by Radclyffe
“Why shouldn’t I?” Flynn murmured softly.
Mica laughed, bitterness making her throat burn. “You don’t know me. What do you want?”
“I want to be sure you’re all right.” Flynn’s eyes, a crystalline blue, darkened like the storm clouds rolling in over the bay. “Look, I don’t want to argue with you. I just want to take care of you. Let me and my partner take you to our unit and get you settled, and I’ll stand right there and call your boss. You can listen to everything I’m saying.”
One of the cops leaned down, a woman so beautiful she ought to be a model in some kind of magazine. “Flynn, we can take care of notifying her boss. Just get the information for us.”
“No,” Flynn said, still holding Mica’s gaze. “I’ll do it.”
The cop sighed. “Ever the crusader.” She squeezed Flynn’s shoulder in a strangely intimate way, and Flynn’s face changed for a second, as if the touch were painful.
“I want to talk to my boss,” Mica said.
Flynn’s mouth flickered and she smiled. “Are you always so stubborn?”
“None of your business.”
“Fair enough. Dave, get the gurney.” Flynn started to pack up her kit. “You got a deal. I’ll call him, explain the situation. And you can talk to him after. Agreed?”
“Like I’ve got a choice?”
“You do have a choice,” Flynn said seriously, as if she somehow knew that mattered. “I just want you to make a good one and not put yourself at risk, okay?”
Mica couldn’t look into her eyes anymore. If she did, she might start believing this stranger really meant what she said, and she knew better. People didn’t really care about each other, even when they were supposed to, but for sure not about an outsider. What did this stranger know about her, know about risk? She couldn’t let herself be tricked into believing that anyone was going to care about her. It’d taken her long enough, but she’d learned. Now she knew better. The only person she was ever going to trust again was herself, even if it meant being alone for the rest of her life.
“Here we go,” Dave said, positioning a backboard on the ground next to Mica.
Flynn said, “We’re just going to slide you onto a backboard and then onto the stretcher so we can move you over to our unit. Let us do all the work. Just relax as much as you can.”
“Just do it,” Mica snapped.
“One, two, three,” Flynn counted, and Mica felt herself being lifted with arms beneath her shoulders and legs. Then she was on the backboard and straps were tightened across her chest and pelvis, trapping her. She wanted to struggle. She wanted to tear the restraints away. She hated to be held down.
“Hey,” Flynn said softly. “It’s okay. We just don’t want you to roll off. As soon as we get into the unit, I’ll loosen the straps. Can you handle that?”
“Yeah, whatever.” Mica struggled to calm her breathing, telling herself she wasn’t a prisoner, these people weren’t going to hurt her. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes and she pretended they weren’t there.
Then she was being rolled over the bumpy surface of the street to the yawning mouth of a medical van. Again she was lifted, and this time placed on a bench along one side of the van. She tried to raise her head again, wanting to find the blonde—Flynn. The panic wasn’t so bad when she could see her.
Flynn pulled her cell phone from her belt. “Are you okay? I’m gonna climb out so I can get a good signal.”
“Fine. Just get on with it already.”
“What’s the number?” After Mica reeled off a familiar-sounding number, Flynn hopped out of the unit and punched in the digits, trying to place the establishment. Ten seconds later, a man answered.
“Shoreline.”
“This is Flynn Edwards, a paramedic here in town. One of your employees was in a traffic accident on her way to work. Mica.” Flynn realized she didn’t know the girl’s last name.
“Christ,” the guy said, “is she okay?”
“We’re taking her to the clinic. She was worried about missing work. She doesn’t want to go with us if she’s going to lose her—”
“Tell her to get her butt over to the clinic and get checked out. Have her call me later so I know when she’ll be able to come back to work. I’ve gotta go call in a sub now—we’re swamped. Big breakfast crowd.”
“She wants to talk to you, but if there’s no problem—”
The guy sighed. “Jesus. Just take her where you need to take her. Her job will be here when she gets back. I gotta go.” And he hung up.
