Everything I Need, page 2
He let her go and sat back, idly twisting her one of her corkscrew curls and setting off frissons of pleasure every time he brushed the side of her neck.
They stared at each other.
“Can I tell you something?” she asked quietly.
His expression softened, as did his voice.
“You can tell me anything, darling.”
As always, his use of the endearment made her feel as though her skin glowed.
She stole another quick kiss, lingering over his tender lips because they were so delicious. When they broke apart, she noted, with great satisfaction, that his eyes were glazed.
“I work at the hospital,” she said. “All the time. I eat. Sometimes I sleep. When I can’t sleep, I read my medical journals.” She pointed to where they were piled high in a basket. “Sometimes I have a glass of wine. Sometimes I meet up with Samira, but not so much now that she’s with Baptiste. And that’s it. That’s all there is to me.”
One corner of his mouth curled.
“Sounds pathetic, to be honest. I never realized you were such a loser.”
“Well, I am,” she said, managing a quick laugh before her swelling heart filled her throat. Her smile slipped away. It was much too hard to think clearly when he looked at her like that, all steady warmth. “So the next time you feel like I’m having too much fun without you, just remember that I’m either in the OR trying to patch some kid back together or sitting here wishing you were with me.”
He hesitated. Ran his hands over the top of his head, ruffling his hair.
“Melody—”
His phone vibrated. They both stiffened.
At that glum moment, Melody would have been happier to hear Jack from The Shining chopping through her front door with an ax.
He pulled his phone out and checked the display. “It’s Baptiste. He’s on his way.”
“I know,” she said.
To her everlasting dismay, she felt her chin wobble and discovered that she was perilously close to tears. She’d already cried once in front of him (the other day when one of her patients had suddenly died) and had no intention of doing it again. Ever, if she could help it.
The man was going home to London. They’d known this moment would come. No big deal whatsoever.
So she plastered a bright smile on her face and jumped up.
“Did you forget anything? I’d better make sure you grabbed all your stuff.”
She hurried into the bedroom, giving herself a swift mental kick in the ass along the way. What the hell had gotten into her? She met a new man and all of the sudden she carried on as though life was a Shakespearean tragedy every time he left her side? Was that where this was going?
No freaking way.
Her life did not depend on a man. Her happiness did not depend on a man.
She wouldn’t let it.
Tomorrow she would go back to work at the hospital like she always did. Normal life would resume. The birds would still sing in the trees and her curly hair would still refuse to behave. Her entire life had not changed because of this relationship.
Okay.
Focus, girl.
She did a lap around her ultra-neat bedroom with her usual brisk efficiency and noticed it right away: the telltale patch of red plaid under the edge of one of the white decorator pillows on the bed. Anthony’s flannel pajama bottoms. He’d be sad if he got back home and they weren’t in his overnight bag, wouldn’t he? She snatched them up and headed for the bathroom. And there was something else: Anthony’s toothbrush in her holder, along with his travel-sized bottle of funky British mouthwash and tube of toothpaste. She grabbed those, too.
Men.
And to think he’d claimed he’d packed. How was it “packing” when you forgot pretty much everything you’d brought with you? Was it a vision problem? Maybe she should hold up a couple fingers and ask him how many he saw—
Anthony appeared in the bathroom doorway, startling her.
She shook her head, disbelieving, and snorted out a laugh as she held the items up for him to see.
“You forgot half your stuff, you silly goose.”
But Anthony was evidently in no mood for teasing.
She watched the storm roll in and settle on his face, dimming the vivid cornflower blue of his eyes the way an afternoon rain throws Miami beaches into shadow.
His jaw tightened.
“Why are you getting rid of my things?”
2
The sudden rough edge to his voice caught her by surprise. So did the look on his face, as though he planned to call the local authorities if she didn’t put his stuff back now. A negative electrical charge in the air made nerve endings tingle all up and down her arms and across her scalp.
She froze, baffled.
This whole situation demonstrated, in stark detail, the problem with sexing someone up first, then trying to build a relationship later. The sex, at least for her, kicked the intensity level up to eleven, but the parties involved still didn’t know each other well enough to understand whether the inevitable bumps in the road were normal or if they led to hidden sinkholes that could ruin everything.
“Why’re you looking at me like that?” she asked. “I’m not getting rid of your stuff. I’m making sure you pack it so you don’t miss it when you get home.”
His eyes flashed. “Why can’t my things stay where they were?”
She blinked, bewildered. “I didn’t realize you wanted them to.”
“Well, I do,” he said flatly.
She held her hands up. “My mistake.”
He grumbled something indistinct.
“What the hell is going on here?” she asked. “Why am I getting the feeling that your toothbrush is not the real issue?”
“Because you’ve completely missed the point.” He barked. “Some women want the man to leave something behind. Some women want the man to feel that there’s a place for him.”
“A thousand pardons.”
“Besides. You need the reminder.”
“Of what?” she said, still baffled.
“My pending return.”
