It was becoming increasingly clear that the coffee had been some sort of cosmic sign. Not that the kiss wasn’t also, but why were they so comfortable with each other so quickly? Eager to reach out and be so kind and thoughtful? Knowing that her entire life was about to change, and how important such a seemingly insignificant thing—coffee—was in her relationship with Laura, it made sense that Josie would offer him a cup as a gesture. But to have Alex think of her that way, too, was a kind of kismet that warmed her heart.
What next? She followed him off the elevator and stood there dumbly, the quiet hush of sleep at 4 a.m. and the occasional groans from women not on traditional timelines (babies in utero have a remarkable disdain for modern American temporal convention) were the only major sounds.
Even Laura seemed to still be asleep, the room’s door closed, no sounds coming from behind it. What next?
Alex’s hand, holding a cup of coffee, made a flailing, circular gesture toward her. Huh? Then she realized he wanted her to follow him. As she ambled behind, she got a good look at him. How could scrubs fit so well? Seriously? Muscled and full, his ass was like some kind of trophy for Best Ass Ever contests. Seeing it na**d would be heavenly. Her mind flashed to the most recent na**d ass she’d seen, and she wished for brain bleach. Who wanted to think about na**d Dylan right now?
Not her.
A small door with a tiny nameplate next to it and a covered window was Alex’s destination. Ah. Now she understood.
The dreaded On-Call Room.
On-call rooms were notorious among medical professionals in hospitals. Meant to be a place for overworked interns, residents, attendings, and nurses to catch up on sleep, they were really little more than free-sex rooms. The amount of amorous, ugly bumping that went on in those tiny bunk beds ought to have triggered a Board of Health alert. If Alex was bringing her there, it meant only one thing.
And God, did she want that one, big thing she imagined was waiting for her under those scrub pants.
“Hold on,” he said, setting both his cups on the floor and grabbing the two she held. Marching past her to a nurse’s station, he set down the two spares. “Free for the first person who grabs them!” he announced quietly. “Just milk.” Two nurses snatched them up and murmured their thanks to Alex’s back as he strode with great, sensual purpose toward Josie, making her wish she’d worn something more sexually attractive than a hoodie and yoga pants. Who knew she’d meet a hot doctor at Laura’s birth?
And who would have thought that she’d be standing in the threshold of an on-call room as her friend labored nearby? All moral ambiguity went out the window as he playfully wrapped his arms around her waist and dragged her into the room, kicking the door shut.
“It sounds so crazy,” he said, his mouth against her neck, hands riding up her back and sinking into her hair, the scent of him making her want to lick his skin just to have it in her forever, “but I don’t think you mind my being this forward.” He pulled back, eyes suddenly serious. “And this isn’t your average on-call romp.”
“I’m not average anything in an on-call room.”
That made him pause, making Josie regret the words instantly. Instead of disapproval, mirth shone in those deep brown eyes. “So I’m not your first?”
Snort. “You’re my first today.” Ugh! Why did she do that? Say the most heinous thing possible that would make him walk away, turn from her, and not want to be with her? If the tables had been turned and Alex had made that joke right now, she’d have been deeply grossed out. And yet here she was, stupid, sarcastic crap pouring forth in a highly intimate setting. An extremely attractive, sensual man wanted to get na**d with her and—
She said what?
Ferocious with need, he moved like a panther to her, taking her with a kiss that spoke of want and desire and heady sexuality. His mouth was on her and his hands everywhere. Dr. Octopus might not be her first on-call room jaunt, but he damn well could be her last.
Wherever that thought came from, it seemed matched by him. Breathless, he pulled back, leaving her mouth cold with air and abandonment, and said, “This isn’t just sex.”
How incongruous. Of course it was just sex. Men didn’t meet Josie and do this. Not even the casual sex part. She wasn’t the pick-up girl type. Sure, she had her share of one-night stands and on-call room quickies, but she wasn’t That Kind of Woman. Plenty of nurses and female medical professionals were that kind of woman, but she wasn’t. Guys didn’t fall for her at first sight; neither lust nor love drove men to her. She was an afterthought, or a friend with benefits. Not the hot chick you felt a connection to and just had to have.
Why, then, was Dr. Coffee doing this?
And telling her it was more than sex?
“Can it at least be sex?” With that, she pulled her hoodie up over her head in one fluid motion, then eagerly reached for his shirt, helping him to wiggle out, his broad, muscled chest on display, a nicely distributed smattering of dark hair covering his well-defined pecs. Her fingertips caressed the six-pack she’d hoped was under those scrubs, trailing down to the navel, where the hair thickened, and his sharp intake of breath told her that a few more inches and she’d pass the point of no return.
Who was she kidding? They’d passed that the second she made that comment about nurses and elevators.
And she was right.
Hot palms made their slow way up her back, practiced hands unclasping her thin wisp of a bra, freeing small, pert br**sts from their nylon encasing. Endowment had never been a problem for her—if anything, her figure was boyish, though gaining twenty pounds along with Laura’s sixty or so had given her new curves no man had yet explored. In his hands, her h*ps felt womanly. The bottoms of his palms cupped her flesh, thumbs brushing with intent to make her ni**les stand at attention. Oh, he had her attention, all right. No need for more.
More, though, was what she wanted, her hands riding from his waist up to his shoulders, until she looked up into smoky eyes, darkened with need, his face serious and mature.
“I mean it,” he said in a raspy voice infused with desire. “I don’t understand why or how, but this isn’t just about what we’re doing right now, Josie. Not for me.”
The world’s best come-on line.
“You make me want to do naughty things,” he said, and bent down, his body over hers, his lips next to her ear, the lines of his arms and legs pressed against hers decidedly not-protectively and not-tender. There was an animal instinct to him, something calm that assumed that what he wanted was what she wanted, too. Her head fell back a bit on her neck as she yielded to him. Yes, yes, yes, she thought.