by Radclyffe
“You know what what. You already kissed her. Are you planning on doing more?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. We agreed to see what happens.”
Rosie snorted. “Oh please. That’s what everyone says when what they really mean is, let’s hop into bed at the first opportunity.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes, it is, and you’re only hedging because Pearce isn’t a guy.”
“Don’t you think that makes sense?”
“I don’t know. Does it? You’ve already kissed her. That kinda cancels out the guy thing, don’t you think?”
Wynter moved Ronnie’s empty dinner plate out of reach and draped a damp dish towel over her daughter’s hands. As she methodically wiped each finger, she said, “I’m attracted to her. I don’t know what that means beyond that fact. Maybe nothing will happen.”
“What about last night, then?”
“I hadn’t planned it. I just…did it without thinking.”
“You’re not usually impulsive.”
“No. I’m not. I’ve never had a chance to be.”
“What if it turns out you’re gay?”
“Is this really why you called?” Wynter picked Ronnie up, cradling the portable phone against her shoulder. “Come on, honey. Bath time.”
“I guess,” Rosie said after a pause. “I mean, I just never suspected…you never said anything like maybe you were.”
“I haven’t been keeping secrets, Rosie,” Wynter said, hearing the hurt in her voice. “I would’ve told you.”
“Honest?”
Wynter smiled. “Honest. I never thought about it. I was in school, then I was married, then the residency started. Then it all went to hell. My life was either too busy or too crazy to think about much of anything.”
“Your life’s still pretty crazy, you know.”
“I know. She’s just coming for dinner.”
“Uh-huh. Yeah. Sure.”
“Would it bother you?” Wynter sat Ronnie on the closed toilet seat, handed her a bath toy to keep her occupied, and knelt to untie her sneakers. “If it turns out that maybe I am?”
“Would it bother you?”
“I don’t think so. Mom and Dad pretty much raised us to believe that people’s private lives are private.” Wynter tugged off Ronnie’s corduroy overalls. “I’m not naïve enough to think it would be easy, but that’s never stopped me. You didn’t answer my question.”
“You know, we never got to talk very much after you went away to school, and I only saw you and Dave a few times a year at holidays. But you never looked particularly happy to me.”
“It wasn’t all his fault,” Wynter admitted, pulling Ronnie’s T-shirt off over her head. “He’s a horse’s a—” she glanced at Ronnie, “behind, but I wasn’t paying very much attention to what I needed or wanted.”
“You looked happier last night than I can remember since high school.”
“I was.”
“So why would it bother me?”
Wynter closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Thanks.”
“I love you. I gotta go study. Wayne’s got a gig tonight, and I promised I’d be there.”
“Have fun.”
“You’ll tell me when something happens, right?”
“If something happens.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I love you too. Go study.” Wynter set the phone aside and cuddled her daughter. “Ready for a bath with Ducky?”
Ronnie nodded yes, accompanied by quacking sounds for emphasis.
*
As Pearce climbed the steps to Wynter’s new home, it occurred to her that she had never had a dinner invitation like this before. She didn’t date. She had neither the time nor the inclination. Most of the time she fell into bed with someone she bumped into at O’Malley’s or crossed paths with in the middle of the night in the hospital. She didn’t take women to the movies, she didn’t go with them to concerts, and she didn’t spend Saturday nights in their homes. But here she was. She shook her head, wondering exactly how Wynter managed to get her to do things she’d never done before. Deciding there was no point in trying to figure out why everything had always been different with Wynter, she rang the bell.
A minute later, Wynter answered, a scrubbed and pajamaed Ronnie in her arms. “Hi. I was just putting her to bed. Come on in. I’ll just be a minute.”
“Hi.” Pearce noted that Wynter looked just as good in her casual jeans, sneakers, and red open-collared shirt as she had in leather the night before. Realizing she was staring, Pearce held out a bottle of wine. “A housewarming present.”
“Thank you.” Wynter held the door wide. “Do you remember where the kitchen is?”
Pearce nodded, adding a bit shyly, “And something for Ronnie.” She passed the box containing Bob the Builder’s Wooden Race Track set into Ronnie’s outstretched arms. “Here you go, kiddo.”
