One Night That Changed Everything

Hannah released her hold on his shirt, and at first he thought she meant to pull away. Instead, the top button of his shirt popped free, as if …

His lips left hers in question, and he caught her smile. Then another button was plucked loose.

She was undoing his shirt. There went the third button. It was either allow her to keep going or let go of her and stop her.

Her hands settled on his bare chest, upping the ante. Especially when they wandered down, purposely sliding over his nipples in the process. His eyes squeezed shut as he tried to hold on to some small portion of his sanity.

When her fingers seemed to want to stay and visit for a while, teasing and testing, he had no choice. He let go of her, reaching up to capture her wrists and carry them behind her back.

“You’re treading on dangerous ground.”

Her brows went up. “I hadn’t even gotten to the dangerous part yet.”

Greg couldn’t stop a quick laugh of surprise. This was a side of Hannah he hadn’t known existed. But he liked it.

He took her mouth again. Harder this time. His free hand slid beneath her blouse and claimed the very thing he’d just denied her, the lacy bra providing almost no barrier. And he reveled in it—in the tightly drawn nipple that pressed against the fabric and scraped lusciously against his palm. When he rolled the bud between his thumb and forefinger, she moaned into his mouth.

Yes.

God, he wanted her. Now.

He let go of her and grasped the bottom of her blouse, holding her gaze as she slowly raised her arms above her head so he could take it off. Her shirt was as far as he got, though, because she reached back and unhooked the black bra herself, letting it fall from her body. Still no sign that her back was bothering her. But, hell, if the sight of her naked breasts didn’t hurt him in a very different kind of way.

When he started to move forward again, she backed up a step and reached for the button of her slacks. “Here’s where it starts getting dangerous.”

Holy hell. Surely she didn’t mean to …

In an instant she’d unzipped them and pushed them down her hips, kicking them away from her. Her black panties were barely there, just a scrap of lace with a crisscrossing of strings on the sides. He had no idea where they led or what the back looked like, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“Hannah,” he warned, when her fingertips slipped beneath the ties.

She gave a soft laugh. “Your turn, then.”

His turn to what? Take off his clothes? Remove her last article of clothing himself?

He assumed she meant for him to start shucking his own clothes, so he finished unbuttoning his shirt and slung the garment to the side. His fingers weren’t quite as steady as hers, but it had been a long time since he’d been with anyone. A very long time. His hours were too crazy, and he was too exhausted by the time he got home.

And yet right now he seemed to have the energy of an eighteen-year-old boy.

Hannah moved back in before he could go any further and slid her palms up his chest, and rested them on his shoulders, leaning in to kiss the base of his throat.

That wasn’t where he wanted her. “Hey.”

When she looked up, he took her mouth, wrapping his arms around the bare skin of her back, trying to absorb everything at once. The heat of her skin against his, the softness of her breasts.

Breasts he wanted to devour.

He gripped her hips, intending to ease her back so he could cup them, but the strings on her panties sidetracked him. He followed them around. The back had a satiny feel as opposed to the lace in front. Part of him was relieved, part of him disappointed. He’d half hoped to find nothing there.

But it didn’t matter, because he could just do this …

He slid his fingers between the elastic band and her skin and repeated on her bare bottom what he’d done earlier when she’d still been wearing pants. He squeezed, trying to get his fill, then pulled back enough to push her underwear halfway down her legs, his mouth having to leave hers to do so. This time when his hands returned to their perch, he pulled her tight against him, her bare flesh pressing directly on the hard bulge at the front of his slacks. He ground against her, once … twice, swallowing hard when she gave a tiny whimper, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

Enough!

He scooped her up in his arms in a quick movement and carried her past the still-propped-open doorway in back. His office had a couch.

And a desk.

Yes.

That’s where he wanted her. On his desk, legs splayed open, with him between them. His flesh tightened beyond belief.

That decadent image would carry him through many a lonely night.

And there’d be no danger of hurting her back.

He gave a rough laugh.

Sure. That was the reason.

He pushed on the handle, but it didn’t budge. Damn. Locked.

“Where’s the key?” she whispered.

“Left front pocket.” Thank heavens he’d kept his trousers on.

“I think I can get it.” Hannah scooched her arm between their bodies, her breasts jiggling in a way that made his mouth water. She found his pocket, dipped in and instead of finding his keys and retreating, her hand drifted to the right and curved over the tight ridge of flesh. The fingers massaged and squeezed and drove the breath from his lungs.

“Those aren’t my keys, woman.”

She gave a soft laugh. “I know.” Her nails scraped down his length, the fabric keeping it from hurting while also making it the most erotic sensation he’d ever felt. He almost did the unthinkable standing right there in front of his door.

“Hannah … please.”

