Of Winged Creatures & Nesting Grounds: (A Quirky, Sexy, Dirty Doctor Romance)

by A. Wilding Wells

  When we reach the top of the fence, she lets go and falls to the ground.

  “Are you okay?” I jump down and place my arms under her ribbony body. “Who’s Sebastian?”

  She burrows her face against my chest and sobs out, “He ruined my life. Bastard.”

  Chapter 7

  Bloom again. And again. And again.

  Happy

  Sebastian Honarus Kline

  Beloved fiancé. Fucker. Dead man.

  I cannot believe I just saw the name “Sebastian” painted on a sailboat while I’m with the first man I’ve been interested in since Sebastian. Jesus, today of all days. Leave me alone already. I should have left his body in the Chicago River, or at least left his ashes in Illinois. But no, I brought his urn to San Francisco and had him buried in the ground under layers of cow shit topped with dirt.

  Despite my freak out, I’m composed by the time we arrive at my house. Being nestled into Hunt’s side, his strong arm around me, might have helped a skosh. He didn’t ask for more than I gave when I slipped, tripped, and ran like a zombie was chasing me. He simply helped me into the truck and held my hand. It was all I needed. Then after a few minutes of calming me, he locked up the boat and said he’d take me home.

  “You okay if I walk you in?” Hunt asks, scratching his jaw as we stand at the end of my sidewalk. “Or just to the door, if you’d rather?”

  “It’s okay. I get it. You’re a nice guy.” I swallow bile. I’m certain it’s Sebastian.

  “Have you eaten anything today?”

  We walk up the staircase, his arm around my waist.

  “Booze, caffeine, candy bars, grief, guilt. Not necessarily in that order.” I rub a hand over my face then dig my keys out and hand them to him.

  “Think you’d want something? Maybe some eggs or toast with mayo and sprinkles?”

  “You’re going to make me breakfast? Are you for real, or am I drunk-dreaming?” I poke his chest as he tries different keys in the lock. “Maybe you were magically reincarnated from my bird. You are kind of chatty and cute like he was.”

  He waggles his brow, and I follow his jaw with a finger, another thread forming between us. One I should cut.

  “Hey, um… Don’t think I’m a weirdo if I get emotional when you open the door. It’s about my bird, not you.”

  A smile curls up on one side of his mouth as he jiggles the lock. “Is it okay if I give you a hug? Seems like you need one.”

  I shrug my shoulders when he touches my cheek. “Okay, sure.”

  He’s all easy charm and security as his arms surround me in a hug that smacks a flood tide of sobering questions into me. One hug and something shifts. Maybe a few things. What, exactly, I’m not sure, but when my knees become rubbery as evidence, I know that it’s seismic.

  Trust the universe.

  “You’re gonna be okay,” he says matter-of-factly after releasing me from his arms.

  My heart jumps as he pushes the door open and entwines his fingers with mine. I don’t move one step as a cold sweat films my body.

  “I know I will. I’ll be fine.” I swallow over a dry patch.

  “It’s still fresh. Give yourself time.” He takes the first step inside. My stomach flutters as his hand closes around mine. I take a step over the threshold, bracing my heart, knowing I won’t hear any chatter from my bird. One big breathe out and I’m in all the way. Fine, I’ll be just fine.

  “Come on,” he says. I glance at our twined fingers and smile. “Let’s get something besides booze into you. Kitchen?” He looks right then left.

  “This way.” I lead him down the hall. When I turn the lights on, the glare is too much and my eyeballs burn. I squeal then dim them. “I’m curious, why did you sit at the end of the bar next to me?”

  “I’m sure I had no choice—birds of a feather and all that.” Hunt looks around my kitchen, appreciation on his face. “Sit.” He points to the row of stools. “I’m going to take care of you.” He winks and shrugs out of his jacket.

  I’ll admit, I like watching him. His rugged, sexy way of doing everything is, no question, alluring. I slide onto a stool, and he saunters to the sink and fills a glass with water. Wide shoulders, a sexy ass. Lord help me. An urge to press my body against his again to feel that erection has me exhaling noisily.

  “Drink this slowly.” He pats my hand, then runs his thumb along my knuckles.

