Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Annika
“That’s an insulting question.” Dr. Cross’s sigh rumples the small hairs near my temple. “I wouldn’t be here with you if I did.”
“I didn’t mean it as an insult. Martha says you always have a beautiful, sophisticated woman on your arm at charity fundraisers and galas. Possible you could have an open relationship with one of them.”
“An open relationship that allows a little sidepiece when the fancy strikes me?” His tone is full of disdain. “Maybe it works for some, but not me.” His arm is a leaden weight against my stomach. “Casual sex is a thing, yes. But if I were in a relationship with a woman, I’d expect fidelity and exclusivity.” A self-deprecating snort fills the air. “I guess I’m an old-fashioned man.”
“I don’t like sharing either,” I whisper.
“Good,” he says.
The word rings with an intensity that makes my breath catch. “You know a lot more about me than I do you.” My tone is a little whiny. “It’s unfair.”
I can feel his smile in how his lips stretch across my arm. His fingers dance on the underside of my breast, making me restless. But this is of the mind, fueled by time ticking away like sand in an hourglass. “Ask away then.”
“You date a lot, right? Martha told me.” Because I can sense his quiet laughter, I add, “She’s forever bemoaning that you didn’t marry again.”
“I won’t say no if a friend sets me up. Networking is the lifeblood of charity work. I figure the more people I know from different facets of life, the better.”
“So, you consider dating work? That’s kinda sad.” I infuse fake distress into my tone because the idea of him not dating anyone fills me with selfish glee.
He smacks my hip as if asking me to pay proper attention. “I mean that I socialize a lot. Sometimes, it’s a blind date.”
My curiosity is a wildfire that might consume me in its path. But I can’t stop. “Did any of them pan out into something more? Any woman so irresistible that you fell in love?”
He doesn’t answer for long moments. My skin itches with the need to know. And in the waiting, every sense amplifies thousand-fold.
The heat of his body, the rustling of the sheets as I fidget, the cocktail scent of high-end linens, faint traces of our earlier interlude, and the lingering thread of his soap. I can hear the slow drip-drip of rain against the glass, the occasional hush of wind against the building. It’s a wonder that the entire world isn’t stopping in its tracks, waiting with me for his answer.
“Dr. Cross? The truth, please.”
“Will you owe me the truth, too?”
“Yes, fine.” I’ll give him an organ right now if it means he’ll tell me.
“I gave up on love a long time ago.”
Relief drowns me, as does an immense sadness. He is too good, too sexy, too wonderful to be alone. And yet, I get the sense that he’s been lonely for a while now.
I turn in his arms, then rearrange his limbs to my satisfaction. I can’t see much—just the faint outline of him in the dim glow from the city lights—but I map the shape of him with every slow breath. His chest and abdomen are defined and lean with a smattering of hair. Those black trousers did complete justice to his shapely butt and his thighs are hairy, and muscled enough for me to dig my nails in. And yet, it’s more than just symmetry and lines.
One of those things where a man’s attraction skyrockets because he isn’t trying in all the superficial ways. It’s his confidence and his kindness that turns Dr. Cross from simply good-looking to knee-meltingly gorgeous.
Just hours ago, he was an untouchable fantasy. Now, it feels impossible that our paths didn’t cross before. His arm, heavy and possessive where it drapes across my waist, no longer feels like a borrowed touch but something I ache to claim.
The quiet rise and fall of his chest beneath my fingertips, the soft drag of coarse hair against my palm, the bristly edge of his jaw—I can’t help committing each detail to memory. “Didn’t think you would be so predictable,” I say finally.
“Why predictable?”
“Too cynical for love? That’s like every other man I meet.”
“There’s a distinction.”
“How so?”
“It wasn’t a conscious, write it down kind of decision.”
I bump my nose against his. “I like it when you snark.”
His eyes twinkle in the darkness. “I think I gave up on it for myself.”
“Why?” I demand. “There’s a dearth of good men out there, Dr. Cross. And you’re one of a kind.”