She kissed the side of his neck and retrieved his keys. “I like it when you say please.”

That “please” now encompassed asking God to help him make it inside his office.

“Unlock the door.”

He turned his body sideways to allow her to reach the lock, which she undid in record time. Pushing his way past the door, he carried her over to his desk. He surveyed it, trying to figure out where to put her. “Push the pencil cup onto the floor.”

Her brows went up, but she did as he asked, the offending object flying off the side of the desk, shedding pens and pencils as it went. He then set her on the edge and stepped back to watch her as he undid his own pants.

He was afraid she’d get up, but she didn’t. She sat there, panties still halfway down her legs, her arms going back to prop herself on the wide wooden surface. The act pushed her breasts up and out, while pushing his self-control to the breaking point.

Making short work of the rest of his clothes, he moved over to her and rested his arms on either side of her hips. He gave her a long, slow smile. “My turn to get a little dangerous.”

“Believe me, you already are.”

Her tongue came out to moisten her lips. He leaned in and did the same, drawing his tongue slowly across her already wet mouth. He then kissed her chin, before nudging her head back so he had access to the underside of her throat. Working his way down to her shoulder, he dipped further until he reached her right breast.

The second his lips closed over her nipple, he knew it had been worth the wait. Her reaction was immediate. She arched toward him with a moan. But when she went to lift her arms, he put his hands over hers, trapping them on the desk.

She thought she could drive him crazy with no recourse? Well, he was about to get a little of his own back. He suckled and nibbled, holding her in place with his teeth while his tongue lapped over her. When he finally released her, the nipple was slick and tight.

Just like she would be when he finally entered her. And it had to be soon.

He finally stood upright. Hannah’s teeth were digging into her lower lip, eyes sealed shut. Her hips made tiny movements on the surface of his desk.

He wanted to be right in the middle of that.

He slid her panties the rest of the way down her legs, and as soon as they were gone, her thighs spread apart. He swallowed as he moved between them, trying to think about anything other than what was about to happen, and failing miserably. Instead, he gave her a deep open-mouthed kiss, settling against her and finding her just as slick and ready as he’d hoped.

To be sure, he slid his hand between them, thumb seeking the right spot and then stroking gently. She pressed closer, moaning against his mouth. Her flesh enveloped his tip, the heat and tightness driving him to the very edge of insanity. It was all he could do not to thrust into her and lose himself in a fiery rush. As if reading his thoughts, she reached around to grab his butt, pulling him even deeper.

She was so wet, so hot. Her hips were still making those tiny thrusting motions against his arousal … against his thumb. Growing stronger. Quicker.

He sped up the motion of his thumb, knowing that the second she went over the edge, he was going with her. And he’d be able to push deeper. Harder.

No! Wait. Condom!

He started to withdraw, only to have her hands pull at him desperately, her calves wrapping around him, hips sliding forward until she had him fully within her. She lay back on the desk, her eyes pleading with him.

“Greg, now. Please.”

The sight of her lying naked on top of his desk drove every rational thought he’d had a few seconds ago from his mind. Grasping her hips, he pushed into her, reveling in the tight heat that gripped him to perfection. She put her heels on the edge of the desk and rose to meet him stroke for stroke, beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead as he fought for control.

Control he couldn’t seem to find.

No need because Hannah was at the end of hers as well, pushing herself onto him, her hips now leaving the desk every time he drove into her. Within a few seconds she arched up and gasped, her body tightening around him in a series of explosive waves. He gave up and held on for dear life, hands braced on the desk as he thrust into her again and again, her name falling from his lips as he found his own release deep inside her.

He went down onto his elbows as the world slowed, as time began to trickle back to normal. Hannah’s breath floated past his cheek, her sweet, womanly scent washing over him as he struggled to piece together what had just happened.

No need to ask. He already knew.

Hannah had happened. And he realized he’d been trying to avoid this moment for months. Definitely since that fateful hug. Maybe even the entire time he’d known her.

And as reality crystallized, hardening into a rock that blocked his throat—filled his chest—another realization swept over him. This one much more deadly.

His wallet contained an object around which his thoughts and regrets now circled like vultures.

A single, unopened condom.

CHAPTER FIVE

HORRIFIED.

The word she’d been searching for all morning finally came to mind. The one adjective that described Greg’s face when he’d caught his breath enough to stand upright and look down at her. Not regret. Not joy. Not satisfied exhaustion.

Horror.

It was an expression she’d never forget.

Her cheeks burned as she balled up the used exam-table paper and tossed it in the waste receptacle to prepare the room for the next patient. How was she going to get up the nerve to walk into his office and look at that desk? The second she did, would her mind picture him going down on his elbows in those final few seconds, would she remember her own soft cries of pleasure filling the room?