The lingering belligerence in his tone didn’t sit well with her. Nor did the additional reference to the fact that she hadn’t kept the faith the last time he left town.
She crossed her arms, beginning to fume.
“Stop throwing that blind date in my face. And don’t bark at me. I’m not one of your soldiers. And you’re not General Patton pledging to return to the Philippines.”
A flicker of grudging respect crossed over his face. “It was General MacArthur.”
“Close enough.”
They watched each other, the silence turning wary until a light bulb went off over her head. She snapped her fingers as all the puzzle pieces fell into place.
“Hang on. I know what you’re doing. You’re picking a fight with me.”
His expression became guarded.
“Pardon me? Why on earth would I do that in my last ten seconds with you before I have to leave for the week?”
Look at his face! She was definitely on to something.
“It’s part of the separation process. It’s easier for people to let each other go and say good-bye if they’re angry with each other. I learned about this whole thing during med school.”
A dull flush climbed up his neck and resolved over his cheekbones. He cocked his head, squinting at her. “Are you analyzing me?”
Meeting his stony expression head-on shaved a year or two off her life. This man gave intimidating a whole new meaning, and she’d been yelled at and humiliated by some of the most fearsome professors Harvard Med had to offer.
Yet she wasn’t scared. Not at all. She was exhilarated.
“Am I wrong?”
His jaw began to flex in the back. Maybe that was why it took him so long to speak.
“I hope I haven’t reached quite that level of insanity and dependency over a woman I didn’t know existed two short weeks ago.”
The words hovered between them, lingering in the air like a blast from a skunk’s tail.
Worse? The veiled implication made her wince. It was all buried in those staccato syllables, something to the effect that she thought a bit too highly of herself, or maybe that she read way too much importance and/or permanency into any plans he may have for their relationship.
Whatever it was, it cut far too close to the bone of her sparse dating life and forgettable previous relationships with men. It made her want to duck her head and mumble an apology for letting her narcissistic side run wild.
Then she remembered: she didn’t have a narcissistic side.
He was picking an argument. No matter how he tried to dodge and deflect when confronted with the truth. This behavior was a known psychological phenomenon.
Funny thing, though. She still wanted to hit him.
Actually, she wanted a lot of things at the moment.
She wanted him to march his arrogant self out of her apartment and not let the door hit him in the ass on the way out. She also wanted him to stay here forever so she could employ more of her previously undetected intuitive skills and uncover all of his secrets.
Mostly she just wanted a reaction from Mr. Cool and Aloof.
“Tell you what,” she said with a sweeping gesture toward the bathroom door. “Why don’t you wait for Baptiste in the lobby? Have a great flight.”
Seething now, she took a determined step or two away from him.
He made a strangled noise behind her, the only clue that she might have hit a nerve.
Bingo.
She turned back, triumph surging through her as they glared at each other.
One glimpse of those flashing blue eyes revealed everything she could have hoped to know. Honestly, it was like looking into a funhouse mirror of her own emotions. A reflection of everything she felt about him.
She infuriated him.
She fascinated him.
She amused and unraveled him.
He didn’t want to leave her.
This thing between them terrified him.
What if it didn’t work out?
And, worse, what if it somehow did?
This was all too much, way too soon.
Yet he had no intention of backing away from any challenges she might present.
His expression turned determined as he looked her up and down. Hot. Possessive.
There was no mistaking his intent.
She started to shake her head and remind him that Baptiste was probably pulling into the parking lot this very second. The circumstances weren’t exactly conducive to her relaxing and enjoying herself. Plus, they’d already had sex roughly eight hundred times in the last twenty-four hours and her intimate lady parts were sore and wonderfully sated. There was a limit to how much her body could take and how many times she could cream and come for him.
Enough was enough.
She started to open her mouth and tell him that now was not the time. But she got exactly nowhere.
Because that was the thing about Anthony Scott.
He had his rough edges and arrogant moments, sure.
But when he looked at her like that?
There was only this.
She reached for him, palming his scratchy cheeks and pulling his face down for her urgent kisses. He was right there with her, running his hands down to her ass and hefting her as his mouth slanted over hers. She hopped up, wrapping her legs around his waist and reveling in his earthy scent and the size of his erection as he ground against her. His skilled mouth nuzzled, licked and nipped, his tongue growing more insistent and sweeping deeper once he gripped a handful of her hair and tilted her head the way he wanted it.
Just the way she wanted it.
She crooned and mewled, choking out little sounds of encouragement that he didn’t seem to need as he plunked her on the marble countertop next to the sink.
There was a tiny pause while they stared at each other in mutual astonishment. God only knew what all ran through his mind when he stared at her with such dark intent, his expression vaguely troubled, but she could only manage a single flustered thought:
What is this man doing to me?
Then he unleashed all his passion with a low growl and thinking became impossible.
Never had a quickie been quite so quick or so relentlessly thorough. While she propped her hands on the counter behind her and tried to withstand the onslaught, his hands managed to hit all the highlights of her body in sixty seconds or less. They gripped her hair and massaged her nape. Reverently stroked her face and neck, maneuvering her head this way and that for his kisses and nips. Manhandled her breasts and nipples, rubbing and squeezing jolts of sensation out of her body and making her squirm with growing agitation.