“Oh,” Wynter said with a laugh. “You’re in trouble now. She’ll never go to bed.”
“I suppose it’s too late to take it back.”
“Way way too late.” Wynter leaned forward and kissed Pearce’s cheek. “That was sweet.”
Pearce wondered if Wynter could tell that the slightest touch from her made Pearce vibrate like a tuning fork snapped against the side of a table. She was surprised the air around her wasn’t moving. “It’s just a little thing.”
“Would you mind very much setting it up for her while I put the last few touches on dinner?” Wynter smiled sheepishly. “I know it’s probably not what you had in mind for the evening, but—”
“It’ll be fun,” Pearce said quickly. “Besides, I wanna see how it goes together.”
Laughing, feeling ridiculously happy, Wynter said, “Let’s go upstairs.”
*
Fifteen minutes later, Wynter walked down the second-floor hallway to Ronnie’s room, listening to her daughter’s delighted laughter. She stopped in the bedroom doorway to take in the scene. A wooden racetrack in a figure eight sat in the middle of the floor surrounded by half-constructed houses. Pearce lay on her side on one side of the track with Ronnie on the other. Each held a wooden racecar that they propelled more or less around the track. Ronnie seemed to delight in trying to drive hers into Pearce’s. After a particularly resounding crash, Pearce made sounds resembling an explosion and fell over onto her back. Ronnie clapped.
Pearce turned her head, saw Wynter, and grinned. “She’s tough.”
“I should’ve warned you.” Wynter took in Pearce’s form as she sprawled unselfconsciously on the floor. She wore the same black boots as the night before, this time with blue jeans and a plain white T-shirt. The jeans, cinched with a wide black leather belt, rode low on her hips, and Wynter could imagine fitting her body into the vee of Pearce’s thighs and the shallow plane of her stomach. Wynter’s gaze traveled up to Pearce’s face, and when their eyes met, she had to look away as a wave of heat passed through her. “Let me put her to bed.”
Pearce got to her feet. “Should I wait downstairs?”
“Probably,” Wynter murmured as she lifted Ronnie. “You’re too much of a distraction.”
“Oh yeah?” Pearce ran a fingertip down the outside of Wynter’s arm. She’d seen the appreciative look in Wynter’s eyes, and it’d gotten her stirred up. It didn’t take any more than that from her. Just a look. Not even a touch. She felt a pulse beat between her thighs. “Is that a problem?”
“Yes,” Wynter whispered. “Go away now.”
Pearce laughed and touched Ronnie’s hair. “Night, kiddo.”
Ronnie grinned. “Night, kiddo.”
When Wynter came downstairs, Pearce was waiting in the living room. She leaned against the sofa, her ankles and arms crossed, a lazy smile on her face. “Everything okay?”
“No,” Wynter said, crossing the room to her. “I forgot something.”
“What?” Pearce asked nonchalantly, even though the heat in Wynter’s eyes had ignited the fire in her belly that always seeme
d to simmer when she was anywhere near Wynter. This time, she was more than ready for Wynter to put it out.
“This.” Wynter put both hands on Pearce’s arms and pulled them down to her sides, then leaned into her and kissed her. It was just as she remembered it, only better. Pearce’s body was just as hot, just as tightly coiled, but this time, Pearce kissed her back with a ferocity that took her breath away. Pearce’s arms came around her hard, and Wynter felt hands cup her ass, felt a hard thigh thrust between her legs. Then she was spinning, and she was against the sofa and Pearce’s mouth was on her neck. She arched her back. “Oh God.”
“I love the way you smell,” Pearce groaned, licking the undersurface of Wynter’s jaw. “And taste.” She pulled the shirt from the back of Wynter’s jeans and slid her hand underneath. “Oh man, your skin’s so hot.” She caught an earlobe in her teeth and tugged at it. “I want you so bad. Jesus, Wynter.” She raked her teeth down Wynter’s neck, then licked the faint red mark she’d left behind. “Tell me what you want.”