Oh, God.

The man had helped her up afterward, and they’d dressed without a word. Had collected their things, walked through the office and out the front door in silence. Until she’d inserted the key into her car door, only to have a hand cover hers, stopping her from fleeing into the night.

“Hannah, I’m sorry. We’ll talk … later.”

Sorry. The very word she’d dreaded hearing. It ranked right up there with horrified and talk.

She didn’t want to talk. Or even face him.

He was in surgery this morning, leaving Hannah with a full slate of patients who needed her to be on her game. And no time to plan what she’d say when she eventually saw him again.

And she would.

Unless she quit. The idea had come to her the night before, tickling her with temptation before she dismissed it as ridiculous. She needed this job, especially now. What had happened last night was a fluke. Greg had been hurting, and she’d botched her attempt to comfort him by sending out the wrong signals.

No. That was a lie. They had been the right signals, and he’d picked up on them as easily as the PET scan had homed in on the cancer in her lymph nodes.

Stella poked her head into the room. “Are you ready for the next patient?”

“Yep.” She forced a smile, knowing it probably looked as strained as she felt.

“You okay?” The receptionist’s concern only made her feel worse, because she was far from all right.

Why couldn’t her little encounter with Greg have happened two weeks from now? A month? Anything outside the five-day lifespan of sperm? And with the washed sperm used during inseminations, that window was even narrower.

If she got pregnant now, nothing other than a D.N.A. test could prove whether the baby was the donor’s or Greg’s.

“Hannah?” Stella’s voice broke through her thoughts.

“Sorry. I’m fine. Just daydreaming.”

Or nightmaring, whichever you chose to call it.

The receptionist stepped inside the room and closed the door. “About anyone I know?”

“No.” The word came out on a strange wobbly note, and she decided some kind of explanation was due. “I had an I.U.I. procedure yesterday, and I was thinking about the possibilities.”

And that was the absolute truth.

“Oh, honey, congratulations!” Stella enveloped her in a bear hug, and if the fifty-year-old’s ebullience was in direct proportion to the tightness of the squeeze, it was off the charts, since she’d just wrung the last molecule of air from Hannah’s lungs.

Her brain a bit woozy from the lack of oxygen, she hurried to add, “I don’t even know if it took yet or not, so please don’t tell anyone.”

Especially not their boss.

All she needed was for Greg to hear she was pregnant the second he walked into the office.

He’d immediately wonder if she was angling for something, since there’s no way she could know twelve hours out whether or not he’d knocked her up.

Right.

Horrified would be the least of her worries, if that happened. And looking for a new job would be the order of the day.

“Don’t worry. My lips are sealed.”

Since those lips tended to flap around like pancakes tossed from a cast-iron skillet, this could mean trouble. Which meant she’d have to talk to Greg, like it or not.

Too bad she couldn’t rewind to yesterday and go back to calling him Dr. Mason. Only if she did that now, he’d assume she was doing it because of their little interlude, and he’d be right. No, the less emphasis she placed on what had happened, the less likely it was to change their working relationship.

“Okay, Stella, where’s our next patient?”

* * *

The next two hours passed in a frenzy of work and worry. She forced the latter to remain in the background, only letting it surface when she had five minutes to spare, which was thankfully not often.

Her last patient of the day sat on the exam table, a jewel-toned silk scarf artfully draped around her head. The woman’s blue eyes sparkled with life. Claire Taylor had already defied the odds once and was well on her way to doing it a second time. The lumpectomy she’d had three years ago was now a mastectomy scar, but she was cheerful and positive. Since her first diagnosis, the twenty-six-year-old had gotten married and was already looking ahead to a bright future.

“I talked to a plastic surgeon last week about reconstruction.”

Hannah glanced up from her examination. “I didn’t realize you were even thinking about it.” Claire had opted not to have the reconstruction right after the surgery. She’d been through a chemo regimen once before and didn’t want to have to worry about anything but getting through that ordeal. She was halfway through her eight-treatment cycle—heading down the home stretch.

“I wasn’t. But I haven’t been as sick this time as I was the last time. Or maybe I just remember it being worse because I didn’t know what to expect.”

Hannah could relate to that. She’d saved her scarves—all fifty of them—as a reminder that she was a survivor, and that she intended to keep on living. Every once in a while she wore one around her neck and talked about it with her patients. As one survivor to another.

Maybe Claire was at that point as well—gearing up to tell the world she was ready to enjoy the rest of her life. “What did the surgeon say?”

“That he could take some skin from my stomach to construct the breast. So I’d get a tummy tuck and a perky new boob at the same time.”

“Wow, a twofer—you lucky girl.”

