“Tell me it counts,” he demanded.
“Please,” she gasped. She was so close.
“Tell me.” He thrust deep and held her there, his wicked fingers firm at her most sensitive spot, but frustratingly still.
“It counts!” she cried. He moved again, thrusting hard and stroking, and she saw stars, rocking helplessly as he took her over the edge and kept going, gripping her by the hips as he pounded into her. It was wild and animal, and she spiraled again, her body clenching around him. She screamed before she shuddered with a release even harder than the first. She panted, overwhelmed as he kept thrusting, the pleasure still intense, and then he let go with a hoarse sound. She whimpered as he pumped into her, bringing electric shocks of sensation. He finally stilled and held her tight against him, both of them catching their breath.
“Wow,” she finally said. Her brain wasn’t quite working yet.
“Yeah.” He stroked her hair and kissed her shoulder. Then he pulled out, and she sank to the mattress. He flopped down next to her and flung his arm over her back.
After several quiet moments, Ian broke the silence. “The timing finally worked out for us.”
That was alarmingly inaccurate. She rolled over and propped up on one elbow. “What do you mean?”
“You proved yourself academically. Maybe now you’re ready for…more.”
“The timing couldn’t be worse. I leave tomorrow for a postdoc in Chicago.”
He turned on his side to face her. “Why didn’t you say something before we hooked up? I thought you’d have some time before you have to go.”
“It didn’t come up.” When would it have? She graduated, they had dinner, beer, and then sex. There was no time to talk about the fact that she was leaving tomorrow.
She swallowed, her throat suddenly tight. Maybe she’d been afraid to tell him. Today was the first time she’d seen him without a woman glued to his side, and she’d wanted to spend time with him. She’d missed him; the memories of their summer together all those years ago had warmed her during those long, lonely nights she’d spent studying. She didn’t make friends easily, mostly she had academic acquaintances. But hanging out with Ian that summer had been so easy and so fun.
He pulled her close so her head was on his chest. “We could do the long-distance thing.”
She lifted her head. “I don’t think I’d be good at that.” What if she lost herself in her new research position? Once she was immersed in physics, she forgot the real world. She’d only hurt him. “Let’s just call this a fun time between friends.”
“Kate, it was more than that.”
She didn’t know what to say. How could she explain that she lost herself when she was with him and that was dangerous? She couldn’t both lose herself in her work and lose herself in him. One of those things would suffer. She still had to prove herself as a physicist.
She sat up and climbed out of bed. “I should go.”
He jackknifed up and shoved his wavy brown hair out of his face. “Don’t you feel anything for me?”
She folded her hands together tightly. “I think it’s easier to say goodbye now.”
“For you.”
She looked around for her clothes and quickly dressed. “Yes, well.”
“Are you ever going to open your heart to anyone?”
She already had. With him. Otherwise this wouldn’t be so difficult. “Goodbye, Ian.”
He slammed a fist on the mattress. “You’re so damn cold. I’m moving on!”
Hot tears stung her eyes. She wasn’t cold. She was just doing what she had to do.
She’d barely made it out the door before she cried. The first time she’d cried since he’d rejected her initial advance four years ago. Every high and low in her life these past four years was bookended by her time with him. Why did Ian get to her so much?
Unable to answer her own question even now, she finally drifted to a restless sleep. She was caught in a dream, scrambling to solve unsolvable integrals, her mind stuck in an obsessive loop. She woke sweaty and cranky. Her emotions were all over the place, which made it impossible to think clearly. She knew if she didn’t choose Ian, he’d be out of her life forever. But what if she said yes to him, they both went back to work, and she forgot to call him back or return his texts? Or worse, what if he was all she thought about and she lost focus at work? She’d never have any breakthroughs in her research if she spent all her time texting and mooning over him. Everything with Christopher was so much more clear-cut. They both did their thing and saw each other when it was convenient. She was never distracted by him. Christopher fit neatly into her life. Why should she choose messy?
She took a long hot shower, dressed, and tried to work on her laptop. After a few hours, she went for a walk, hoping that would clear her mind. She took the path by Lake Michigan and drew comfort from one of her heroes Albert Einstein. He said, “Problems cannot be solved with the same way of thinking that has created them.” She needed a new perspective. She needed a breakthrough question to find the answer to this seemingly unsolvable problem.
She headed to her favorite place in all of Chicago—the Museum of Science and Industry. There were a lot of great exhibits there that she’d seen many times. Science at this level gave her comfort, but not the thrill of discovery. Mostly she liked to watch the kids get excited about science. She went through the rotunda and soaked in the beauty of the Christmas Around the World display with a huge forty-five-foot Christmas tree in the center and, surrounding it, smaller Christmas trees decorated by different ethnic groups in the community. She headed up a floor to find the one treasure that was completely different from all the science exhibits. The one quiet place with dim lighting that gave her a peek into a magical world—the Fairy Castle.
