by Doyle, Jen
Karen just nodded. They’d just moved Taylor into the step down unit again after her second stint in the ICU. Karen couldn’t discuss any of that with Tuck. From the look on his face, it was clear he knew that. Wasn’t happy about it, which did not surprise her in the least; there were probably very few things he wasn’t need-to-know on.
But although he was obviously well aware of the line she’d just drawn, he had no qualms about stepping right up to it. “Gabe says you’ve been amazing.”
She very carefully peeled off another section of her orange. It was never a good thing when someone knew a neurosurgeon well enough to be able to make that statement. “He seems amazing, too.” And he did. An incredibly devoted husband dealing with a crappy situation the best he could. Karen found herself asking, “How are their kids?”
The oldest was twelve, and, along with their ten-year-old, had visited a few times. Karen had caught a glimpse of them in the ICU family room the day after the second surgery, but she hadn’t quite been able to bear going in to see them.
That had bothered her, too. She didn’t shy away from the families—ever. She especially didn’t shy away from the kids because she knew exactly how much it had meant to her when her father’s doctors had talked to her. But something had kept her from going into that room and she was afraid it had to do with them knowing Tuck.
Tuck’s lips settled into a grim line as he got to his feet, fidgety as he scanned the diplomas and certificates she had hanging on her wall. “They’ve got a good support system. A lot of people are stepping up.”
His tone definitely didn’t help. Karen stiffened in her seat. She would’ve expected that the other day, immediately after the surgery. Not when they were talking about the family he had no idea she’d avoided seeing.
“I’ve been checking in with Fitz,” she said, feeling unusually defensive. It made her angry, actually. This was exactly why she didn’t get involved beyond her patients and their families themselves. If Gabe or those kids wanted to come at her, all power to them. But Tuck didn’t have that right.
“But not with me,” he snapped, reminding her that Fitz had said he’d been spearheading the whole effort.
“You weren’t accessible,” she snapped right back.
Her response seemed to deflate him. Closing his eyes he scrubbed his hand over his face, and leaned against the wall, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not great at hospitals.” Then he smiled sheepishly and looked away. “I’m really not great with doctors.”
It was like he’d flipped a switch. Her healing instincts kicked in when he admitted his discomfort, and although there were still oh so many reasons to keep the distance between them, she stood up and came around the side of the desk so that she was standing only a couple of feet away from him.
“That’s funny,” she said, back on solid ground. “I thought you were very good.” She still took special care not to touch him, though, firmly taking hold of the edge of her desk and leaning back against it. “So what was your question?”
His gaze was no less wary, but there was a little bit of a challenge added to it even as he dropped his arms to his sides, his hand coming to a rest on his gun, clearly a subconscious thing. Why did she find that so ridiculously sexy? She wasn’t a fan of guns; not even close. And yet everything inside her started to heat up. She undid the button at her neck just to get a little more air.
“I was talking to Coach the other day, and we were thinking it might not be the worst thing to have a workshop for some of the kids and their families about concussions.”
Now it was Karen’s turn to pull back, something Tuck had clearly expected given the way he reached out and grabbed a strand of her hair, twisting it around his finger. And her breath grew shorter. She very deliberately ignored the urge to plaster her body against him. But it still required an effort to hold back her frown. “I’d be happy to refer you to someone who could do a workshop like that. Since”—as he was entirely aware—”that’s not my area of specialty.”
He let go of her hair but took her hand instead and tugged her toward him.
Was he doing that on purpose? Getting her all hot and bothered so she’d do his bidding?
“No,” he said, “it’s not.” He shifted his stance so that his legs were open enough for her to stand between them—as he made clear he wanted her to by pulling her in. And she let him, damn it. “But they saw you in action. They trust you. And I have no doubt you’d do a bang-up job.”
“Of course I’d do a bang-up job.” She wasn’t at all placated by the way that made him smile. Placing her hands on his chest to keep at least a little distance, she kept focused on making her point. “I’m just saying it’s not my job, that my area of specialty is not concussions, and that I’m not at all happy with you blowing me off for three days and then attempting to manipulate me by using sex to draw me back in.”
Her statement pissed him off more than a little bit if the darkening of his expression was any indication.
Well, too freaking bad. She was a little pissed off, too. And yet, she didn’t pull away. In fact, she may have inched forward just a bit...and maybe moaned a little when his hands went to her waist and he pulled her tight against him.
“I did not blow you off for three days. I’ve had a shitty two weeks, made even more so because I couldn’t get here earlier to see you. And although, yes, I absolutely want to have sex with you, this is called desperation, not manipulation.”
The words themselves didn’t convince her to believe him. It was the obvious frustration he clearly felt in uttering them—and the way he seemed compelled to touch her, moving his hands from her waist, to her sides, up and over her breasts, and then into her hair in order to pull her into a kiss.
And, oh, my, what his kiss did to her. Her heart, already pounding, went directly into overdrive as it sent her blood south and pulsing through her veins. Forget tingles—this was more like measure-on-the-Richter-Scale territory. Which was fine. Which was wonderful. It was exactly what she wanted from him.
