Mac's Bedside Manner Part 14

To MacKenzie's credit, he'd done his best to talk her out of it, to patiently point out that, like it or not, she was like all the rest of them: human. Since the patient was still alive, it was pointless to dwell on what "might have been." The fact of the matter was, it hadn't "been." Graywolf had performed an emergency bypa.s.s and everything looked hopeful.

Mac signed the receipt the server had left at his plate and pocketed his credit card. "Would you like to come over to my place for a nightcap?"

She was hoping he wouldn't ask, because she did want to come over. That was the problem.

Discretion, she reminded herself, had always been the better part of valor. Since she was driving, she fell back on a standard excuse. "I'd better not. One drink is my limit."

He pulled out her chair for her. Old-fas.h.i.+oned manners. When was the last time that had happened? she wondered.

"I have ginger ale," he said.

He had his hand against the small of her back, guiding her through what had become a crowded room. Small, warm s.h.i.+vers were dancing in the wake of his fingers, bringing every part of her body to attention. And awareness. "You also have a very persuasive manner."

He smiled at her as he opened the door. "I'm counting on it."

Jolene bit her lip, debating. Knowing she shouldn't. She hadn't trusted MacKenzie before, what made her think she could trust him now?

"Just ginger ale, nothing else?"

"Unless you find something else you like-in my refrigerator," he qualified when she raised a brow.

There was a teasing note in his voice she deliberately overlooked. "Fair enough. You'll notice the operative word here is fair."

Taking her hand in his, he wove his way through the parking lot to where they had left their cars. "It always is."

Which was how Jolene came to find herself at his place.

MacKenzie's town house was located in a development that had only recently gone up, its proximity closer to the hospital than her own home. Commuting, for Mac, was something that took a matter of minutes.

Tall, stately, the three-story house was nestled in between two similar homes. The buildings gave the appearance of tall, thin soldiers standing shoulder to shoulder in formation at revelry.

Inside, unlike her house, there was a minimum of clutter. It was apparent that Mac didn't get involved with owning things. She wondered if the color scheme reflected his view of life. Everything was either black or white, including the walls, rug and furniture.

Keeping her purse close, contemplating escape even as she stood there, Jolene looked slowly around. "Don't you like color?"

He was already in the kitchen, opening the refrigerator. Because of the nature of the house, there were only two rooms per floor. The first had a living room and kitchen. The family room and formal dining area were upstairs. Mac maintained it allowed him to walk off his calories, going from one level to another.

"I found color was always difficult to match things to." He returned with a bottle of ginger ale and two gla.s.ses. Setting down the latter, he filled them. Ginger ale fizzed and sparkled like champagne as it made its descent into the gla.s.ses. "You can't go wrong with black and white."

She accepted the gla.s.s from him. "Very practical of you." Jolene studied him for a moment. "You don't strike me as the practical sort."

He laughed shortly, but there was humor in his eyes. "We already know what I strike you as-someone just above an amoeba in the evolutionary scale."

She almost choked on the sip she was taking, stifling a laugh. "No, higher than that."

"I've been redeemed?"

Feeling magnanimous, she gave him his due. "You're nice to children and nurses who mess up."

"I'm nice to everyone," he corrected and in general, he tried to be. Life was too short to bear grudges. He sat down on the sofa, urging her to join him by silent example. "Especially to nurses who mess up."

Very slowly, she sat down on the opposite end. Jolene c.o.c.ked her head, wondering if she'd been all wrong about him. Or if the truth lay somewhere in the middle.

About the only thing she did know was that he had beautiful eyes. The kind of eyes that could look into a woman's soul.

Two seconds before they stole it.

"Because we're easy prey?"

He shook his head. Struggling with the urge to touch her, he held the stem of his gla.s.s just a little tighter. "Now there you go again, making me sound like some kind of predator. I'm kind to nurses who mess up because I don't like seeing people down on themselves. Life's too short to dwell on what went wrong." His voice softened. "Learn from it and move on."

She looked up at him pointedly. "By those standards..."

He knew she was talking about her ex and that she was comparing the two of them. He wasn't quite sure why that rankled him, but it did.

Mac shook his head. "Not in the same league, not even remotely. I think cheating on your spouse is reprehensible. If you commit to someone, you stay committed. If you're going to give in to temptation, you don't get married in the first place. Which is why I think most people shouldn't."

He was so serious, it was hard not to believe him. Especially when he added the last sentiment. "Well, at least you're honest."

"Always." He prided himself on that. "No games-" his eyes held hers "-except interesting ones that involve bits of clothing removal at strategic times."

The laugh died in her throat as she looked at him. There was no denying it. She was irresistibly drawn to him and she could have sworn that somehow, the s.p.a.ce between them on the sofa had shortened, even though she hadn't moved a muscle.

Suddenly aware of the very hum of the air between them, Jolene held her breath.

Mac took the gla.s.s out of her hand and placed it on the coffee table beside his, his eyes never leaving hers. Her breath evaporated as he cupped her face in his hand. Tilting her head ever so slightly, he touched his lips to hers.

It was like falling headlong down a spiraling tube in slow motion.

The ache that rose up to seize her came a great deal faster.

The next thing she knew, there was no s.p.a.ce between them and she was the one deepening the kiss. She was the one who slanted her mouth over his over and over again, burrowing straight into the heart of the kiss.

Her body felt as if it was on fire.

The same needs that had risen up before on her door step that night were back and they had brought friends. Scores and scores of friends.

Everything within her cried out for a union with this man.

Tawdry or not in the final a.n.a.lysis, she knew that while it was happening, it would be spectacular. A man who could kiss you as if the end of the world was imminent couldn't be a lousy lover. It just wasn't possible.

