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The Best Of The Year - Medical Romance
And here I was, thinking mine was a little weird.
I went back upstairs with some chicken broth I’d made while Matt slept. I’d found some ingredients in the pantry and fridge and freezer and whipped up my classic cure-all. I set it out on a tray with a starched doily I’d found and carried it upstairs.
Matt opened his eyes as I came in. ‘You’re still here?’
‘I haven’t got anything on this evening.’ I set the tray on the bedside table. ‘Do you think you could manage a bit of broth once I take your temp?’
‘Did you make it?’
‘Don’t worry, it’s not laced with poison.’
He frowned. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound—’
‘I did, however, sprinkle some eye of newt in it.’
He smiled a crooked smile. ‘Don’t make me laugh. It makes my head hurt.’
‘Poor baby.’
I popped the thermometer in his mouth and waited for it to beep. I took it out and looked at the reading. ‘Hmm, it’s back to normal. The rest must’ve done the trick.’
I sat beside him on the bed as he worked his way through the bowl of broth. He didn’t manage it all but he seemed to enjoy what he had. He even had a glass of mineral water with a squeeze of lemon I’d brought up.
Once he was finished I got up to take the tray back down to the kitchen. ‘Why don’t you have a shower and I’ll sort out your bed for you? I’ll even do hospital corners.’
He frowned again. ‘Seriously, Bertie, you don’t have to do this.’
‘I know, but I want to.’
His eyes looked into mine. ‘Why?’
‘Everyone needs a friend now and again.’
His frown deepened as his eyes moved away from mine. ‘I’m not sure I’m the sort of friend you need right now.’
‘Because you haven’t got over H-her?’ I caught myself just in time. I didn’t want him to know I’d been reading his private mail, although he might put two and two together once he realised I’d been in the study to get his doctor’s bag. I’d left everything as I’d found it, but if he knew anything about women at all, he must know I would have read it.
He let out a long, uneven breath. ‘I’m not good at relationships, any relationships. I hurt and disappoint people without even trying.’
‘So you keep things casual with anyone who comes along who interests you.’
He gave me a measured look. ‘Is that how you see us? As something casual?’
I wasn’t sure how to answer. What exactly was he offering? Come to that, what was I offering? I couldn’t hope to hide my attraction to him. My body had its own silent language. I could feel it calling out to him even then. The tightening of my core, the flush running over my skin, the way my eyes kept going from his to his mouth and back again. The way my tongue moistened my lips. Even the way I’d turned up tonight, playing nursemaid, surely told him all he needed to know. But how could I have what I wanted without causing even more mayhem in my life?
His eyes had a dark glint in them. ‘I can see how it’s risky, given your … situation.’
My teeth sank into my lip. Here was my chance to confess what a fool I’d been. The words were assembled on my tongue like paratroopers about to leave a Hercules aircraft. I knew once I let them out I couldn’t take them back. How soon before he would tell someone at work about my game of charades? But there was no way I could allow him to make love to me while he thought I was married. ‘There’s something I have to tell you … I should’ve told you earlier.’
‘I know.’
I kept talking, barely registering he had even spoken. Now that I’d made up my mind to confess I had to get on with it without distraction. I had to get it out there before he kissed me or I lost my courage. Not that I’d had much to begin with. ‘I’ve been lying to you about my … situation,’ I said. ‘There was no wedding. I was jilted the night before. I was too embarrassed to tell anyone. I went on my honeymoon alone and I stupidly wrote a couple of postcards when I was tipsy, pretending everything had gone ahead as planned.’ I shook my head at my own foolishness, not wanting to look at Matt in case I saw the derision I was sure he must feel. ‘Postcards. Can you believe it? Who writes postcards these days? How dumb is that?’
‘I know.’
‘But the thing is I never intended to post them,’ I said, without even acknowledging Matt’s calm insertion. ‘The housekeeping staff took them when I was out of the room and kindly posted them for me. I should’ve known something like that would happen.’ I took a breath and went on, ‘I seem to always get myself into ridiculous situations. And then when I came back to work that first day there was my stupid postcard on the noticeboard. If I’d been sensible I would’ve phoned or emailed ahead or something. But walking in like that to their smiling faces, I … I just couldn’t do it. How could I tell them that …?’