“Pearce.” Wynter held her tightly, feeling her tremble, knowing she was holding back. “Pearce.” She pressed her mouth to Pearce’s ear. “I want you too. I do.” She twisted her fingers into Pearce’s hair and turned her head until she could find her mouth. She ran her tongue over Pearce’s lips, thrust into her mouth, nipped at her jaw. She finally pulled back, gasping. “Oh, I do. Can we just…wait. Just go a little slower?”
Pearce pressed her forehead to Wynter’s shoulder, forcing herself to breathe, trying to clear her head, struggling to tamp down the terrible yearning. “Okay. Okay.” She shuddered. “Okay.”
“God, you’re so sexy,” Wynter moaned, still holding Pearce close. She nestled her cheek on Pearce’s shoulder. “Now I really need that distraction. Can I interest you in dinner?”
Pearce laughed shakily. “As opposed to hot monkey sex with you?”
“Uh-huh.”
Pearce kissed Wynter’s forehead and stroked her cheek with trembling fingers. “Sure. I’d like that.”
Wynter leaned back, her eyes heavy-lidded and hazy with lingering arousal. “You’re not mad?”
“No,” Pearce whispered. She cupped Wynter’s chin, then kissed her eyelids and finally her mouth. “No. There’s no hurry.”
“I’m not so sure. I feel as if something might explode,” Wynter confided as Pearce moved away. She caught Pearce’s hand, unwilling to let her go very far.
Pearce grinned. “I hope so.”
Wynter laughed and tugged Pearce toward the kitchen. “Come on. I slaved over this, so I expect you to make appropriate sounds of gratitude.”
“Considering it’s the first meal that a woman has ever cooked for me, I’ll probably get on my knees in thanks.”
Wynter arched an eyebrow. “That could be interesting.”
Pearce stopped abruptly and pulled her into her arms again. She brushed the rim of Wynter’s ear with her tongue until she felt Wynter shudder. “Careful. Don’t tease if you want me to go slow.”
Wynter’s breath came in shallow gasps. “Can’t I have both?”
“You can have anything you want,” Pearce murmured, her mouth against Wynter’s neck. In some part of her mind, beyond the madness of desire, she feared that might be true.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Can I help with something?” Pearce stood next to the kitchen table watching Wynter toss a salad, feeling helpless and inadequate. She hadn’t been kidding when she’d said that a woman had never cooked dinner for her before—not counting her mother, who had cooked but usually left it to the housekeeper, or her grandmother. Somehow, it didn’t seem right for Wynter to be doing all the work.
“You can open that bottle of wine you brought,” Wynter said as she peered into the oven. “This roast looks done. There’s a corkscrew in the drawer on the far left of the counter. I hope you’re hungry.”
“Starving.”
Wynter closed the oven door and turned slowly. “If we’re going to get through dinner, you can’t speak to me in that tone of voice.”
The corner of Pearce’s mouth quirked upward. “What tone?”
“That smoky, hungry, sexy tone. It goes right through me.”
Every muscle in Pearce’s body twitched. “Then stop saying things like that. It makes me want to jump you.”
Wynter smiled a satisfied smile. “Fair is fair.” She pointed toward the counter. “Corkscrew.”
Pearce did as directed. She’d never met a woman who could control her so easily with just a smile. She’d been with beautiful women, smart women, sexy women, hot demanding avaricious women, but she’d never been anywhere near a woman who could turn her upside down with a glance. Hell, not even a glance, a single word. “This is crazy.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Glasses?”
“Um…water glasses will have to do. I haven’t found the wineglasses yet.”
“Hell, I’d drink this out of a jelly glass.”
“Don’t laugh—it might come to that.” Wynter placed the serving platter in the center of the table. She’d set two places adjacent to one another at one end, and although she couldn’t find her good dishes, she had found the candles. She lit them with a flourish. “There.”
“It looks great.” Pearce put the wine bottle down on the table and slid her arms around Wynter’s waist from behind and hugged her gently. She rubbed her cheek against Wynter’s hair. “Thank you.”
Wynter leaned back and folded her arms over Pearce’s, closing her eyes. Pearce’s breath was warm against her cheek, her body solid and strong. She felt arousal awaken from the restless slumber to which she had remanded it a short time before and welcomed the resurgence of excitement. She loved the way Pearce made her feel. Desired and desirable. Alive.
