Wedding Date with the Army Doc Read online

  “My mom sent out a bunch of things that I never thought I’d use in a hundred years, but guess what.” He turned, showing her his armload of candles in various sizes and containers. “Tonight is the night.”

  She laughed with him, then reached out and relieved his overloaded arms of a few of the candles to help before he dropped something.

  “What do you say we put these babies all around the bedroom and...” now that he had a free hand he pulled her close for a quick kiss “...light them up.”

  The fact he wanted to create some atmosphere for their first time being together made a powerful impact on her wavering mood. The gesture of using faint candlelight as a buffer hit her like the thud of a palm to the center of her chest. They were going to have sex tonight. He would see her naked. Rather than make a big deal out of it, and possibly make him self-conscious about his eagerness, she sniffed one of the candles, vanilla, then another, rose. “Things should smell pretty good, too.” She gave her best shot at sounding anything but the way she really felt—nervous! “One more thing. I don’t take birth control pills. I use a diaphragm, and I didn’t bring it tonight.”

  He watched her for a second or two, understanding and tenderness like she’d never seen centered in his bright blue gaze. “I’ve got that covered.” His sweet gesture calmed her jitters. “Follow me.”

  There was nothing quite like a man on a mission.

  Once the candles were strategically placed around his surprisingly spacious bedroom, she took a quick trip to the bathroom while he circled the room, lighting each one. Just before she exited she looked into the mirror. “Are you ready for this?” she whispered, her pulse quickening from her jangling nerves, her fingers slightly trembling. Then she noticed a subtle reminder, the crutches leaning in the corner. Jackson would need them without his prosthetic to get in and out of the shower. His prosthetic. She’d made full disclosure just now in his living room. A man who wore a prosthetic partial leg would understand.

  She refused to let Derek’s memory ruin the chance for something new. Something better. Tonight she’d trust her gut—which seemed to have turned into a butterfly farm—trust Jackson, and maybe finally turn the corner to wholeness. She took a deep, shaky breath and opened the door.

  Jackson stood in the center of his room, several feet from the foot of his bed, surrounded by soft candle glow, looking more handsome than she’d ever dreamed. While she’d been in the bathroom and he’d been lighting candles, she noticed he’d also found a condom or two, which were now sitting on the bedside table next to a tall, wide white candle. A man of his word.

  He smiled at her, candlelight dappling the deep creases on either side of his mouth, looking sexy as hell, and she walked toward him. He took her into his arms and held her still for a few beats of her heart. She let go, melted into him, loving his welcoming warmth. He kissed her temple and ear and she inhaled the trace of his spicy aftershave along with the swirling candle scents, a mixture of vanilla and rose. And magnolia? Lifting her chin, she met his lips and soon didn’t have to think, since their kisses always took on a life of their own.

  Out of breath from his greedy kisses, her hands landed on his chest and slowly unbuttoned his shirt, mostly because she was nervous and her fingers weren’t cooperating with her desire to get that thing off him! Pulling open the shirt, she reaped the benefit of her effort, being treated to the smooth skin of his muscled shoulders and his impressive chest dusted with brown hair. Her fingers traced over the tickly feel of him before she kissed him there and there and finally at the notch at the base of his throat.

  He let her undress him, unselfconsciously needing to sit down when she’d pulled his jeans to the hard prosthesis with its silicone suspension sleeve. The layered muscles of his runner’s thighs and his washboard tight abdominals distracting her from that detail. The thought of removing the prosthetic had never entered her mind.

  “This one is different,” she said, refusing to avoid the obvious, besides the fact they wanted each other.

  “It’s my everyday leg, complete with shoe.” He smiled with understanding over her question. “The one you saw was my sports version.”

  “The blade?”

  Now he grinned. “Yeah, I’m a blade runner.”

  She returned his smile, but wanted him to understand she was only being curious. “So how do I take this off for you?”

  After a moment’s hesitation, probably considering that he’d never been asked that question by a woman he was about to have sex with before, he showed her the button to click down toward the prosthetic ankle joint. She followed his instructions, and he guided her on how to slide down the bulkier and harder version of leg. As she studied it, he quickly removed the liner with the pin that clicked into the joint down by the ankle. And that was that.

  She glanced at what remained of his leg beneath his knee, the flesh and bone part, then quickly back to the rest of him. Choosing to focus on everything about him, and not just the one area he might be self-conscious about, she ran her hands along the length of his thighs and looked into his darkening eyes. She perfectly understood how he’d feel if she stared at the part that was missing.

  He pulled her to him, kissing her again, bringing things back on track—they wanted each other—with his hands roaming all over her. His fingers found the hem of her cotton pullover, his intense gaze seeking hers for the okay. Would she make this revealing moment one to dread or, just like him, a matter of fact? She pecked his lips in answer, so he gingerly lifted her top, giving her time to adjust to what he planned to do next. But when he reached for one of her bra straps, her hand flew to his.

  “That look of horror you described earlier?” she whispered. “I know what it is.”

  His gaze narrowed with concern.

