Attending Physician

  “I do,” I said. “What happened to Angie’s Mustang?”

  “Hugo?” She pronounced it OOH-go.

  “His? Name?”

  “Don’t know why she picked it, and I suppose I never will.”

  “Let’s make up a story,” I suggested.

  She was intrigued. “Like what?”

  “Like ... she read Les Misérables that summer, fell in love with the story, and borrowed the last name of the author.”

  “You are something, milady.”

  “I am? Why?” I asked.

  “Because she did.”

  “Did ...?”

  “Read Les Miz that summer. She was into long saga novels. I think I still have her copy.”

  “That is crazy,” I said. “I just made it up.”

  “Or not,” she said, focusing on her driving. “Her” spot awaited us when we got home. “Perfect. Sit tight, baby,” she said, setting the emergency brake.

  I wasn’t going anywhere. She had my permission to hand me in and out of cars forever as far as I was concerned.

  As Raven perused the hill to ascertain that the road was empty and I was safe, I glimpsed the planes and angles of her face in the streetlight. I wanted nothing more than to surrender my mouth to her kisses. I had the means to make that happen.

  Chapter 16

  We processed the brick walk to my front door, and she faced me at the top of the marble stairs. “Verity, thank you for—”

  I spoke over her—something I try never to do. “Raven, won’t you come in for a cup of tea?”

  My heart crowed that she hadn’t made the assumption that she was invited in.

  “It’s late, beautiful.”

  “I believe I quote myself. I said that I wanted to be alone with you. Didn’t I?”

  “You did,” she agreed.

  “Outside on the front stoop isn’t alone, darling.”

  “Alright, doctor, as you wish.”

  “Indeed,” I said smartly, “things ought to be as I wish, doctor, don’t you think?”

  She chuckled. “Most things, ma’am, yes.”

  “Well then, you’re coming in for tea,” I made it a statement, “and a cookie.”

  She perked right up. “A cookie?”

  “I wouldn’t serve you tea without yummies. That would be a tragedy.”

  “And we patently do not want to restore you to tragedy,” she warned, “not so soon,” referring to my Juliet evening.

  “Agreed,” I said, “we do not,” thinking, perhaps we should do a romance....

  I handed her my house keys. She didn’t bat an eyelash, choosing the right one to open the front of the house.

  “Ma’am,” she said, holding open the heavy door.

  I ascended the stairs hearing the swish of my raincoat against the natural motion of my hips. I knew exactly where her eyes were trained. I’d been told before that watching me walk upstairs was a three-act play. “Thank you, darling,” I said.

  She had the flat key in her hand by the time we ascended the two flights. My knees began to tremble again. I ached for her kiss. Aching and, apparently, quaking. Raven put the keys in the basket on the marble shelf of my front-hall pier glass, and reached to take my coat. I arched in her arms, put my hand on her face, and said, “Raven. Please, sir. Please. Kiss me.”

  She didn’t need to hear my request twice. Raven tugged me into her tall body, threaded her hand into the hair at the top of my neck, dropped her mouth to mine as she held me close, and began gently to tease mine open with an inquiring tongue. I gasped as she traced the center line of my lips, and my mouth opened spontaneously. Her tongue explored my mouth gently, and completely, missing no quarter. I received her willingly. As she pulled away slightly to take my bottom lip between her teeth, I reached out for her with my tongue. She made a deep growl in the back of her throat that made my mouth vibrate. Not only my mouth. The rest of my body was right with her.

  Raven kissed me so thoroughly that no way was there any lipstick left on either of us.

  “Thank you,” I whispered against her mouth. “I couldn’t bear it any longer.”

  “You’re welcome, milady.” Then she turned me around and removed my coat making me feel like she’d removed much more. “I’ll hang this.”

  “Tea,” I said determinedly, not meeting her eyes. If I did, I’d want to launch myself into her arms, and demand another kiss. Tea would be a thing of dim memory.