The white of his smile tugs at my heartstrings as does his blush. “Ah… this is almost like public service on your part then? Persuading me to jump into the dating pool.”
“I’m doing no such thing,” I blurt out fiercely, and he chuckles. My cheeks warm. “Tell me, please.”
“My ex and I were nineteen when we got married. Mainly because the thought of her having a child out of wedlock horrified her parents. The marriage lasted thirteen months, while the misery we caused each other lasted at least a decade.”
His gaze moves off of me, and I feel like I’m drifting in the middle of an ocean in the dark. The green monster in me doesn’t like losing his attention, even to the past.
I starfish my fingers on his chest, anchoring him to my touch. He doesn’t look at me but clasps our fingers together.
“Then there was the fact that I was a broke medical student. I focused on building a career, on making every sacrifice Mom made for me worth it. And then one day, you look up and you’re suddenly forty and all your colleagues are married and inviting you to their kids’ birthdays or bar mitzvahs and you get seated at the singles table with other sad, lonely creatures.” His laugh, this time, is a little broken. “At this last party, there was actually a guy who was dressed as Bill Nye, the science guy, and a woman who said she was a professor of magic.”
“Stop,” I say, tapping his chest. “You’re making fun of them.”
He sobers. “I’m making fun of myself, Annika. Believe it or not, I was the least interesting person at that table. I realized that life has passed me by while I was building my career.”
A sudden fear grips me so hard that my stomach knots with a sharp twist of something ugly and hollow. My mouth is dry, my throat tight, like I’ve swallowed dust and can’t clear it. The thought of him moving on, of some other woman discovering the way his hands know exactly how to touch, how he listens so intently, how he unravels a person like he has all the time in the world—it claws at something raw inside me.
“This realization… is it recent?”
He shrugs. “It’s been coming on for a few months. I find myself zoning out in the middle of the day, wishing I was anywhere else. I began to hate the sterility of my brownstone when I return. The only place it didn’t touch me is in the OR. But it’s a red flag, a warning to change things from what they are.”
I nod, tears clutching my throat. At least they arrest all the questions pounding at me about what kind of changes he’s going to make. I reach for him and bury my face in his neck. My fingers find the muscled slopes of his shoulders, and I dig them with a bloodthirstiness I can’t fight.
His breath hisses out of him, but he doesn’t push me off. “Ani? You’re shaking. What’s the matter?”
“Will you please hold me, Dr. Cross? Really tight?”
I can sense his confusion at the sudden change in my mood, but he complies. I’m crushed by the hard weight of his body, my breath mingling with his. Our hearts labor and try to sync up. I open my mouth against his neck and scrape my teeth against his flesh, eager to leave my mark on him. His skin is warm and salty, and his erection is a brand against my belly.
He’s a melody I want to hum for the rest of my life.
We stay like that for a while, interlocked pieces that I wish can’t be pried apart by anyone. Not the rising sun, not the cruel world, and definitely not my own insecurities.
“Are you sad about what happened with him? Your ex?” Dr. Cross asks, his tone super casual.
“What? Why would you think that?” I say, pulled out of my self-pitying pit.
“You…” I sense he’s choosing his words carefully, “it could be hitting you late, everything that happened today. An orgasm is like a valve. It releases a lot of pent-up feelings.”
“Thanks for the biology lesson. Where do I enroll as a permanent student?”
A soft slap falls on my ass cheek and I twitch. Laughter bursts out of me. “I’m not sure how I feel about spanking.”
“That was barely a pat. And don’t worry. I’m not into it.”
“No, you’re only into edging your partner.”
“Answer the question, Annika. You owe me.”
A soft gasp escapes me as I look up at him. There’s a ruthless edge to him when he sets his mind to something. It’s been more noticeable since he got out of the shower. I wonder what changed. “And if I don’t?”
“You’re picking a fight with me over a simple question. Why?”
We engage in a silent duel, and I get the sense that Dr. Cross, with his easy manners and cool smiles, hides a will of iron beneath it all. And that I very much don’t want to go up against it.