  “I was engaged when I had the surgery. We were going to get married and go for the whole package—careers, kids, the works. He didn’t want me to have the surgery, but I insisted it was what I needed to do. And afterward he couldn’t accept me. He just couldn’t. He tried, but I saw it. He was horrified. I disgusted him. He pitied me. I—”

  Jackson stopped her from saying another word by lifting her chin with a finger and delivering a tender kiss. As their lips pressed together and their tongues found each other, he undid her special mastectomy bra and removed it, never breaking from her mouth, instead deepening their kiss. He lay back on the bed and pulled her with him on top until her nearly flat chest was flush with his. Being this close to him, skin to skin, excited her. His warm, large hands explored her back and moved downward to her jeans, pushing them lower once she’d unzipped them, then cupping her bottom. With his palms firmly attached to her backside, she remembered how much she’d missed being explored by a man, and how good it felt now, loving this moment.

  He concentrated on every part of her, rather than putting her missing breasts at the center. Finally, when she was completely naked with him, the fingers of one of his hands crossed her chest as lightly as a butterfly. The surprise of how sensual it felt to have someone else besides herself touch her there sent a blast of chills across her skin. Soon, while he continued to devour her mouth, his palm rubbed where her breasts used to be, and though many nerves had been severed during the surgery, his touch warmed and excited her as if her breasts were still there.

  “You’re beautiful,” he whispered over her ear, and for that instant she believed him.

  As their bodies tangled and tightened together, clearly turned on—her aroused and longing for more, him noticeably hard between them—she forgot about what was missing from him, and he obviously hadn’t been turned off by her surgery. Maybe, she hoped, he’d meant what he’d said about finding her beautiful inside and out. Hadn’t he just told her so?

  He rolled her onto her back, pushing her hands above her head and kissing her chest in several spots. She could swear, in her mind, the nipples that were physically n
o longer there responded. His kisses traveled onward to her stomach, igniting more thrills, and worked their way over her hips and down across her thighs until his mouth settled where her heat mounted, tightened and balled into raw need. As his tongue found her tender folds and circled the tip of her sex, setting off amazing sensations bordering on lightning and fireworks, every worry and insecurity about her body image left her mind, to be replaced by one thought. At her core she was a woman and nothing could take that away.

  A few minutes later, when he sheathed and entered her, working her into another frenzy under the spell of his strength and persistence, and surrounded by flickering candlelight, she dared to look into his eyes. They were already locked on her face. Watching each other under the grip of bliss was more intimate than anything she could imagine. And like that she let go and shattered the boundaries she’d put on herself because of her wounds, and from his frantic reaction was fairly sure he’d done the same. She needed him and wanted to please him, bucking beneath him, and his near growling moan proved she was on the right track.

  He cupped her hips, she tightened her legs around his waist, he steadily upped the tempo, and they soon ascended to that beautiful intensity she’d almost forgotten, where he suspended her with near agonizing magic. Faster and stronger, he took her there. Until she was so tightly wound and overloaded with sensations she lost it and came deep, long and forcefully. He soon followed her and they tumbled through that paradise together, and she felt more complete as a woman than she ever had in her life.

  * * *

  On Saturday morning her muscles ached from their making great use of the condoms and candlelight, until all had burned out. By then so had she, and falling into Jackson’s arms, immediately going to sleep, seemed surreal. His rented bed was surprisingly comfortable, or maybe it was the man in bed with her? When she woke, she glanced up at him. He was already awake and watching her, lightly playing with her hair.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Good morning.” His hand grazed her shoulder and arm. “You like eggs? I’m starving.”

  “I love eggs. You cooking?”

  He sat up. “You bet I am. I intend to impress the hell out of you, too.”

  “I think you’ve already done that.”

  His slow smile and darkening blue eyes relit the lingering warmth right where they’d left off last night. He kissed her to help it along, and soon the thought of sleeping in on a Saturday morning seemed far more appealing than any old home-cooked breakfast.

  Later, when they’d managed to make it out of bed, he loaned her a T-shirt to wear with her underwear while he planned to dazzle her with his culinary skills. Before putting it on, out of habit she reached for her fully formed bra, but he stopped her.

  “You don’t need that around me.” He ran his hand across her chest, up her neck and across her jaw, then kissed her. “I like you exactly the way you are.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  AFTER CHARLOTTE AND Jackson’s first night together, some wild, wanton woman had been released, a part of her she’d never before explored. Complicating things, she never knew when Jackson would pop in her office, his mere presence reminding her how much she wanted him. Usually his visits were after a particularly stressful surgery. He would drop in, close the door, and dance her into the corner to kiss her hard and thoroughly then make no excuses for how much he craved her. And she loved it! Then, with her feeling all hot and flustered, they’d promise to spend the night together, and that would be that.

  This time, late on a Friday afternoon, it was the night he routinely had dinner and a movie with his son. With that one earlier exception, they never planned to see each other on Friday nights, so they’d have to put their lust on hold. She’d worn a loose and flowing gypsy-style skirt to work, hoping he’d see it and compliment her. She loved his compliments.

