14. Kayla
14 KAYLA
“Are you sure you don’t need me to stay?” I was dead on my feet after a ten-hour shift that had turned into an eighteen-hour shift due to a flu outbreak among the staff—and the town. “I can stay.”
Mark glared at me, folding his arms in a way that reminded me of how he probably presented himself to his own pre-teen kids. “I would love for you to stay, Kayla, but you’ve already been here longer than you should. I need you to come back refreshed. The day after tomorrow.”
“But Mark, we’re already severely understaffed. Can you afford to have me take a day off?”
“No,” he sighed. “But I also can’t afford to have an exhausted doctor making mistakes. Go home, sleep it off, eat an orange, chug a handful of blueberries—do whatever you have to do to make sure you don’t catch this flu.”
I stared at him, unsure of what to do. Mark was the head of the Emergency Department, which made him my boss, but it went against everything I believed to leave the ER without enough staff to handle the patients.
“Dr. Stevens, go. That’s an order.”
A yawn split my face as I nodded. “Yeah, okay. I’ll leave my phone on, so call if you need me. Seriously, I’m going to crash, so I’ll be rested enough in about three hours.”
“Five,” he shot back. “If I need you after five hours, I will call. Good night, Doctor.”
“Good night. Good luck.” The cool night air didn’t do much to wake me up, but I made the short drive home with all the windows down and the radio turned up higher than usual just to ensure I made it safely. “Home sweet home,” I said as I turned onto my block, but those words died a quick and traumatic death when I spotted a group of people loitering on my lawn. “What the hell?” I stepped from my car, and the group immediately flocked to me, asking questions that strangers had no business asking.
“Dr. Kayla Stevens? Are you dating Lancaster?”
“Kayla, how is he in bed?”
“Is it love?”
“How many times a day do you have sex? Is he as insatiable as claimed?”
I froze at their vile questions before my emergency training kicked in. Symptoms: reporters and paparazzi invading my space. Diagnose: escape, immediately. I jumped back into the car, grabbed my phone, and called the one person I knew who could handle this mess. “Mac, are you home?”
He must’ve heard the tension in my voice because he didn’t make any jokes. “Yeah, what’s up?”
“Reporters on my doorstep asking me really personal questions.”
“Fuck!” It sounded like he set aside his guitar and got to his feet. “I’m coming out now.” True to his word, the door opened within seconds, and he stalked toward me. He opened the driver’s side door and smiled. “Hey Doc. How’s it going?”
“Better now.” I shook my head, feeling foolish. “I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have called you. This probably makes it worse for you.”
He sighed. “Don’t worry about me; I can handle myself just fine.” He flashed a teasing smile and flung an arm around my shoulder. “They know if they show up where I don’t want them, I’ll use so much bad language they won’t have anything usable.”
I laughed and shook my head. “Smart.”
“Don’t forget pretty,” he added with a laugh. “Come on.” He walked with a slow, easy gait, completely unbothered by the questions being fired at us.
“Thank you, Mac.” I kicked off my shoes just inside the door and sighed heavily as I removed my coat and the band from my ponytail. Each item removed felt like a layer of tension easing from my body. “I’ll head out as soon as they leave.”
“No need for that.” He took my hand and pulled me through the house, into his bedroom, and into his attached bathroom. “First, a hot shower. Afterwards, you can tell me what else you need.”
Was this… was Mac taking care of me? I knew he was a caring man, a good man, but this felt like book-boyfriend material.
“Chop chop, Doc.” He turned on the water, and seconds later, the room began to fill with steam.
“Yeah, okay. Thanks.” The hot shower was exactly what I needed, and I took my time, scrubbing the day away and washing my hair. I stood there until the hot water turned lukewarm, smiling to myself as Mac’s scent surrounded me. I stepped out of the bathroom and found a Lancaster t-shirt on the bed.
“Feeling better?”
I turned to find Mac staring at me with heat in his eyes. “Yeah, a lot better, thanks.”
“Hungry?”
I nodded. “Starved, but I’m not sure I’d stay awake long enough to eat anything.”
“Bed, then?”
I nodded again and crawled onto the large, plush bed as another yawn escaped. After I shimmied under the covers, I laid my head on the pillow with a contented sigh. “Thanks, Mac, for everything.”
The blanket lifted, and the bed sank under his weight as Mac slid in behind me and wrapped his arms around me. “No thanks necessary,” he whispered in my ear and kissed the back of my neck. “Good night, Doc.”
I moaned and snuggled in closer; his scent and warmth comforted me. Aroused me. The truth was that this thing with Mac was starting to feel more than casual. A lot more, and it was confusing. Falling for a rock star wasn’t in my plans for the spring, but the more I tried to avoid it, the harder I fell.
“You’re too wound up to sleep,” Mac whispered. “Let me help you sleep, sweet Kayla.” His hand skated down my waist and hips before he gripped my ass and pressed his erection into me.
“Mac,” I moaned and arched my back. “Yes!” The word escaped on a hiss as one finger slipped in from behind.
“You’re already so wet for me. You need this, need me to help you sleep.”
He was right; I did. “Yes.” The word came out over and over, like a song.
“You feel so fucking good, Kayla, like you were made just for me.” He grunted as he pushed into my body, a long, slow stroke that stole my breath. My voice. “Fuck, babe.”
His words were perfect—sweet and growly—but so damn confusing because the way we came together just now wasn’t just sex; it wasn’t fucking. It was making love. It was slow and intense; every stroke sent a bolt through me, and it was desire of a different kind. Desire to have him for more than just one night, for more than this brief time between tours and recording studios. “Mac, please.”
He took his time, savoring every thrust as if each one were his last. From this angle, he was able to sink deeper than ever, and too soon I was coming apart and clenching around him until stars exploded behind my eyes. “Oh fuck, Kayla!”
I smiled through the orgasm, loving how he kissed my neck and shoulders as he pounded into me while chasing his own release. “Mac!” My orgasm came fast and hard; Mac’s arms held me through it while his cock sought pleasure deep inside me. “Oh god, Mac,” I shouted as another wave of pleasure surged forward.
His own pleasure came right on the heels of mine, and his body jerked, pushing him deeper into me. “Perfect,” he growled in my ear. “You are fucking perfect, Kayla.”
When he said it, I felt perfect.
The orgasms were so powerful that we fell asleep with our bodies still connected, his arms around me, my hands on top of his.
A smile on my face.