Chapter Twenty-One Jeremy
Supple warmth fills my hands. I lean into a sweet, herbal fragrance and take in a satisfying inhale. Wakefulness trickles in to reveal a smooth cheek pressing against my chest and black hair tickling my nose. The leg wrapped over my thigh rubs up and down.
Without opening my eyes, I know I am where I shouldn’t be: tangled up with my doctor.
It feels incredible to have her locked in my arms. I’ve got one shoulder under her neck so my arm can wrap all the way around her back and grab her curves. My other hand pulls at her elbow to keep her close. Did I say tangled? That’s not it at all.
We fit. We fit perfectly.
When I came out of the bathroom last night, Vanya had already passed out. It was difficult not to look at her resting form, but I managed to keep my eyes to myself. I put one of the pillows between us, huddled on my side of the bed, and stared at the wall.
It didn’t matter that she was both the cutest and the sexiest woman I’ve ever shared a bed with. Last night, I kept it PG-13. She was adorable while silently mouthing the words to songs. I allowed myself a passing glance at those full lips. And even if I noticed she had ditched the bra under her clothes, did I dwell on it? No. No, I did not. My thoughts and my distance were fucking wholesome.
Focusing on the concert was the best distraction. In fact, it might have been the most fun I’ve had aside from winning hockey games. Having Vanya relaxed and happy beside me felt like a secret treat. One that’s almost as much of a prize as kissing her again.
But now those heavy breasts are rubbing my side. And the lips I’ve dreamed about have migrated to my neck. I don’t want her to stop nuzzling and hugging me, but there’s no way I’m taking more than what she willingly and consciously offers.
Without moving a muscle and with a calm I don’t feel, I whisper, “Vanya. Vanya wake up.”
She makes a muffled sound that is more like a moan than a word. When her head buries deeper into my neck, I suck in my breath quickly in an effort to hold back my own moan. Awareness stiffens her body a split second before she leaps off me and scrambles to sit.
“What are you doing?” she says, alarmed.
“Other than staying on my side of the bed? Absolutely nothing,” I mutter, staring at the ceiling because the sight of her messy hair and disheveled shirt is sexier than the last time a woman took her clothes off for me. I grab a pillow and put it over my rock-hard cock.
Her eyes shift quickly and recognition dawns. “I’m sorry. I move a lot and I didn’t mean to, um, crowd you.”
“Some call it cuddling, but I’m not picky on semantics,” I say lightly, partly to tease her and partly because it’s a damn fact. Doctor Kapur is a morning cuddler, and there is no way she can deny it.
Rushing out of the bed, her body gets tangled in the messy blankets. Vanya turns away from me, but part of her shirt is tucked tight under me. The sound of ripping fabric fills the room, followed by the clang of buttons on the concrete floor.
“Shit,” she utters hurriedly. “I—”
“Did your shirt rip?” I ask in disbelief.
She clings to the fabric around her front, speechless and flushed.
Unsure what to do, I mutter “sorry,” because what else is there to say? She scrambles to the bathroom and doesn’t hear me, which is probably for the best because where would I even start with my apologies?
I’m sorry you got dragged to Chicago.
I’m sorry there’s a storm that kept us here.
I’m sorry there’s only one bed.
I’m sorry I had more fun last night than I did on my last attempt at dating.
I’m sorry we cuddled through the night and our bodies felt like they belonged wrapped in each other.
I’m sorry holding you is an instinct as natural to me as my next breath.
I’m sorry my massive crush isn’t ending any time soon, no matter how fucking wholesome I’m trying to be.
But here’s the thing: I am not sorry.
Finding myself on a bed with Vanya, her curves pressed to me and her sighs warming my body, feels right. How can I apologize for something I want to happen again?
“Can you grab my blazer, please?” she asks through a crack in the door.
“You can have my hoodie,” I offer.
“It’s OK. I can get something at the airport.”
“And if they don’t have anything for you to buy? They make you take off coats and blazers at security.”
The thought of her stripping down in public gets me off my feet. When I pass her the hoodie, she mumbles thanks before shutting the door.
She comes out with her chin up. God, she’s cute right now with my hoodie stretching over her breasts and sitting snug against her hips. But as good as she looks in my clothes, I’m just as tempted to pull her back onto the bed and get all that fabric off.
What is it about Dr. Vanya Kapur that makes me want to get closer all the damn time? I managed to keep my hands to myself last night because we were sitting side by side, enjoying a show together. But with the light of day penetrating the dirty windowpanes, reminding me that our time alone is about to end—and with the awkward distance she’s keeping between us—the need to pull her near intensifies.
“I can see what you’re thinking. How ridiculous do I look?” she asks self-consciously as a flush crawls up her cheeks. Pressing her lips together exaggerates her cute dimples.
I shake my head because for all of her strengths, Vanya is shit at reading my expression. “That’s not what I was thinking.”
“Anyway, thanks for letting me borrow your hoodie,” she indicates the sweatshirt by self-consciously pulling the fabric away from her chest. “Are you sure you’ll be OK with just your shirt under the coat?”
