The Doctor's Damsel in Distress

The timing wasn’t great, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. She cringed again, feeling a little nauseous. Oh, please don’t let the odds be against her. Pregnancy by a man who’d just been a player playing would be a nightmare.

Even if she had stronger feelings for him, he’d played her body and heart like a fiddler playing his instrument.

Pregnancy would be a twist he hadn’t counted on. A twist neither of them had been counting on.

A twist that as a player she’d have expected him to have been on top of. How often did he have unprotected sex? Surely as a doctor he knew better. Surely as a nurse she knew better.

Yet neither of them had stopped, had even hesitated when he’d thrust inside her. No, she certainly hadn’t been hesitating. She’d been welcoming him, wanting him deeper and deeper, grabbing his hips and pulling him as far into her as he’d go.

“I’m fine,” she lied. Feeling cold despite the warm night air, she sat up and reached for her scrub top, wanting to quickly pull it over her head and hide her nakedness. She didn’t even know where her bra was.

How could she have been so stupid? How could he?

He grasped her hand. “But if anything comes of this, we’ll deal with it together.”

Deal with it together? What was that supposed to mean?

If he thought…

Another burst of anger and hurt whipping through her, she pulled her hand free. “Nothing will come of it.”

God, she hoped nothing came of it. No way did she want a baby. Not really. Certainly not under these circumstances.

He sighed. “I don’t do this, you know.”

No, she didn’t know anything. Nothing except what should have been a beautiful moment had turned into something ugly and humiliating. “Do what?”

His lips compressed into a fine line. “Have unprotected sex.”

Sex. Not making love, but sex.

“That’s good to know.” She kept her voice light, almost flippant as she pulled her top over her head. She wasn’t sure if she felt more relief that he wasn’t in the habit of sleeping around without protection or disappointment that he’d relegated her into the category of sex. What had she expected? Claims of undying love? Yeah, right.

At least Levi wasn’t making promises he didn’t intend to keep, wasn’t telling her how much he loved her, wasn’t filling her head with lies so he could play her again and again while she turned a blind eye to his philandering playboy ways.

“I’m serious.” Levi’s voice dropped a couple of octaves. “That was a first. I don’t have unprotected sex. Never.”

Why did her heart quiver that he might be telling the truth? But she’d already revealed so much to him that she couldn’t risk letting her feelings show. She’d be a fool to think what they’d shared meant anything beyond the physical.

“My health thanks you.”

A low noise came from his throat, almost a growl. His jaw worked back and forth. “Don’t do that.”

She moistened her lips, reaching for her scrub bottoms, hoping her underwear was inside because otherwise she had no clue as to where they’d gotten to as well. “What?”

He raked his fingers through his hair, watching as she searched her pants leg for missing panties. “Say something flippant when I’m trying to be serious.”

She stopped her search and stared at him in the dusky night. “What do you want me to say? You got what you wanted.”

A whip of wind hit her body, goose-pimpling her flesh, running a chill down her spine. Or was it the coldness coming her way from Levi that was causing the drop in temperature? His gaze bored into her and she knew. Levi.

“And you didn’t?” he asked, sounding as if he wouldn’t believe her even if she denied that she’d wanted him. Made sense. In those moments before he’d thrust into her body, she’d wanted Levi more than she’d ever wanted anything, had felt like she might die if her body didn’t mesh with his, didn’t slide in sweet wet friction with him.

Slide they had.

No, she couldn’t deny that she’d wanted him just as badly. Perhaps she’d wanted him more. But, then, she’d wanted him from the moment she’d set eyes on him and picked him out to be the victim, ah, recipient, of her new playgirl ways.

Picked him out? As if she’d had a choice. She’d taken one look and needed a drool rag to wipe away the slobber.