Page 11 of Iowa Intellect
I nod my agreement before adding, “She won me over with her carefree disregard for traditional capitalization and punctuation rules.”
“She was generous with dashes,” Caroline quips, making us both chuckle.
When her gaze lands on our plates, she squeals with delight. “Oh, you cut our sandwiches into squares. This takes me straight back to my childhood!”
By the happiness in her tone, it’s obvious that she had a very different upbringing than I did. Leaning forward to retrieve our plates from the table, I hand one to her and suggest, “Let’s dig in while the cheese is still warm.”
“It’s so ooey-gooey. Mm.” She moans as she lets the cheese stretch out and dangle between her mouth and the sandwich.
The sensual noise is enough to make me firm. It’s in that moment that I realize she has removed her sparkly mermaid bra and is bare beneath her T-shirt. Her taut nipples are visible beneath the thin fabric, and it’s all I can do to hold myself back from reaching out for them.
I look away and shift in my seat in an attempt to think about something else––anything else––but the intriguing woman makes that mission damn near impossible.
I wolf down my food and tip back the tall glass of chocolate milk. After finishing, I take my dishes to the kitchen and load them into the empty dishwasher.
If I don’t remove myself from this situation, my body will demand that I make a move on her. As much as I would enjoy that, I sense that she’s not ready for our relationship to become more intimate. My fear is that she never will be.
Doing my best not to worry, I return to the living room. I’m surprised to find that she has already scarfed down her snack and is placing her empty plate on the table. Hoping to be the perfect host, I retrieve my favorite quilt from the rocking chair. After I place it over her, I hand her the book she’d been reading earlier and take her dishes to the kitchen.
On the way to my bedroom, I deliver her a plated chocolate chip cookie from the local bakery I love.
Surprise fills her expression when she looks up to thank me.
Unable to stop myself, I press my lips to her forehead before telling her goodnight and bolting for the quiet solace of my bedroom where I can pout about being so close, yet so far, from the woman of my dreams.
12
CAROLINE
What a perfect comfort meal. I couldn’t ask for a more thoughtful or caring host than Brock after today’s stressful ordeal. It’s as if he senses exactly what I need and is more than willing to give it to me, except…
There’s no denying that I want more than just a simple forehead kiss from him. It was a tender and sweet gesture, but it’s not nearly enough. The more I try to deny how much I need a forbidden romance with this blasted man, the more I seem to crave it with every fiber of my being.
Shaking my head at the ridiculous notion of having a one-night stand with a patient, I mouth the words to the mantra that I have repeated numerous times per day for as long as I can remember. “I am enough. My mind is brilliant, and I am worthy.”
Deciding the situation calls for it tonight, I add, “And I don’t need a man to make my life complete.”
Almost as soon as the whispered words leave my lips, my mind shouts at me that I may not need a man, but I sure as heck want this particular one.
Frustrated by my own weakness, I eat the delicious cookie he delivered to me and try to focus on the poetry book in my lap. The words swirl before my eyes as a mental image of me boldly going to Brock’s bedroom door enters my mind and refuses to leave.
Even though I would never in a million years be brave enough to enter his bedroom without an invitation, my brain is laser-focused on that fantasy. Giving up on reading, I close the book, opting instead to stare at the interesting and informative shelves across from me.
I learned more about Brock’s past, his hobbies, and what is important to him from this single visit to his home than I have in three years as his team doctor. Granted, medical practitioners aren’t supposed to get to know their patients on such an intimate level, but this time spent in his personal space has confirmed for me that there is much more to the talented hockey player than there initially seems to be.
Almost of its own accord my head angles around to look down the hallway that leads to the bedrooms. I long to open Brock’s bedroom door and peek my head inside.
Based on the way he was looking at me earlier, I’m confident that he wouldn’t turn me away, and I’m sure a night spent in his arms would be something I would remember and cherish forever. But tomorrow morning and all of the days at work after that would be an absolute nightmare.
Besides, if anyone found out about a tryst between us, my medical license and reputation as a responsible physician would be at stake.
Reminding myself for what seems like the bazillionth time that it simply isn’t worth the risk, I stand and return the book to its spot on the shelf before shutting off the overhead lights.
I wait for my eyes to adjust to the dark rather than using my phone’s flashlight this time. I’m concerned that my light passing by his closed door may have been what disturbed Brock earlier, and I don’t want to risk doing that again. It was sweet of the man to open his home to me, so I certainly don’t want to repay that kindness by keeping him up half the night.
My efforts to be quiet and unobtrusive fail when I manage to trip over something in the hallway. The clatter brings Brock out of his room impossibly quickly. He must have either lunged out of bed or already been standing near the door. That last thought makes my cheeks heat with something more than embarrassment over my stumble.
After Brock flips on the light, he rushes to squat by my side with concern etched into his features. “Are you okay? Did you pass out? Are you lightheaded? Does anything hurt?”