Flynn pocketed the phone and climbed into the back of the unit. She squatted down next to Mica. “He says your job is okay. He had to call someone in for you.” She signaled Dave to go ahead and pulled the doors closed. “We’ll be at the clinic in just a few minutes.” She leaned forward into the front of the cab and grabbed her tablet. “What’s your last name?”
The girl hesitated, and for a minute, Flynn thought she wasn’t going to answer.
“Butler,” the girl said finally.
Flynn filled it in. “Address?”
“606 Commercial.”
“Is there someone you want me to call?”
When the silence grew heavy, Flynn shifted her gaze from the tablet to the girl on the stretcher. She was obviously in pain—her jaw was clenched and her eyes narrowed, as if holding back any sign of weakness. Her fingers were closed in tight fists. “Mica? Is there someone you want me to call for you?”
“No,” Mica said in a flat, hollow voice. “No one.”
Chapter Two
Reese walked into the bathroom, a white fluffy towel in her hands, just as Tory stepped out of the shower.
“I thought you were feeding Reggie.” Tory smiled, her eyes holding a question.
“I was.” Reese pointed to the egg smear in the middle of her faded USMC T-shirt. “We finished everything, even the bananas, which we have suddenly decided are more fun to spit out than swallow.”
Tory laughed. “Did we suddenly say why?”
“Oh yes.” Reese nodded solemnly while holding up the bath sheet. “Yucky.”
Still laughing, Tory turned so Reese could drape the towel around her shoulders. “Do I need to take over now and give her another bath?”
“Nope.” Reese pulled Tory back against her chest. “Kate came early to get her. Reggie’s off with Grandmoms and we’re all alone.”
“Really.” Tory shivered slightly, pulling the towel more securely around her torso. “The shower’s yours, then. I’ll go get dressed.”
“In a hurry to get rid of me?” Reese nuzzled Tory’s damp auburn hair, inhaling the coconut vanilla scent that was so distinctly Tory. “When was the last time we were alone?”
“I don’t remember,” Tory murmured, arching her neck to give Reese better access. “But we have a plane to catch in an hour and a half.”
“Mmm. Plenty of time.”
“Darling, I’m going to get you all wet.” Tory skimmed her mouth along the edge of Reese’s jaw.
“I’m not complaining.” Reese cradled Tory’s breasts through the towel, gently caressing as she dried her. Tory tightened her butt into Reese’s crotch and Reese rumbled low in her throat. “That’s no way to take my mind off how good you feel.” She rubbed Tory’s nipple through the soft cotton, her pulse soaring when the round peak hardened against her palm. She stroked lower over the damp bare skin of Tory’s abdomen and feathered her fingers through the delta between Tory’s thighs.
“Reese,” Tory pressed her hand over Reese’s, cupping herself with Reese’s fingers, “the time. Our appointment with Wendy, remember?”
“I’m the sheriff. We won’t get held up at the airport.” Squeezing gently between Tory’s legs, Reese nipped at Tory’s earlobe. “We don’t usually have morning time without the baby. I want to take advantage.”
Tory spun in Reese’s arms, wrapped an arm around Reese’s neck, and let the towel fall to the floor. “I’d say you’re taking advantage of me.”
>
“Maybe so.” Reese kissed Tory’s throat and slid her fingers down Tory’s belly and over the slick, hot folds between her thighs. “Maybe you should call a cop.”
Tory opened her legs and tilted her hips, inviting Reese to enter. Her breath caught as Reese filled her. “I would,” Tory gasped, slowly riding Reese’s fingers up and down, “but I happen to know the sheriff is busy right now.”
Reese pressed her cheek to Tory’s, losing herself in the heat of Tory’s body and the silken glide of skin over skin. Tory’s quiet sighs of pleasure, the scratch of Tory’s nails over the top of her hand as she thrust a little harder, a little deeper, eclipsed all concerns of planes, schedules, or any other obligation beyond making Tory come. This moment was everything. With Tory in her arms, with Tory holding her inside, she knew exactly who she was and where she belonged. “I love you.”
“I love you,” Tory said, her voice low and husky. “And you’re going to make me come.”
