Second Chance with the Surgeon

by Robin Gianna

  He couldn’t think of a thing to say that hadn’t already been said, so he kissed her. He held her in his arms as the music swirled in the air around them, as people chattered and laughed, and he kept on kissing her.

  Someone jostled them and he finally lifted his head. Their eyes met and he felt her shiver.

  “You’re cold.” His voice was gruff. “Are you ready to go back to my apartment?”

  She nodded, possibly finding it as difficult to speak as he did. Wordlessly, he took her hand and walked to Fifth Avenue to hail a cab. Sat silently next to her as the car whizzed past the lights and sounds and people of the city. Took the elevator to his apartment, where the dogs jumping around gave him a chance to fully gather his thoughts.

  He got the dogs their food, and as they began to gobble it down he made up his mind. He’d failed Jillian in so many ways, but there was one thing he could do for her tonight—something that he wanted to do for both of them before they went to live their separate lives.

  He strode to the sofa where she’d just sat down. “There’s something you need to know.”

  He wondered what his expression looked like, because she looked slightly alarmed.

  “What?”

  He dropped to his knees in front of her. Reached for the leg of her loose-fitting pants and shoved his hand up to her thigh. Ran his fingertips down the long, white scars left from the surgeries she’d had, followed by his lips.

  She tried to tug away. “Conor, don’t. I—”

  “You have to know that this is one beautiful leg. Beautiful. Soft and smooth and strong. It’s a gorgeous shape and it does amazing things. Walks dogs. Runs marathons. Kickboxes.” He lifted his face to see her staring. “I admire the hell out of you, and this leg, and what you’ve both done to overcome its start in life.”

  “That’s...that’s a very sweet thing to say. But I—Oh!”

  She squirmed and gasped as he licked his way up her shin, tickled her knee, and began to move another couple inches up her inner thigh, until the sweatpants wouldn’t roll any higher.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Showing you that you and your legs are sexy as hell. Showing you that I think you’re wonderful in so many ways. Showing you that if anyone should have an abundance of self-confidence, it’s you, Jillian. You are beautiful both inside and out.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “And, though we weren’t right for one another, you are special in so many ways, too, and I’ll always care about you.”

  “I’ll always care about you, too. And I’d be lying if I said I don’t want to be with you now. Maybe it’s a bad idea. But I don’t care. I want one more time with you before we say our goodbyes.”

  Because that was true, he sat next to her, pulled her close and kissed her. Exerting a soft pressure, his mouth moved slowly on hers and she kissed him back.

  “Just one more time,” she breathed. “Once more...”

  His heart thumped hard as the kiss deepened, and she gasped in protest when he broke the kiss and dropped to his knees again.

  “Conor. What—?”

  “Shh...” he murmured against her calf as he resumed kissing his way up her leg. “For once I can’t be sad about your current handicap. Because I know these loose pants aren’t going to be very hard to slide off.”

  His hands moved to her waistband, his thumbs slipping inside and tugging them down to her knees. This time his mouth followed the line of her scars on its way back down, and eventually he pulled the pants over her feet. Then he stood to tug her sweatshirt off and she gasped and laughed at the same time.

  “No fair! You stripped me nearly naked in a nanosecond when I can’t begin to get your clothes off you.”

  “Handy, then, that I can do it myself.” He got out of his clothes as quickly as possible and loved the way she was staring at his naked body.

  “Well, okay, then,” she said, leaning back to look him up and down with a sultry smile. “I guess being handicapped isn’t so bad after all.”

  He laughed, then decided that moving to his bedroom was the best option. She squeaked when he picked her up and carried her toward the bedroom. The dogs had been lying on the floor, and got up to follow.

  “Sorry, guys. You’re not invited.”

  He kicked the bedroom door closed behind him and laid her gently on the bed, his body following. He managed to remember her injured arm and lifted it over her head again before lowering his mouth to hers.

  “Got to protect this,” he said. “Things might get a little rough.”

  She laughed against his lips and wrapped her good arm around his neck. Their kiss got hotter, wilder, as he touched her everywhere he could reach, and the sound of her small gasps and moans was so arousing he had to fight to not dive inside her right that second.

  “Conor... Conor, I need you inside me.”

  Obviously she felt the same way he did, and he gritted his teeth against the insistent desire. “I’m not ready. This is not nearly long enough to make love with you.”

  “I know. But I want you now.”

  She stroked her hand down his belly, grasping him and wresting a deep groan from his chest, and he knew he couldn’t hang on much longer.

  “We’ll go slower next time,” she said.

  “There won’t be a next time.” He hated the truth of the words that had come out of his mouth, but they were the one thing that managed to cool the heat. “Remember?”

  “I remember. Except maybe we can renegotiate that deal the way you do in the boardroom? I’m not going back to my apartment until the day after tomorrow. Right?”

  “Right...”

  He loved the tiniest of smiles that curved her lips as he grabbed a condom from the drawer and kissed her again. Smashed her body to his. And as they joined and moved together his heart lifted and soared in a way that obliterated any and all thoughts of the past.