It was nine square feet of glorious enchantment. It dated from 1935 and each room was perfect in miniature with tiny furniture, tiny books, and fairy-tale paintings, even Cinderella’s slippers and carriage were here. Her parents only let her read original fairy tales for their morality lessons, not the happy “sanitized” versions, but she’d still gotten a lot of joy out of Cinderella. The girl in rags that nobody noticed, cleaning the ashes, only to transform one magical night.
She slowly walked around the castle, immersing herself in each room. The miniature perspective always calmed her, making her imagine this tiny world and maybe her world (and problems) was just a miniature in someone else’s larger world. The chapel had floor-to-ceiling stained glass, the Great Hall had a spiral staircase, and the library had miniature books, more than a hundred, hand written. She imagined herself living in such sumptuous luxury, descending the grand staircase in the Great Hall, heading to her favorite spot, Cinderella’s drawing room, sitting at the table with the miniature chessboard while someone played the piano. Only who would be her opponent? Who would accompany her with music? Was she looking for a partner or someone in the background enhancing her life with the occasional pretty song? She circled the castle for an hour, and though she felt calmer, she didn’t have a good answer. So she left to have a private chat with her secret confidante Rosie.
She headed to the museum gift shop where there was a collection of souvenir T-shirts and stopped in front of the T-shirt with that strong capable-looking woman showing off her bicep, her expression saying she took no guff—Rosie the Riveter. Though Kate knew the woman was a fictional creation designed to inspire women to work in factories and help their country while the men were overseas fighting World War II, there was something about her expression that made her want to confide in her.
What should I do about Ian? she asked silently.
Rosie stared back at her with an expression of what do you think? Go to dinner with both and make a decision.
What if I can’t decide? What if I lose Ian? What if I lose Christopher?
You don’t need a man. Look at me. I’m doing just fine with our boys overseas.
Maybe that was the best solution. Swear off men. Life was much simpler t
hat way. Had been for her last few years of grad school. But now that she was working, she’d begun to think more of the future. Of maybe getting married and having kids. If she could find the right person. But maybe she’d found him years ago and just hadn’t known it. Ian was three years older than her. That put them in different places in their lives back then, but what if right now they were finally in the same place? Of course, Christopher was five years older and was probably in a similar place in his life.
Rosie continued to gaze with her no-nonsense expression that said be firm, make a choice, and stand by it.
Still not sure what to do, she pulled Rosie off the hanger, and for the first time in their silent talks over the past few months, she paid and stuffed her in her purse for moral support.
When she got home, Ian was waiting for her, sitting in front of her apartment door. She quickly took off her fleece hat and smoothed her hair.
“How’d you get in here?” she asked.
“One of your neighbors buzzed me in.” He stood and stretched out his long legs in jeans. She really liked when he wore jeans. They showed off his tight ass.
She pushed her glasses in place. “I said we’d meet over by the hospital tonight.”
“I got bored.”
She considered that. “Okay. Come in. But we still have two hours to kill before dinner.” She put her key in the door and felt a hot breath by her ear that inexplicably made her shiver.
“I can’t imagine what we’ll do, can you?” he asked.
Her mind immediately filled with memories of their times together. Ian behind her, his heat surrounding her. Ian on top of her, between her legs. She hugged Rosie closer to her and went inside.
Ian flopped down on the sofa and stretched out, hands resting behind his head. “What’d you do today?”
“I talked to a friend.” She yawned behind her hand, the warmth of the apartment making her sleepy and reminding her she’d slept horribly last night.
“You look tired. Should we take a nap?”
She looked toward the bedroom. That sounded so good. But a nap with Ian? She turned back to tell him no and jumped. He was right next to her. She hadn’t even heard him get off the sofa. He took her purse and hat and set them down. Then he started unbuttoning her wool coat with those agile fingers honed to firm perfection on the computer keyboard and equally talented on a woman. Heat flooded her. Why did Ian taking off her winter coat feel like foreplay? He was barely touching her.
“Ian,” she said as a protest, but it came out all breathy.
“Shh, sleepyhead.” He took off the coat, turning her, and worked it off her shoulders and down her arms. Then he headed to the sofa, draping the coat over the side.
She pulled off her boots, set them by the door, and looked at him from a safe eight feet away.
His mouth curled into an adorable lopsided smile that she found hard to resist.
She held up a hand like a stop sign. “You know we won’t nap if we go in there.” She, sadly, had no control with him. And he could be quite convincing.
He lifted one shoulder up and down. “Whatever happens, happens.”
“Ian!” She let out a frustrated breath. She really was tired and had hoped to rest before her double-man date so she’d have a clear mind that would guide her into making the right decision.
“Hey.” He crossed to her side. “I promise to let you sleep if you let me hold you.”
She searched his warm brown eyes for trickery.
He laughed. “Don’t look so suspicious. Have I ever lied to you?”
“No.”
“I promise not to kiss you until you dump Christopher.”
Her shoulders slumped. She should really call Amber for help in figuring all this out. Ian was clearly not going to be any help at all.
“Walk or carry?” he asked.
“Huh?”
“Carry it is.” And then he scooped her up and carried her into the bedroom. It felt so good to be cradled in those warm, strong arms that she didn’t protest at all, merely snuggled in against his chest. “That’s my girl,” he murmured.
