Against the Ropes

by Sarah Castille

the kiss. His tongue dips inside and strokes my tongue, my teeth, my

  very essence, leaving me nowhere to hide. I gasp, and he plunders my

  mouth, feasting on me, groans spilling from his throat as he drinks me

  down like the 1985 Château d’Yquem, we had with our lamb bite.

  So this is what it is like to be kissed. Really kissed. No soft pecks

  or wet, milky smacks on the lips. No tentative pokes of the tongue or

  the banging of teeth. This is a real kiss—a man’s kiss—demanding,

  passionate, and hungry. No holds barred. All consuming.

  Max’s phone alarm beeps softly and he eases his mouth away. “I’m

  on the red-eye to Hong Kong in a few hours. But when I get back, we’ll

  pick up where we left off.”

  Gah. My body aches with unfulfilled need. I hope I put fresh bat-

  teries in my Rabbit.

  He releases me and I focus on staying upright while he pulls on

  his clothes.

  “When?”

  He presses a kiss to my forehead. “I fly back on Thursday morning.

  I’ll pick you up after work. We’ll have dinner.”

  “More food?” I cannot keep the disappointment out of my voice.

  “Not if there is something else you’d rather do.” The sensual purr

  of his voice sends my need from diminishing arousal to fierce craving in

  a heartbeat. A soft whimper escapes my lips.

  His eyes blaze with sensual fire. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  By the time I’ve collected myself sufficiently to contemplate

  walking, Max’s limo is a shadow in the darkness.

  For the longest time I stare at the road, chewing my fingernails

  one by one down to a quick. I should have been honest when he asked

  “Same Max?”

  I should have said “no,” but I like them both.

  Chapter 10

  Forward and Back

  “You’re going out with Max Huntington! SHUT UP!” Amanda

  shrieks. I cover my ears and slide into the padded booth beside her.

  Club music pounds through Doctor, Doctor. The new, medical-themed

  club, only a few blocks from the hospital, is the last place I want to blow

  off some steam but it was close, and Amanda has been trying to get me

  here since it opened.

  “Thanks for meeting me,” I shout over the music. “I waited for

  Max in the parking lot for almost an hour and he didn’t show up. No

  text. No call. I guess I’ve officially been stood up.”

  “Well he’s missing out because you look HOT.”

  I smooth my hand over the sparkly silver, halter-neck dress Susie

  sent me from her favorite London store, French Connection UK. Tight,

  but not too tight, with a swishy skirt, it mercifully has the FCUK hidden

  in the label.

  “You should have texted him,” she continues. “Maybe he was delayed.”

  “Then he should have let me know. I only had enough minutes

  for one text, and I was tired of waiting. These stilettos are killing me,

  and it’s been a stressful week. Big Doris has really been on my case. I’ve

  collected six green slips for nothing. I need a little girl-time relaxation.”

  Amanda grins and tries to flag down a waitress by fluttering her

  perfectly manicured and unbitten nails. “The drinks are on me tonight

  since you’re poverty stricken and being chased by evil debt collectors.”

  “You don’t—”

  “And I just settled a big case so I feel like celebrating.”

  Her flutters attract the attention of a waitress wearing the smallest,

  tightest, nurse’s uniform I have ever seen. She records our orders on

  a medical chart, and we relax into our booth as the DJ turns up the

  volume and spins some old-school funk.

  Amanda listens patiently while I yell the details of my humiliating

  eating experiences into her ear. She stops me only to ask questions about

  what Max and Dr. Drake were wearing, how much the dress and shoes

  cost, and how far Max’s tongue went down my throat.

  Ten minutes later, my guts spilled, I suck back my citrusy “Liquid

  Lust” through a tube attached to an IV bag on a stand and await Amanda’s

  analysis. She delicately sips her “Nitro Margarita” and considers my

  predicament, while at the same time scoping out the bar for potential

  sleeping partners. After I’ve pointed out the few actual doctors in the

  bar, she zeroes in on her target and lines him up with a flirtatious wink.

