There was no one else about. It was just the two of them. Maybe for five minutes she could forget about things. She could forget that she’d had breast cancer. She could forget about the problems with her pregnancy. She could just be Amy. And he could just be Linc.
She pulled the cuff from her arm.
Lincoln watched as she lifted the covers and slid her legs to the side of the bed, turning to face him. Long, slim, white legs with only the tiniest bit of oedema around her ankles. And red-painted toenails with tiny silver stars.
He’d forgotten about that. He’d forgotten that she loved nail art and although, as a nurse, she couldn’t have it on her fingernails, he’d never seen her toenails without it.
‘Nice stars,’ he murmured, his eyes fixated on her toes. She slid forward to the edge of the bed, the loose T-shirt she was wearing hitching up around her hips and sliding down one of her shoulders. The movement gave him the tiniest glimpse of bright pink panties. The lights in the room were dimmed—to let her sleep whilst still being observed by the nursing staff. Her tangled red hair was loose around her shoulders, creating a perfect frame for her white skin and dark green eyes. Something had changed. Something was different.
His breath hitched in his throat. It was how she was looking at him. Her gaze was intent and he heard her take a deep breath and let the air out slowly through her pink lips. For the first time since he’d met her two days ago she didn’t seem afraid. She didn’t seem worried. She seemed strong and self-confident.
Her hand reached over and took his. ‘So, Lincoln…’ Her voice was low, husky. ‘If you’re so tired, what are you doing here in the middle of the night, visiting me?’
He heard the words, but was too captivated by the picture in front of him to answer. A smile appeared on her lips and she turned his hand over in hers, running her fingertips lightly across his knuckles then across his palm. Did she know what she was doing?
She moved his hand towards her body and rested it firmly on her hip. Yes, she knew exactly what she was doing. Amy lifted her hands to his head, running her fingers through his tousled hair. He let out a groan, his other hand automatically lifting to cradle her other hip. He closed his eyes as her fingers trailed over the top of his head and down towards his neck.
The sensations igniting within him were spurred by memories of the past. Six years he’d waited for this. Six years he’d waited to have her in his arms again. He ignored the tiny red flags in his brain. The ones that tried to make him think rationally. Right now he didn’t care about professional boundaries. Amy wasn’t his patient—and never would be. Her touch was like a drug. His sleep-deprived brain was addicted. His head and neck were on fire underneath her fingertips and he wanted more, he wanted to be closer.
It was instinct. Pure instinct. He heard her feet touch the floor in front of him and he pulled her towards him, lifting his head as she bent hers to meet his.
There was nothing unsure or unconfident about this kiss. Her lips met his, full and plump, kissing him as if her life depended on it. His lips parted as her tongue entered his mouth and he pulled her closer. He ignored the extended abdomen and pushed his hands up the length of her back and into her tangled hair.
Ringlets. Little spirals. That’s what he felt. On a lazy day he would have lain next to her in the bed, pushing his fingers gently into her hair, teasing the curls. Tonight he just wanted to touch her hair. Mess it up. Feel it between his fingers again. Remember everything about what it felt like to touch.
And her skin. He wanted to feel her soft, smooth skin. His hand fell to her bare shoulder, running along the curve of her neck, across her delicate bones and back again to the base of her neck, where his fingers danced lightly across her skin again. She gasped, her legs wobbling, her lips releasing from his and her eyes catching his in the dim light. ‘Oh, Linc,’ she groaned, ‘you know what that does to me.’
And he was there. Caught in this moment. Mesmerised by the woman before him. His hands curved around her back, sliding under her T-shirt, his fingertips dancing up and down her spine like butterfly wings. His lips touched her ear, his voice deep with desire. ‘I remember exactly what this does for you.’
Amy tipped her head back, revealing the pale skin on her neck as he bent his head towards her. This was just like the dream she’d had. This was exactly what Lincoln had been doing to her. Only this time it wasn’t in her imagination. It was real. She could feel him. She could smell him. She could taste him.
And nothing tasted as good as this.
Well, maybe almost nothing.
Her hands dipped lower. He was still wearing the hospital-issue scrubs. The lightest, flimsiest material in the world. She could feel him pressing against her. But it wasn’t enough. She wanted to touch him.
Her hands slid beneath the thin material, to what she imagined was his trademark white jersey boxers underneath. A surge of pleasure swept through her as she felt his back stiffen and his breath catch as she touched him. Running her fingers up and down his length. When had the last time been she’d felt this much in control? When had the last time been she’d had any sort of sexual encounter? Had even thought of sex?
This was exactly how she remembered it. Every pleasurable second.
His hands swept around from her back towards her breasts. Towards her breast. And she stopped. Her heart beat furiously against her chest. Panic overtook her.
She’d been so busy thinking about other things, she’d forgotten about this. She’d forgotten about the fact she was no longer a whole woman. Her hands jerked back from where she’d been holding him. Back to her breasts. Back to her breast.
Lincoln froze, feeling her instant stiffening and her pull away from him. What was wrong? He didn’t want this to stop. He didn’t want this to stop at all.
‘Amy?’
