“You’re getting soaked,” he said.
“You, too.” His hair was plastered dark against his head. Water ran down his face.
A moment passed and then she unlocked the side door and, without a word, they both climbed in. He slid the door shut and they sat on the floor, holding each other, her face buried in his collar. She wanted not to think. Of the children at home with a sitter; of tomorrow’s press conference and Holly’s surgery; of what she was doing with this man. She didn’t want to think about any of those things, so when he guided her shoulders down onto the carpet and kissed her, she sank into the sensation as though she were easing into a feather bed.
“I don’t want Western to come between us, Catherine,” he whispered against her neck. “Let’s not allow that to happen.”
She agreed and then they were kissing again, rolling around on the floor in a fierce heat of passion that melted guilt and resistance and time. Melted every fiber of her being. Eyes closed, head thrown back, she wrapped her legs around his body, clung to him like a drowning creature. Her hair came loose, spread out across the carpet, damp strands fell across her throat and mouth.
A car’s engine started nearby. Headlights momentarily flooded the inside of the van. Startled, she sat up. Martin reached for her hand, pulled her back down beside him.
“Third date,” he said
“Hmm?”
“Too many clothes.”
In the dim light, she watched as he shrugged off his jacket, sat up as he helped her off with her coat. The rain had seeped through their outer clothes, and as he pulled her on top of him, she felt the damp warmth of his body against her own. They kissed some more and he held her close, murmuring endearments, stroking her face. Her breathing deepened and between kisses he began to slowly undo the buttons of her cardigan.
Her heart and thoughts raced. If she was going to stop him, it should be now, but his fingers were touching her skin and his mouth was driving her crazy and she was like the girl in Oklahoma! who couldn’t say no and then it was too late because all the buttons were undone and he was looking at her breasts bulging out of their white cotton cups.
An image of the high-school kid who had dated her on a dare filled her brain for an instant, but Martin lowered his head to the tops of her breasts and kissed them and the old painful memory faded. He smiled up at her, the sweetly tender smile of a boy who has just unwrapped a treasured gift and, she decided, it was a gift she wanted him to have. She sat up, unclasped her bra and let her breasts tumble free. He smiled again, cupped them in his hands, brought them to his mouth and kissed one, then the other. A shudder of desire made her moan aloud.
“Hold on.” He suddenly moved away from her. “I’m being attacked.”
With a grin, he removed one of Peter’s toy soldiers that had lodged under his hip and held it out for her to see. She looked from her son’s toy in the palm of his hand, to her opened sweater and unfastened bra. Maternal and sexual urges briefly collided. Sheltered Catherine, the PTA mom, the cookie baker, baring her breasts to a blue-eyed Irish doctor. In the back of her Dodge van no less. She felt completely unlike herself, wanton and sensual, a little guilty, but more turned on than she’d ever been in her life. When he pulled her close and kissed her again, any remnant of resistance melted.
“Fourth date,” she breathed after she could no longer stand the clothes that separated them. “Make love to me.”
Eyes heavy lidded, he raised himself to look at her. “You’re sure?” His voice was thick. “You’re really sure?”
“Please.” Her hips moved under him in a growing frenzy, as wild and out of control as if a demon had possessed her. “Do it. Please.” The cardigan had come off her shoulders, and the bra was a tangled mess that had worked its way behind her. He stripped the garments both off and flung them aside, pushed her skirt up and, in one movement, slid her tights and panties over her hips and down below her knees all the while kissing her neck and breasts until she thought she would explode.
Breath coming in quick gasps, she fumbled at his belt, unzipped his fly. As she took him in her hand, she heard her own intake of breath and then a loud rap on the side of the van. A moment later, headlights filled the interior again.
“What the hell?” Martin sat up to peer through the window, then pushed open the door and climbed out of the van, zipping his pants as he left. The air from the open door hit her overheated body like a shower of ice water. For a moment, she lay sprawled on the floor, pulse racing. Then she looked down at herself: naked breasts, the skirt around her waist. Her face burned. She was someone she didn’t even recognize. In her entire thirty-four years, nothing like it had ever happened to her. Even the knowledge that no one could have seen through the van’s closed mini-blinds didn’t help. By the time he returned, she had put the bra and cardigan back on, and was on her knees, pulling up her tights.