  Raven joined me in the kitchen, leaning against the counter as I busied myself with tea-making and goody presentation. I’d bought homemade cookies at a new bakery in Union Square. She watched closely, closely enough that I felt her eyes on my every move.

  “You have beautiful hands,” she said, her voice in a lower register than normal. She mused on them doing things other than making tea.

  “Thank you. I was a hand model for a while in college. A jewelry photographer recruited me.”

  “For real?”

  “Yes. I had fun. Apparently, real hands make jewelry sell better. It paid for a semester of college if I recall correctly.”

  “Wow, you must have made a bundle.”

  “Well, it counted as a bundle in those days,” I said.

  The water boiled. “Here, let me,” she said. “The kettle will be heavy, and your hand still isn’t healed.”

  “How do you know that?” I asked. “The bruises have mostly faded.”

  “Because it takes a week or so for a bruise to heal, and you’re fairer than most so it’ll take longer.” She poured the water into my good hazel chintz teapot, warmed it, and tossed the water out. Then she poured it over the tea.

  “How did you learn to make tea the British way?”

  “I had a girlfriend,” she explained, but that seemed like a locked door, “in college.”

  I put the teapot on a tray with the cookies, and didn’t attempt to lift it. “Darling?” I spoke to take her away from that locked door, “would you?”

  She snapped to immediately.

  I brought a couple of cloth napkins, and two small plates with me. We settled on the sofa in the living room.

  “It’ll be a bit before the tea is ready,” I explained.

  “What kind is it?” she asked. I blushed. We were having one of my new herbal favorites. “A kind of tea that makes you blush?” she laughed low and sexy.

  “The name does,” I supplied.

  “Lay it on me.”

  “Better than sex,” I said softly.

  She burst out laughing. “How will we know, milady?”

  I snapped my eyes to hers. “We won’t. At least not this evening, dear knight.”

  “Good answer,” she said. “Verity, you fall into that ... I don’t even know what to call it ... demure space more than seems ... right—is that the word—for you.” My eyes were huge. I didn’t say anything. “Don’t get me wrong, baby. I’m not complaining but I am curious.”

  I exhaled slowly and reached for the tea. “There’s a story here, and I’m not ready to tell it. Is it confusing?”

  “No, intriguing.” She watched me.

  “Good because there’s a balance to that shy or what did you call it, demure person, and that’s a femme who knows what she wants.”

  “What say we do it this way, babe? How about I like them and want them both?”

  “Good,” I said, assuaged on the inside, “because they go together.”

  “I just want to show up for both of them appropriately.”

  I began to understand her concern.

  “I see,” I said. “Well, let’s make an agreement, shall we?”

  “What agreement?”

  “I’ll articulate what I need as soon as I know.”

  “That works for me, and if you need something different from me, you’ll tell me, right?”

  “Yes, sir, I will.” I handed her a teacup, and a plate with a cookie.

  She put them down on the coffee table. “Come here, baby. I need you more than I need tea right now, and I sus
pect you do, too.”

  Raven covered my mouth with hers, and let some of her demand for me flow toward me. Mine met her immediately, and she pulled me closer into her arms, onto her lap, never breaking the kiss. I opened my mouth under hers, and asked for her tongue. When she was gently forthcoming, I pulled it hard into my mouth and began to suck on it, feeling a new, hotter fire begin to burn in her.

  “Baby ...,” she growled.

  “Darling,” I said.

  “We need a pause,” she breathed. “Or I do.”

  “Have some tea, sweetheart,” I said, “and some sweetness.”

  “The sweetness I’ve been having,” she said.

  “I see,” I peeked at her through my eyelashes.

  “I bet you do, ma’am.” She reached for her cookie. “This is a poor substitute.”

  “You’ll have to tell me if they’re good,” I said.

  “Not as good as you taste, milady.”

  “That is the ultimate in sweetness, good sir.”

  “Is that a promise?”

