Just like that, p.8
Just Like That, page 8
She nodded. “I’m not sure I’ll ever move it again.”
He smiled. “You will. If you don’t, there’s a physical therapist who will move it for you.”
She grimaced. She’d seen patients in physical therapy and while she knew it was necessary and the patients ended up very thankful to the people who helped them move normally again, the process wasn’t always very fun.
“I’ll be good,” she promised.
“I’ll make sure,” Sam said.
Matt looked at him again for several ticks of the clock, then nodded, wrote in the chart and turned to leave. “We’ll cast it and get you out of here.”
“I can go home then?”
“Under Sam’s supervision,” Matt agreed.
“Under…what?” But the door was already bumping shut behind Matt.
She turned, with eyes narrowed, to Sam. “What did he mean?”
“It’s normal,” he said. “A lot of times we won’t release trauma patients unless they have someone that can take them home and stay with them. Don’t worry, the guys will cover me at work for the next few days.”
“The next few days?” She felt like a parrot. “And I’m not a trauma patient.”
“You fractured a bone. You’re a trauma patient.”
“I was clumsy and fell. That’s not like a ten-car pileup or falling off a roof.”
“You won’t be able to drive and you’re going to be on pain pills. You have to be released into someone’s care at least for the next twenty-four hours.” Sam’s tone implied that she was being unreasonable.
She didn’t care. “I’ll call one of my sisters.”
“That’s ridiculous. It’s the middle of the night, I’m already here and I’m willing.”
“You shouldn’t have to be responsible for me,” she argued. She wasn’t sure how she was going to handle having Sam with her constantly for another twenty-four hours. She’d end up completely head over heels for him and the pain pills might make her say or do something stupid.
“I should,” he said firmly. “I know you don’t want to hear it, and no, I didn’t mean for this to happen, but I did have a part in it.”
“I’m fine,” she insisted. “I’m not in a coma, it’s not cancer, I didn’t lose a drop of blood. I’m healthy. I’ll heal. It’s nothing.”
“Danika,” Sam said with a serious, no-argument tone she wouldn’t have even imagined he possessed. “I am not leaving your side for the next seventy-two hours. You can call whoever you want, but I’m not asking to stay, I’m telling you that I’m staying.”
“Seventy-two hours? What happened to twenty-four?”
She wasn’t going to call her sisters. It was…well, all of the things Sam pointed out including the middle of the night. Besides, Carmen would come in and take over everything. That meant that Danika’s cupboards and closets would be completely cleaned out and reorganized since she wouldn’t actually need much care and Carmen would go stir-crazy with nothing to do. Then there was Abi. She’d cry, then come over but be so miserable that Danika would feel worse having her there than putting up with Sam. Abi couldn’t handle it when people she loved were anything other than happy and fulfilled and healthy in every way.
Sam, obviously surprised by her sudden lack of argument, put his hand on her head, smoothing her hair. “I’ll call them,” he said gently. “But I’m not leaving, even if they show up.”
“Don’t call them.” She sighed. It would be worse—for all of them—if Carmen and Abi came. Their husbands would both gladly help out, but couldn’t possibly do it without their wives finding out. Her father was in Texas. She had friends, of course, but Sam was here, and not leaving. Why would she drag someone else out of bed at this time of night? “You can take me home.”
Sam sighed and it was obvious that he was genuinely relieved. Which made her feel good, even as she knew it shouldn’t.
So she now had slinky lingerie, a video about oral sex, a broken wrist and a crush on a guy who was the opposite of everything she was trying to find in a man.
What a night.
* * *
Danika lived in a two-story brick duplex only seven blocks from his apartment. Sam rolled his eyes. Not only did she work at the same hospital, but she probably shopped at the same grocery store. Yet he’d never met her.
He had to unlock the door, an awkward movement with a non-dominant hand as it turned out. Just as he’d had to help hook her seatbelt and dig in her purse for her keys.
He was sure in a few days she would have compensated and would learn to do a lot with her left hand. But it was all new and she was obviously not ambidextrous. Added to that was the weight of the new cast, the lateness of the hour and the pain medication that Matt had insisted she would need to sleep well. Danika was quite clumsy with her left hand and still in the habit of reaching first with her right hand, then having to adjust.
“Here we are.” She managed to flip on the front hallway light with her left hand.
“Nice.”
“Don’t you need to go get some clothes or something?”
“I was thinking about that. I’ll run home in the morning. I don’t live far.”
She shrugged and yawned. “Sorry.”
“It’s been a long night.” A great night, he added silently, but long. It seemed like days ago that he’d met her at Trudy’s.
“I’ll get some sheets for the couch,” she said, tossing her purse toward the small table just inside the door. Since she had to use her left hand, it didn’t quite make it. “Damn,” she said softly.
It was obvious that she was frustrated with her lack of ability and discomfited with him in her house.
She was going to have to get over it.
“You can’t put sheets on the couch with one hand.”
She went to the first door on the right of the short hallway and pulled out a stack of sheets. She crossed to the couch and dumped them on the cushions. “Yes, I can.”