  He broke their kiss to draw in a deep, ragged breath. Stared into her eyes as her name left his lips. “Jillian. Jilly...”

  She cupped his cheek in her palm and emotion clogged his throat. As he nudged her over the peak she cried out and pressed her mouth to his, swallowing the moan that followed.

  He pressed his face to the side of her neck and breathed her in as his heartbeat slowly settled. Her soft hand slowly stroked his back, and the physical and emotional sensations got all tangled up in his chest as he held her close.

  God, how he loved this woman. But he would never put either of them in a position where he could hurt her again. And he knew with certainty that her leaving his life a second time was going to feel every bit as terrible as it had the first time.

  CHAPTER TEN

  JILLIAN WAS FEELING happy that morning. Her therapy had gone even better than expected, and her hand and fingers were becoming a little more mobile every day. It had nothing to do with the magical day she’d spent with Conor and their night together. Nothing at all.

  She inwardly rolled her eyes at herself as she folded towels in the therapy center’s laundry room. She shouldn’t be feeling so lighthearted. She’d be moving back to her own apartment tomorrow. It must be because she and Conor had come to a better understanding than they’d had when they’d broken up. An understanding that had made moving on from that unpleasant experience much easier.

  As though she could feel his presence, she looked up from the folding table to see the man in question moving toward her. The overhead fluorescent lights made his hair seem even lighter, his features even more handsome, and the smile he sent her made her feel warm all over.

  “Hello, Jillian.” He moved closer and tugged her into a corner where curious eyes couldn’t easily see them. “How did your therapy go?”

  “Wonderful. I feel like I’m really making progress, and I can even use a few fingers to help fold these towels now.”

  “I’m glad.” He sho
ved his hands in his pockets and looked down at her, his expression now inscrutable. “I have a question for you—and please don’t be too quick to answer...just think about it.”

  “What question?”

  “I know you don’t love—okay, don’t even like going to charity events. But there’s one tonight I’ve been asked to attend to represent one of my businesses which is sponsoring an adoption event for an animal shelter. Since you’re an animal lover, I was hoping you’d be willing to come with me.”

  A charity event. The thought sent a chill down her spine. She’d always felt so awkward attending them when they’d been married. Now that they were divorced would it be even worse? Or would it be easier, since she wouldn’t have to prove anything as Conor McCarthy’s wife?

  “I don’t know. I—”

  “Before you answer—” he held up his hand “—there’s another part to the question. How would you feel about one more night out together on our anniversary?”

  “Anniversary?” She managed a faint laugh. “Maybe you’re thinking of a different ex-wife, because we got married in January.”

  “It’s the anniversary of your first day at the OTC. Of the first moment I saw you. Of our first date. And, yeah, that’s unbelievably sappy, but I thought of it and thought it might be...fun.”

  “I can’t believe you remember that.” Her heart flip-flopped as she stared at him. “I’m...touched. But I think we both know that prolonging our goodbyes isn’t going to make it any easier.”

  “I know. And I’m not trying to make it easier, because nothing will.”

  His somber expression shook her heart.

  “When we said goodbye the day you left—or didn’t say it—we were both angry and upset and hurt. I guess what I want this time is a different kind of closure. A positive kind. A nice evening that celebrates all the things we liked about one another. A bookend moment to mark when we met, and when we said goodbye again.”

  “Well, I... That does sound...nice. And the charity does sound worthwhile...”

  She wasn’t sure it would be “nice” at all, but wouldn’t one more night with him, and the closure he spoke of, be a positive thing? Better than just shaking hands with him after she packed up her stuff from his place and left?

  “Thank you. How about I take you back to your apartment so you can get a dress to wear? It doesn’t have to be anything fancy—just the usual for an event like this.”

  “All right. That would be perfect. I’ll be able to get some stuff done there, too, like water my plants, and then I’ll head back to your place on my own. I’ll take a cab instead of the subway.”

  “Good.” He glanced around, then leaned in to press his mouth to hers in a short but unbearably sweet kiss, his eyes gleaming as he drew back. “I’ll drop you off at lunch. Then see you back at my place before the event.”

  It felt a little odd to be back in her own little apartment. She’d called it home for less than a year, and couldn’t say she had any particular attachment to the place. Fussing with her plants and doing some photography work on her computer felt nice, but part of her couldn’t wait to get back to Conor’s place. So she could see the dogs, of course.

  She flicked through the formal dresses she’d bought during their marriage, glad she hadn’t gotten rid of them as she’d considered doing. She reached for a floor-length gown she’d always liked the color of, then stopped and looked at a different one she’d never worn. A beautiful shade of sea-green, with a chiffon skirt that stopped an inch above her knee.

  She thought about all she’d confessed to Conor. All the insecurities she had about herself and her scars and how she’d never quite fitted into his world. She fingered the silky fabric and then, in a quick decision, pulled the dress out, slipped it into a zippered garment bag, and looked for shoes to go with it.

