Page 17 of Can’t Fight This Feeling

“Fine.” I follow him back to the table. My mood hasn’t changed, but I force a smile when we return to find the ladies enjoying chocolate cake without us.

Arthur resumes his seat, and Kate abandons the spot I had occupied before my outburst.

“Everything okay?” Kate asks, sitting beside Arthur.

“We’re good,” Arthur responds, glancing at me.

Marcy takes a bite of cake, her gaze fixed on the half-eaten slice before her. Her shoulders are tense.

Apologize, you idiot, my mind screams. But nothing comes out. Fuck. My mood takes another nose dive.

I manage to squeak out an apology and excuse myself from the table. My mumbled apology and excuse seem to mollify Kate. But Arthur continues to eat his cake in silence, watching me.

“Goodnight, Marcy.”

She waves her hand, unable to meet my gaze. Shit.

I fucked this up. Damn it. How do I rebuild the tenuous bridge between us?

The duration of my commute home, I ponder all the ways in which I can fix the fragile relationship between Marcy and me. It may be too late. She’s already made it perfectly clear how she feels about me. Maybe it’s time I take a hint and give her the space she asks for.

When I reach my apartment, I strip on the way to the bathroom. I’ve already showered once, but I need it again. I feel dirty. But a shower won’t cure this. Nothing will.

Leaning against the cool tile, I let the warm water slide over me. I imagine it’s the featherlight touch of Marcy’s lips and fingertips. The fantasy takes root and I’m transported.

My cock hardens at the mental image of Marcy naked and wet as she explores me. I refrain from seeking release, no matter how much I need it.

No. I shake my head and turn off the shower. I can’t keep doing this. Dreaming of Marcy and all the delicious things I want to do with her—it’s torment. It has been for years.

I’ve dated other women. I’ve tried to find someone who fits my world, who understands me. But they’re not Marcy.

Her comment about the nurses cut deeper than she realized. I’ve had nurses throw themselves at me. Hell, I’ve had other doctors flirt with me while on duty. But I’m a professional. I take my job seriously.

I don’t mix work and pleasure.

The fact that she would even think I’m that kind of man hurts like hell. She knows me better than that, even if she won’t admit it.

It took every ounce of strength I possess not to tell her the truth. She’s the only woman I want, the reason I breathe. I would do anything for her if she would only ask. Instead, I let my overwhelmed emotions get the better of me, and I hurt the woman I love.

I’m no better than that asshole who abused her.

Burdened by this knowledge, I climb into bed and pull the sheet up. The darkness surrounds me, and I succumb to it. Marcy’s waiting for me in my dreams, but they quickly turn to nightmares when she abandons me completely.

Chapter Seven

Marcy

“How do I look?” Kate spins around, her ankle-length skirt lifting like a flag on a summer breeze. The gown is a bold choice—A-line with a sweetheart neck, without the popular puffed organza sleeves and over-sequined fabric. When she asked me to help her design it, I thought she was crazy. Turns out I was the crazy one. It’s lovely and classic and suits her to perfection, accentuating her generous curves.

“You look gorgeous.” A lump forms in my throat as I adjust the pearls nestled against her throat. “Arthur’s going to flip when he sees you.”

“Well, this is your handiwork.” Her face turns pink. “Thank you for everything.”

“Of course. We’re sisters now.” I kiss her cheek, then busy myself with packing the makeup kit to keep from making a sentimental fool of myself.

Sunlight streams in the windows of the Empire State Building, illuminating Kate like an angel sent from heaven. My heart twists at the sight of her in her wedding gown with a crown of flowers in her curled hair. She looks lovely.

I’m happy for them. Truly.

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