From House Calls To Husband

by Christine Flynn

  It was difficult, too, to reconcile his image of Dr. Sheppard with hers. A man who loved children as much as her father did could never deliberately hurt one. Yet, he’d sacrificed his daughter for his career. Mike was sure that, in his own way, Katie’s father loved her. But the dynamics of any family were often a mystery to an outsider, and some damage, whether inflicted by intention or neglect, could never be undone.

  He just hadn’t realized how much his relationship with her dad had affected her.

  I didn’t know if I loved you, or hated you.

  She’d spoken in past tense, the words so matter-of-fact it had taken a moment for their impact to hit. They’d been friends as far back as he could remember, yet he’d had no idea she’d cared about him enough to love or hate. As he pulled up in front of her house and studied the shadowed contours of her lovely face, he couldn’t help but wonder which, and how much, of those feelings lingered now.

  “Katie? Honey, give me your keys.”

  At the low rumble of his voice, she lifted her head. Pulling a deep breath, she pushed her hair back from her face and, in a stupor, reached for her purse. After fumbling for her keys, she handed them over and reached for the door handle herself.

  The cold, damp air roused her even more. Pulling her jacket snugly over her blouse and jeans, she forced herself to her feet and had closed her own door by the time he made it around the front of his car.

  “You don’t have to see me inside,” she insisted over a yawn.

  “Then why did you give me your keys?” he asked, ever so logically, and steered her up the walk.

  Her only response was a faint frown before he slid the key into the lock. Then, doing a commendably quick shuffle when he pushed open the door, she snatched up Spike before the cat could dart through the opening and scooted inside. An instant later, he heard a soft, “Damn.”

  Stepping in behind her to shut out the night air, he saw that she’d left the lamp on by the sofa. Its soft pool of light illuminated the inviting and comfortable space, reaching into the shadows of the kitchen and hall. Katie seemed concerned only with the carpet in front of the bookcase.

  Spike had been at it again. This time, the plant had not survived.

  She still held the now-purring feline in her arms. He was curled up tight under her chin, rubbing his head against her jaw as if he’d never been so glad to see anyone in all of his nine lives. Either that, or he was begging for mercy.

  Too weary to be upset, she simply dropped to her knees, let the cat go and started picking up bits of wilted leaf.

  Curving his hands under her elbows, Mike promptly drew her back to her feet With one finger, he caught her purse by the strap and dropped it on the chair behind her.

  “Go to bed.”

  “I can’t. I have to clean this up.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  She looked too beat to argue, but, being Katie, she did anyway.

  “You don’t need to clean this up. It’s my mess.” Tears of fatigue gathered in the corners of her eyes. “Dam cat.”

  To Mike, the feeble epithet and the tears she stubbornly dashed away were a fair indication of how exhausted she was. The woman was a rock. Every time he’d seen her since yesterday afternoon, she’d either been reassuring her mom, patiently trying to get the woman to rest or to eat, or standing by her father’s bed having, once again, buried her conflicted feelings for the man and moved on. But she was precariously close to crumbling now. Over nothing more than a small pile of dirt and a shredded plant.

  She looked desperately in need of holding.

  “I said I’d do it,” he repeated, wondering what she would do if he pulled her into his arms.

  The temptation was strong. Or maybe it was the need. But with his hands on her shoulders, he deliberately turned her toward her bedroom.

  “You’re through for the day,” he quietly informed her, torturing himself with the thought of taking her into her room and putting her to bed himself. “You’ve taken care of everyone else. Just take care of yourself now.”

  The thought that he wanted to take care of her hovered in a corner of his mind. But he was too busy wrestling the urge to pull her back against him to consider just how deep that need went. He wanted to feel her sweet little body against his; to push aside her untamable hair and taste the back of her neck and the soft skin behind her ear. He wanted to hear her sigh with pleasure at his touch and melt against him the way she had before.