  When her lover came into her office and closed the door, he had a hungry look in his gaze. He took her hand and pulled her to him, kissing her, fingers digging into her hair, walking her backward to the wall, pressing her there. “Nice skirt,” he said, playing with the fabric and just happening to find her hip and soon her bottom in the process.

  In no time she had one thought on her mind and was totally grateful for her choice in skirts. Her leg lifted and attached to his hip, bringing his body flush with hers. Thanks to the thin fabric of his OR scrubs and her skirt, she felt nearly all of him as he stroked along her center. Wrapped up in the thrill of the moment, him igniting her and wreaking havoc with her good sense, she whispered, “Let’s do it.”

  “You have no idea how much I want to.” He kissed her roughly, slipped his hand between them and cupped her, moving up and down, fanning her fire nearly to the point of no return. He took a ragged inhalation to stop himself from going further. “But we could get fired, and I need this job,” he reasoned. His hot breath tickled over her ear as she ignored his logical warning. “As much as I need you...”

  “The department is practically empty,” she interrupted. “Lock the door,” she hissed, completely lost to him and the moment, and she meant it.

  He gave her a questioning look and she nodded her undeniable consent. She saw the flash of heat in his eyes. He nipped her earlobe, then her lower lip. “I can’t think straight around you.”

  With the oddest sensation, she’d have sworn she had nipples and they were tight and peaked with her longing to feel him inside her. “You do some pretty crazy things to me, too. Please,” she begged, pushing her pelvis closer to him. “Lock the door.”

  It had never computed before how isolated her office was. Or the advantage of the other doctors routinely leaving early on Friday afternoons. She was at the end of a long row of offices in the basement of the pathology department. No-man’s-land.

  From having been with Jackson a dozen times before, she recognized the shift in his expression, his heavy-lidded stare. All resistance was gone. Her insides quivered, knowing what would happen next. “Just this once,” he swore.

  Lightning swift he locked the door and riffled through his wallet for a condom. They were back where they’d left off, his hand finding her secret places and working wonders, and when her powerful moment came she let him cover her mouth with his palm to stifle her response. The last thing they wanted to do was draw attention to what was going on in case anyone was within earshot. He loved watching her when she lost it. And just then, thanks to his skillful touch, she totally had.

  Someone knocked on the door. “Charlotte, are you in there?” It was Antwan.

  With Jackson’s hand still over her mouth and tightening, her gaze shot toward the ceiling. Really? Of all the bad timing in the world.

  Jackson removed his hand from her mouth and put one finger over his. “Shh...” She felt the sudden urge to laugh. This was ridiculous, and nothing she’d ever do! But her pulse hammered in her chest, more from what Jackson had just done to her than from Antwan’s unwanted appearance. Though the risk of being caught having sex, well, partial sex, at work kept her heartbeat racing along.

  “Has Dr. Johnson left for the day?” Dr. Dupree called down the hall.

  “I don’t think so,” Latoya’s distant voice answered from the reception area. “Dr. Hilstead came by. Maybe they went for coffee.”

  Antwan tried the door handle. The nerve!

  They stared at each other, neither hardly breathing. She clutched Jackson’s arms and squeezed tight, her mind flying in a thousand directions. What should they do? What would they say if they got caught? What would her mother think?

  “Well, she’s obviously gone.” Finally, they heard footsteps going down the hall and Antwan’s distant voice chatting up the young receptionist. “It sure feels dead around here.”

  Latoya gave the requisite laugh at his sorry attempt at a joke with the pathology reference.

  “What are you still doing at work?”
Antwan’s attention had shifted. Good. They talked more, but Charlotte had quit listening.

  Jackson gave her a stern look. “This can’t ever happen again.”

  Feeling out of control and pumped up by the excitement, she grabbed his scrub top and pulled him near, then delivered a ragged kiss. “You’re right—this has got to stop. But first it’s your turn.”

  “We’re crazy to risk it,” he whispered over her ear, his hot breath melting her and dissolving into a cascade of chills down and over her breasts.

  She got busy giving all of her attention to him, admiring how firm he’d stayed through the close call. He gave his rendition of a ragged kiss, far more intense than hers, taking her breath away. His weight pushed against her, her leg lifted again, and when he’d secured her to the wall, she lifted the other, clutching his hips.

  “We really shouldn’t,” he murmured.

  Farther down the hall, in the histology lab, the late shift technician stopped and listened, wondering where those muffled rhythmic thuds on the wall were coming from.

  * * *

  On a Monday, Charlotte had a phone message that Dr. Gordon was moving again. It was from his son Ely. He said he’d taken leave from work to be with his father and that Dr. Gordon wanted him to notify her.

  She’d just got back from a quick but fun lunch with Jackson. No sex involved. Who knew how great hospital cafeteria food could taste when you were totally into someone? Now her lunch turned to a lump in her gut at the news.

  Dr. Gordon had regained a lot of strength, and three days ago when she’d last visited he had been as feisty as ever. Maybe he’d figured out a way to beat the system. She wondered if Ely had volunteered to come or if Dr. Gordon had manipulated the visit. She wouldn’t dare consider that his health circumstances had directed the move home. Had Ely implied he was there for hospice care?