“Wake me in an hour,” she said.
True to his word, he tucked her under the down comforter, set her glasses on the nightstand, and spooned her from behind, a position that for some reason she fit with him best. She snuggled into the warmth of his body. He didn’t kiss her or stroke her, just held her as promised, one arm wrapped around her waist. She let out a sigh and zonked out.
She woke when Ian whispered in her ear, “Wake up, sleeping beauty.”
Slowly she became aware of his fingers splayed under her baggy sweater on the bare skin of her stomach. “You said you’d only hold me.”
“I am only holding you.”
“Over my clothes,” she mumbled. His hand left her stomach only to stroke her hair back from her face. Sleep pulled at her. She hadn’t felt so druggingly warm and relaxed since arriving in Chicago. Her eyes drifted shut.
“Do you really want to meet this guy for dinner?” he asked in a husky whisper.
“Mmm…sleeping.”
His lips grazed her earlobe, his hot breath dancing over her skin, arousing her. “Did you ever notice how well we fit together?”
She had thought about that quite a lot. “The torso-to-leg ratio should make it not work.”
He bent his knees, which made her legs tuck higher and simultaneously made her extremely aware of his hardness pressing into her softness. A deep throbbing between her legs took all of her attention. “Ian,” she said softly.
“We work,” he said.
He wasn’t moving, yet the electric charge of attraction flared. Her body went into full arousal mode, hot and wet, which she suspected he knew. She was such a slut around him. “We shouldn’t do this.”
“You never left me in the middle of foreplay.” He pushed her to her back. “Now kiss me.”
“I can’t. I have a boyfriend.”
He stroked her cheek and cupped her face with one large hand. “You kissed me before.”
She couldn’t sleep with him now and then go out to dinner with Christopher an hour later. That wasn’t fair to anyone. “I told you it was your cologne.”
He half covered her, leaning over her. “Breathe deep, baby. Same cologne.”
She giggled. He pulled back and grinned at her. Then he kissed the end of her nose, which she figured was okay. “All right,” he said. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Six
Kate headed for the waiting room of the busy ER and settled into a corner away from the TV with Ian to wait. Christopher had texted he’d be out in five minutes. Ian headed to the men’s room. She was wearing her new Rosie T-shirt under her sweater so she’d have the strength and wisdom to make a good decision tonight. Ian returned a few minutes later, loping toward her with his long-legged stride just as Christopher appeared walking several steps behind him. Both men smiled at her and she stared at them, a study in contrasts. Ian with his relaxed demeanor, rumpled hair, and kind brown eyes. Christopher with his quick agile movements, perfect hair that didn’t move, sharp eyes, but also capable of good humor. She stood abruptly. Ian reached her first.
“Hey, they have one of Amber’s paintings here,” he said.
“What? Where?”
“In the men’s room.”
“Hi, Kate,” Christopher said, leaning down and giving her a quick kiss. “Thanks for meeting me.” Then he offered his hand to Ian. “Dr. Christopher Cooper.”
Ian shook his hand. “Ian.”
She normally would’ve corrected the introduction with the fact that Ian was also a doctor, though it was a doctorate in computer science, not medicine, but she was so disturbed by the idea of Amber’s painting hanging in the men’s room that she left both men behind and marched straight to the men’s room.
“Hey, lady!” some strange man said at the sink. “This is the men’s room.”
She stopped and stared. There, hanging over the urinals, was the rare, highly collectible
extraordinary watercolor painting she’d given Christopher just last night. Fortunately there were no men at the urinals to shoo away.
“Weirdo,” the man said before leaving.
She lifted the painting off the wall and headed out the door, keeping it tucked carefully under her arm. She crossed back to the waiting room, where Christopher and Ian were looking at her expectantly.
She stopped in front of Christopher and said as calmly as possible, “You hung this thoughtful gift I gave you in the men’s room?”
Ian took a step back.
“It wouldn’t fit in my apartment,” Christopher said with not even a hint of remorse.
“Lie! It would’ve fit perfectly over the back of the sofa. This is an Amber Lewis-Furnukle original!”
“Who the hell is that?” Christopher asked.
Ian made a tsking noise. Christopher turned to him. “Shut up.”
Kate lost it. “Don’t tell him to shut up! Amber Lewis-Furnukle is my sister. I told you my sister made this painting! You thought I wouldn’t find out about it in the men’s room. But I did! Obviously you have no clue about art or the importance of my gift.”
“Don’t you think you’re overreacting a bit?” Christopher asked. “It’s just a—”
“I’m officially breaking up with you,” she said and felt only relief when the words tumbled out. He didn’t get her at all.
“Why?” he asked as if she wasn’t standing there holding the giant error of his ways under one arm.
“Why!” she shouted. “Do I really have to explain again? Because you hung my gift in the men’s room! And you don’t give me hot shivers! And you’re only a seven!”
Ian chuckled, and she felt herself flush.
Christopher scowled. “This isn’t about the painting at all.” He jerked a thumb in Ian’s direction. “It’s about him.”
Almost Romance Page 6