  That was what he wanted. What he did, however, was steel himself against the tight sensation low in his gut and give her a little nudge. An instant later, she’d slipped from beneath his hands. But instead of heading down the hall, she turned to face him.

  Something about her expression reminded him of a small dejected child.

  “Are we ever going to be all right?”

  The quiet plea in her question nearly undid him.

  He didn’t think. He simply lifted his hands, slipping them into the hair on either side of her head to draw her forward. Pressing his lips to her forehead, he gathered her in his arms, and felt his heart tighten almost painfully when she sagged against his chest. She leaned into him as closely as she could, her small hands clasping the back of his jacket as if she needed to be held even more badly than he’d thought.

  “Don’t worry about it tonight,” he told her, though he couldn’t help wondering the same thing himself. “As much as you’ve had to deal with today and as tired as you are, talking would probably do us more harm than good right now.”

  Drawing her closer, he pressed her head to his shoulder. The protectiveness of the gesture had Katie squeezing her eyes closed, two unwanted tears finally leaking out to trail down her cheek. He was right. She felt entirely too needy right now. And his wants and her needs were poles apart. All she cared about, anyway, was that he was holding her. They should be able to turn to each other after a bad day. He’d told her so himself. But that had been back when they were still friends.

  She had no idea what they were now.

  “Thank you for being here,” she whispered, willing to take whatever she could get at the moment.

  He brushed the top of her head with his lips, trailing his fingers through her hair. With his thumb, he tipped her head back. A tear clung to a spiky point of her lashes. The tracks of others glistened on her cheek. Her doe eyes were luminous, her skin pale and she looked fragile enough to break. The fact that she was totally vulnerable to him just then should have made him think twice about kissing her. All it did was make him want her more.

  “Don’t mention it,” he murmured, and caught the tear before he touched his mouth to hers.

  There was no explosion of the senses. Not like the first time he’d kissed her. What she felt in his kiss was tenderness, a deliberate gentleness that was far more devastating than passion could ever be. In those still, scattered moments as he gathered her closer, sensations registered and built slowly. She felt the heat of his breath warming her skin, and the nighttime roughness of his cheek brushing hers when he angled her head to kiss her more deeply. She tasted the salt of her tear and the heady flavor of him on her tongue.

  Unclenching her fists from the back of his jacket, she dared to let her hands slide up to his shoulders. His body felt as solid as steel, but it was the quiet, constant strength inside him she craved.

  Her dad was wrong. She did need. She needed desperately. She just didn’t know how to hold on to what she had.

  The panicky thought had no sooner formed than Mike lifted his head. His eyes glittering hard on her face, he eased back and pulled her hands from his shoulders.

  “You need sleep,” he finally said, his voice tight with the restraint he exerted over himself. “I’m going to take care of that plant and let myself out. Is there anything you need before I go?”

  Five minutes ago, all she’d wanted was for someone to point her in the direction of her bed. Now, with her mind still feeling like mush, her heart and body were calling the shots.

  “
Just you,” she whispered. “But I don’t know what to do about it.”

  He’d let go of her to tuck back her hair. Now, he stood motionless, his hand curved at her cheek as he cautiously scanned her face. The naked need in her eyes tore through him, taunting restraint, demanding response.

  He drew her closer. “That makes two of us,” he murmured, and closed his mouth over hers again.

  He held her with only the touch of his mouth and his hands on her face, but the explosion she’d missed before hit now. His heat burst through her, pooling low in her stomach, melting her bones. She slipped her arms back around his neck, holding on because she’d fall if she didn’t. But that support was threatened when he lifted his head moments later.

  His breathing ragged, he slipped his hands down her sides and pulled her against him. She felt him, hard and straining against her stomach.

  “I’ve spent weeks wanting you, Katie. I can’t think about you without remembering how you taste, how you feel.” The tension in his body turned his features stark and haunting. “We either stop and I’ll hold you, if it’s just a pair of arms that you need. Or we keep this up and I take you to bed.”