Right as she said it, she winced, realizing she’d also gotten one of those: two batches of sperm for the price of one. But in this case she could have done without the figurative tummy tuck and been perfectly happy sticking to the lab-generated portion.

Claire laughed. “I know, right?”

“What does your husband think of all this?”

“Oh, you know how they are. He claims to love me just as I am, says I don’t need it.” The woman’s lips twisted. “So who said I was doing it for him, anyway?”

It was Hannah’s turn to laugh. “Did you tell him that?’

“No way. Let him think it. It’ll add some spice to our love life.”

Hannah could feel the heat crawling up her stomach on its way to her face. The sound of a knock and then the door opening didn’t help, especially when Greg strolled in, his face a study in exhaustion. But when he saw Claire, his eyes softened, the edges of his mouth turning up in a smile. “I couldn’t let one of my favorite patients get away without a single hello.”

Claire laughed. “Okay, then. Hello.”

Had he really come back to the office to say hi his patients? Or was he here to have the Dreaded Talk?

Why hadn’t he just gone home? This could wait. She was tired too, and she wasn’t up to a conversation about regrets.

He continued talking to his patient, not giving Hannah a second glance as he listened intently to Claire’s plans for surgery. He held out a hand for the chart, which Hannah gave him. A moment passed as he perused the contents, flipping pages. “I’d like it if you waited until after you complete the regimen, just to be sure. You’ll be stronger and there’ll be less worry about infection.”

“That’s what the surgeon said, as well.” Her hand crept up to the robe, and the hollow left by the mastectomy. “It’s healing well, and he says I’m a good candidate.”

“I agree. There’s no reason to think you wouldn’t be. Let’s just get you through the next couple of months.”

Maybe that’s what she needed to focus on: getting through the next couple of months. Well … nine, in her case.

Standing in the hallway with Greg while Claire got dressed, she cast about for something to say that would send him on his way. But he didn’t seem in a hurry to leave, leaning against the wall, watching her.

Why was he doing that? Why hadn’t he just gone straight to his office and let her finish up with the patient?

“How did surgery go?”

“Pretty well.”

“This was the Hodgkin’s patient, right?” She tried to get him to keep talking, in part to prevent the silence from growing more awkward but also because this was a diagnosis close to her heart.

At his nod, she pressed forward. “Did you have to perform a splenectomy?”

“She was in the early stages, so yes.” He paused and glanced down the hallway toward his office. “I don’t like doing them, but …”

“I know.” Her fingers itched to go to his arm and reassure him, but she didn’t dare. “I’m doing fine without mine, though.”

“Sometimes it’s the only way to know for sure how much lymph-node involvement there is.”

Hodgkin’s cells tended to collect in the spleen early in the disease. Hers had been removed for the same reason.

Before she could reply, Claire came through the door, her huge handbag slung over her shoulder. “Thanks, guys. I appreciate it.”

“I’ll try to peek in on you at the hospital during your next treatment. When do you go in?”

Hannah’s brows went up. Since when did he do that? He’d never come into the chemo room when she’d been having her infusions. And it wasn’t like his time wasn’t sucked in every direction under the sun already. They saw Claire off and then she turned to face him. “Are you doing that for all your patients now?”

“Doing what?”

“Checking in on them during chemo treatments.”

He pulled his shoulder off the wall and stood straighter. “When I’m at the hospital, I try to.”

A small ache went through her heart. “You’re going to kill yourself, you know.” She wasn’t sure whether or not she should follow that thought, but the words just kind of came out. “I know what it’s like to wonder if you have a tomorrow. It’s made me grab at life and enjoy every second I have.”

His eyes met hers, and his jaw tightened. “Some of us don’t have that option.”

“That’s ridiculous. You have as much choice as the next person.”

A hard laugh echoed through the hallway. “I see. And your way of enjoying life is to do whatever strikes your fancy at that particular moment—especially after business hours—no matter what the consequences?”

The inference was plain.

She glanced down the hall, hoping no one was within earshot. “Maybe that’s what’s needed sometimes. Less thinking, more doing.” Hannah didn’t believe that for a second, but she wasn’t about to admit how much his attitude hurt. There was almost an accusatory slant to his tone that made her wonder if he really felt that way about her.

He stared at her for several seconds then sighed. “I think we need to have that talk before this goes any further.”

Afraid he was going to suggest going to his office—the last place she wanted to be right now—she almost sagged in relief when he motioned toward the door of the exam room Claire had just vacated. Maybe he felt the same reluctance to share his office space with her. Fine, as far as she was concerned.

She swept through the doorway ahead of him, grabbing up a few items and starting to stow them away. The snick of the lock stopped her cold. Swinging around to face him, her eyes went to the door, which was indeed locked. What was that all about?

“I didn’t think you wanted anyone to overhear this particular discussion.”

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