Page 39 of Rescuing Dr. Marian
“I want this,” I admitted, my voice barely audible. The confession felt like jumping off a cliff. “I’ve wanted you since that first night in Hawaii. Even when I thought you were married, even when I hated myself for it.”
Something blazed in Tommy’s eyes—triumph, relief, pure desire. “Fuck, Foster?—”
“It can’t be more than this,” I added quickly, the words coming out harsh and desperate. “Sex. Hooking up. Whatever you want to call it. When SERA is over, you’re gone. I know that. You’ll be at your fancy job, and I’ll be back in Majestic, dealing with lost hikers and small-town bullshit.”
His hands moved back up my chest to my face. “Eight weeks.”
“Seven and a half.” I nodded once. “And then it’s over. No long-distance bullshit. No promises we can’t keep. You go to your city life, and I go home. Alone.”
His thumb traced my cheekbone, and I saw something flicker in his eyes—hurt, maybe, or disappointment. But then he nodded. “What if we?—?”
“No.” The word came out harder than I meant it to. “I can’t do maybes with you, Tommy. I can’t do hope. I’ve been down that road before with guys who lived somewhere else, and it nearly broke me.”
Tommy’s face darkened. “Matthew.”
He had no clue. Matthew leaving had been a paper cut. The brief flash of pain that came from ripping off a Band-Aid.
Losing Tommy—after a single fucking evening—was an aching wound that hadn’t healed.
I swallowed hard. “This is all I can give you. Take it or leave it.”
“I’ll take it,” he said, his voice rough with want. “I’ll take it, Foster.”
Tommy’s thumb stroked across my cheekbone, his eyes were dark with promise, and I shuddered out a breath.
“This is such a fucking bad idea,” I said, even as my hands came up to rest on his waist. My fingers immediately snuck under the hem of his shirt to touch the same warm, golden skin I’d dreamed about since Hawaii.
“Maybe.” His smile widened, and for the first time since Hawaii, I saw the full force of Tommy’s charm directed at me. “But I’m tired of good ideas. They got me engaged to the wrong person and working a job I hated.”
Before I could voice any more doubts, Tommy rose up on his toes and kissed me again.
It was nothing like the desperate, hungry kisses we’d shared moments before. This was slow, deliberate, a question and an answer all at once. His lips were soft and warm, moving against mine with a confidence that made my knees weak.
I groaned and pulled him closer, my hands sliding up his back to tangle in his hair. He tasted like chocolate and mint but also like relief, like finally getting everything I’d been denying myself for the past six months.
When we finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Tommy rested his forehead against mine again.
“So,” he said, his voice slightly unsteady. “Eight weeks.”
“Seven and a half,” I corrected again, reminding us both that the clock had already started ticking.
But as Tommy smiled and leaned in to kiss me again, I found I didn’t care. Temporarywasbetter than nothing. And, as my mom used to say, it would be a learning opportunity.
Maybe I’d learn Tommy wasn’t as special as I’d thought.That I’d been suffering the lingering effects of a terrible, tropicallove feverthat wouldn’t survive a month and a half in close proximity during a Montana summer. That I could scratch this itch and get Tommy out from under my skin.
Or maybe I was about to learn that some kinds of wanting only got stronger when you fed them.
Maybe I was about to discover just how much a heart could break when it had everything it wanted and then had to let it go.
10
TOMMY
Wasn’tsure my dick had ever been this hard. Part of me wondered why the hell now? Why Foster Blake? What had happened after all these years to suddenly attract me to a guy?
Had I taken surreptitious looks at other guys in the gym? Fuck yeah, I had. Didn’t everyone?
Had it made my dick hard and my respiration rate spike? Never. Not like this. Not even close.