  I sip the water little bits at a time, watching him all the while. He rolls his sleeves up, exposing his beautiful forearms, which causes me to slide off the stool and follow him when he walks away. I struggle to scoot myself onto the countertop as he opens and closes drawers, pulling out pans and utensils.

  He watches me for a few seconds then comes toward me. “You need a lift?”

  “Please.”

  He encircles my waist with his massive hands and places me on the counter. And, oh fuck, what’s with the nervous energy skipping through my insides again? I’m not ready for this part of the plan yet. Maybe this is where I wing it. I chew my thumbnail, trying hard not to stare at him. But I fail. So I take my jacket off, slide my hands up the back of my shirt, and unclasp my bra. “It’s take-bra-off o’clock. You don’t mind, do you?” I work the straps off my shoulders then fish them from my sleeves as he watches me.

  “By all means, make yourself at home.” The flecks of gold in his emerald eyes blaze, and a puzzled expression crosses his face when I fling my bra across the room. He walks over to it, snags it off the floor, then dangles it in front of his face, a smirk growing over his lips. “More sequins? You weren’t kidding.”

  “Did you think I made that up?” I giggle.

  “I’m wondering if my imagination made you up,” he says, then strolls to the refrigerator, opens it, and digs around. A minute later, he emerges with an armload of ingredients.

  With my skirt hiked up my legs, I finger the clasp on my garter belt straps to no avail.

  “You want me to do that?” He saunters toward me, his cocky expression sending a rush of blood to my face. Maybe I am still drunk. Is there really crackle in the air between us? Can one see a crackle? Yes. In fact, I just did. Multiple crackles. Again.

  The last crackle I recall seeing was spewing flames from the car when they crashed onto the concrete then flipped into the river. Stop dragging them into your future. Fuck off once and for all, Sebastian.

  “You have big hands. The nub has to fit through that tiny slit. Think lingerie surgery.”

  “I got this,” he says, maneuvering the front clasp with ease while my heartbeat quickens. His fingers graze my thigh as they slide to my backside.

  “Do you work with your hands?” I ask.

  He opens the back clasp, and I wish he weren’t quite so adept. I might like his fingers on my thighs for a few seconds more.

  “Something like that,” he says.

  I hadn’t counted on having a different kind of ache today. Maybe this is what I need after all. “You know your way around a woman’s body?” I ask when he moves to my other leg, his fingers working the straps on my upper thigh. He doesn’t answer my question. Not a chance he’s in construction based on those manicured hands, though his arms say otherwise.

  He drags his thumb along the edge of his lip and wets the pad with his tongue. He wipes under my left, then right eye. His Adam’s apple bumps as he licks his lips. I follow his gaze to my legs, where he fingers the lacy top edge of my stockings.

  “You want these off?” he asks.

  I hang on to the hoarse, low hum of his voice and clear my throat, trying to contain my dizzy excitement. “Please.” I grip the edge of the counter when he pulls me forward, slips my heels off, then places my left foot on his chest.

  “Feeling any better?” He rolls the top edge of my stocking over then down my thigh.

  I arch my neck, relishing the feel of his hands sliding down my leg. “Yeah, better,” I whisper. “A lot better. Thanks.”

  He tugs the last bit of my stocking off and massages the
arch of my foot as he studies my toes. “Sapphire.” He leans down to kiss them. “Pretty like your blue eyes.”

  “Where did you come from? No guy has ever noticed my toenail polish. Or kissed my toes.” I laugh—since I’m talking out of my ass—like I’ve had a bevy of men. But the truth is so pathetic that I want to cry.

  “I have five sisters.” He lets my leg go then reaches for the other.

  “That’s a lot of estrogen.” My petite laugh turns into a hiss as he works on my right stocking. If only I were a spider—we could do this all night, one leg after another.

  “I’m going to feed you.” He reaches my toes and pulls the last of my stocking off. “Then I’m going to tuck you in bed.”

  I wiggle my skirt back into place when he saunters away. After searching around, he pulls a bowl from one drawer and a whisk from another. A powder keg lights in my gut when I ask, “Will you stay?”