Somewhere in the workings of my fevered brain I finally registered what he’d just said. Twice. I looked at him with a quizzical expression. ‘You know what?’
His eyes had that spark of amusement shining in them again. ‘I know you’re not married.’
I gaped at him with my mouth so wide open you could have backed a London bus into it. ‘You know? ’
His smile had a teasing element to it that made my blood start to tick with anger. ‘I knew from the start.’
He knew?
A red mist came up in front of my eyes.
He’d known from the start?
My veins were so bloated with anger they felt like they were going to combust. It was rocketing through my body like a cruise missile. He’d known and not told me? Not given me a single hint?
Why?
I clamped my lips together to force myself to think before I spoke. But I was too upset to think. My thoughts were tumbling around my head like a handful of marbles in a glass bowl. It physically hurt to try and make sense of them. Had he been laughing at me behind all his casually posed questions? Questions about my ‘husband’ and where I went on my honeymoon. Grrr! He’d known the whole time how awkward I would find those questions and yet he had continued each time we interacted as if I were a new bride. What had motivated him? Had he enjoyed my discomfiture, my wretched squirming every time we spoke?
Of course he had. He’d led me on, teasing me, mocking me with his enigmatic looks and half-smiles. The crushing hurt was worse than my anger. It pressed down on my sternum like a chest of drawers. He had deliberately led me on—for what? To have a joke at my expense? So he could laugh about me with all my colleagues?
‘How did you know?’ I fired the question at him like a round of bullets. ‘How could you possibly know? No one at the hospital knows, apart from Gracie McCurcher, and she’s sworn to secrecy.’
He was still looking at me with an amused expression, which wasn’t doing my escalating anger any favours. I felt like a pressure cooker inside me was about to explode. I could feel it expanding in my chest until I could scarcely draw breath.
‘I heard about it via an old school friend of mine who works in the same company as your ex,’ he said. ‘We met for a drink a couple of days before you returned to work. He told me how he’d just come back from Yorkshire where the wedding of his colleague had been cancelled at the last minute. I wouldn’t have taken any notice except he mentioned your name. Bertie is quite unusual so when you turned up at work I put two and two together.’
I gave him a livid glare. ‘So why didn’t you blow my cover then and there? That would’ve been quite a laugh for you, along with my project title.’
The amused look was exchanged for one that suspiciously looked like pity, or at least something very close to it. ‘I figured you had your reasons for keeping quiet about it. I decided to play along for a bit.’
I sent him another paint-stripping look. Seriously, I could’ve taken my new paint burner back to the hardware store and used my gaze on my house instead. ‘Why?’ I shot back. ‘So you could have a joke at my expense? Mock me while you pretended to be interested in me?’
His eyes darkened to a deeper bluey grey as they held mine, his voice deep and gravelly. ‘I wasn’t pretending.’
My heart kicked against my breastbone. ‘You weren’t?’
He shook his head.
‘Oh, well, then …’
‘You have to tell everyone, Bertie. Surely you see that?’
I stood from the bed and crossed my arms over my body. ‘No. No. No. I can’t. I just can’t.’
‘Why are you so worried about what people will say?’
I turned back to look at him. ‘I spent most of my childhood being laughed at. I can’t bear people sniggering at me, or—worse—pitying me. If I were to tell everyone now I was jilted the night before my wedding they’ll howl with laughter or cringe in pity. It’s too late. I have to keep it quiet. I have to.’
‘Come here.’ His voice had a commanding tone to it I found wonderfully soothing. It was like he was going to take charge—please, don’t tell my bra-burning mother I said that!—and make everything right for me. I sat beside him on the bed and he took one of my hands in his. ‘You don’t have to keep pretending. The longer it goes on the harder it’ll be to undo. People will understand. They really will, sweetheart. Trust me.’
It really got me when he called me that. A lot of men utter endearments without making them sound genuine. But I wasn’t convinced a tell-all in the staffroom was going to work for me. Besides, I didn’t have the guts to do it. My childhood scars were too deep, too raw to have them scraped open by even one giggle or chuckle. ‘Please,’ I said. ‘Please, try and understand.’
