanted him gave her a delicious female sense of power and pleasure.

  “You’re driving me crazy, Melissa,” he murmured into her ear.

  “It’s mutual.”

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  They located Rudy and Thelma. Melissa saw the look that passed between them as she and James thanked them, and she caught Thelma’s tiny wink.

  It seemed there were dozens of new friends to say goodnight to before they reached the door of the hall, but finally, they were outside.

  The moon had just risen, a full moon, fat and golden above the city. James had Melissa’s hand, and he led her over to his car, but instead of opening the door, he turned her roughly into his arms.

  Their lips met, and this time there was nothing tentative or gentle about the kiss. Melissa surrendered to it, trembling, and felt an echoing tremble in James.

  The sound of laughter and voices interrupted them, and they drew apart.

  “We need somewhere private,” James said, his voice hoarse.

  This was the moment of decision, and Melissa made it. “Your place or mine?”

  The cliched line made them both laugh a little.

  “Which one’s closer?” He held the car door open, and she slid in.

  “Mine, I think.”

  “Are you okay with that?”

  “With you coming to my apartment?” Skitters of excitement and nervousness ran through her, and she deliberately chose to misunderstand, to give herself time to consider if she was okay with it. “Depends on how fussy you are. You didn’t come into the bedroom when you picked me up, but the bed’s not made and there’re clothes on the chair.”

  He was behind the wheel now, pulling the car smoothly into traffic.

  “I don’t care if the whole damn place is condemned by the health department.” He reached across the console and took her hand, then placed it deliberately on his thigh and covered it with his own. She could feel the hard, corded muscles, the heat of his skin against her palm. “I want to hear you say you’re ready to make love with me.”

  She admired his honesty and met it with her own. “I wouldn’t have invited you home if I wasn’t.” But the forthright words dulled a little of the romantic shine for her. She wanted to be swept away. “Sounds like a business agreement,” she said with a touch of irritation in her voice.

  “Why is it I always say the wrong thing when I’m with you?” At the next light, he reached across, pulled her into his embrace and kissed her with all the fervor she needed to reassure her that business had nothing to do with what was happening between them.

  When they reached the door to her apartment, Melissa had another attack of nerves. What was she doing? How would she feel in the morning, when she had to face him across a boardroom table? She fumbled in her bag for her key, frantically trying to formulate the words to tell him she’d changed her mind.

  Her fingers closed around the key, just as his arms closed around her from behind. His lips found a vulnerable spot just behind her ear, and his tongue trailed a path down her neck.

  Her breath caught and she unlocked the door.

  Chapter Twelve

  James meant to go slow. He intended to take them up, notch by careful notch, controlling the heat as long as possible. He managed to hold on to that resolve just until the door shut behind them.

  Melissa reached past him for a light switch, her breast grazing his arm. He captured her hand before she could flick the switch on, using her wrist to pull her near, and he heard her quick intake of breath as he drew her tight against him. She’d left a light on in the kitchen, and he could see her eyes, huge and dark.

  “We don’t need any more light.” His mouth closed over hers, and she moaned low in her throat. Her body pressed against him, soft, yielding, pelvis already moving, and he lost all thought of control. “I need you naked.”

  “You, too.” Her husky voice was an invitation.

  His fingers found the long zipper at the back of her dress. He felt her step out of her shoes as she tugged at his jacket. He stripped it off, and she loosened his tie, fumbled a little with the buttons on his shirt. They undid, and she slid her hands inside the shirt, warm, greedy hands against his bare skin. Her gasp of pleasure sent a bolt of desire through him, and he was kissing her again—deep, devouring kisses that she returned.

  She drew away long enough to murmur, “Hurry. Please, James, hurry.” Her voice echoed his own desperation.

  “I am, sweet. I am.” He stripped her dress off, unhooked the lacy bra and cupped one heated breast, then the other, in his palm, learning their delicate shape, bringing the nipples to full erection with his thumb.

  She gave a muffled cry, and it almost drove him over the edge. He’d planned to pick her up and carry her down the hall to the bedroom, but there was no time. They slid, instead, to the carpet.

  Her hands unfastened his belt. His pants caught on his shoes, and he kicked them off and stripped off trousers and underwear in one tangled heap. He rummaged in his pants pocket for the foil-sealed packet he’d optimistically placed there.

  She wasn’t wearing stockings. Her skin was hot and silky, her panties a scrap of satin low on her hips. With shaking hands, he hooked his thumbs under the elastic and slipped them down long, smooth legs.