What she didn’t want was the reverent way he looked at her as he touched her. The promise in his eyes as he pulled her into that kiss. The promise he’d cherish her and take care of her.
Or, even worse, the overwhelming desire she had to let him. To surrender to him fully, both body and soul.
She pulled away abruptly. “No more kisses!”
Breathing hard, he dropped his hands back to her waist, and she stepped away quickly.
He didn’t let go, though, which she should have insisted on.
And she felt entirely off-balance as she realized he was saying, “But I do have a job, and it did keep me away from you, and, yes, I jumped at the chance to let it bring me here, even though none of what I’m doing here is part of the actual job description.”
She knew he wasn’t specifically referring to kissing her, but that didn’t keep her from arching her eyebrow and looking down at the very hard bulge between his legs. “I would hope not.”
His poker face was good. So although she knew it bothered him immensely to be here in his uniform, completely and unprofessionally aroused, there wasn’t a hint of that on his face. In fact, rather than try to hide it or cover anything up, he spread his legs wider.
Her mouth watered a little bit. Making sure to keep her eyes on his, she said, “Working outside your job description might be fine when it comes to policing in a small town, but if I get caught doing that in a hospital, it is the very opposite of a good thing.” Every doctor on earth knew how easy it was to get slapped with a lawsuit.
“It doesn’t need to be medical advice,” he said, undeterred. Because, damn him—he was a guy and a guy could probably be jerking himself off and still manage to have a conversation. Whereas for Karen it was taking everything she had not to curl up at his feet.
“It
doesn’t even need to be you giving the workshop itself,” he was saying, “but having you be a part of it would make a huge difference.”
“Do you think that all you need to do to get a doctor to do something for you is to bolster their ego? Is that your thing with doctors?” And two could play at this game. Because although she wanted nothing to do with kissing, she’d be very happy to move it right to sex. She pulled away from him entirely as she shrugged off her white coat and undid the next button of her blouse. “Is it getting hot in here?”
Knowing exactly what she was doing—possibly because she seemed entirely unable to shift her overall attitude from irritation to seduction—Tuck only smiled benignly, as she glared at him. As she undid the second button, and then the third. She was only turning herself on, though, her nipples tightening into hard peaks.
Damn him. Maybe if he hadn’t been wearing the uniform...
Damn him even more for only smiling wider, even if it seemed a little forced.
He kept his hands to himself—crossing his arms over his chest again. His only reaction was the clenching of his jaw.
“I’m happy to tell you all about my thing with doctors,” he said tightly. “Have dinner with me tonight.”
Since he wasn’t stepping up to the plate, she ran her own hands over her own body, deciding maybe not to stop at the hem of her shirt but instead dipping a little under the waistband of her slacks. “No.”
Rising to the challenge—in all the possible ways—he just kept staring at her. “Then have a meeting with me to discuss who would be the best person to give this important workshop in a community that very badly wants to see its young people succeed.”
She frowned. Her hand came back up to responsible places. “That was a really low blow.”
Now it was him raising his eyebrow as he pointedly looked at where her hand was, now resting just above her waistband. “I can go lower.”
“You?” The Goody Two-shoes part being implied, of course. Job descriptions were one thing, especially since his overarching one seemed to be ‘look out for the people of his town no matter what the cost.’ But when it came to playing outside the lines... “I got the impression you were strictly by the book.”
She didn’t let up, though, undoing the clasp of her slacks, then the zipper, maybe a little too determined to gain the upper hand and fully aware that now his fists were clenched, too.
And then they weren’t.
In a nearly guttural growl, he finally said, “There are a whole lot of books out there.” There was barely time for her breath to hitch before she felt herself suddenly being lifted into the air. Thank goodness her desk was a lot neater than his was, because he only needed to push aside a few things before her back hit the surface of it.
Winning an argument had never felt so good.
Oh, yes she loved that feeling of his body covering hers and it was every bit as amazing as she remembered it being. No—ten times more so when he yanked the edges of her shirt apart, sending the rest of the buttons flying. When he pulled down one of the cups of her bra, plumping her breast in his hand and then tonguing and teasing her nipple mercilessly. When he pressed forward, his erection at the crux of her thighs, causing her to squirm and writhe and generally turn into a quivering mass of nerves, ready to make a begging fool of herself if he didn’t let her touch him.
Yes. “Fuck, yes.” She tried to keep her eyes from rolling back into her head as she full-out groaned.
His mouth disappeared from her breast and she may have whimpered a little—she felt his chuckle against her neck—but then his hand went down between them. Thank God.
“Stay still,” he said, which was a laughable statement since every single part of her was trembling in anticipation as he fumbled one-handed with the buckle of his belt—of his gun belt, for God’s sake, something that in itself should have put a damper on some of this uncontrollable lust and yet only ratcheted it up further. She was afraid she might actually begin to pant as he took off the belt and carefully put it out of reach on the bookshelf, and as he took his wallet out of his pocket and threw it down on the desk next to her head. She bit her lip. Her reaction wasn’t one she was used to or comfortable with. And yet she downright shuddered when he ran his hand between them again, this time coming to a rest at the waistband of her slacks.