  “Yes,” I said thoughtfully sipping my tea, which wasn’t genuinely better than sex, but it, uh, came close, at least, closer than I’d been in more than a decade, “I think it is.”

  She grinned like a teenager.

  Chapter 17

  What with tea and cookies and real live necking on the sofa, Raven didn’t leave till after one, and I, truly, had wanted her to stay. I bit my tongue to stop myself from asking her.

  “We need to make a time for our apology dinner,” she said at the front door.

  “Call me tomorrow, and will you text me when you get home that you’re safe please?”

  “It’s late, baby.”

  “It’s early, darling, and yes, it matters to me whether you get home safely.”

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve had that in my life,” she muttered.

  “Another conversation for another day.” I slipped my arms around her neck and drew her down toward me for yet another kiss goodnight. I pictured myself in my usual black nightgown and had a femme moment all by my lonesome knowing she’d never leave had I been thus clad.

  “I wish I were putting you to bed again,” she whispered.

  “No, you don’t,” I countered.

  She pulled away. “I don’t?”

  “Nooo, darling, you’re wishing something entirely different.”

  “Well, naturally, milady,” she flushed, “but given your rules, I can wish for second-best, can’t I?”

  I reached to kiss her again. Sometimes that nonverbal thing speaks volumes. A low sound arose from deep within her chest as she pulled me as close as possible to every part of her body mine reached. I was aware of her tightly controlled passion, and shivered at the thought of her unleashing it over me.

  “Good night, Raven. Thank you for dinner and a lovely evening.”

  “Thank you, milady.” She kissed my forehead. “Sweet dreams.”

  I smiled. “I suspect Raven-colored dreams are my lot tonight.”

  “I hope so.”

  I stood silently my head against the front door and let the sharp click of the lock echo inside me like a sort of punctuation to the long, long sentence of Raven that was, I thought, to become an ongoing part of my life.

  Mother, can it be? I asked within.

  Do you want it to be? She asked.

  I’m afraid, but yes, I do.

  Then so it shall be.

  I have no memory of brushing my teeth or getting into my nightie—I was in a Raven-induced daze. But the dreams of being in her arms—and naked—were spectacular. Those I recall like I was there. Which, I suppose, I was.

  You know I would never have called her, right? Of course not. I am a femme. I am the One Who Is Called. And thank Goddess she knew it, too. My phone rang whilst I snuggled with her in my imagination that morning. Some wise something had put it next to my bed; I never do that!

  So much for never, I thought, as my bare arm reached into the cool air to respond to its summons.

  “Mmm, morning,” I hummed.

  “You’re still in bed, baby.”

  “I am,” I said. Then I paused. “So are you.”

  “I am not,” she denied, “I am in the parking lot at the hospital.”

  “Oh no you’re not, dear knight. I know because I can feel your arms around me as we speak.”

  Her voice dropped. “Baby,” she said. Full sentence. “That’s different.”

  “Is it?” I stretched. “Maybe so, doctor,” I allowed, “but no matter what, it feels heavenly.”

  She laughed low. “Does it, milady? Perhaps we ought to do something to make it ...,” she searched for a word, “...tangible?”

  “I think you’d better, Raven.” I was completely serious.

  “Happy to oblige, ma’am,” she was so agreeable. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Sort of,” I said. “I had ...,” I defaulted to quantity, “lots of dreams.”

  “The kind you’d expected?” she inquired politely.

  I corrected her. “Better than I expected,” my own voice deepened.

  “Good,” she sounded so satisfied. “Do you like it when your dreams come true, milady?”

  “Always,” I said sincerely.

  “Me, too.” Her voice held a touch of wistfulness.

  “Soon, darling,” I whispered. “I won’t be able to last too long.”

  She cleared her throat. I’d taken us somewhere we achingly wanted to be but that was not the thing. “Do you have dinner plans on Friday, Verity?”

  “I don’t know,” I teased. “Do I?”