He smiled. He was glad she had some spunk at this point. “Sorry to doubt you.”
She sighed. “Sorry I’m being grumpy.”
“No problem,” he said, meaning it. “You’ve had a lot happen. Being grumpy is a normal side effect.”
She propped her left hand on her hip. “Quit being so nice.”
“You want me to be mean?”
“I…don’t know.”
“You’re exhausted. Go to bed. We’ll figure everything out in the morning.”
She glanced over her shoulder toward what he assumed was her bedroom. “Yeah. I’ll just…”
She looked so confused, so tired and so beautiful that he knew he had to kiss her.
“I need to kiss you.”
Her eyes widened and the heat that seemed always just below the surface, flared.
“Is that okay?” he asked. He didn’t want to take advantage of her weakened state.
“Of course it’s okay,” she said.
Something about that made him want her, intensely, all over again. As if she’d said “take me now” or had stripped naked right in front of him. The “of course”, the implication that he didn’t have to ask permission, that he somehow had a right to kiss her, made him want that kiss more than anything he could remember wanting in a very long time.
He gently took her face in his hands and stroked his thumbs over her cheeks. He looked at her for a long time, wanting to savor the moment. He drank in the look of desire in her eyes, in spite of the fact she’d just come from the ER. He drank in the way she stood there, accepting his touch, letting him look.
Slowly he lowered his head, loving the feel of anticipation, hoping she felt it as well.
When their lips touched, it was like all the other times, with want and longing and passion welling up. But it was also…different. It was gentle. The other times when he’d kissed her he’d wanted to nearly devour her, he’d wanted to push on harder and faster to the ultimate culmination. This time, he wanted to draw it out, to enjoy it, to remember it later. For her to remember it later. He wanted this to be that kiss that brought her fingers to her lips and made her close her eyes to remember.
No pressure at all.
He felt her lift her hands, but while her left hand fisted in the front of his shirt, the cast on her right hand bumped against his chest.
She sighed against his mouth, but it was in frustration.
He lifted his head.
She did stare up at him and she pressed her lips together, which was almost as good as lifting her fingers to her lips. Then she smiled a slow, sweet smile. “That was nice.”
“Very,” he agreed, his hands still cupping her face.
“I want to touch you, though.”
“Touch anything you want.”
“I could only do half of what I want.” She held up her right hand.
He smiled. “I think half of whatever you would do to me would be better than all of what anyone else would do.”
Just then her stomach growled. He laughed. “Maybe we should take care of that first.”
“I guess it has been awhile since I ate.”
It was two-thirty in the morning.
“I guess it’s granola bars,” she said, stepping back. “I can’t even peel a banana one-handed.”
“And you shouldn’t even try,” Sam reminded her. “The great thing is, I’m here. And I can not only peel bananas, I can make a grilled cheese sandwich that will make you cry.”
Her stomach rumbled louder. She laughed. “Except that I don’t have any cheese.”
“Eggs?”
“Yes.”
“Then grilled cheese will have to be another night. It won’t be gourmet cooking, but you won’t go hungry. And if we exhaust my repertoire then I’ll take you out.”
She laughed. “I’m not sure anyone could ever fully exhaust your repertoire.”
He flipped the lock of hair that fell against her shoulder. “Brat. I’m talking about my kitchen repertoire.”
“How big of a repertoire are we talking about?”
He thought about that, mentally counting the things he could make that would turn out edible. “It will get us to Tuesday.”
“Five things?” she asked, laughing. “I might be in trouble here.”
“Then I can start over at the top, we can order in, we can go out, or I can guilt my sisters into cooking and bringing it over. I think we’ll survive.”
She was still smiling as she looked at him suspiciously. “What things are on your menu, exactly? Besides grilled cheese and, apparently, some kind of eggs.”
“I’ll have you know that I can make two kinds of eggs.”
“And you’re counting them both in the five things?”
“They’re two different things,” he said with mock affront.
“We’ve got two kinds of eggs, grilled cheese, and…?”
“Grilled steak.”
“Of course.”
“Of course?”
“You’re definitely a steak kind of guy.”
“Thanks.” He did consider that a compliment.
“What’s the fifth thing?”
“Grilled burgers.”
She looked at him, as if waiting for the punch line, then started to laugh. “You can add grilled hotdogs and grilled chicken to your list, since if you can grill a burger you can grill those.”
He considered that. “Hey, that’s true. We can survive until Thursday.”
“Except that I don’t have a grill.”
He shrugged. “I’ll bring mine over.”
She frowned slightly. “You’ll bring your grill over here?”
“Sure.”
“And some clothes, I assume?”
“I know you want to get me naked, but I have to wear clothes when I’m on the patio grilling. I could cause a car accident this close to the road.”
She laughed, even as she mentally pictured him naked on her patio. She had a surprisingly easy time doing so too.
“You’re picturing me naked, right?” he asked.
She felt her cheeks heat. “Of course not. I’m trying to think about how I can make lasagna with one hand.”