He had her pants down to her knees in no time. Then he cupped her over her panties, stroked her until there were tears coming out of her eyes, and stared down at her. “Do you know how many times I’ve jacked myself off to the memory of how hot you are when you come?”
Then he bent down again, taking her other breast into his mouth, his hand dipping underneath her panties this time, teasing her for a minute before slipping his finger inside.
She thought of herself as strong. As being capable of doing whatever she put her mind to, including remaining in complete control of her composure and emotions even during sex. She ran the show; she told the guy what she needed and where and had no interest in losing herself, in allowing her experience to be in someone else’s hands. Figuratively, of course. But at this moment she knew that not only could he do anything he damn well pleased to her—she was downright ready to beg him to do so. She twisted underneath him, so very close to the edge. “Oh, God.”
He chuckled again, and although this time he kept his mouth where it was, he did pull his hand away from her, dragging it up over her navel, her breast, her neck, up the length of her arms until both his hands were holding both of hers. His tongue swirled around her nipple, then traced its way up to her collarbone. Her hips surged up, only to be pinned in place by his.
He let go of her hands. Straightened up. “Stay exactly like that.”
She arched her hips up again. “Are you going to make me?”
A flare of heat flashed through his eyes. “Do you want me to?”
She shrugged as casually as she possibly could given the I-am-so-freaking-close-to-coming circumstances. She stretched her arms out enough to arch her back. “It wouldn’t be the worst thing.” And wasn’t that a surprise.
His breath seemed shallow, too, and as he looked down at her for a moment she was afraid he was going to come to his senses and put a stop to this altogether. But instead, he just grinned wickedly before disappearing from sight.
Then his mouth was on her, and he took her from zero to sixty—in no time at all. Before she could fully catch her breath, his pants were off, the condom was on, and he was spreading her knees and surging up into her and it took everything she had not to cry out. Because she was at the hospital. He’d presumably been here to see one of her patients. He was in his uniform, for Heaven’s sake—the top part of it at least. Everything about this was wrong.
And she’d never felt more right about anything in her life.
She grasped the edge of her desk and brought her hips up to meet his, savoring every single searing stroke of him inside her. She gasped when he gripped her hips, holding her in place as he used her body for his pleasure, and she nearly sobbed when he found that perfect spot inside her, tormenting her exquisitely before sending her flying.
She clutched him to her as the aftershocks worked their way through her, sated and breathless as he groaned his own release. At some point she might have to address why it had felt so incredibly good to hand over all control—of how good he’d made her feel. But not now as he collapsed against her, burying his head in her neck, his hand running lazily from her hip to her thigh as he brought her leg tighter up around him.
Part of her wanted to know what he was thinking. If he was already regretting he’d let it get this far; if he was angry at her for not letting up until he did. If he was angry about her no kissing declaration.
And part of her was thoroughly unhappy, because thinking shouldn’t be involved, period. Sex was sex. It wasn’t about emotion. She’d been entirely clear about that a
nd he was a big boy who’d gone in willingly. Which was all a lot easier to handle than the fact that she had surrendered, not just willingly, but with abandon. And to frighteningly satisfying results.
She was oddly grateful for the knock on the door.
“Hold on!” she yelled, both of them jumping to their feet and pulling their clothes back together before whoever it was could open up the door they hadn’t thought to lock. Except there were no longer any buttons at the bottom of her shirt, so she had to pull on her coat and hold it closed, which was only a little bit suspicious.
Glancing at Tuck enough to be sure he was presentable, she went over to the door, opening it a crack. “Ryan.”
His expression was one of concern at first, right up until she opened the door the rest of the way—nothing to see here—and he noticed Tuck sitting there casually, his hand resting on his knee, uniform entirely intact, gun belt and all. Ryan leaned up against the side of the door, turning back to Karen and taking in the part about her clutching her white coat closed. A cat ate the canary grin fell into place.
“Well, geez, hon, I hope you at least got something to eat.”
He was fishing. And this time she wasn’t going to tell him a thing. “I’m good. What’s up?”
All traces of humor disappeared. “There’s a big wreck on I-35. We’re on standby.”
Before he could fully get the words out, Karen’s pager went off, no doubt because standby had just turned to incoming. She turned to Tuck just as he was lifting his own phone to his ear. “Yeah, I am. Tell them I’m on my way.”
She looked at him. The circumstances were awful, of course, but it was probably better this way. Definitely better not to have to talk. “They called you in, too?”
“Everyone in the area,” he said, getting to his feet. “So I guess it’s another rain check.”
“I guess.” She shouldn’t be disappointed. She’d gotten what she wanted—even in Tuck’s world the point of dating was sex, so she didn’t think they’d be attempting that again. Although she did wonder if he had a particular ratio he had to meet. Like, say, for every two dates you got to have sex again.