She turned her head and kissed the corner of Pearce’s mouth. “I should also mention you’re not allowed to touch me until after dinner.”
“It’s hard not to.” Pearce turned Wynter around and kissed her on the mouth. She played her hands over Wynter’s shoulders, stroked down her arms, and then settled them on her waist. She kissed her slowly, deeply, enjoying the taste and heat of her mouth. She kept her touch light, her body still, not pressing for more than the kiss. When she drew back, Wynter’s eyes were cloudy, her neck flushed. “You’re very beautiful.”
Wynter drew a shuddering breath and placed her hands flat against Pearce’s chest, her fingertips resting on her collarbones. “When you say it like that, I believe it.”
“Wynter,” Pearce murmured. She forced herself to take a step backward, still holding Wynter, but at arm’s length—out of kissing range. “We should have dinner.”
Despite a surge of disappointment, Wynter nodded, knowing it was what she had asked for. At the moment she couldn’t quite remember why. And God, it was hard to think of anything except the heat in Pearce’s eyes, the magic in her hands. “Can I just tell you how much I love it when you touch me?”
“No,” Pearce said fiercely. “I’m dying here, give me a break.”
“Try to hang on,” Wynter lifted Pearce’s hand from her waist and kissed her knuckles, which still showed signs of bruises, “and I’ll try to be good.”
Pearce tapped Wynter’s chin with her finger. “You could start by trying not to torment me.”
Wynter nipped at the end of Pearce’s finger. “But I love to watch your eyes get all dark and—”
“Damn it, Wynter. Stop.”
Laughing, Wynter moved away and gestured to the chairs. “Sit down. Let’s eat this if we’re not going to do anything else.”
Shaking her head, Pearce settled beside Wynter. “I really am hungry.”
“Good,” Wynter said as she dished out the food.
Because they were used to eating together at the hospital, they fell into easy conversation about their cases and the upcoming rotations and other residents. Before Pearce realized it, she had cleaned her plate twice. She leaned back from the table with a groan. “God, that was gr
eat.”
“You’re certainly easy to please,” Wynter remarked, pleased herself at Pearce’s obvious enjoyment. She couldn’t remember when doing something so simple for someone else had given her such satisfaction. When she saw the grin tug at the corner of Pearce’s mouth, she held up her hand. “Don’t start.”
“You might regret saying that,” Pearce said playfully, catching Wynter’s hand. Their fingers entwined and she did not let go. “One of these days when you’re crazy for me.”
“Pretty sure of yourself.”
Pearce looked down at their clasped hands resting on the tabletop. It looked and felt so natural to be connected to Wynter this way, and at the same time, it was wholly foreign to her. Nothing that had transpired between them was new—she’d kissed women whom she’d known far less well than Wynter, and she’d had quick sexual encounters in dark corners and a few other semipublic places. But she’d never felt the urge to run the way she had last night. She looked up and met Wynter’s worried gaze and smiled wryly. “I’m sorry I took off on you last night.”
“Why did you?”
“Jesus,” Pearce sighed. “Aren’t you supposed to say ‘That’s okay, I understand’ or something else like that to let me off the hook?”
“Probably. And I would, if it really didn’t matter. But it does, and I want to know.”
Pearce stretched her legs out under the table and leaned back in the chair, keeping hold of Wynter’s hand. With her free hand she fiddled aimlessly with her silverware. “Ten more seconds of kissing you like that—or of you kissing me, rather—and I’d’ve been fucking you up against the wall. Right there in the middle of that crowd.”
“Assuming I would’ve let you,” Wynter said, her voice husky and low.
“Wouldn’t you?” There was neither triumph nor self-satisfaction in Pearce’s voice, only a quiet certainty.
“Probably. I wanted you so much I wasn’t thinking of anything else.” Wynter laughed self-consciously. “I don’t usually go quite that far in public places.”
“No, I didn’t think so.” Pearce squeezed Wynter’s hand. “I don’t usually lose it like that, either.”