He’d moved in close, only inches separating them suddenly. “I’m picturing you using one hand very effectively.”
Her inner thighs liked the sounds of that. “Very effectively cooking food?”
“No,” he admitted, with a roguish smile.
“Isn’t that what we were talking about?”
“Yeah, but it seems that all trains of thought lead back to you and me having sex.”
“It does, doesn’t it,” she said softly.
“I have a feeling that if we follow some of those trains, I won’t be thinking much about food,” he said, his voice also having dropped.
“Some of the trains?”
“I’m here for the next one hundred and forty-four hours, I think we’ll have the time.”
“What happened to seventy-two hours?”
“I distinctly heard Dr. Dawson say that I should stay for eight days.”
“That’s more than one hundred and forty-four hours,” she pointed out, ignoring how nice it sounded to have Sam all to herself for eight days.
“Right, it’s like two hundred and forty hours.”
“That’s more than eight days.”
“Is it? Well, he’s the expert. Can’t argue with the specialist.”
She finally laughed and shook her head. “You’re kind-of impossible.”
“You’ll learn that arguing with me can be very frustrating.”
“I have no trouble believing that.”
“You might as well not do it.”
“Interesting concept.”
“Do you want scrambled or fried?”
She must be getting used to the quick changes in topic of conversation with Sam because she answered easily, “Neither. I think I have some deli turkey. We can have sandwiches.”
“You can’t make a sandwich with one hand.”
“I probably could.”
“It won’t be easy.”
“No.”
He stood looking at her. “And?”
“And, what?”
“Say it.”
“Say what?”
“That you need me. That it’s a good thing I’m here. That it’s a good idea for me to stay.”
She sighed. It was practical. He was here, he was willing, he was able to help her with the things she was going to need in the next few days because of the cast. But more than that, it was appealing. She liked him. But that damage was already done. Why not let Sam Bradford, the sexiest man she’d ever spent time with, wait on her hand and foot for a few days?
“It’s a good thing you’re here. It’s a good idea for you to stay.”
He grinned like she’d just announced he’d won an all-expense-paid trip to Hawaii, then pulled her close and kissed her on the top of her head.
“You are a very intelligent woman.”
“Thank you,” she mumbled against the front of his shirt. She inhaled, pulling in the wonderful scent of him.
“Let’s eat,” he said, oblivious to how much she was enjoying having her nose against his shoulder.
Sam did well with making the sandwiches, which of course she teased him about. He insisted that making sandwiches didn’t count as cooking, since there was no heat involved, but she maintained that this expanded their menu by at least a few more days when all the deli meats and peanut butter were considered.
They’d laughed, teased and talked as they ate, but about nothing too serious. They talked about their work and compared stories about patients they’d treated, without sharing names. But she was truly exhausted and as the food filled her stomach, the weight of fatigue, adrenaline let-down and the sheer lateness of the hour began to pull at her until she felt like holding her head and shoulders up was a contest she was about to concede to gravity.
“Let’s go,” Sam said, pushing his chair back and standing.
“What?” She blinked up at him.
“I just asked you two questions and you didn’t even hear me. Time for bed.” He lifted her from the chair with a hand under her elbow.
A few hours before, hearing Sam say “time for bed” would have sent her pulse racing, but it was definitely a sign of complete system shut-down that she barely registered anything other than “bed” and her body’s desire to be there…for sleep.
“Sorry,” she mumbled as he steered her down the hall.
“Don’t apologize, Dani,” he said gently. “You’re worn out. I’m glad you’re ready to sleep. Your body needs it.”
She was going to tell him not to call her Dani, but besides the fact that her brain was barely connected to anything, especially her mouth at this point, she also realized that she liked how he said it. It truly sounded like an endearment from him.
Danika stopped by her bed and started to reach the zipper of her skirt. Belatedly she remembered her cast as she whacked it awkwardly against her hip.
“Damn.”
“I’ve got it.” Sam turned her and unzipped her.
Vaguely, through the fog of fatigue, she realized that Sam was going to have to help her undress and she was in absolutely no shape to enjoy it.
“Sam, I…”
“I wish this was happening differently too,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to her shoulder. “But we’ve got time.”
She liked the sound of that. A lot. And she was way too tired to think about why that was a bad thing.
* * *
Sam awoke, pleased when he saw that it was just before eleven and he hadn’t heard a peep from Danika’s bedroom all night. He’d known she was exhausted and the pain pills would have helped her sleep deep and hard, but he was glad to see she’d managed to sleep long as well. She needed it.
He rolled onto his back on the surprisingly comfortable couch in Danika’s living room, letting the sun from the sliding glass door to her porch fall across his stomach in a warm rectangle.
He had never spent the night at a woman’s house who he hadn’t had sex with. He’d slept on some buddies’ couches, but never a woman’s. In fact, he tried to make a habit of not sleeping over at women’s houses, whether he was in a comfortable bed or not. It simply wasn’t good to set expectations like that.
With Danika, she had been trying to not have him stick around the night before and he found himself wanting her to have some expectations of him. Which should have made him get up, get dressed and get out.