Down below, meanwhile, she held his waist in a death grip between her thighs. If this man thought she was letting him hop a plane to London when he belonged right here with her, he damn well better think again. But Anthony didn’t act like he was going anywhere. He rotated his hips with sharp thrusts, never missing a beat as he unerringly hit the sweet spot between her legs and made her foolish as she panted and moaned incoherently for him.
Then his hands went to the waistband of her yoga pants.
Ah, God.
She got her sluggish lids open and looked up to see him watching her, a glimmer of something unrestrained and primitive in his eyes as he tugged her pants and panties down. She wiggled to help him, then reached for his belt and started to unbuckle it. But he took over with an impatient rumble and freed himself much faster than she could have managed with her shaky hands.
And there he was.
As a medical professional, she’d seen her share of penises and wasn’t one to wax poetic about their various forms and uses. But this one was particularly fine, ruddy and thick with a plump head that reminded her of some delicious summer fruit.
Just as she was thinking, oh, shit, I hope he has a condom nearby, he reached sideways and opened the top drawer. Staring her in the face, one brow raised to a cocky say something; I dare you level, he rummaged around and produced...a string of condoms.
It took her lust-fogged brain a couple of beats to realize that he’d planted the condoms earlier and meant them to stay with her along with his pajama bottoms and toiletries, marking his place and reminding her of his existence until his return.
She registered his gotcha gleam of amusement. She also registered his unyielding stance on the issue (there’d be hell to pay if she dared complain) and, beneath that, the hint of vulnerability.
Bottom line? He’d respect her wishes and pack up all his stuff if she insisted, but he’d receive such instructions as stab wounds of rejection.
As for her?
While she wanted to do many things with this man, sending him away with his eyes a stormy blue rather than the bright cobalt she’d come to know and love was not one of them.
So she sat up straighter, took the condoms from him, tore one off, replaced the rest and shut the drawer with a decisive snap.
His expression softened as he dimpled at her.
Something in her heart turned over.
She watched with a faint feeling of regret as he sheathed himself. She hated these pauses when she was ready to crawl out of her too-tight skin and they had to stop and do the medically safe thing. She didn’t want anything between her and that hard dick. It felt unnatural to have a barrier between them, like trying to eat sand or wield the scalpel in her left hand.
He glanced up at her when he finished. Some of her ambivalence must have shown because he studied her for a long beat or two, his face troubled.
But this was no time for deep thoughts or discussions. Not when he put his hands on her hips, slid her off the counter with her yoga pants and panties down around her knees and turned her to face the counter.
And the mirror.
She planted her hands on the cool marble, shivering with anticipation as she braced herself. Doggie style had never really been her thing but, on the other hand, sex with Anthony Scott wasn’t like sex with anyone else.
As always, she couldn’t wait to get him inside her. Especially now. There was something about the way he loomed behind her, all hard-edged masculinity here in her bathroom among all her creams and lotions. Something about the way they were still mostly clothed, with only his dick and her pussy exposed.
Something about the look in his eyes as they watched each other in the mirror.
He nudged her feet apart, widening her stance. Bent at the knees, getting the angle just right. Thrust home.
They both cried out, undone by the exquisite contact between them. Melody gasped, trying to get her head around the spiraling sensations between her legs and the way her soreness actually increased the pleasure. Anthony also took a moment to adjust, bracing one palm on the counter and rubbing her breasts with the other.
Funny, huh?
Three minutes ago, she would have sworn that she didn’t have another orgasm in her, not for at least another two or three days, but now her secret inner muscles began to tighten and clench all around him.
She bore down experimentally, watching his face in the mirror to see what he would do.
He’d hooked his chin over her shoulder so that they were cheek-to-cheek, so she had a perfect view of the way his eyes rolled closed and his features slackened with astonishment.
Astonishment...and gathering ecstasy.
Then his eyes flicked open again and he dragged that hand back and forth between her breasts a final time, abrading her sensitive flesh with the stretchy material of her sports bra.
She gasped. Trembled as his hand slid its way down her belly and lower, zeroing in on her sex.
He cupped her, pressing two fingers to her clit and penning her in until his heavy body blocked her from behind and there was nowhere for her to go and nothing for her to do other than receive the thrill of each delicious thrust.
Then he began to move.
And that amazing dick of his—or maybe it was his amazing fingers—led her to hidden pleasure centers that she hadn’t known her body possessed. Every surge of his hips generated bolts of electrical pleasure low in her belly, much to her shock. And yet it was no shock at all. Not with Anthony. That was one of the things that was so galling—and so exciting—about him. He knew things about her that she didn’t know, and he didn’t bother showing her the decency of acting surprised about it. It was as though he’d reached inside her, pulled out a handful of flawless ten-carat diamonds, ignored her absolute astonishment and said, yeah, I thought that was in there.