  He took her breast in his mouth, touched her with his fingers. She was wild and hot and wet. She cried out, and all thought but one left him.

  He would die if he didn’t take her now.

  Her hips reared, inviting, and he had just enough sense left to open the condom and roll it into place before he slid inside her in one long, urgent thrust, then paused, desperate to hold on until she could join him.

  But she moved, and moved again, and he felt her start to shatter beneath him an instant before he abandoned himself to the swirling ecstasy.

  Melissa l
ay still, letting the rippling aftershocks shiver through her. The carpet wasn’t half as soft under her naked back as it felt to bare feet. His weight wasn’t fully on her; he’d twisted slightly, resting an elbow on the floor, but still his long, muscular body was heavy. She could feel his heart still hammering, feel his breathing gradually slowing down.

  “I guess it didn’t matter that the bed wasn’t made,” she said. “But I should have vacuumed this rug.”

  He gave a soft laugh. “As soon as I get my breath back, we’ll move,” he promised.

  “Where to next?” She felt euphoric, and more than a little giddy. “There’s the kitchen table, the couch, the countertop—maybe the washer and dryer?” What had happened between them was too powerful to think about just yet. She needed foolishness to bridge the time between then and now.

  “Ever considered the bed?”

  “Oh, well, if you insist.” She made her tone haughty. “Not very creative of you, though.”

  He propped himself up on his elbows and trailed a kiss across her shoulder. “So it’s creativity you want? Well, I’ll have to see what I can improvise. It’ll take practice.” He moved against her, aroused again.

  “Ah, persistence, I like that in a man. And maybe the bed’s not a bad idea, after all.”

  He got up and held out a hand, helping her to her feet. They stepped over the scattered clothing, and she led him down the hall. They passed the bathroom and caught sight of themselves, naked and flushed, in the large mirror over the sink.

  "Think we should have a portrait done, for over the fireplace?”

  “Christmas cards,” Melissa decided. “For everyone at St. Joe’s.”

  They were laughing when they reached the bedroom. Melissa switched on a bedside lamp, and James surveyed the room.

  “You were just trying to discourage me. The bed’s made and there’s not a scrap of clothing anywhere.”

  “That’s only because my cleaning service came today. I was describing the way it normally looks,” she told him. “So you wouldn’t get such a shock the next time.” Oops. Melissa felt her face get hot. That hadn’t been a smart thing to say. She didn’t want him to think she was building an entire relationship on a one-night stand. Was that what this was, a one-night stand?

  He grabbed her and tumbled her onto the bed. “Try and keep me away,” he growled, lowering his head and biting her chin.

  “Now, about that creative stuff...”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Melissa awoke Saturday morning in his arms. It was early. The gray light coming through the shades told her the sun wasn’t up, and it was still cool in the bedroom; she’d opened the windows wide.

  He was snoring softly each time he exhaled. She liked that he snored. It made him seem vulnerable. It was another intimate thing to know about him.

  She felt blissful and wickedly lazy. She lay without moving, savoring the pleasure of his heavy arm across her midriff, the feel of his warm body against her side, the delicious, musky odor of his skin and their lovemaking. He was sprawled on his stomach, head turned toward her, and she turned a little and studied his face.

  Well-defined cheekbones, bold nose, firm chin. He was going to need a shave soon; dark stubble dotted his cheeks, making him look dangerous and appealing.

  Melissa knew how that stubble felt; the skin on her face and other parts of her body tingled a little from it. She was going to have a rash on her belly, she thought with smug pleasure.

  He’d awakened her twice in the night, with kisses and caresses and soft words. They’d made love, they’d talked about the social, they’d laughed.

  Melissa thought of Rudy and Thelma, wondered if that was how every night was for them, a dark, delicious time filled with mutual sharing and passion and laughter, and then blissful sleep wrapped in each other’s arms. Was this envy she was feeling, envy for a married couple? It surprised and disturbed her, and she forced the feeling away.

  She’d get up in a minute, shower, make coffee. What did he like for breakfast? Apart from the sweets at Rudy’s trailer, the only meal they’d eaten together was the one last night at the social. He was vegetarian. What did vegetarians eat for breakfast? She had no eggs, and she was pretty certain there was no bread, either.

  They could go out. Or maybe, she thought with a sinking feeling, he’d wake up and she’d see reserve in his eyes, hear reluctance in his voice. The closeness of the night would be gone, and he’d want only to hurry away. It had happened to her once, in a long-ago relationship, that morning after desperate need for escape, the sense of being trapped, the realization that what had happened was a huge mistake. She had a vivid recollection of having to sit through breakfast, when all she’d wanted was to leave.