He gave my hand a gentle squeeze, his eyes holding mine in a tender look. I don’t think anyone—no man at least—has ever looked at me like that. He looked like he really cared about me, about my feelings, about my insecurities. ‘I do understand. It’s tough when things don’t work out the way you’d planned. But you’ll get over it in time.’
I gave him a narrowed look. ‘Please, don’t tell me you feel sorry for me.’
He stroked his thumb over the back of my hand. ‘I feel sorry you feel so pressured to fit in that you can’t be honest with people. But you don’t have to hide or pretend with me, okay?’
I could feel a little wobble of my chin, which was the closest I’ve got to crying in a very long time. ‘Okay.’ It was barely a whisper but it sure felt good to say it. To admit I trusted him to keep my secret safe.
He trailed a finger over the back of my hand. ‘There’s a way around this.’
I suppressed a shiver as his finger travelled to the underside of my wrist where my pulse was skyrocketing. ‘There is?’
His eyes scorched mine. ‘We could have a secret relationship.’
I noted the word ‘secret’. Not my favourite word right then, but still. I swallowed as his finger made a lazy circle against the skin of my palm. It felt like he had touched me intimately, stroking me to arousal. ‘I want you to know I don’t do this sort of thing normally.’
‘I know.’
I looked at him again. Directly. Staunchly. ‘I mean it, Matt. This is totally out of character for me.’
He gently brushed a strand of hair back from my face. I had always longed for a man to do that to me. Andy never seemed to notice my tendrils, even the ones I’d deliberately staged to hang loose so he could push them back. ‘Maybe we need to get this thing between us out of our system. What do you say?’
‘Well,’ I said, tapping my finger against my lip for a moment, ‘I do have a couple of stipulations.’
‘Which are?’
‘This bed, for one thing.’ I stood up and put my hands on my hips again. ‘If I’m going to have bed-wrecking sex with you, then we at least need to start with a bed that’s not already wrecked.’
He gave another lopsided smiled as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. ‘You are one crazy girl.’
‘But you like me, right?’
He stood and brushed his fingertips down my cheek, his smile, even as it faded, still making my insides turn over. ‘I hope you don’t catch my bug.’
‘Thanks to my parents, I have a robust immune system.’
He gave one of my Dorothy from Oz pigtails a gentle tug. ‘You’re going to need it.’
CHAPTER NINE
I REMADE THE bed with fresh linen and dumped the other in the laundry downstairs. I would have set on a load but I had other priorities right then. When I came back up Matt was standing next to the bed with just a towel draped around his hips. I went to him as if I’d been doing it all my adult life. It felt so natural to walk into his open arms and feel them come around me like strong, warm bands.
He smelt divine, soap and shampoo and his own male smell, and he was warm and still a little damp from the shower. I was damp too. I could feel my body stirring in response to his closeness; the maleness of him against my softer contours was enough to send my senses spinning.
His mouth came down to the side of mine, touching and teasing the corner of my mouth in a tantalisingly little prelude of what was to come. I turned my head so his lips came into full contact with mine. I wasn’t in the mood for preludes. I wanted the whole damn symphony and in forte.
His mouth was warm and firm and moved against mine with devastating expertise. There was amazing choreography in our kisses. There were no nose bumps or tooth scrapes; instead, there was a natural affinity between our mouths, a graceful coordination like watching two brilliant dancers working the ballroom floor. My response to him was purely instinctive. I hadn’t even thought I was a particularly good kisser until I had come into contact with his mouth.
His tongue stroked along my bottom lip and I made a sound of approval as I welcomed him inside. The warm glide of his tongue over and under and around mine made my insides contract with lust. His hands pulled me against him, his fingers digging into my buttocks to hold me against where his blood pounded with desire. I could feel the hard ridge of him swelling against me. It made my body restless to get even closer. I could feel the tingling and tickling of my inner core, an ache and pulse of longing growing more intense by the second.
His hands began working their way under my jumper, sliding his palms over my bare skin to find my breast. I made a little gasping sound as his fingers pushed aside my bra and made flesh-to-flesh contact. He cupped me first, and then he rolled the pad of his thumb back and forth across and around my nipple. It was the most exquisite torture. All the nerves beneath my skin leapt and twirled and pirouetted.