  “Would you like that?”

  I smile when I picture him in my bed. “For one night, yeah.”

  He thinks we’ll do it by the way he’s licking his lips. “What’s that mean? You think I’m going to sleep with you?” He cracks an egg in the bowl. Then two more.

  “Can you make them blue in honor of my bird?” I point to the array of food coloring in a bowl next to the stove.

  “You color your eggs?” He snatches the blue. Then, after adding several drops on the eggs, he smiles this kind of amused smile that says, She’s a little bit crazy, but I like her.

  “You don’t? Now, that is weird. When given the option of something other than piss-colored eggs, I would advise you take it. The world is a rainbow, my friend.”

  “You never answered my question,” he says. The eggs sizzle when he pours them into the hot pan.

  I purse my lips. “Maybe just mess around. Some making out and a sleepover could be nice.” I jump off the counter, mosey to the refrigerator, and grab the milk from it.

  “Aren’t you a little on the drunk side for that?”

  “You’ve never played around with a tipsy girl? You don’t do one-nighters?” As I pour milk, it spills, and I glance up.

  He chuckles and throws a wad of paper towel on the growing pool. “I wouldn’t call you tipsy. And yes, I do one-nighters.”

  “What would you call me?” I lean alongside the counter and sip my milk as he turns off the stove.

  He plates the eggs. Then he shifts in front of me, lifts me to the counter, and nestles between my legs. “I’d call you another time,” he says, placing a corner of perfectly-made-the-way-I-like-it toast in my open mouth.

  “And why is that?” I ask through a chew as he bites the other corner off. I crack up when he nods, obviously enjoying the mayo-sprinkle combo.

  He is so many things right now. But is he a possibility to get me moving in the right direction? Dare I write the word date into my plan? No. Not yet. First things first.

  He leans in and whispers at my neck, “Because you’re not the sort of girl a guy fucks once.”

  “That’s quite an assumption.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Good to know. Well, okay. Thanks for breakfast.”

  He’s officially off the table. Bed. Unfortunately, I already have a crush on him, which disallows him from being an option in my plan because of my one-time-only rule. I could off-road if he’d said one time, crush notwithstanding.

  “My pleasure,” he says. “You seem like you’re feeling better.”

  He feeds me a few bites, all the while silently flirting. His lips slide into barely- there smiles as he glances at my mouth, then my eyes, while I chew.

  “Ever want to get married?” he asks.

  I choke and cough.

  “That’s kind of forward. We’ve just met. Plus, the name thing. Honestly, it’s pretty over the top even for me.”

  “That was not a proposal. And, for the record, Happy Hardick is nice.”

  “Marriage? Yeah, that’s definitely part of—”

  “Your plan?”

  Hunt feeds me a bite of eggs. I take an extra few seconds to chew then swallow as I think through how much I want to share with him. “I was almost married, but I flunked the engagement big time.”

  “What happened?” He angles his head, surprise lifting his brow.

  “I’ve recently signed a nondisclosure agreement with my past, so I really can’t divulge. What about you?”

  “I’d love to get married. Definitely in my plan.”

  “Kids?” I ask, hopeful. Stop it already.

  His jaw tightens when he taps the counter with his fingertips. “Yes, kids. More than anything, I want kids. A family.”

  So, why the hell does he look so disturbed by the idea?

  While stroking the curve of my neck, Hunt studies me. He wipes my lips with a corner of his untucked shirt, gifting me with a peek of his hair-dusted, gorgeously hard abs.

  “So, can I call you for a date?” he asks before feeding me the last of the eggs.

  “I don’t think so.” I scoot off the counter then flip the lights off before I walk out of the kitchen.

  He follows me when I turn the corner and head upstairs. “Why’s that?”

  “Because you said I’m not the sort of girl a guy fucks once. I’m not into dating. Not quite yet.”

  “That says opportunity as far as I’m concerned,” he says.

  I reach the landing and stroll into my bedroom, peeking over my shoulder to see him tagging along, his hands sunk into his jean pockets.

  I wave and walk backward into my bathroom. “Goodbye, Hunt. Thank you for bringing me home. And for making me breakfast. You’re a really nice guy.”