Even as that wild part of me I routinely stifle wants to try, wants to take him on and lose. Wants to provoke him into crushing me because I bet my last dollar that that would be an experience too.
How is it my fate that I throw myself into a scandalous, one-night fling and the good doctor is more interested in my secrets than seduction?
I rub my temple. “Rahul… is just like me.” I stop before I elaborate how we are alike. “We met through my friend Zach, with whom I was supposed to stay tonight.”
“The very friend that was entertaining said ex?”
I smile at his phrasing. “We attached to each other knowing that we could just coast, you know. Minimal chemistry, no deep feelings, and even better, neither of us likes to stick our neck out and challenge the person to grow or any such shit.”
“Like an emotional crutch?”
I nod. “Friends with benefits. But the benefits were restricted to occasional cuddles and commiserating hugs. The one thing we took advantage of was to tell our families that we aren’t pathetic losers who don’t have anyone in their lives. It’s why I developed such a crush on you.”
“So I’m not a rebound fling, then?”
Eyes wide, I stare at him. Then it strikes me what he’s trying to get at. “That’s two questions.”
“Answer please.”
“It’s not a request just because you tack on a please.”
He grins, and it pierces my heart. Sharp and deep. I want to lick his lips when he grins like that and see if I can steal the taste of it. Anchor it deep inside me for a rainy day. “I want to know,” he says.
“You want to know too much. Too many things about me, Dr. Cross. That has never boded well for me. Letting people see the real me.”
He simply stares at me. Again, I’m reminded of being that recalcitrant child playing a game with the adult, a game she knows she will lose.
Sudden panic chokes my breath.
Am I going to lose? What though?
This is over tomorrow morning, isn’t it?
One night only, Ani.
“You’re not a rebound. If anything, I might need a rebound after this night. To get over you.”
Fuck, I did not mean to say that. Curse me and my stupid, impulsive tongue. Either it’s spewing lies to make me look better or telling too much truth. Apparently, I can’t even pretend to be neurotypical for one night.
“See? That wasn’t hard, was it?”
“Wasn’t hard? I nearly died,” I say, laughing to cover up my big admission. “One would think you would recognize my condition.”
I expect his deep laughter to embrace me, to help me move on. It doesn’t come.
“What are you so afraid of, about this?” There’s a thread of anger in his tone, all coiled up with frustration. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard it.
I stiffen. Open my mouth and close it like a floundering fish.
“No flippant comments or wisecracks,” he says, features stark with intent.
His arrogant demand should get my back up, and it should make me want to turn away. It doesn’t. The little fracture in his smooth facade only tells me how serious he is.
“I’m afraid that you, this night with you, is making me want things that are impossible for me. I’m afraid that a few hours with you have fundamentally changed how I see myself. I’m afraid that I might fall in love with you if I don’t stop myself.” My breaths are shallow pants, my chest so tight that it’s a miracle I get those words out. I feel as if my skin is too small, too tight to contain me. “And where does that leave me?”
“Ani—”
“Please, I gave you my answer. Even without a bloody card. Can we sleep now?”
He strokes me from neck to hip, as if to soothe me, and his kiss when he finds my mouth is reverent. I have no other word for it. He licks and sips, without pushing or probing. “Good night, sweetheart. For what it’s worth,” he whispers this into my hair, as if he knows that I’m not ready for it, “you have changed me too.”
But I hear it and hold it close to my chest.
We’re both awake for a while, but the silence that cloaks us has its own language. I shift a few times, trying to get comfortable, and Dr. Cross patiently moves his arms and legs until I settle down again.
Twin urges to stay and to run away overwhelm me. The first wins out, and I stretch myself, hoping to reach every inch of him with my body.
His eyes are closed, and his breath is steady. I lick the neat divot in his chin and then find his lips in the darkness. My entire body hums with awareness. “You are the love I didn’t know I could have, Dr. Cross,” I whisper against his lips, needing to say the words. “With you, I’m complete.”