  “What about Jake?” I suck back another shot and choke as the burst

  of sugary sweetness shoots down my throat. Someone forgot to turn the

  tap to low. Drips are supposed to drip.

  Amanda sighs. “I spent all night trying to get him to spill Torment’s

  true identity. A waste of time since you found out anyway. Finally I

  called it quits and told him we needed a break.”

  “Amanda! You’re punishing him for playing by the rules.”

  She gives me an evil grin. “He’s being trained. When he’s with

  me, the only rules he needs to follow are Amanda’s rules. Don’t worry.

  I’ll only leave him hanging for another day. I don’t want to have a dry

  weekend, and since I don’t plan on being able to walk when he’s done

  apologizing, I want to get the apology over with sooner rather than later

  so I can recover by Monday.”

  My cheeks flame and Amanda laughs. “You’re too easy to embar-

  rass. A little sexperience is all you need to cure that blushing problem.

  Speaking of which—” She pokes me hard in the shoulder. “Why didn’t

  you invite Max in on Monday night?”

  “I didn’t get a chance. He kissed me and then ran off to catch a

  flight. Plus, I was covered in potatoes. It kind of spoiled the mood.”

  A waitress in green operating room scrubs stops at our table, and

  Amanda buys a few shots of “Tetra-Ouzo” in ready-to-administer,

  guaranteed-hygienic syringes. We take turns giving each other our

  “medicine.” Within twenty minutes, I’m feeling the buzz.

  “Why do you think he didn’t show?”

  Amanda fluffs her hair and pulls out her makeup bag—sure signs

  she is getting ready to go on the prowl. I follow suit, preparing to be the

  dutiful, tagalong friend who laughs at her jokes, checks out the guy, and

  entertains any of his annoying friends.

  “If his tongue almost hit your tonsils, then he definitely wants to

  see you again. Tongue depth is a very accurate indicator of male inter-

  est.” She slaps her cheeks repeatedly until they are pink and swollen and

  then pulls out a tiny fly swatter to swat her lips. She offers the torture

  device to me, but I wave her away.

  “I swatted at home, thanks.”

  Amanda runs the lipstick over her plump lips and rubs them to-

  gether. “I’d say whatever held him up wasn’t his fault.”

  “I’m not sure,” I sigh. “I got a funny feeling after he left. Like I was

  a deal he had just closed. Even though he took off his shirt and tie, he

  was still half dressed in his suit and he was different—very focused and

  demanding. Hard.”

  Amanda twists her lips to the side. “That doesn’t sound good.”

  My eyes widen. “YOU don’t think it sounds good. Now I know

  I’m in trouble.”

  She pats my hand and offers me another shot. �
�Let me think about

  it. Right now, I’m a bit distracted by the blond Adonis staring at us.”

  I follow the direction of her gaze and freeze. My breath catches in

  my throat. “It’s Doctor Drake. Hide me. Don’t let him see me.” I try to

  slide under the table, but Amanda grabs my hand.

  “Too late. He’s on his way over. Pull up those big girl panties

  and paste on your best smile. If Max did dump you, here comes your

  second chance.”

  “He doesn’t do it for me. I know he’s a gorgeous heart surgeon with

  an amazing body and he’s gone out of his way to offer to help me, but

  he doesn’t make me tingle all over the way Max does. He’s…safe and

  comfortable. Like…home.”

  “Are you insane?” Amanda hisses. “He is totally YUMMY and I’ve

  suddenly got a fever only a doctor can cure.” She fans herself with a

  paper napkin.

  “What happened to my girl-time relaxation?”

  Amanda’s eyebrows shoot up. “Seriously? You want girl-time relax-

  ation when you could have him?”