“I didn’t see anyone, it was probably some kids.” He climbed back inside, sat with his back against the van’s wall, knees to his chin. “Whoever it was had a great sense of timing though.”
“Well, it’s late.” She buttoned the cardigan, straightened her skirt and found she couldn’t look at him. She sat against the opposite wall and braided her hair. “I should probably go.”
“Catherine.” He touched her shoe with his foot. “What is it?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on.” He watched her face. “What was it you said yesterday about trust? Obviously something is wrong. Don’t you trust me enough to tell me?”
“I’m just…I feel like a slut, Martin. What we were doing. I mean, I felt like an animal in heat.” Her gaze fell on Julie’s plastic pail, Peter’s rubber waders, and she burst into tears. “I’m a mother, for God’s sake. The kids’ toys are all over the van and all I wanted was to get laid.”
“Come here.” With one hand, he reached for her, pulled her beside him and put his arm around her shoulder. “So being a mother means you shouldn’t have sexual needs? That’s quite an interesting theory.”
“Stop.” She pushed his arm. “I guess I wasn’t quite ready for the fourth-date stuff.” Embarrassed now at her outburst, she blew her nose. “I told you yesterday that I didn’t sleep around, and I don’t. And here we are in the parking lot, for God’s sake.”
“Listen—” he took her face in his hands “—I never thought of this as a date, or of us even dating in that sense. It’s much more than that for me, and I hope it is for you too, right?”
She nodded.
“Good, so forget the timetables.” He kissed her lips. “The next time lust overtakes us, we’ll pick a more discreet place, okay?”
“I don’t know,” she said after a moment. “Maybe it’s time I broadened my experiences. They’ve been kind of limited to the missionary position, in bed, in a nightgown. Flannel in the winter, cotton in the summer.”
“Who wore the nightgown? You or Gary?”
“Gary. It turned him on.” He laughed and she relaxed against his shoulder. Rain pattered on the roof of the van. She felt the warmth of his body next to her, heard the sound of his breathing. Wondered whether she might be in love with him. “You probably think I’m nuts, huh?”
“I think you’ve spent so long thinking of everyone else’s needs, that you feel guilty when you do something that’s just for you.”
“Well, not just for me.” She shot him a sideways glance. “You seemed to be enjoying it, too.”
“I was.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “I want you as desperately as I’ve wanted anything in my life, but I also want this to be good for us. We’ll go slow, all right? Whenever you don’t feel comfortable, just tell me. I can wait. I’m in this for the long haul.”
“THE KIDS WERE FINE,” Darcy said. “Actually, it was kind of fun baby-sitting them. Julie and I talked girl stuff. She thinks it’s cool that you’ve got a boyfriend, but she said he talks funny.” She looked at Catherine for a moment. “Nadia wasn’t quite so enthusiastic.”
“Nadia?�
� The floaty, exhilarated feeling she’d had ever since she’d kissed Martin good-night was replaced by a sickening dread. “You told Nadia I was with Martin?”
“Julie did. And I might as well give you all the bad news at once. She also told your mother.”
“I need some wine.” She got up and found the Cabernet left from the night before. “Want some?” Darcy nodded, and Catherine poured wine into two glasses, carried them over to the table. “I don’t need to hear what my mother had to say, I can already imagine her words. What about Nadia?”
Darcy rolled her eyes. “Jeez, that voice of hers. I can’t believe the two of you were ever friends. She should have been a kindergarten teacher. ‘Now Catherine,’” she mimicked Nadia’s high-pitched tone. “‘It’s really very naughty of you to be carrying on with that bad Dr. Connaughton.’”
Catherine drank some wine. “What exactly did she say?”
“Just that she and Gary were concerned about the…” With her forefingers, she drew quotes in the air. “‘Quality of the children’s home life’ and ‘the message they were getting from your having men sleep over.”’