  This was her first step toward the new and improved Jillian. If Conor thought her legs were beautiful, that they didn’t make her undesirable or a freak, shouldn’t she finally believe it, too?

  That bubble of happiness filled her chest again as she packed up her things and went out to hail a cab to Conor’s place.

  She took Yorkie out for a short walk, though the cold wind had her wishing she’d brought one of the dog’s sweaters to Conor’s, so he could have worn it. Then again, with Briana coming they’d all be going back to her place tomorrow anyway, so what was the point?

  Refusing to let those thoughts put a damper on the evening, she got ready for the charity event. She swirled the skirt a little in front of the long mirror in the guest bedroom, pleased with what she saw. Proud of what she felt for the first time in her life. Yes, her scars were visible. But Conor was right. From now on she’d think of them as war wounds that she’d earned, overcoming her limp as well as she possibly could.

  Her cell phone rang and she hurried to grab it, not recognizing the number. “Hello?”

  “Hello, Jillian? This is Mary Rodgers, from Therapy Centers of New England. I apologize for calling so late, but we have another opening and we would like to have you take the job. The board has already looked through all your credentials, and we don’t feel you need to interview. Are you still interested?”

  Jill’s heart jumped into her throat. Was she? Did she still want to move to Connecticut? Start a new life there away from New York City and far from Conor McCarthy?

  Just a few days ago she’d been sure the answer was yes. But tonight, after their time together, and learning about Conor’s past, and after her own questions and revelations about herself, it was possible the answer might be no.

  She opened her mouth, then closed it again, not sure how to answer, and worked to find her voice. “I appreciate the offer, Mary. I’m in a meeting right now, but can I call you back tomorrow?”

  “Of course. I would appreciate hearing from you as soon as possible, because we need a replacement right away. Even with your injured hand we’d like to have you help train our newest therapists until you’re able to fully work with patients.”

  “I understand. I’ll definitely contact you tomorrow.”

  She hung up and slowly walked into the living room, looking out over the twinkling city lights and knowing she didn’t want to move from here.

  Would it really be impossible to work with him again?

  Would it be impossible for them to be together again?

  The thought made her head swim, because she’d never considered that. But now, thinking of everything they’d been through in the past, and the things they’d shared with one another now, could they have a second chance to be together again?

  Her phone rang again, and she looked down to see it was Conor. Her hand shook a little as she answered. “Hi. Are you on your way here?”

  “I’m really sorry but I got held up. I’ve been trying to pull this meeting together for a month now, and of course they wanted it to happen this evening. But we’re almost done. How do you feel about taking a cab and I’ll meet you there?”

  “Um...okay. I guess I can do that.” The idea of walking into a fancy gala event all by herself sounded daunting. But she was working on being the new Jillian, wasn’t she? She could do it.

  “Thank you. I’ll text you the address. See you there.”

  The phone went dead—he’d obviously been in a hurry.

  She sighed and got her coat and handbag. Said goodbye to the dogs, went downstairs. Alfred insisted on getting a cab for her, even though she could have done it herself, and in minutes she was on her way.

  The lights of the city seemed in full twinkle tonight, and she absorbed the way living in this city made her feel. It seemed as though the entire place had a pulse to it, alive and vibrant, and she realized she felt alive and vibrant here, too.

  She wanted to stay in this city. And she also realized, terrifying as the thought was, that she wanted to try again with Conor, too. He’d said it was the annive
rsary of the day they’d met—couldn’t that mean it was the perfect night to tell him she wanted to make that happen?

  Walking into the hotel ballroom on her own didn’t feel as awkward as she’d expected it to. A few people she’d known back when she and Conor had been married approached her with friendly smiles. She’d always found it hard to make small talk, to feel comfortable in large groups like this, but it turned out to be good that this event was about finding homes for sheltered animals. It was something she cared about, and she’d adopted two dogs herself, so making conversation turned out to not be torturous at all.

  She’d planned to wait to eat until Conor arrived, but after an hour decided to try a few of the hors d’oeuvres. After another half hour she started to worry, and called Conor’s cell phone. It went straight to voicemail.

  She left a message. “I’m here, waiting. When do you think you’ll get here?”

  A text message pinged, and she hurried to look.

  Sorry. Meeting ran late. Done soon, though. I’ll be there shortly.

  She blew out a breath. How late was he going to be? How long did she have to stand around and smile at people, feeling more and more foolish as time went on?

  A man came and asked her to dance. She was about to refuse until her brain pointed out that it would serve Conor right to walk in and find her dancing with someone else. Then she regretted her decision, because talking to only one person on the dance floor was even harder than talking to a group. She found herself looking over the man’s shoulder every time she could see the door, but unfortunately there was no tall, handsome surgeon walking in, looking for her.

  Another hour or more passed. Much of the food was gone now, as were many of the people who’d been there earlier. Sitting alone at a table, she swallowed down the tears thickening her throat, and then told herself to stop it. She should be mad instead. After all they’d talked about, after all the times he’d said how much he hated it that he’d hurt her, after asking her to come here on some stupid made-up anniversary, he’d left her high and dry?