Until today.

Now Corrigan was here, prowling around my cozy burrow. It made no sense: he couldn’t be interested in me. If he was the new quarterback, I was the weird, geeky girl who hid away in the library. But whenever I closed my eyes, I saw that cocky, lust-filled gaze.

He wanted the geek girl.

And—I flushed—I had a crush on the quarterback.

I didn’t understand it. He was my complete opposite: confident where I’m shy, loud where I’m quiet, risky and quick where I’m cautious and slow. He was everything I shied away from and nothing like the men I’d been into before. And yet I was drawn to him. I couldn’t stop thinking about his eyes or the way his body had felt when he pressed up against me. And that brief second of vulnerability I’d seen, that hint of something deeper underneath his cockiness, that only made it worse. I knew he was totally unsuitable, a womanizer who was only after one thing. I knew he couldn’t really be interested in me. And yet I was fascinated.

Goddamn him. Why did he have to come here?

3

Dominic

WHY DID I have to come here?

I was in the ER break room, pouring coffee into someone else’s World’s Best Dad mug. The acrid smell made my nostrils prickle: it must have been sitting on the hotplate since dawn. But I needed the caffeine. Last night, my first in the apartment I’d rented, I hadn’t slept at all. Even after going for a run. Even after hitting the town’s one bar and sinking some late-night beers. This place was just too damn quiet.

In LA, I’d had three locks on my door, bars on the windows and a siren wailing past every few minutes. In the Congo and Libya, it wasn’t a normal night unless you were jolted awake by the crackle of gunfire or the thump of an explosion. But in Mount Mercy, I could hear myself breathing. I wasn’t sure if people even locked their doors, here.

And the quiet gave me space to remember. I’d laid awake staring up at the ceiling, feeling the void where their voices and footsteps should have been.

I drained the coffee, wincing. At least hospital coffee was the same the world over. And when I slammed the mug down, I had a plan.

If Mount Mercy was too quiet to distract me, I’d find something else. I’d go back to that bar and get wasted. Or I’d borrow some skis and find a black run, something that would get the adrenaline pumping. Or….

The break room had a window that looked out into the hallway. I could see a couple of the nurses out there, chatting away at the nurse’s station. I’d seen their eyes go big when they first saw my tattoos and heard my accent. I’d give one of them the silver-tongued Irish charm and take her back to my place. Or maybe both of them. Yeah, sex was the answer.

Except….

My gaze had drifted to a sign that pointed the way to different departments. An angled arrow led upstairs. Surgery,

Amy Beckett.

Smart. Annoying. Sheltered. She’d last about five minutes, down here in the real world. But she hadn’t backed down when I’d gotten in her face. She might be shy, but she had a spine. And she hadn’t gone all doe-eyed and melty over me but...there’d been something. Something a lot more interesting.

Stupid. Why make it hard on myself? This place was packed with women. I looked back to the nurses. One of them caught my eye and gave me a smile. I smiled back.

But….

It was a weird feeling, like when your tongue keeps wiggling a loose tooth even though it hurts. There was something about Beckett. She was all buttoned-up and smart and efficient and her body was hidden under those shapeless green surgery scrubs. But there were these little things... like the blue eyes that had gone from frosty to steaming hot when we’d glared at each other just right. Or her creamy skin, that pale throat leading down into the neckline of her scrubs, tempting me with thoughts of what she might be wearing underneath. I imagined a black, lacy bra and sexy little black panties, silky fabric stretched over firm ass cheeks. My fingers sliding under the material at the front and down and in and her letting out a high, shocked little squeal of pleasure as I parted her slickened folds.

And that red hair. The hair most of all. Not fake, cherry red, not auburn like fall leaves. Full-on glossy copper, bright as a flame. I’d only seen a single lock that had escaped from under that tight surgical cap: just a hint that under all that cool formality there was something scalding. All I could think about was pulling it free and letting it spill down her back in a shimmering wave. I’d roll the strands over her breasts with my palms until her nipples jutted out, hard and perfect, and my kiss swallowed up her moans.

Tags: Helena Newbury Romance
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