He lifted his head from her neck and pulled back, watching her in the dim light. She looked stricken and her cheeks were tinged with pink. She was embarrassed? Why on earth would she be…?
Then it hit him like a blow to the head as he realised how her hands were positioned. He lifted his finger to her pale cheek and stroked it gently as a slow, silent tear slipped down it.
He moved forward, this time to sit alongside her at the edge of the bed and put his arm around her shoulders. She was trembling.
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered, ‘I didn’t think. I just acted on instinct.’ He pulled her closer and dropped a kiss on her head as she rested it against his shoulder. ‘But you should know, Amy, that it doesn’t matter to me.’
He could hear her breathing, ragged and uneven. So he held her closer, wrapping both arms around her. His mind was whirling. Was this his fault? Had he taken advantage of her?
No. He didn’t think so. She’d seemed sure. Confident about what she was doing.
Her hand reached over and squeezed his. ‘I wasn’t thinking either. I haven’t been close to anyone since I had my surgery. I didn’t know what to expect.’
Linc stepped in front of her, cupping her face with his hands. ‘I wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable. I would never do that to you.’
She nodded. ‘I know that, Linc, it’s just that…I’m not comfortable with it yet. I don’t feel right. I don’t feel normal.’ The tears were flowing freely down her cheeks now. She looked down her uneven frame. ‘This just doesn’t feel like me.’
Her voice was shaking as she struggled to get the words out. ‘And now with everything else…’
He brushed one of the tears from her cheek. ‘I know this is hard. But you’re still Amy. You’re still little Miss Unpredictable that I met six years ago on the Amazon.’ He pointed a finger to the centre of her chest. ‘I don’t need to tell you this, but it’s what’s in here that counts—not what’s outside. Look how many kids we worked with on the boat who had facial abnormalities, what
did we tell them?’
She collapsed back against the bed, her head in her hands as the sobs racked her body. ‘But that’s just it, Linc, I feel like such a fraud. I said all those words to those kids. But now that it’s me, I don’t believe them, I don’t believe them in here.’ She prodded at her heart. ‘I don’t want to be like this. I want to have my body back. The one I’m comfortable in. I had my surgery planned—I even had a date set. Then this…’ she pointed at her stomach ‘…other stuff happened and everything else had to go on hold.’
‘Have you ever spoken to someone about this?’ Linc’s professional head was pulling into focus. This sounded like someone who hadn’t really come to terms with what had happened yet.
And he was used to this. Used to dealing with patients and their families. Used to seeing women who had healthy pregnancies then, for unknown reasons, went into premature labour and often had to deal with very sick babies with a whole range of complications. The counsellor attached to his NICU in San Francisco was one of the most essential members of staff. His unit couldn’t function without her.
He walked over to the bathroom and grabbed some toilet tissue, handing it to Amy and sitting back down on the bed beside her. ‘I’m sure there is someone who you will be able to talk to about this.’
Amy pushed herself up on the bed and blew her nose. ‘I’ve tried, Linc. I went to a local group. It was all women who had breast cancer. But I just didn’t fit in. There were some really strong personalities—some women were really against any type of reconstructive surgery. They thought you should embrace the fact you’d had a mastectomy and beaten the disease.’ She shook her head. ‘But that just wasn’t me. It wasn’t how I felt about things.’
Linc touched her arm. ‘But there has to be more than one group. Maybe you could try another one, with different personalities?’
Her hands settled over her stomach and she raised her red-rimmed eyes to meet his. ‘It’s more than that. When you touched me…’ Her voice faded out.
‘What? When I touched you, what?’ He didn’t want to push, but right now it was clear that Amy needed to talk.
She buried her head in her hands again. ‘It didn’t feel right. When you used to touch me, I loved the feel of your hands on my breasts. This time your hands came round and I expected what I used to feel. Except this time I felt nothing. It was like a big blank. I wasn’t ready for that.’
Lincoln bit his lip. ‘Amy, the part of you that’s missing is important. You had a huge amount of nerve endings and fibres that just aren’t there any more. So it will feel different when someone touches you.’
She lifted her hand and pressed it against her absent breast. ‘But I didn’t know it would feel like this.’
Linc lifted his hand. A loose curl was dangling in front of her face and he brushed it aside, tucking it behind her ear. He gave her a little smile. ‘Maybe it’s time to relearn things. Maybe you just have to take it slow.’
Amy’s hands fell to her extended abdomen. ‘I just feel as if there’s so much going on right now.’ Her hands stroked up and down her bump. ‘I don’t know if I can do all this at once. I’m so worried about the baby. My blood pressure isn’t getting any better and I’m worried about an early delivery. David said he would review me again in the morning, but I can already tell that the symptoms aren’t getting any better.’
Lincoln tucked his arm back around her shoulders. ‘Don’t focus on the bad, focus on the good. Your symptoms haven’t got any worse, that’s what’s most important here.’
She nodded and leaned her head against his shoulder again. ‘I know that, but I still can’t help worrying.’ She reached over and placed her palm on his chest. ‘And it doesn’t help that the best neonatologist in the world still hasn’t told me if he’ll look after my baby.’
