Page 28 of Night Shift

Pointing at it, she said teasingly, “Now that’s how you roll a Swedish meatball, Atticus!”

Soon the delectable aroma of spices filled the air and the meat was sizzling in butter in the pan—just like my grandmother used to do it.

As we cooked side by side in the small kitchen, our playful flirting escalated into something more…intimate. We brushed against each other, reaching for ingredients or utensils, and exchanged cheeky glances.

Soon it was time to make the cream sauce—a combination of broth, a flour slurry, and heavy cream. This I cooked in the pan containing the remnants of the fried meatballs, and in minutes it had turned into a velvety wonder.

Then I set the noodles to boil. They were simple enough but would add a welcome contrast in texture. And of course, there was the lingonberry sauce, a sweet, tangy garnish that tied everything together. We even had an impromptu lingonberry taste test that ended in laughter and red-stained fingers.

“Okay, okay,” I said, raising my hands in surrender when she pointed an accusing finger at me. She looked adorable with a dollop of the berry sauce on her nose. “You win the tasting war.”

I couldn’t help myself; I reached out and, with a gentle swipe of my thumb, removed the sauce from her nose.

“Thank you,” she said softly, her laughter dying down to a low chuckle. A strange silence filled the air.

The pasta cooked to al dente perfection, and everything came together. We filled our plates in the kitchen, then moved to the wooden dining table overlooking the lake outside. After the hike, the food was a welcoming indulgence.

“God, these are delicious,” Sam said between mouthfuls. She sighed appreciatively. “You’re a fantastic cook.”

When she licked a stray dab of cream sauce from her lips, I had to suppress a groan of pure craving. She looked so beautiful under the soft light of the pendant lamp. I flashed her a grin of appreciation that quickly melted into something more heated, and my gaze moved down to her full lips. She picked up one of the meatballs and bit off a piece, finishing by slowly sucking on the tips of her fingers.

“Thank you,” I managed to utter, my voice gravelly with the need that was rising in my pants. We locked eyes for a moment, and the air between us crackled with an intensity that promised much more.

I tried to maintain some semblance of control over my libido. But Sam was making it increasingly hard, coyly licking the cream sauce from her fork while maintaining eye contact with me and peppering me with innocent yet suggestive remarks about how good the meatballs were.

After dinner, we headed over to the sink to do the dishes. While I turned on the water and squirted in some soap to fill one sink for washing, she grabbed a little red apron that was hanging on the wall. As she tied the apron strings behind her back, I imagined myself tying her wrists with them, thinking about the darker pleasures I’d like to introduce her to. But that’d have to wait. Sam would be easily spooked, and then I’d never catch her again. We bickered over who would wash and who would dry but finally settled on me washing and her drying. Soon I was scrubbing away and handing dishes off to her, pleased with how completely at ease she was in my space.

“See something you like?” she asked, noticing me staring.

I answered with a smirk before enveloping her waist with my free arm and pulling her flush against me. My heart raced when she didn’t resist, but instead leaned back into me. Her body was supple against mine.

Her lips parted slightly in surprise when I bent down to lightly kiss her neck and started nibbling my way up to the corner of her jaw. “Mmm,” she moaned.

The moan was like a shot of espresso—waking me right up. Words weren’t necessary; our bodies were speaking plenty. I slowly pulled away from her neck, just enough to turn her toward me. Our lips met in an unhurried exploration of each other’s mouths. The taste of her was intoxicating—sweet and spicy from the lingering flavors of dinner.

We stood there lost in each other’s arms until suddenly she broke the silence by playfully splashing water on me from the sink.

“C’mon, you,” she said with a gleam in her eye. “Let’s finish these dishes so we can do something else.”

Grinning, I quickly rinsed the last few dishes and handed them to her to dry. The playful tension between us grew as our bodies brushed against one another in a tantalizing dance of proximity. When the last dish was dried, I hung the towel on the hook, and she slipped off the apron.

Turning to leave the kitchen, I extended my hand to her. She took it without hesitation, the spark in her eye matching my anticipation.

“So, Sammich, are you up for a little experimentation on our not-a-date trip to my cabin? Willing to stop being…I don’t know…so uptight?”

“Mm-hmm.” She nodded and smiled, but the nervousness had returned. She was having to bite her lip to stop it from quivering. God, if she only knew how badly I wanted to bite that lip.

“You have to promise me something though,” she said.

“Oh, what’s that?”

“Tonight is purely an experiment. Nothing more. And under no circumstances will you tell anyone about it, especially anyone at the hospital. Tomorrow, it will be as if it never happened. You will be Dr. Thorin, and I will be Sam. No more, no less. No innuendos at work, no jokes, no nicknames, no strings, no feelings. Got it?” Her eyes were as big as saucers, her back as straight as an arrow.

“I promise it shall be done just as you have ordered. Nothing more, nothing less.” I smiled and tugged her forward.

Her fingers were soft in mine, and she didn’t let go of my hand as we climbed the wooden stairs to the second floor. We passed by the guest bedrooms and stopped just outside the heavy oak door of the master bedroom. She looked up at me with an impish grin, and my heartbeat quickened.

Chapter eight

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