All I Need (Hearts of the South) (7 page)

For an early Monday morning, the ER was quiet and mostly empty, although Savannah knew better than to voice that observation. As soon as anyone said it, they’d be swamped. She checked in on the patient in exam two, an older man waiting to be admitted to the cardiac floor. She jotted a note on the feed spitting out of the EKG. From the hall behind her, the murmur of male voices drifted over her.

She frowned and tucked her pen in her chest pocket. Was that Emmett?

The hallway lay empty when she exited the room, but sure enough “Beck” had been entered on the board next to the spot for exam one. Concern tightened her chest a moment. “Lorraine, who has exam one?”

“Mackey.” Lorraine didn’t look up from the insurance information she was keying in. “It’s primary, though, not emergency. He sees a lot of the local law-enforcement guys when they can come in versus having them make an appointment during their shift.”

The explanation made perfect sense, especially as primary-care offices could book quickly in a rural area, making convenient appointments hard to come by. So the little knot of worry that wanted to wedge between her ribs was ridiculous. She leaned on the counter and opened her topmost chart. Another example of ridiculousness—SGM had to get this ER fully online. They wasted more time on paperwork, when everything could and should be centralized electronically.

A sharp sound of discomfort traveled through the door to exam one, and she tensed. The quiet, soothing note of Mackey’s voice did little to ease the stress wanting to tighten her shoulders.

Long moments later, the door swung open.

“…what is it with you and needles anyway?” Emmett’s disgruntled voice carried to her.

“Quickest way to check it.” Mackey grabbed the chart from the bucket by the door. “And it’s clear, so why are you griping? Keep an eye on it, let me know if anything changes, and keep your appointment with Delk.”

“Yes, sir.” Emmett chuckled, an ironic sound. “Should I salute?”

“Not necessary. Just follow orders.” Mackey handed him a copy of the discharge sheet. “Seriously, call me if you need to. Better safe than sorry.”

Mackey crossed to the counter and dropped the chart on his stack. Savannah glanced up as Emmett stepped into the hallway. A smile brightened his face, crinkling the tanned skin around his eyes. “Hey.”

“Good morning.”

Mackey gestured between them. “You know each other.”

“Neighbors.”

Mackey nodded. “I’m going to go grab some breakfast while we’re in a lull.”

“No problem.” Savannah waited until he disappeared down the hall. She gestured at Emmett, his expression slightly pained. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” He looked sheepish. “Some redness along the bottom of my incision. I’m kind of paranoid about infection. Mackey says it’s clear, though.”

“That’s good.” She flicked a finger at his neatly pressed khakis and blue buttondown. “First day?”

He nodded, then cleared his throat. “So are we a go for tonight?”

“Sure.” Since she’d covered multiple shifts over the weekend, she’d not seen him in person, but he’d texted her to set up tentative dinner plans. She let her gaze trail over his handsome features and the muscles of his arms, a little twinge of desire stinging in her belly. Maybe she would plan on them being a go for real. Maybe finally sating the sexual need would help her feel like she was actually moving forward. “I’ll text you later and we can make some definite plans.”

“Sounds great.” He leaned in almost imperceptibly and paused. With a glance around, he straightened, rapped a knuckle on the counter and nodded. “Have a great day.”

“You too.” Had he thought about kissing her in that brief moment before he pulled back? The thought made her more wistful than it should. Yes, sex was the way to go—it would satisfy the craving she seemed to have for physical closeness with him and help her shed these crazy urges to be more than his friend and bedmate. She watched him confer quietly with Lorraine then disappear through the waiting room door. She didn’t know about their dinner plans, but she would make some plans for their after-dinner activities for sure.

* * * * *

Six o’clock found Emmett turning into the complex parking lot right behind Savannah’s Mercedes. Via text messages, they’d settled on dinner together, but he’d stayed longer at the department than he’d intended, trying to wrap his brain around all the paperwork and procedures he was inheriting from Tick Calvert. He liked a challenge, though, always had, and Calvert’s confidence in him boosted his ego. He hadn’t realized until today his recuperation had been such a hit to his confidence.

He jockeyed the truck into his spot, and Savannah met him on the breezeway before their respective apartments. She looked up, hair slipping free from her messy knot, and the smile she graced him with could be described as nothing other than sultry.

“I’m glad you’re late. I got hung up with a patient, then had to stop at the store.” She hefted a shopping bag. “I’d love a shower before we get started on this.”

“Yeah, me too.” He frowned at the sack. “You don’t want to go out?”

“I thought we’d stay in and cook together.”

Was he crazy or had that been a subtle double entendre on the word
cook
? He could handle that type of cooking with her.

“Savannah, I don’t cook.”

“Seriously?” Brows lifted, she looked at him askance.

“Seriously.”

She shook her head. “Then how do you live?”

“Sandwiches. Stuff I can microwave.”

“You have cookware, right? Because I planned on using your kitchen.”

“Well, yeah. I have it. I just don’t use it.”

“Great.” With her spare hand, she patted his chest. “I’ll see you in about half an hour.”

“I’ll leave the door unlocked. Let yourself in.”

He showered quickly, his thoughts straying to that brief contact between her palm and his chest. He could swear she’d lingered over that touch, the pat shifting into a caress. In the bedroom, he snagged a pair of comfortable cotton shorts that didn’t bind his leg and tugged on a buttondown. He turned the cuffs back a couple of times and eschewed the idea of shoes.

The front door swung inward as he stepped into the short hallway. He rubbed a hand over his damp hair and grinned at the picture she presented in a simple, swingy black dress and sandals consisting of only a couple of straps. Damn, she made everything look good. “Hey.”

“Perfect timing, huh?” Her brown gaze traveled over him, lingering a moment on his bare feet before meandering back to his face, and something—an element of pure hunger—in that glance heated him up.