  “If you’ll have dinner with me, you do.”

  “I’d love to have dinner with you.” Truth? I’d love to have you for dinner. I slapped my libido sharply. “What time? What shall I wear?”

  “Six, and casual.”

  “I’ll be ready,” I pledged.

  “Good. Now get your sweet, sexy ass out of bed, beautiful. There will be patients banging down your door any minute now.”

  I got out of bed. “I start later on Thursdays.”

  “Good to know.”

  “Why, darling?” I yawned.

  “Because that means Wednesday nights are good for ... nocturnal activities that might, if done well, keep us awake till the wee hours.”

  My body tingled with want, nipples hard and aching for her mouth, lovely warm wetness between my legs. It had been so long since I’d known desire like this.

  “So logical,” I breathed out.

  “I am a doctor. ma’am.”

  A pause. We breathed, perhaps faster than an ordinary good morning call would warrant. The desire we had for one another pulsed between us. “How am I going to wait a whole two days to see you?” she complained.

  “You’ll manage,” I teased. Not certain that I would.

  “I know how,” she replied. “Send me a picture, milady.”

  “Alright,” I agreed.

  “I’ll miss you.” The longing oozed from her.

  That sobered me. “Yes, darling, I’ll miss you, too.”

  “Gotta go, baby. Have a wonderful day. May I call you later?”

  “You do the same, and please do. Call me whenever you like, Dr. Raven.”

  “Every minute, Dr. Verity?”

  “You’ll have to leave a voicemail when I’m in session,” I reminded her. “I’ll call you as soon as I can.”

  “You don’t want to know where my mind went.”

  “Oh, I might have an idea,” I said. “Some day I’ll meet you there, darling.”

  “Bye, love,” she said gently.

  “Bye,” I said, and disconnected before I spent the whole morning on the phone with her.

  Chapter 18

  Love, she called me love, pinged around my brain from the time I got into the shower till my day began at ten and then I was in the psych world, fascinated by the humans who were mine to care for, as usual. I swear only humanity and its complexity could have kept me this fascinat
ed for so many years.

  The flowers from Raven had begun to wither so at lunchtime, I salvaged and rearranged the remaining ones in a smaller vase. At four o’clock, right after I’d settled in to the session for my last patient, the doorbell rang startling me.

  “Sorry, Sonya,” I said. “I won’t be a minute. Must be a package.”

  When I opened the door, the same delivery guy stood there from Winston’s, this time with a dozen red roses in a riot of baby’s breath. My belly did a flip-flop. I signed for the flowers and put them in my living room, but was unable to get rid of the telltale red on my face. I did not read the card.

  Sonya gave me a curious glance. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think someone sent you a dozen red roses.”

  “Someone did,” I said, finally smiling full-out at her.

  “Good for you,” she responded. “You deserve someone paying some personal attention to you!”

  I’d worked with Sonya for five years. She knew a lot of my story. I believed in sharing from my life as we worked—thoroughly unorthodox according to classical therapy theory. I’d learned, over the years, that having a therapist willing to recognize that she was a human being who had growing to do right alongside the patients made the work go faster and be more productive. No question, nigh on impossible to tell that to the psych community, but it worked wonders in my own practice. Magic, even.

  “Thanks,” I said, blushing more. “I think I’ve met someone special.”

  “It’s about time,” responded Sonya.

  “It is,” I agreed. “So, where were we?”

  “Well, it’s a perfect segue way into what I wanted to discuss today ...,” and we were off into her session which ran over a few minutes to balance out for the time I’d taken from her to receive my red roses.

  I forgot them till I closed the door. Then there they were, stunning in the autumn late afternoon sunlight. I smelled the roses from the door. I stood in the midst of a garden solely made of roses. I wondered if she’d asked for especially aromatic ones.

  I snapped a picture of the flowers before I walked toward them to extract the card noticing the time, late for tea but I decided to stretch the convention. I brought the card to the kitchen with me.