  It was a choice she didn’t want. “Don’t stop.”

  She thought she saw his jaw harden in the moments before he crushed her to him. She wasn’t really sure. She wasn’t certain of anything except the feel of his body, the demand of his mouth and the sensation of floating when he lifted her in his arms and carried her to her room.

  He wanted her. She wouldn’t let herself think of how long that would last, how long it would be before their differences would drive them apart. When he stood her by her bed to pull back the covers and he began to undress her, she played only that one thought over in her head.

  He wanted her.

  The phrase shimmered in her mind as he murmured in her ear, soft, seductive words of how, this time, they would take it slow. Standing in front of her, his taut features carved in shades of shadow, he worked his way down the front of her blouse, releasing buttons and tugging the hem from her jeans. His head dipped as the fastenings gave way, his lips tracing a path of fire from the pulse hammering at the base of her throat to the soft skin of her stomach. By the time he’d slipped her blouse over her shoulders and skimmed it down her arms, she was already weak with wanting. Then, she felt the clasp on her bra give, and his lips moved to her breasts.

  Tiny shards of heat splintered in her veins as his hot tongue teased her nipple. He cupped her gently with his palm, his thumb replacing his mouth when he ministered to the other peaked bud. The room seemed to tilt. Gripping his shoulders, her eyes closed, her head lolling back as he opened the zipper of her jeans and his mouth continued its torturous play. She responded to him as if they’d been lovers forever and her need to touch him, to make him feel what she was feeling, was like a living thing inside her. But every time she reached to pull him closer, he caught her hands and guided them away.

  “You can have your turn later,” he told her, his voice a rough rasp. “It’s mine right now.”

  She knew exactly what he was doing. He was taking over so she wouldn’t have to do anything at all. In the process, he was sensitizing every nerve she possessed. She felt the backs of her legs bump the mattress. A moment later, he’d slipped her jeans over her hips and he was guiding her to sit on the edge of the bed. He pulled off her shoes, her socks and stripped away denim and her pink underpants, the scrap of satin and lace somehow looking both dainty and erotic in his masculine hands.

  “Head hurt?” he asked when he saw her touch her hand to her forehead.

  It had a while ago. It didn’t now. She told him that, but the care he took with her when he eased her back and brushed away her hair to kiss the spot she’d touched, nearly stole her breath. He robbed the oxygen from her lungs again a few heartbeats later. She’d started to cover her nakedness when his hand caught her wrist. His hungry gaze raked her body, his eyes devouring her in the moments before he pinned her arm by her head and he picked up the trail of kisses where he’d left off before.

  She was taut as a bow, her body vibrating beneath his touch. Mike took his time, savoring the little sounds she made, soothing her with his hands, wringing another moan from her with his tongue. He wanted to chase every thought from her mind, except thoughts of him. He wanted to be all that mattered to her right now. All that she needed. And he wanted to know every inch of her long, lovely body.

  He shaped the feminine flare of her hip with his hand, drawing it down her thigh to brush the exquisitely soft skin inside. Her legs were incredibly supple, the muscles smooth and strong. The thought of how they would feel wrapped around him jolted heat deep in his gut, and he was already so hot he burned. She was so beautifully responsive, so artless in her need. He didn’t think he’d ever get enough of her. The taste, the feel, the scent of her was fused in his brain. She was like some strange drug in his blood. One taste and he’d been addicted.

  Or maybe, he thought, groaning at the feel of her small, soft hands sliding under his sweater when he found his way back to her throat, she’d been in his system long before he’d ever kissed her.

  The mattress dipped as he rose over her and stripped off his sweater. She moved with him, their hands colliding at his zipper.

  “My turn.” Her voice was a breathless whisper.

  “Next time.” He growled the words against her mouth, catching her hand before she could close around him. “I won’t last thirty seconds if you touch me.”