“Yeah. So what’s on the menu?” He reached for the bag and peered inside. Canned tomatoes, an onion, pasta, ground meat. “Spaghetti?”

“Yes.” She walked ahead of him to the kitchen, the skirt swirling around her thighs. “It’s easy to make, and every guy needs a go-to meal he can cook for a woman. Now’s as good a time as any to learn.”

He opened his mouth to ask why he’d need to cook for another woman, remembered their parameters, and closed it again. She took the bag from him, her fingers brushing his wrist. She unpacked the ingredients.

“You said you had cookware, right? We need a skillet and the largest saucepan you have.”

He bent to retrieve the pans from the cabinet by the stove. She shifted while unwrapping the ground meat, the side of one leg sweeping along his arm and shoulder. His senses perked up. She smelled as good as she looked.

At her direction, he tracked down a cutting board, a knife, and a colander he’d forgotten he even owned.

She examined the skillet and saucepan. “Did you buy this?”

“No.”

“Let me guess.” Irony tipped the corners of her mouth. “Christmas gift from your mom.”

“Birthday.” He dropped his phone into the charging station and set it to fill the kitchen with low music, the playlist he needed to be practicing if he was going to play with Troy Lee and Clark for real.

“Again, she has good taste.” She set to work stripping the onion of its peel, then sliced off both ends. “She didn’t teach you to cook?”

“She tried.” Looking back, he was pretty sure those attempts had been more about connecting with him than making sure he could fend for himself, but he’d been hardheaded for real in his late teens.

“Well, I’m going to succeed.” She gestured at the cutting board. “Get over here.”

“What?”

“Come on.” She slapped the knife handle into his hand with a solid smack and turned him toward the counter. “Cut it in half, then slice each half fairly thin.”

The remnants of his stubbornness considered rebelling for half a second, until he realized she was pressed to his back, her hands coming around to guide his in the actions she described. The easy up-and-down movements of chopping each slice rubbed her breasts into him, and arousal stirred in his gut, tingling down to his balls.

Hell, he’d never realized cooking could be sexy. She touched him often as they prepared and tested a quick sauce while the pasta boiled—leaning into his arm to guide his hand, passing her palm over his hip, swiping a hint of sauce from the corner of his lip after they tasted from the same spoon. By the time the pasta was done, he was on high alert and buzzing, as heated as the steam rising from the finished meal.

They carried bowls and beverages through to the living room. A light touch on his wrist forestalled him when he reached for the remote. She tucked one foot under her and smiled, her knee brushing his thigh. “The music’s good.”

They chatted while they ate, a recap of their day. The food was excellent, but he found one appetite supplanted by another, his attention diverted to the sensation of having her near him. Afterward, she insisted on washing up. “It’s quicker than putting them in the dishwasher and there’s not that much.”

She washed and rinsed while he dried. Turning the saucepan under the stream resulted in water dampening the front of her dress. She laughed, that husky sultry sound that went straight to his dick. “Ah, damn it, I’m wet.”

His temperature went through the roof, shooting even higher as he took in the thin fabric clinging to her breasts, outlining hard nipples. He lifted his gaze to find her eyes on him, and with one step forward, he kissed her, hard, all the drawn-out teasing poured into one devouring meshing of lips. She met him kiss for kiss and trailed a hand down to cup him through smooth cotton.

He groaned and rubbed into her palm. “Fuck, Savannah.”

She giggled against his mouth. “Couch.”

Somehow they made it there, and still kissing him, she unfastened his shorts. With her tongue teasing his, he couldn’t focus enough to wonder where the condom she produced came from, and he didn’t really care. He ran his hands up her outer thighs, smooth material shifting over his hands, even softer skin under his palms.

One small cognizant section of his brain protested, wanting to linger over caressing her, to discover all the secrets of her body, but she was sucking on his tongue, an approximation of something else that same section of his mind wanted to explore. And with an eager woman in his arms, straddling his thighs and sinking down over him, the tightness like a punch to the chest, taking his breath, he wasn’t going to argue. It had been a long time, so he was as impatient as she was.

He could do eager and hard and fast. Slow discovery could come later.

His lashes fell under an onslaught of sensation—her scent, her skin under his hands, the feel of her around him as she posted on him. He thrust up, letting the good leg compensate for the injured one. Please, no cramps right now, because he wanted to make this so good for her, to make it last as long as he could, even as fast as it had barreled over them.

The uneasiness and discomfort took a minute to sink in.

Her fingernails digging into his shoulders bordered on painful. She was tight—too tight around him, the latex abrading.

He opened his eyes. This should be hot—easy-access clothing, the two of them too intent on each other to even remove them, and suddenly the interlude was anything but. Eyes closed, her face expressionless, she rode him with a single-minded intent. The blank slate of her face jarred him, and his hands fell from her body. No connection, no enjoyment, no desire for him. Sex with friendship was one thing. This was something else.

He didn’t like being fucked just for fucking’s sake.

“Stop.” The rough word hurt his throat. He caught her hips.

She did, instantly. Her lashes flew up, concern the only emotion in her dark eyes. No passion, no desire. It chilled him. “What’s wrong? Your leg?”

“No.” As gently as possible, trying not to recoil, he tipped her off his lap and adjusted his clothes, covering himself. Condom be damned. He’d get it later. “This isn’t working.”

Her face closed further. “Excuse me?”

“This.” He gestured between them. “It’s not…something’s off.”

She picked up a pair of lacy panties in a pale blue and pulled them on before retreating to the end of the couch, arms over her chest and her whole body walling him out. “I thought you wanted this.”

“I did. I do.” He couldn’t quite articulate what was off, and his sex-fogged brain didn’t want to cooperate in processing the experience. “Only differently. Maybe it’s too soon.”