Mac hadn't intended for it to go this fast this quickly and that was just the trouble. He had a feeling that once this was over, Jolene would hate herself for allowing it to happen. And hate him for taking advantage.

He couldn't let that happen, even though wanting her had just jockeyed into all top five positions on his list of wants and desires. She was making his pulse race and the air in his lungs do strange things. It was like finding himself marvelously high without having a clue as to how or when the journey had even begun.

His body throbbed, pleading with that part of him that could still reason.

But he couldn't do this. Not to her, not to himself. Because if he took advantage of Jolene-and that was what he'd be doing-he wouldn't really like himself very much when it was over. He didn't believe in taking unfair advantage of anyone.

So with effort that bordered on the superhuman, he caught hold of Jolene's shoulders and, ever so slightly, pushed her back.

Dazed, disoriented, Jolene looked at him.

It surprised her that she still had her clothes on. She would have thought that they would have incinerated on contact.

Dragging air into her lungs, she waited so as not to sound like a simpering, breathless teenager. "What?"

"I don't think you want to do this." She would never know, he thought, how much it pained him to say this.

The last time she'd been this shocked, she'd found her husband with the receptionist "taking dictation" beneath him. "What?"

Mac got up from the sofa, because if he didn't, if he remained sitting where he was, he was going to forget all about the n.o.ble instincts he was striving to remember and go with the ones that were inbred.

Pacing, he ran an impatient hand along the back of his neck. "G.o.d only knows where this is coming from, but go home, Jolene."

He was calling her by her name. He'd never done that before. It made it personal.

Of course it was personal, she reviled herself. Her lips had all but had to be surgically removed from his.

Still something within her hoped that she misunderstood him. "What?"

The words burned in his throat as he pushed them out. "I said go home. Go home before I forget all about what I learned in the Boy Scouts."

Lots of words were flying around her head. She was only hearing one thing. "You don't want me?"

He laughed harshly. What was he doing, trying to be a Boy Scout at his age? "Not very intuitive, are you? Yes, I want you, want you more than I want to breathe right now, but I don't want this to happen for the wrong reasons."

She didn't know what to think. She only knew he was rejecting her after she was finally willing to give in. Needed to give in. "And those are?"

"Because you almost lost a patient today and you're feeling vulnerable. Because you want to get back at your ex. Because I'm pus.h.i.+ng you."

But he wasn't, she thought. Not right now. Not if she was being honest. "I thought that was the whole idea, you pus.h.i.+ng."

His eyes were serious as he looked at her. "I don't push. When it happens, it's mutual."

She squared her shoulders. "So you're sending me home."

There was something in her eyes that ripped open his heart. He'd hurt her. "For your own good."

She didn't need to hear excuses. "Okay. Okay, fine." She grabbed her purse and strode to the door, wanting only to put this all behind her.

Then, surprising him and herself, she suddenly strode back into the room and kissed him. Kissed him harder than she'd ever kissed anyone before.

Stunned, Mac drew back his head to look at her in wonder.

"Maybe I don't want to be good."

There was no maybe about it.

It was out of his hands, he thought. A man could only hold off so much.

Taking her purse from her, Mac let it drop to the floor.

Chapter Eleven.

T he words "stop" and "wait" echoed in the recesses of her brain, then faded away.

She didn't want warning cries, she wanted what Mac could do for her.

She wanted to feel again.

To feel that wild, exhilarating rush coursing through her veins, reminding her that she was alive.

Reminding her that she was a woman.

Not just a nurse, not just a mother, but a woman, a woman a man could desire.

Because Dr. Harrison MacKenzie wasn't just some loser sitting on a bar stool in the corner, praying that tonight he'd get lucky; he was a man who could easily have any woman he wanted. And he wanted her.

She'd been fending him off from almost the very first moment she'd met him, but she didn't want to fend him off any longer. At least, not tonight. Not now. Later would be time enough to go back to business as usual and to put this evening of pa.s.sion and her misstep behind her.

Jolene wasn't doing this to be loved, or to lay foundations for "happily ever after." She knew there was no such thing as happily ever after. She was going into this fleeting liaison with her eyes wide-open, expecting nothing but a good time.

And more than anything, she knew that MacKenzie could show her a good time.

Now that she'd made her intentions clear to him, she half expected that he would have stripped her of her clothing faster than a top spinning around on its point. That had been Matt's way. With her experience limited to one man, Jolene a.s.sumed that every man followed more or less the same pattern, especially since MacKenzie had to know that foreplay was not of the essence. That she was a willing partic.i.p.ant in this sensual dance they were engaged in.

But he surprised her again. This time by moving slowly. By lingering on her mouth as he caressed her, his fingers curving slowly along her body as if she was made of porcelain china.

Her head spun, her body heated not just to his touch but in antic.i.p.ation of his touch. More surprises. She was the one who wanted to go faster, to scale summits quickly. Wanted to, but didn't. She was drugged by the power of his mouth, by the hypnotic sway of his body against hers as it molded itself to her.

An urgency for fulfillment fought with the desire to have this go on forever, building toward the final crescendo she suddenly craved with every fiber of her being.

Her fingers diving into his hair, she gave herself up to the delicious sensations battering her body and reveled in them as if this was the very first time for her.

Because, in a way, it was.

Mac had never kept count of the women in his life. Somehow that seemed tacky to him. But there'd been enough willing partners for him to know that this one was different, far more different than the others. Pacing himself took more effort than it ever had before because he wanted her with an urgency that beat hard and fast within him.

It had been a very long time since he'd felt like this, not since his teens.