Lincoln threaded his fingers through hers. ‘Amy, of course I’ll look after your baby. That was never in any doubt.’
‘Promise?’
‘Promise.’ He stood up, straightening his scrubs and bent forward, lifting the covers and sweeping her legs back up onto the bed. He glanced at his watch. ‘Now, Ms Carson, you should be getting some rest.’ He picked up the discarded blood-pressure cuff and fastened it back onto her arm. He raised one eyebrow at her. ‘Keep it on—doctor’s orders. And I’ll come back and see you in the morning while David is here.’
Then, just when it seemed he’d reverted back to doctor mode, he stopped and looked at her. She could see the dark blue rims around his eyes. He was watching her. And it seemed as if there were a million things going on his brain, a million things still unsaid. ‘Just tell me what you want from me.’
She opened her mouth. She couldn’t say what she wanted to. She couldn’t say that she wished she could turn back the clock six years and pick up the phone to call him. She said the easiest thing that came to mind. ‘I need you to be my friend right now, Linc.’ The air deflated from her lungs. This was so not what she wanted to say. But anything else right now just seemed too hard.
His lips turned upwards, but the smile was almost…disappointed. The heat and passion that had been in his eyes earlier had vanished. Now his eyes seemed cool, resigned to their fate. He lifted his hand and his finger stroked the side of her cheek. ‘Night-night, Amy.’
She turned on her side and snuggled under the covers. ‘Night-night, Linc.’
He headed towards the door, pulling it gently shut behind him before taking a few strides down the corridor.
He stopped for a second and leaned against the concrete wall. The coolness spread through his thin scrubs to his heated skin. What was he doing? No—what had he just done? His brain was spinning. Should he have professional boundaries with Amy if he was going to take care of her baby?
Did that mean he should step away from her completely? Let some other doctor take care her and her imminent arrival?
He banged his head on the wall. Maybe that would knock some sense into him. Ever since he’d set eyes on her again, she had been all he could think about. Every time he was in the same room as her he just wanted to touch her.
Now he’d just agreed to look after her baby.
But how could he have said no? How could anyone in his position have said no?
Right now Amy needed him. But not in the way he wanted. She wanted to be friends. Friends? Could he do that?
The blood was still coursing through his veins from her earlier touches. The cool concrete wall was doing nothing to soothe the heat emanating from his skin.
He glanced at his watch again. The one thing that Lincoln really needed right now was a good night’s sleep. A chance to clear his head and sort out his thoughts. He glanced back towards the dim light filtering out from under her door. But what were the chances of that?
* * *
Amy huddled under the covers as the damn cuff started to inflate again. Her body couldn’t stop trembling.
She’d kissed him. She’d kissed Linc again. And it had been every bit as wonderful as she’d imagined it to be.
She’d touched him. She’d felt the strong muscular planes of his body under her fingertips.
The tears started to fall again on her already damp pillow. And he’d touched her. And said it didn’t matter to him. He hadn’t run screaming from the room because she’d had a mastectomy. He hadn’t cared that she wasn’t a whole woman any more. He didn’t even seem to care that she was carrying an anonymous donor’s baby.
But did he mean any of it? Because he might have touched her—brushed against her almost—but he hadn’t seen her.
Lincoln had always been a gentleman. He’d always been a man with a good heart. Was he taking pity on her because of her current predicament?
Or could he really look at her as a real woman?
Amy pulled the covers up around her head. Maybe if she didn
’t think about this stuff right now it would go away. Maybe this was all just a bad dream and she would wake up in the morning, six years in the past, in her own apartment, ready to return from her holiday to the Amazon aid boat and her hot new doctor friend.
If only…
Lincoln had told her to focus on the good things. Not to think about the bad. She started to count them off in her head. So far, all her cancer check-ups had been clear. In a few months’ time she’d reach the golden ‘five years cancer-free’. She was being looked after by one of the best obstetricians in the country. There. Two already. This wasn’t so difficult.
The finest neonatologist she knew had agreed to look after her baby. She’d just had the most erotic kiss she’d experienced in six years. She’d just felt like a woman again for the first time in six years.
Her mind drifted. Dark tousled hair. Electric blue eyes with a dark blue rim. Broad shoulders and firm, hard pecs.
Amy groaned and pulled the pillow over her head.
Linc. All about Linc. This clearly wasn’t working.
* * *
‘Dr Adams, a word, please.’
Lincoln glanced over his shoulder and heaved a huge sigh. James Turner was standing behind him with his arms folded tightly across his chest. He was quite possibly the last person Linc wanted to see right now. His temper was short and his nerves frayed. Not to mention there wasn’t a single thought in his head that currently made sense.
‘What word do you want, Mr Turner? How about “busy”, “hungry” or “tired”? I’ll let you pick.’ He closed the notes he was writing in and stood up, sliding them back into the filing cabinet.
James’s face remained fixed. ‘She has to go.’
Lincoln turned to face him. ‘Who has to go?’ It was late, his brain was buzzing and he had about ten other things to do right now.
‘Your friend Amy Carson. She fainted and now she’s better. It’s time for her to go home.’
West Wing to Maternity Wing! Page 7