by Andrews, Amy
Oh, hell...
Of all the men in all the world she had to marry one that looked like a naughty angel.
‘Harry,’ he murmured.
His morning voice stroked across her skin, sending every nerve ending in her body into a frenzy. She knew where the line was today.
She was standing on it.
‘I’m sorry I woke you.’ She lifted her eyes off his smooth pectoral muscles and tried to shut down her peripheral vision so she couldn’t see the bulge of his naked biceps.
‘I’m not.’
Harriet frowned as he lifted a hand and caressed the St Christopher hanging from the delicate silver chain around her neck. God...he had a mouth that was made for kissing and she could feel herself teetering on the line. She wanted to lean forward and draw his soft bottom lip into her mouth and bite it.
He tugged gently trying to draw her into the room but Harriet resisted. She knew that crossing the line was not what this was about.
Give him the papers and go. Run like the wind.
Harriet brought the envelope up between them, abruptly displacing his hand.
‘What’s this?’ he asked, a small smile playing on his lips and dancing in his grey eyes.
‘Divorce papers.’ It was blunt but she felt stronger just saying the words.
He stared for a moment, shooting her another slow smile as he took the envelope and tossed it over his shoulder. Harriet heard it land on the floor behind.
‘Gill...’ she chided softly. ‘I need you to sign them. It’s time.’
He stood to one side and gestured her into the room with a flourish of his deft surgeon’s hands. Harriet shook her head vehemently.
‘No.’
She knew what would happen if she put her foot over the line. His quarters were three metres by three metres dominated by an unmade bed and an undressed man.
‘Harriet.’ He sighed, but she could see the sparkle of amusement lighting his eyes. ‘I’m not going to discuss our divorce with you in the corridor.’
His rich, deep voice oozed like warm chocolate, coating her in its sweet, sticky web. He held out his hand to her. It sounded so reasonable and he was so damn tempting like this all big and broad. And warm and sleepy - straight from his bed.
Hesitating only briefly she took his hand and his gentle tug pulled her over the line.
And not to discuss their divorce, either.
When he reached behind her and pulled her hair free she didn’t protest. Neither did she when he kissed her. In fact, she welcomed it – greedily - ready to join in this dance they did so well, eager to be naked with him one last time.
Harriet had felt the familiar pull the moment he had opened the door and had known deep inside that resistance was useless. She could pretend as much as she liked that it was over between them, but she knew this would never be over.
This insane lust that had blinded her with its ferocity for seven years.
Sure, he’d sign the papers and their union would be broken, but this endless urge to be with him, to know him carnally every time they were together, could never be broken. Her only hope was absence.
Which was why, come tomorrow, she was staying way the hell away from him!
A low quiver in her abdomen at the sheer hunger and force of his kiss had her clinging to his broad naked shoulders. She heard him groan her name into her mouth and she whimpered in response.
‘Harry,’ he said, tearing his mouth away and looking searchingly into her eyes, his breathing harsh, his grey eyes stormy with passion.
She claimed his mouth quickly, hungrily, empowered by his almost bewildered look. The fact that she could do to him what he did to her was a powerful aphrodisiac and she let herself go, let the kiss grow wild and savage. Just for one last time she wanted him to realise what he was turning his back on.
Her hands roamed to the smooth muscles of his chest, trailed down his flat abdomen, and she took pleasure in their quick response to her touch. She could feel them contract beneath her nails and when she slipped her hands beneath his boxer shorts to grab handfuls of his tight buttocks she grinned in triumph as the hardness of his erection pushed urgently between her hips.
He grasped the bottom of her scrubs top and whipped it over her head in a swift movement not bothering to fumble with the bra clasp just yanking the cups aside, freeing her breasts and roughly stroked his thumbs over her nipples until she cried out and they peaked into hard nubs.
He pushed and she fell backwards against the rumpled bed and Harriet had a moment of clarity. How must she look? Half-naked, her hair spread in wild abandon against the sheets, her bra ripped aside, her breasts achingly aroused. Then Gill removed his boxers and all rational thought fled.
He stood for a moment tall and proud, just looking at her with more lust than she’d known existed in the whole world. He wasn’t embarrassed by his arousal and already she wanted to feel its silky smoothness in her hands, her mouth, deep inside her.
Harrier licked her dry lips and noticed Gill’s eyes widen at the unintentional come-on. He reached down and pulled the cord at her waist that held her scrubs up and yanked both them and her undies down in one swift movement.
Now she lay totally naked before him, as naked as he was before her and she couldn’t stop the whimper of need that escaped her mouth or holding her arms out to him in silent consent.
And then his weight was on her and his mouth was everywhere. Drawing wet circles around her breasts and sucking her nipples to tortured peaks, nibbling her earlobes, tickling her stomach and licking inside her until she thought she would faint from the need.
And then when the desire built to fever pitch his mouth claimed hers and he let his fingers do the walking. They stroked and caressed and danced their way all over her body, and when he put them deep inside her she had to bite hard on her lip to stop the scream.
Even crazed with lust, she remembered how thin the walls were!
‘Now,’ she whispered urgently, clinging to his neck as his fingers wove a magical rhythm and she could feel her orgasm rushing out from deep inside her, threatening to engulf her at any second.
Their gazes locked as he plunged inside her. Each stroke hurtled her closer, at each stroke his eyes seemed to dare hers to close. She refused. She would not look away or shut her eyes, even as the pressure built. She wanted to look straight at him as she came.
She wanted to watch his eyes as he came, too.
She wanted their last time to be indelibly imprinted on her retinas. She wanted to see his face as he lost control inside her.
Harriet bit down on her lip as the first wave broke.
‘Say my name.’
She shook her head. If she let it out, the earth would shake and the parrots in the sparse trees outside would lift in noisy flight and every doctor and nurse in the complex would finally hear the cracking of her heart.
‘Say it,’ he demanded.
She shook her head again and tried to internalise the orgasm that was eroding the edges of her endurance so she wouldn’t cry out his name.
‘Please, Harry.’
His voice was halfway between begging and groaning and she knew that she didn’t have the power to deny him this one last request. And she wanted their last time to be memorable, imprinted on his mind for ever. So she let herself go, crying out his name as the tumult of her orgasm flung her into the far reaches of the galaxy, vaguely hearing him as he joined her and they hovered together, amongst the stars,
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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thank you so much for reading Prognosis Temporary. I hope you enjoyed the story. It’s one of several backlist medical romance titles that have been returned to me and I’m looking forward to re-editing, re-titling and re-covering them all and getting them into the hands of readers throughout 2020.
Big love to all my readers, both new and old. Some of you have been with me for fifteen years and your loyalty and your love for my books is humbling.
And of course, o
nce again, huge thanks to Clare Connelly for the fabulous cover and her advice and cheerleading as I navigate these indie waters.
About the Author
Amy is an award-winning, USA Today best-selling, triple RITA nominated, Aussie author who has written seventy plus contemporary romances in both the traditional and digital markets. Her books bring all the feels from sass, quirk and laughter to emotional grit and panty-melting heat. At sixteen she met a guy she knew she was going to marry and several years later she did. She loves good books and great booze although she'll take mediocre booze if there's nothing else. For many, many years she was a registered nurse which means she knows things. Anatomical things. And she's not afraid to use them! She resides in a small seaside town in a house that overlooks the ocean and looks foreward to happy hour on her deck every single day.
Read more at Amy Andrews’s site.