  Dr. Drake approaches the table, Amanda fluffs her breasts. I try to

  keep down the excessive quantity of alcohol I have just consumed on

  an empty stomach. Amanda’s actions do not go unnoticed. Dr. Drake’s

  eyes travel from her lips down to her chest and back again. He is wearing

  a lab coat over a white T-shirt, and a pair of tight blue jeans. He looks

  good. Too good. Like a soap opera doctor. But he has nothing on Max.

  “He’s all yours, but I think he might be more than even you can

  handle.” I shove the IV tube in my mouth, and take a big sip.

  Amanda gives me a sideways glance and snorts. “No one has even

  come close. Except maybe Jake. But, since we’re on a break, I’m free for

  a little examination.”

  “Mac, I thought that was you.” Dr. Drake drags his eyes off

  Amanda’s breasts and stares at the tube in my mouth. He reaches over

  to turn off the tap on my drip. “IVs have to be carefully monitored,

  otherwise the patient might overdose.”

  “Some patients want to overdose.” I turn the drip back on.

  Amanda splutters beside me. So what if I’m not being classy? He

  touched my drip.

  “She’s not thinking clearly,” Amanda chimes in, patting my back.

  “She’s inebriated because she had a hard week.”

  Grrrrr. Sometimes Amanda can be a total pain.

  Dr. Drake’s eyes flicker over to Amanda’s face. His lips part. A

  smile creases his perfect face. “We haven’t been formally introduced.”

  I introduce them between IV sucks. Amanda inhales. Her breasts

  rise. Her chin dips. She looks up at Dr. Drake through long, golden

  lashes and holds out her hand, waggling her fingers like little worms

  on a fishing hook. She is really laying it on thick. No one would ever

  suspect she is a crackerjack attorney at one of San Francisco’s biggest law

  firms, and she likes to play it that way.

  Dr. Drake presses his lips to her wrist. “How nice to meet one of

  Mac’s girlfriends.” He emphasizes the word “girl,” making it seem as if

  I am inundated by men at work.

  “Yes, we’re very close.” Amanda squeezes up beside me and puts her

  hand on my arm. I glance over at her and frown. Did I just miss something?

  “Well, now I have two lovely ladies to dance with.” Dr. Drake turns

  his gaze back to me and holds out both his hands.

  “What’s happening?” I whisper as I dutifully follow Amanda to the

  dance floor. “I told you he’s all yours.”

  “Either he likes you a lot. Or, he’s into threesomes. Or both.” She

  hits the dance floor and immediately begins to gyrate. Dr. Drake joins

  her, grooving to the hip-hop beat with some smooth moves of his own.

  “Threesomes?” My alcohol-soaked brain cannot keep up and my

  voice rises in pitch. “You, me and…Doctor Drake? Together? In bed?

  You picked that up after talking to him for five seconds?”

  “I also picked up that he’s into kinky sex. Watch.” Amanda twists

  her scarf around her wrists, binding them together, then raises them over

  her head and shakes her breasts. Dr. Drake licks his lips. My stomach

  clenches. I. Am. Going. To. Hurl.

  “So, are you interested?” she asks.

  “In him or the threesome?” I force my feet to move in time to the

  beat. Dr. Drake gives me an encouraging nod. Good thing I’m not

  wearing a scarf.

  “Either.”

  “Are you crazy?” I hiss in her ear. “He’s my boss. You’re my best

  friend. And my most exciting sexual experience to date was the kiss from

  Max. I don’t think my heart could take it.”

  Dr. Drake grabs me and spins me around, pulling me against

  his lean body with a surprisingly muscular arm. He thrusts his pelvis

  forward and back, taking me with him. Forward and back. Forward

  and back. Our pelvises rock in time to the music. A giant picture of us

  flashes on the screen above the stage with a cartoon caption that reads,

  “Dirty Doctor Dancing.” Bravo for new technology and instantaneous

  humiliation. My stomach clenches, and I try to pull away, but Dr.

  Drake smiles at the camera and presses his hand against my belly and

  my ass into his crotch.

  And I thought Bianco Nero was a bad experience.