Elbows on the table, face cupped in her hands, Catherine stared at Darcy. “Maybe I should get a notarized statement saying we were both fully clothed.” Last night, at least, that was true. Tonight, while she’d been rolling around with Martin, half-naked in the back of the van, someone else had put her children to bed.
“How was Peter?” she asked.
Darcy wiggled her hand. “His nose is a little out of joint, but he’ll be okay.”
“Out of joint? Because of Martin?”
“Yeah, I guess. He kept talking about how his dad did this and his dad did that. I think he’s got this idea in his head that you and Gary are going to get back together.”
Catherine drank some more wine and wondered whether she should rescind her invitation to have Martin join them in the mountains. She’d thought Peter would enjoy having a skiing lesson, but things were spinning frighteningly close to out of control. She would have a talk with Peter in the morning, she decided.
“Quit worrying about the kids, okay?” Darcy peered at her. “You deserve some grown-up fun once in a while. And the kids need a break from you, too.” She drank some wine. “Let’s get to the important things. You still like this doctor guy?”
“Oh, Darcy…” Unable to find the words, Catherine just shook her head. “‘Like’ doesn’t describe it. I’ve never met anyone like him. He’s just incredible. Sensitive, funny, sexy as hell.”
“Sounds like you’ve moved on from the just-friends thing?”
“Yeah.” She nodded slowly. “Guess I was a bit naive about that, huh? When I’m around him, my brain turns to mush.”
Darcy grinned and shook her head.
“Okay, I concede.” From the cupboard, Catherine dug out the box of Little Debbies they’d started the night she’d told Darcy that she found Martin very attractive. Two left. At this rate, by the time he actually made love to her, she’d weigh a ton. She tossed one to Darcy, unwrapped the other one. “I can’t explain it, I just feel safe with him. I trust him and that’s something I never felt about Gary.”
“Uh-oh,” Darcy said. “Red flag.”
Catherine broke off a piece of cake. “What?”
“God, I love Little Debbies,” Darcy said around a mouthful of Banana Twist. “They are so junk-foody and awful for you and they just taste so damn good.”
“Yeah, I know. Little Debbies and wine.” She grinned. “Disgusting, huh? So why the red flag?”
“Remember what you said just now about being naive? You’re doing it again. You don’t know this guy enough to feel safe with him, and the trust thing is just nuts. He’s a guy, for God’s sake.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
SOME DAYS START OFF poorly and go downhill from there, Martin decided as he stood in Derek Petrelli’s office. This was definitely one of them. Three new admissions, a brief verbal skirmish with Eddie Hodges and the looming prospect of the news conference at noon. Not only that, but he’d developed a definite dislike for Petrelli.
“Actually, I’m looking for Catherine,” he said. “We’re supposed to go over some media plans.”
“Have a seat.” Petrelli waved at the chair beside his desk. “She should be in any time now.” He sipped some coffee. “Although punctuality is not her strong suit.”
“Have her ring me, will you?” Martin decided he wasn’t in the mood for this, but as he turned to leave, Catherine appeared in the doorway. She wore a long red sweater, short black skirt, black hose and flat shoes. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders. A vivid and erotic image of her breasts in his hands the night before momentarily disconcerted him. She smiled at him, he winked back at her and the day seemed much brighter. What he wanted more than anything else at that moment was to be alone with her again.
“Ah good morning, Ms. Prentice,” Petrelli said. “Hope we didn’t drag you out of bed at too early an hour.”
“Don’t give me that crap, Derek. I’m fifteen minutes early.” She brushed Martin’s shoulder with her hand as she passed. “Let me grab some coffee and we’ll get to work.” She shifted her briefcase to the other hand and looked at Derek. “I just got beeped by Claire Ovendon. Some of the nurses are going to stage a demonstration at noon to protest staffing cutbacks. They say patient care is being compromised. Someone’s already called Channel 4. Can you handle that while Martin and I work on his comments for the news conference?”