“I want you to. I need you to.” Reese bit down gently at the base of Tory’s neck, not hard enough to leave a mark, just hard enough to make Tory tighten around her inside.
“Oh God,” Tory whispered, shuddering in Reese’s arms.
Passion coated Reese’s fingers. Firm hot muscles gripped, pulsing with life and power. Tory bucked in her arms, the thrust of her thigh stroking Reese’s clitoris through the thin cotton of her boxers. Reese moaned against Tory’s throat. “You make me so damn hot.”
“Good.” Tory jerked. “Oh damn, I’m going to come right now.”
“You come for me, baby,” Reese whispered. She backed up a step, pulling Tory with her, and leaned her ass against the counter so she wouldn’t fall down. Nothing made her come harder or faster than Tory coming in her arms. Her hips spasmed. Close now. So damn close. She tried to keep her rhythm, wanting Tory to have everything she needed, but her mind was blurring, her control slipping. “I’m right with you.”
Tory cried out, gripping Reese’s wrist so hard she’d probably leave a bruise. Reese groaned, her thighs shaking, pleasure detonating in her depths.
“Oh my God,” Tory murmured again, leaning bonelessly against Reese’s chest. “I don’t know how you do that to me.”
“Do what?” Reese rested her chin on Tory’s shoulder, breathing hard.
“Make me come like it’s the first time, every time.”
Reese chuckled. “Always feels like the best time, every time. Hell, my head is ringing.”
“Darling,” Tory muttered, dragging herself from Reese’s embrace, “that’s my phone.”
“Any chance you can ignore it?” Reese grabbed a robe from the back of the door and handed it to Tory. “You’re off today, remember?”
“I know, I know,” Tory called as she rushed into the bedroom. “Hello? Dr. King.”
Reese followed and leaned against the doorway. Across the room, Tory juggled her cell phone in one hand as she shrugged into the robe. Her hair was wet and tangled, her breasts flushed and still tight-nippled from her recent orgasm. Her shoulders and arms were muscled from her daily rowing, her toned abdomen slightly rounded, her thighs tight. She was beautiful. Looking at her made Reese’s chest so full she could barely breathe.
“All right. I’ll be right there.” Tory tossed her phone onto the bed and gave Reese an apologetic smile. “I’ve got to make a stop at the clinic. Nita is busy with someone in heart failure and the paramedics are bringing in a trauma patient. I’m sorry. I’ll be as quick as I can.”
“That’s okay. We’ll catch a later flight.” Reese strode to the closet and pulled out a button-down navy blue shirt. “We can call Wendy’s office from the clinic.”
“We could wait until next month,” Tory said hesitantly.
“No, we can’t.” Reese stripped off her egg-stained T-shirt and tossed it toward the hamper on her way to Tory. She had been reluctant at first, worried and a lot scared. But Tory wanted this, and now, so did she. Grasping Tory’s shoulders gently, she kissed her. “The thermometer says today is the day. We’re going to Boston to make a baby.”
Tory wrapped her arms around Reese’s waist and pressed her face to Reese’s chest. “Have I mentioned lately how much I love you?”
“I seem to recall something about that.” Reese kissed the top of Tory’s head. “I love you back. So, you ready to do this?”
“More than ready.” Tory smiled. “Let’s go take care of business.”
*
“You said you were going to take off the straps,” Mica said, gripping the sides of the stretcher as the vehicle swayed around a corner and accelerated. She didn’t really feel as if she was going to fly off the stretcher, but holding on to something made her feel more in control. Flynn squatted beside her, fiddling with the intravenous line she had inserted into Mica’s right wrist. Her dark blond brows were drawn down in a frown, her lids—layered with long, thick blond lashes—curtained her eyes. She couldn’t see Mica staring at her, so Mica stared. Flynn was good-looking in a crisp, Anglo kind of way—arched cheekbones, wide jaw, squarish chin with a tiny dent. Thin, narrow nose. She reminded Mica of the white girls who came from uptown to hang out in the rough bars of the barrio and flirt with dangerous boys. A couple of them had even flirted with dangerous girls. The first time a skinny redhead with perky breasts, bare midriff, and two-hundred-dollar jeans had flirted with her, offering to buy her a drink in exchange for a ride on Mica’s motorcycle, Mica had laughed it off. She’d been afraid her homies would somehow sense the way her stomach twisted and she got all hot inside when the girl had smiled at her with just the tip of her soft pink tongue tracing over her full lower lip. Watching the redhead’s tongue slide over the rosy surface, she’d gone liquid in places she never did when Hector touched her. She’d feared what Hector would do if he even suspected she enjoyed the Anglo girl’s attention—less afraid for herself than for the girl. So she’d turned away, straddling Hector’s lap at the bar instead, making a show of kissing him. But that night in the small alcove off the living room where she slept behind a blanket tacked to the archway, she’d thought about that redhead and her nipples had tingled and she’d gotten wet. When she woke in the morning, aroused and uncomfortable, she’d made herself come thinking about the redhead’s tongue moving in slow motion over her pussy.