  I close the door, not giving him a chance to convince me of anything else—namely, a date. Cece would punch me in the balls right now…if I had any.

  Once I’ve slipped into my robe and finished my other bedtime rituals, I open the door and find Hunt leaning against the frame. The butterflies in my stomach notice him too.

  “You’re still here?” I bite my smile. He’s so damn gorgeous.

  “I don’t do goodbyes. And you didn’t let me explain why I wouldn’t want to fuck you once.” His gaze drifts down my face, landing on my lips. “I love a one-nighter once in a while. But you—you’re different.”

  “Am I?” I ask, toying with the belt on my robe.

  He backs me to the wall, his mouth at my ear as he speaks. “You aren’t the kind of girl a guy can get out of his head. I would need to see you again, and then again after that. You’re too many tomorrows for a one-nighter. And you’re too tempting to simply be a friend.”

  I place a palm on his chest, his heart hammering against it. Maybe as hard as mine. “Then it’s not going to happen for us. You want more than I can give. I want less than you’d like to give. We make no sense. Or, in your lingo, we’re an unsolvable puzzle.”

  “A mystery?”

  “A cliffhanger with no happy ever after. Get it?”

  We both laugh.

  “Did you like how I inserted myself into that one? I’m a regular Alfred Hitchcock, birds and all.”

  I saunter to my bed, and he grabs my arm before I reach it, his breath hot on my neck when he presses himself against my back. His hand comes around to my jaw, causing me to gasp. Not to mention the way his erection is making itself known against my ass.

  “Happy,” he says softly when his hand splays across my belly and he thrusts against me.

  A moan escapes my throat, and my body flushes with embarrassment. I pull away.

  “Turn around,” I say, whirling a finger. “And no peeking this time.”

  He pivots on one foot, and I slip out of my robe. I whip it to the end of my bed then climb under the covers. The cool feel of the sheet sends shivers up my spine as it glides over my bare skin.

  “Okay, done. Thanks.”

  He spins to face me, a half smile sliding into place. “So shy. Fuck, are you adorable.”

  I shrug as my face heats. “A little.”

 
The mattress squeaks and dips when he sits beside me, and a thrill courses through my body at his closeness. I suck in a sharp breath as his cheekbone rubs alongside my jaw. A hum rumbles from his throat when he kisses my neck then inhales a breath. “Tempting,” he whispers.

  My stomach twists in anticipation when his lips graze my collarbone. “Making out is my spirit animal. Want to give it a spin?” I answer, chuckling.

  He has no idea how honest I’m being. It’s the least I can do even if he makes me nervous enough to throw up.

  He kisses my eyelids, my temples, the corners of my lips. Everything inside me spins.

  “I’d need more than a kiss on your lips at this point. I don’t think I could stop if I put my mouth on yours. If my tongue slid inside you, I’d be done, then I’d have to kiss your neck, your breasts, then lower. Much…much lower. Anyway, I told you, I’m not interested if it’s only once.”

  “Nope,” I say. My voice wavers, and when he stands, I’m certain he heard it too. The possibility of something between us.

  “We’ll see about that. I have a plan too.”

  Chapter 8

  Four-letter word starting with H and ending with P. *HELP.

  HUNT

  I should have taken that kiss. But kissing? Fuck, it’s almost more of a connection, more intimate than anything. If I had kissed her like I wanted to, with abandon, it would have been an anchor. She’s not looking for that, regardless of the fact that I am. Something I saw in her eyes wasn’t going to let me in, even if I had kissed her.

  At six a.m., sunlight fills the den in Happy’s home, where I crashed on the couch. I couldn’t leave her, knowing she was a bit more than tipsy. After a quick shower, I make her breakfast: multicolored swirled pancakes along with a stiff pot of coffee. I checked on her a few times last night and found her sleeping soundly, snoring up a storm. Then, at three in the morning, I received a call from Lucy. She had gone into labor. Instead of surfing up at my beach house the next few days, like I’d planned, I’ll be back-to-backing her appointments.

  I leave Happy a note, including my phone number and a half-finished crossword puzzle I tore from her morning newspaper, the challenging parts penned in by me.