“You take care of the nurses,” Petrelli said. “I’ll work with Dr. Connaughton on the responses—”
“Derek, I’d really rather work with Mar…Dr. Connaughton on this.” Her face colored slightly. “We’ve already discussed some of the issues—”
“I want you to take care of the demonstration,” Petrelli repeated. “I’m well aware of Dr. Connaughton’s issues.”
A tense silence filled the air. Martin glanced at Catherine. As much as he wanted to intervene, he suspected that nothing he said was likely to dissuade Petrelli. And refusing to do the conference might make things more difficult for her. As he sought a way out of the impasse, Catherine’s beeper sounded.
She glanced at the number on the display screen, then looked at Derek. “It’s nursing administration—”
“Better get over there.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “Pronto.”
“Come on, Derek—” she brushed the hair off her face “—Martin and I have already discussed this. I’d really like to work on the press conference instead—”
Petrelli sat back in his chair, raised his eyes to the ceiling, let the silence lengthen. “A certain administrative meeting comes to mind,” he said slowly. “Need I remind you of Ed Jordan’s comments—”
“Skip it, okay?” Her face scarlet, Catherine headed for the door. “Sorry about this,” she murmured to Martin. “I’ll call you later.”
“I sense our Ms. Prentice is having a bit of a problem with objectivity,” Petrelli said after Catherine left. “She’s rather enamored of you, I think.”
Martin looked at him for a moment. “Listen, Petrelli, let’s get something straight. I agreed to cooperate and I’ll keep my word, but the next smarmy, insinuating remark I hear from you, I’m through. You can forget about me cooperating with the press—in fact, I’ll say any damn thing that comes to mind. Got it?”
“I think I understand your point of view, Dr. Connaughton.” His face impassive, Petrelli rose and moved to a table by the window. “If you’d like to have a seat, we’ll get to work. We need to create some sound bites. First, we’ll have to come up with some sort of statement about Holly’s current health status. They’ll want to know if you still consider her too frail for surgery, and of course, you’ll—”
“Her condition hasn’t changed.” He exhaled. “She can’t breathe without a respirator. She hasn’t digested food. She hasn’t grown. We’ve managed to lower her oxygen requirements slightly, but that’s about it.”
“Hmm.�
�� Petrelli chewed the end of his pen. “Let’s see. Something about encouraging progress in the past few days.”
AN HOUR LATER, disgruntled and feeling tainted by the interaction with Petrelli, Martin stood in the NICU, arms folded across his chest, listening to Valerie explain why she’d used epinephrine to resuscitate a frail 26-weeker in the delivery room.
“Her lungs expanded a little,” Valerie said, “so I squeezed the bag, thinking that she would either improve—or she wouldn’t and we’d stop.” She shrugged. “The thing is, she looked terrible, but once we got her up here, her blood gasses were fine and her skin color’s okay.”
“I still think epinephrine’s a bit radical,” Martin said. He tapped his finger against a monitor that appeared to be malfunctioning and a piercing alarm filled the air. He swore and readjusted the settings. “Damn,” he muttered. “Does anything around here work the way it’s supposed to?”
“Someone’s a little cranky this morning.” Valerie’s lips curved in a slight smile. “The course of true love not running smoothly?”
“Val—”
“I’m a big girl,” she said. “You’ve moved on, I understand.” She shrugged. “These things happen. Be careful though. The gossip mill loves fresh meat.”
Martin looked at her, counted slowly to ten, then moved on to Holly’s bassinet in time to catch the end of a conversation between a nurse and a respiratory technologist.
“…I mean, ever since the triplets arrived, people have been sending money to the hospital,” the nurse said. “I’ve seen Hodges stuffing checks in his pocket. You know damn well that money’s not going into a trust fund for the kids—”
“Hell no, it’s probably going to the nearest liquor store.” The respiratory tech rolled his eyes. “Yesterday, he showed me a check for a hundred bucks. What really pisses me off is the way he comes across like this model father, and half the time he’s here you can smell beer on his breath.”
The Doctor Delivers Page 17