  Well, she had too much pride to let that happen again. She slid out of bed, careful not to wake him, and ducked into the shower.

  When she was done, a glance into the bedroom told her he was still asleep. Silent as a cat burglar, she donned shorts and a cropped top, pulled her hair back into a clip and found her trainers in the hall cupboard. She hadn’t had them on for weeks. Running was going to kill her, but it was an easier death than rejection. She was bending over, lacing them up, when his arms closed around her from behind and one hand patted her bottom in an affectionate greeting.

  “Are you running away from me?” His voice was husky from sleep. He turned her toward him and hugged her tight against his nakedness.

  “No. Of course not.” She felt herself blush at the lie. “I just thought maybe you’d like to be by yourself for a while.” She looked into his eyes and waited to see if he’d tell the truth.

  “I absolutely wouldn’t.” He frowned down at her. “Why would I want to be alone when I could be with you?” The denial was immediate and sincere.

  Her heart soared and her grin matched his.

  “I do understand if you need to work out, though. I’ll survive while you’re gone, but only if you show me how your coffee machine works.”

  “I don’t have to run right now. I don’t even want to.” She kicked off her shoes. “I’ll make us coffee.”

  “Great.” His relief was obvious. “I’ll take a fast shower.”

  “There’re disposable razors in the drawer.”

  There was, as well, a package of waffles in the freezer. She stuck them in the oven to thaw, and found a jar of homemade raspberry jam her mother had given her and a tin of peaches.

  Inspired, Melissa unearthed a yellow tablecloth and two napkins. She set the table, then dialed St. Joe’s and learned that her mother had slept peacefully and was now enjoying her breakfast.

  The sun shone outside the kitchen window, the smell of fresh coffee filled the air, the shower stopped running, and the sound of James whistling off-key brought a smile.

  Being able to relax was so rare. She poured herself coffee and sipped it, leaning against the kitchen counter. Memories of the night floated through her head. Could it be that good again between them, or was it just beginner’s luck? Where did they go from here? How long would it last?

  If her track record was any indication, two weeks was about the limit.

  James came in, silky hair damp, eyes alive with pleasure as he looked at her, then at the sunny table. He was so appealing that he took her breath away.

  She handed him a mug of coffee and he kissed her, a nuzzling, grateful kiss. She pressed her lips into his neck before she stepped back, inhaling the clean scent of him.

  He was wearing the pants to his suit. The tails of his shirt were hanging out. His feet were bare. He’d rolled the shirtsleeves up his forearms.

  “I’ll have to stash some clothes over here. Putting on a dress shirt first thing in the morning feels weird.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “Are we?”

  He swallowed coffee and squinted at her. “Are we what?”

  Asking took courage, but she had to know. She forced her voice to sound offhand. “Going to make a habit of this.”

  He set the cup down and fol
ded her into his arms. His voice was casual, although his heartbeat wasn’t. She could feel it against her cheek. “I’m game if you are.”

  She was. Oh, she was.

  They spent the weekend walking on the beach, swimming in the ocean, exploring antique stores along Main Street. She found two plates and a large creamer in the old rose pattern that matched her mother’s china. Melissa bought them for Betsy. He found an antique toy horse, a pinto complete with miniature bridle and saddle. He gave it to Melissa, with a little card that read “Until the real thing comes along.” He signed it “Love, James.”

  He took her comment about creativity to heart. Saturday and Sunday nights were explosive and tender and funny and blissful.

  On Monday morning, she drove him to work. Rudy didn’t comment when they came walking over, but Melissa knew he’d noticed. She caught the congratulatory wink he gave James as he served them coffee and currant scones, and instead of being outraged at such blatant male posturing, she was amused.

  Rudy said, “Wasn’t that some party?”

  Friday seemed a lifetime ago to Melissa. Since then her life had changed direction. She bit into the currant scone and relished every buttery bite.

  They rehashed the party and laughed with Rudy. When they walked off toward the hospital together, he burst into a noisy chorus of “Everything’s Coming Up Roses,” and Melissa laughed so hard that James had to hold her up.

  The day proved Rudy was right.

  That very morning, the ministry came through with a viable offer, and after an emergency meeting, the physicians agreed to the government’s terms. By afternoon the strike was over.

  Before the day ended, James was back in the operating room, doing a hysterectomy, and Melissa was able to take two hours off and drive Betsy home.