  He doubted he’d last that long as it was. He’d tested his control about as far as it would go, and he was already perilously close to the edge. His shoes hit the floor, slacks and briefs landing beside them. The corded muscles of his chest and thighs pulsed with the tension coursing through his body when he slipped between the sheets and pulled the covers over them both.

  He slid over her, drawing her legs around him, seeking her mouth. Her arms welcomed him, urging him closer, her tongue tangling with his. In one smooth thrust he was inside her. Hot, tight, she surrounded him, making him feel as if his brain had momentarily ceased to function and all that existed were sensations. It should have been enough. But it wasn’t. He wanted more from her. Needed more. Raised on his elbows, his hands cradling her face, he knew she might well possess something he might not survive without.

  “Look at me, Katie.”

  Her lashes lifted as he withdrew, her head tipping back as he slowly thrust forward again. The feel of her nearly shattered his senses. But in that moment, he knew that what he needed was right there in her eyes, and in the soft sound of his name when she breathed it out.

  She was his.

  His heart seemed to catch at the thought, but the demands of his body were overtaking his mind and soon he wasn’t thinking at all.

  What he’d felt with her before was a hot blast of white heat. What he felt now was more like life being poured into his soul.

  Katie slept.

  Mike didn’t know how long he lay holding her. She’d been out in seconds, it seemed, sated, exhausted.

  She lay with her head on his shoulder, one hand between his chest and her cheek. In the pale gray light filtering in from the living room, he picked up one of the long curls near her bare shoulder and absently wound it around his finger. He liked the soft way it coiled and clung, then sprang back as if it had a mind of its own. He liked the way she fit in his arms, too—the way she fit in his life. Except, she really wasn’t in it anymore—the evening notwithstanding. Tonight had been a hiatus, a few moments away from the confusion of feelings that had pulled them apart. Once her father was out of the woods, they’d be right back where they were before.

  Almost.

  He’d discovered a few things about himself lately that had ripped gaping holes in his assertion about being happy as he was. One of the more jarring had been last night when he’d talked with her father. Standing beside that bed, he’d felt as if he’d walked around a corner and run right into a mirror. He hadn’t liked what
he’d seen at all. In some ways, the man in that bed could be him in another twenty-five years. Only, at the rate he was going, if he drove himself to a heart attack, he wouldn’t have a partner as devoted to him as Mrs. Sheppard to see him through. He would have spent so much time on work and research over the years that he’d have blown off or destroyed the most important relationships a man could ever have. The way Dr. Sheppard’s devotion to his work had damaged his relationship with Katie.

  She nestled closer, her soft sigh feathering the hair on his chest. Feeling his heart hitch at the way she sought him in her sleep, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. Seeing himself twenty-five years down the road was disconcerting enough. But that mirror had flashed a bright beam of reality on his present, too.

  Since the morning he’d first left her bed, it seemed that every time he’d turned around, he’d found another piece of himself missing. Now, he suspected that all those pieces were right there in the woman he held in his arms, and he wasn’t entirely sure how to keep her.

  Even now, he wanted her again. He craved her like a thirsting man craves water. But there was far more to consider than physical need. He’d thought he could keep it neat: they were good friends, the chemistry was incredible, they could have sex.

  Looking back, he had no idea how he’d thought he could separate one from the other. With Katie it was all or nothing. And even though she’d just proved that she cared for him in ways she wanted to deny, she still had her needs, which did not happen to include a relationship with a doctor.

  Chapter Twelve

  She couldn’t believe they’d done it again.

  Katie stared at the coffee in her cup, oblivious to the voices drifting around her in the hospital cafeteria. She’d awakened that morning to find Spike’s handiwork with the plant cleaned up and a note from Mike on her kitchen table. In the barely legible scrawl he’d mastered in medical school, he’d said he hadn’t wanted to wake her and that he would see her at the hospital. They needed to talk.