I wanted to touch him to give him the same pleasure he was giving me. I tugged at the towel covering him and it fell to the floor. I stroked my fingers down his hard, flat abdomen, stringing out the anticipation for him as I slowly made my way to my target. He sucked in a harsh-sounding breath as I claimed my prize. He was iron hard and yet his skin felt velvet smooth. I felt the throbbing pulse of his blood against my hand. I squeezed and stroked in turn. I circled my fingertip over his tip, where pre-ejaculate fluid was beading. It was an erotic reminder of the primal impulses going on in my own body, the silky dew that moistened my inner walls in preparation for the thrust and glide of his body.
He helped me out of my clothes with gentle but urgent hands, using those same hands to stroke over my flesh as he uncovered it. I felt like a present he was unwrapping, a present he had waited a long time to claim. He kissed every inch of my décolletage, along the scaffold of my collarbones, dipping his tongue into the suprasternal notch between.
His mouth came back to mine, plundering it with increasing vigour, as if the tight hold on his self-control was under enormous strain. I kissed him back with passionate enthusiasm, my tongue dancing and duelling with his. He tasted so fresh, a combination of mint and salt and sexy maleness. He had shaved during his shower but his skin still rasped against mine in a way that made me feel incredibly feminine.
Once I was in nothing but my knickers, his hands came up and cupped my face. I liked it that he hadn’t stripped me naked, that he’d allowed me that final barrier to make me feel less pressured, less exposed. I could still feel him against me, the hot probe of his erection making my body ache behind the lace of my underwear.
His lifted his mouth off mine so our lips were almost touching, our breaths mingling in the intimate space. ‘Are you sure about this?’ he said.
That was another thing I liked. He hadn’t taken my consent for granted. He’d allowed me time to back out if I wasn’t comfortable with taking things further. I don’t want to make Andy sound like a predator or anything but there were a few times when he hadn’t really picked up on my change of mind or mood.
‘I’m sure.’ I put my hand to his face and stroked it down the chiselled plane of his jaw. ‘But thanks for asking.’
He rested his forehead against mine. ‘It’s been a while for me.’
‘Me too.’
He lifted his head to look at me. ‘How long?’
‘It’s been a couple of months.’ I gave him a wry look. ‘Actually, it’s probably longer.’
He brushed his lips against mine. ‘Good girl.’
‘Why’d you say that?’
He smiled at me. ‘You’re being honest.’
The words I was going to say were obliterated in the combustible heat of our mouths meeting in a scorching hot kiss that spoke of the deep, irresistible yearnings going on in both of our bodies. Our tongues tangled and teased, stroked and swept and chased each other in a sensual dance as sexy as any Latin tango.
I was standing up on tiptoe, my breasts pushed almost flat against his chest in an effort to get as close as possible. His hands gently peeled away my knickers; his palms warm as they cupped my bare behind. He moved against me, the strong pulse of his body sending mine into a frenzy of want.
He pulled back from me slightly. ‘I need to get a condom.’
He left me briefly to find one in his wallet. He didn’t have a supply in the bedside drawer, I noticed, which seemed to suggest he hadn’t brought anyone back here before. I liked the special feeling it gave me, the feeling that I was the only woman he’d considered making love with since he’d got back from the States.
He came back to me sheathed and gently guided me to the bed, where we ended up in an erotic tangle of limbs. That was another thing I noticed. There was no awkwardness about who was going to put which limb where. We fitted together like one of those complicated puzzles that only a Mensa member can solve. The feel of his naked skin moving against mine, the glide and stroke of his hands, the caress of his lips and tongue and the heat of our connection went through every pore of my body like a current.
I stroked my hands over his back and shoulders, discovering every knob of his vertebrae as his mouth savoured mine. Our tongues did that sexy little tango again that mimicked what our lower bodies were aching and straining to do. I shifted beneath him, urging him to take things to the next stage, but he was taking his time to ensure I was properly aroused. He stroked my entrance, felt the wetness of me and then slid one finger inside. I almost came right then and there. He stroked his fingertip across my clitoris, just enough to make me aware of him.