“I’ll be fine, Vanya.”
She tucks her hair behind her ears and sighs. “Our flights aren’t till noon. Should we get coffee? Not that I’m fit to be in public.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I look like the cat dragged me in and you look like…you.”
Is she kidding me right now? How could she say that about herself when it’s been impossible to keep my eyes off her any time she’s in a room. Does she really have no idea how gorgeous she is? How much I want to pull her over my lap and keep her there?
“Ask me what I was thinking,” I blurt out.
“I’m going to check outside to see if it’s manageable for a walk toward the station.” Vanya shuffles past me, determined to ignore my demand. I don’t wait for her to ask.
“I was thinking how good you look in my clothes, but how stupid I was for offering it. I want to rewind to about ten minutes ago while we were in bed together so I can keep you there.”
“Jeremy,” she says with an expression I can’t read.
“I promised not to bring up that night you let me kiss you, but there’s no way I’m putting up with you saying you’re what the cat dragged in like you don’t know how fucking lovely you are all the damn time.”
She blinks quickly before letting her lips curl up at the corners. “Did you just call me fucking lovely ?” She says the two words like they’re a joke.
“And sexy, but I promised not to bring that up.”
“This is you keeping your promise?” she asks with a hint of playfulness in her voice. Her shoulders have lowered. Awkward stress is replaced by casual familiarity.
But there are other emotions percolating. Intensifying her gaze and making her more beautiful than ever. Her eyes dart throughout my face before lowering to my chest where my lungs are tight and my heart is clamoring. She licks her lips, and they remain parted, like she’s just as short of oxygen as I am.
“Don’t look at me that way unless you want me to break my promise,” I rasp. “Because Vanya, all I ever think about is that kiss.”
“God, me too.” She blinks rapidly, her gaze dashing from me to the bed and then back up.
Our eyes lock and something clicks inside my infatuated brain. There is no point hiding how much I want her, no point tilting my body away as if my tented pants aren’t a billboard for my arousal.
“It isn’t just me, then? You feel it, too, don’t you?” I venture to ask because curiosity has been consuming me for weeks. Vanya nods. I step closer. Her stomach brushes my hardness before she moves her palms up my abdominals and rests them on my chest.
“There’s no reason to…to want each other like this,” she declares breathlessly.
My hands cradle her smooth jaw. “I’ve got so many reasons, Vanya, you have no idea. You’re beautiful and smart and caring. And the way you look at me makes me so fucking hungry for more. Like I’m the only one I want you to see. So yeah, all the reasons are right here.”
I kiss one cheek and then the other.
“And here.” I kiss both closed eyelids.
“And here.” My mouth lingers over hers.
I wait. Vanya melts against me. My heart soars at the thought of her feeling what I’m feeling. Wanting what I want.
Still, I wait. The next move must come from her. I’ve said all I dare say right now, and it’s up to this woman to decide where we go from here.
“This won’t be good for either of us,” she mutters weakly and yet the force of those words is more devastating than if she punched me.
“On the contrary, I can’t imagine a world in which kissing you again isn’t the best thing that could happen to me,” I say without a filter. So what if I sound pathetic? I will take any scrap of affection she’s willing to give.
Is it because I can’t have her? Maybe. That seems the most obvious answer to my inexplicably strong attraction.
But if my reaction to Vanya is simple lust, why does it feel like more ? Why does it feel like the domestic moments of watching a show and waking up beside each other are things I want in my life. It took a blizzard to hit Chicago and one night bunked in this basement to confirm that I’m not harboring a run-of-the-mill crush.
“There’s too much on the line for my job, for your treatment,” Vanya pleads. “We can’t do this. We shou—”
My phone rings. It’s my father again. I ignore the call, but I don’t ignore the warning he represents.
Although I’m biologically linked to that sex-addicted jerk, I’m not him. I’ve never forced or coerced a woman to be with me. That won’t start now. Besides, just because I’ve never wanted a woman like I want my doctor—my freaking untouchable and gorgeous and brilliant doctor —I don’t have the right to push her boundaries.
“No need to say more,” I interrupt and step back. “Give me a few minutes to get ready. We’ll grab breakfast.” I push the words past the glass shards in my throat before ducking into the bathroom.
My reflection is mired in conflicting reactions. A flushed face and dilated eyes betray the simmering arousal under my skin and yet everything else is tight. Clenched jaw, pressed lips, tense shoulders.
Get it together, Lopez.
After settling my nerves, I find the determination to face Vanya with more discipline and restraint.
I cannot keep putting myself out there. If there’s one thing that is clearer as my feelings get stronger, it’s that if she won’t close the distance between us, neither will I. The current status quo—with Vanya as someone whose company I enjoy and whose medical care is incredible—will have to be enough.
It doesn’t matter that I want her in a way I’ve never wanted another woman, the next time I reach for her, it’s because she wants me to. If that day never comes, well, it’s not something I can control.
That’s the price of wanting someone as unreachable as Dr. Vanya Kapur.