Flynn made her think of those rich girls with her clear, flawless skin and handsome face, but she was nothing like them, not really. Flynn looked at her with calm, certain eyes—eyes that asked for nothing. Those other girls had taunted and teased and flirted, all the while flaunting their privilege and fleeing back to their safe neighborhoods in their expensive cars as the night grew dark and perilous. She’d never slept with the redhead. She’d never slept with any of them. But she’d secretly wanted to.
“I never said I’d take the straps off, but I can loosen them,” Flynn said, reaching for the buckle on the nylon belt across Mica’s chest. She released that one, then the one across her hips. “Dave is a good driver, but I don’t want you getting dumped on the floor. Is that better?”
Mica’s tank had pulled up, and her bare stomach tingled where Flynn’s fingers had brushed over her skin. No one had touched her in months, and those hands had been rough and hurried. Not careful and caring, like these.
Mica tried to turn her face away, afraid Flynn, with her piercing blue eyes, would see too much. “This thing on my neck is worse than the straps. Can you take it off?”
“I can’t, I’m sorry. I think your neck is okay, but I don’t want to take any chances until Dr. King clears you.”
With every passing second, Mica’s mind cleared and the churning in her midsection grew. She knew what these clinics were like—cold, impersonal, harried places where the sick and the injured were an inconvenience at best, targets for the frustrations and disappointments of others at worst. She would be sucked back in when she was so close to being free. What could she say to make Flynn let her go? “I can’t pay.”
“Do you have any insurance?”
Mica laughed mirthlessly. “Do I look like I have insurance? I can’t pay for this. You’re not helping me by forcing me to do this.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t want anything to happen to you. I’ll talk to Dr. King. There are ways to—”
“No. I don’t want you to talk to anybody. I’ll take care of things,” Mica snapped. The last thing she needed was someone else asking questions about her. “You’ve already made enough trouble.”
“I’m sorry, you’re right. I’m overstepping,” Flynn said softly, and the concern in her voice softened the edges of Mica’s anger.
“Never mind,” Mica said. “You don’t have to be sorry. I’ll handle it.”
“Okay. Whatever you want.” Flynn squeezed her forearm lightly. “We’ll get you checked out, you can call your boss, and Dr. King’s office manager—Randy—can sort out the financial stuff.”
Mica grimaced. As if anything could be that simple. “Sure. Whatever.”
The ambulance slowed, made another turn, and crunched over gravel, finally stopping. The siren died with a lingering wail that echoed the ache in Mica’s chest.
“We’re here,” Flynn said. “I’ll stay as long as I can. If we get another call, I’ll have to leave.”
“I don’t need you to stay. I’ll be fine.”
“I know you will,” Flynn said.
The doors swung open, and bright sunlight streamed into the back of the ambulance. Mica blinked, tears blurred her vision, and a large dark shape loomed in the doorway. Hector! She jerked, her heart pounding erratically, and yanked at the straps imprisoning her. She must have made a sound, because Flynn gripped her shoulder.
“Hey, it’s all right. Does something hurt?”
Mica wet her lips as the man climbed into the van. He might not hurt her right away, but if Flynn— His features became clearer. The other paramedic. Not Hector. Mica took a shuddering breath.