The sensations gathered like an approaching wave, building momentum with a force that threatened to overwhelm me. I felt the tension building in my body as he stroked me again, softly, slowly, then varying the speed, getting to know what I liked and what I didn’t.
Just when I thought I couldn’t take any more he moved down my body, kissing my breasts, down my sternum to my belly button and then to the top of my mons pubis. Instead of using his fingers, this time he used his lips and tongue. I know I sound like a ridiculous prude but I’ve never really understood all the fuss about oral sex. Andy did his best, but I always felt he couldn’t wait to get it over with so he could get on with the main event, so to speak. I would freeze up or fret that I hadn’t waxed or that I might not be as fresh as I should be down there. I would end up pretending I’d had a good time just to get it over with.
But with Matt I forgot about all those insecurities and hang-ups. His caresses were so perfectly timed, so cleverly orchestrated my body went on a feverish journey of discovery that left me completely breathless. The orgasm rolled over me like a massive wave, spinning and tossing me into a world of sensation that left no room for conscious thought. I was reduced to that one part of my body, my most primal part. I writhed and clawed and cried and gasped as the ricocheting pulses went through me, finally leaving me in a limp heap as the afterglow flowed through every muscle in my body.
Matt came back over me, cradling the side of my face with one of his hands. He didn’t ask if it was good for me. He didn’t need to. Instead, he kissed me again, the taste of my own body on his lips stirring me into a new round of arousal.
I reached for him to guide him into my body but he really didn’t need any help from me. He knew exactly where he was going. But he didn’t thrust in hard, not at first. He took his time, inching in to allow me to get used to his length. I felt like a virgin having sex for the first time with someone who really knew what they were doing. I felt special and respected and worshiped, instead of exploited and used.
Once he sensed my body was fine with him being fully enclosed, he began to move. It’s a rhythm as old as time but each couple has their own take on it. I never found my groove with Andy, or my other partners. I always felt I was three steps behind, like a novice dancer trying to join a complicated line dance. I was always out of sequence, out of time with my partners.
But with Matt I felt everything fall into place. He moved and I responded. Our bodies rocked together as if they had been programmed to do it. When he groaned with deep pleasure it made my flesh shiver all over. But instead of taking his pleasure, he hadn’t finished giving me mine. He somehow got his hand between our bodies and found my clitoris again and stroked and coaxed it into an earth-shattering orgasm. It was so powerful I could feel it rippling through me, the tight contractions triggering his release. I felt the deep shudder of his body as it drove into mine in those last desperate pumps as he emptied. I felt his skin lift in goose bumps and stroked my hands over his back and shoulders and down over his lower spine and taut buttocks.
Neither of us spoke.
I didn’t want to break the mood with banal conversation. I wanted to dwell in that quiet sense of physical harmony, the soothing mutual relaxation of two bodies that moments ago had been strung tight with sexual tension but which had now found peace.
It was a while before I realised Matt was soundly asleep. I know a lot a men fall asleep after sex, but at least he hadn’t rolled away to the other side of the bed and started snoring like a wild boar.
He had quietly slipped into a deep and relaxing slumber while still holding me in his arms. For some strange reason I felt like crying. Not because he hadn’t stayed awake long enough to tell me I was the best sex partner he’d ever had—as if that was going to happen—but because he felt comfortable enough with me to truly relax. I got the feeling he didn’t do it too often.
After half an hour or so I gently extricated myself from his hold. He made a soft, deep murmur of something that sounded a little like protest but he didn’t fully wake up. I covered him with the quilt and tiptoed about the room to collect my clothes. I dressed in the bathroom, and then, once I had restored some sense of order to my hair, I went downstairs. I gave Winnie a last pat and made sure she had doggy biscuits and a fresh bowl of water, and then I let myself out.
CHAPTER TEN
I HAD A pre-assessment clinic first thing the next day and then a meeting with the other anaesthetists about some minor changes to the training scheme. Then I had a list in Theatre that went over time due to the weirdest case of appendicitis I’ve ever seen, or the surgeon for that matter. Despite the patient only being seventeen, the appendix had been massively expanded and completely replaced by what looked like a tumour.