Heart And Soul (Angel Sands 8)

How her body felt alive in the way it hadn’t in years.

Pushing herself away, she headed to the bathroom, turning on the shower before pulling off her clothes, laying her phone on the counter. Before she could turn to head into the cubicle, it buzzed.

Rich: Thanks for the hug. And sweet dreams. I’ll see you next week.

So that was how they were playing it. Pretending it was a friendly hug.

Maybe she should turn the warm water off. A cold shower was just what she needed.

11

Rich turned over in bed and checked the time. It was almost one in the morning and he still wasn’t asleep. He never suffered from insomnia. Since medical school he’d learned t

o sleep whenever he got the chance. A few hours here, a morning there, if he closed his eyes he was gone.

But not now. Part of it was because he was still furious with Carlyn. It was one thing for her to be obsessed with him – he could handle that. But to go after his sister? That was fucked up. And it made him want to hit something.

The only moment of peace he’d felt this evening was on Meghan’s balcony, when she’d wrapped her arms around him.

And yeah, he’d gotten carried away. Who wouldn’t? The woman was gorgeous and funny and she would pretty much rock anybody’s world. And if she wasn’t his next door neighbor, he probably wouldn’t have walked away.

God knew there were parts of him that didn’t want to. The same part that was hard as a rock now, thinking about how soft her breasts were as they pressed against him. And how she gave little stuttered sighs as he kissed the curve between her throat and her shoulder.

He shifted in bed, his hardness getting uncomfortable. His hand drifted down, his palm brushing against it. Jesus, he was like a rock.

She was on the other side of this wall. Probably fast asleep. The thought made him ache with need, and when he brushed his thumb over the ridge of his need, he groaned.

There was nothing for it, he was going to have to touch himself. Maybe it would stop him from thinking about her so much. God knew he needed to relax somehow, he had a full day of work tomorrow. Sliding his hand fully inside his shorts, he grasped his fingers firmly around his length, circling his thumb over the tip as he imagined sliding himself between her sweet lips.

He twitched hard, another groan escaping as he pictured her staring up at him with those emerald green eyes, all wide and innocent and needy as hell, as she used her tongue and her lips to bring him to his knees.

It took less than a minute for it all to be over. He cleaned himself up and collapsed back on his pillows, but the restlessness hadn’t disappeared. If anything it had only gotten worse, because now he’d pictured himself with her, the wall between her bed and his felt way too thin.

This was crazy. Even thinking about her like this was playing with fire. He didn’t date where he ate, because sooner or later it would all come crashing down and she’d hate him.

No, they needed to be friends. Friends who helped each other out and smiled in the hallway and bitched about the air conditioning when it cut out.

Lifting his arm, he looked at his right hand, letting out a sigh. He had a feeling he was going to be getting intimately reacquainted with this part of his anatomy. And if it stopped him from doing something stupid, then great.

He’d get her out of his brain any way he could. If nothing else, it was a good way to go.

Meghan: Does this evening work for a swim in the ocean?

Rich stared at his phone screen. He hadn’t talked to Meghan since he’d been on her balcony. Some of it was avoidance, but most of it was work. And thinking about an alternative location for Belle’s show if his lawyer didn’t come through. He’d even thought about having it in the hospital atrium, but couldn’t see how he could get it to work.

Rich: Yep. I should finish at five. Does that work?

Meghan: Perfectly. I’ll bring us a picnic to eat after your swim. And maybe a blanket in case of hypothermia.

A picnic at the beach? His stomach tensed as he remembered his own mom doing the same thing for him and Belle. She’d make burritos and they’d carry them to the car, driving down to the beach before walking toward the ocean. They’d sit and eat as the sun went down, and a five-year-old Belle would paddle in the water and squeal as the waves drenched her legs.

Back when she could walk. He shook his head, because he didn’t think about the past that much. Didn’t let himself. It was done and over. The here and now was all that mattered.

Rich: Looking forward to it already. Especially the hypothermia. x

He smiled at the thought of Isla. Now that he’d gotten to know her a little better she’d blossomed. Yesterday she’d slipped a picture under his door. She’d drawn him in his scrubs, stethoscope around his neck, leaning over a patient with a huge grin on his face.

To say thank you he’d drawn her a picture, too. He didn’t have Belle’s skills, but he could hold his own. This one had been of a foot. Her foot. A diagram more than a picture, with all the different parts of the foot labeled, including the scar with no hair.