  After twenty minutes Amanda and I escape to the restroom to

  freshen up while Dr. Drake loiters outside, chatting with his doctor

  friends about his scintillating performance.

  “I think he likes you.” Amanda reapplies her lipstick for the hun-

  dredth time in two hours.

  “Who?”

  “Max. I’ll bet you two shots of Unidentified Specimen he texts

  you tonight.”

  I ease myself up on the vanity counter made up to look like a hospi-

  tal bed. “What if he’s not interested in date four? What if he went home

  and thought to himself, ‘Thank God that’s over. I think I’ll call up one

  of my poised, beautiful, movie star girlfriends who wouldn’t know a

  carb if it hit her in the face’?”

  “Then you get two free shots of Unidentified Specimen, and I’ll

  return a slightly used Doctor Drake.”

  “How am I going to face Doctor Drake at work?” I bury my face in

  my hands. “They keep playing that video of us dirty dancing over and

  over again. It gets worse every time. Why didn’t you stop me?”

  Amanda shrugs. “You were having fun. Sometimes you have to stop

  worrying about things and just enjoy the moment.”

  “He was certainly enjoying it,” I mutter. “I’m going to have a bruise

  on my lower back from his enjoyment.”

  Thankfully, Dr. Drake has disappeared when we emerge from the

  restroom. We make our way back to the table and collapse into the booth.

  I search for a waitress to top off my IV, and my eyes are drawn to a

  disturbance at the door. The manager pushes his way through the crowd,

  and a minute later Max emerges, flanked by two men dressed in black.

  My mouth goes dry. “Oh. My. God. Max is here.”

  Amanda follows the direction of my gaze and her eyes widen. “Did

  you tell him where you were?”

  “I didn’t
even know he was back, and my phone is dead.”

  His eyes focus on me like laser beams. My heart pounds a frantic

  rhythm against my ribs. Instinct screams for me to run, run, run. I wish

  my face would unfreeze so I could look anything other than horrified.

  Max stalks toward our table, eating up the tiles with determined

  strides of his long legs.

  I lean toward Amanda. “I think he’s angry.”

  Amanda snorts a laugh. “I’d say that’s an understatement. He’s

  furious. It means he cares.”

  “I’d like it better if he showered me with flowers.”

  Max reaches our table and the two men in black loiter at a discrete

  distance. He folds his arms and glares down at me. His blue, button-

  down shirt and black dress pants are slightly wrinkled and his hair is

  mussed—as if he had just stepped off a plane. Uh-oh.

  “Where were you?”

  Sweat trickles down my back. “I waited for almost an hour. You

  didn’t show. You didn’t call or text. I walked here and called Amanda.”

  His jaw tightens. “You walked here? Alone? In the dark? After I told

  you to wait for me?”

  “Um. Yes. Yes. Yes and yes.”

  “If I say I’m going to be somewhere, I’ll be there. You don’t leave.

  You wait.”

  My hands clench into fists and I crinkle my brow into a frown.

  “No way. I don’t stand around in silver stilettos in a vacant parking lot

  waiting God knows how many hours for you to decide it’s convenient

  to pick me up.”

  “You do.”

  “I don’t.”

  Bang. Bang. Bang. My heart thuds a warning in my chest. With

  every word he steps closer to the line I will not cross. Protective I can

  handle. Possessive and controlling? Not a chance. My hand trembles so

  violently my watch vibrates against the table. “Why are you so angry?

  I’m the one who should be angry. You stood me up. I felt like an idiot

  standing around waiting for you.”

  Max bristles. “The plane was caught in turbulence. I couldn’t call

  out. I texted you and Colton as soon as I was able.”

  “I didn’t get your text. My phone ran out of minutes.”

  Max’s eyes narrow. “Your phone ran out of minutes? What would

  you do in an emergency? What if you needed help? You need a reliable

  phone. A phone that doesn’t run out of minutes. You need a phone that