Page 10 of Beneath Her Hands
“I have to go,” Jane said and pushed past Rosalind. She didn’t dare look behind her to see if Rosalind was watching her go. She rushed out of the hospital and to her car, driving quickly to the apartment she had once shared with Leslie. It still felt empty, though she had redecorated it since Leslie had left. The walls were covered with exotic art from all the places she wanted to travel, the books on the shelves of the same subjects. The suede couch was clean and soft, a dark espresso color that matched the tables and went well with the cream-colored lamps. She felt at home here, even since Leslie had left, but now it felt vacant, lonely.
She hated this feeling. Her heart was still pounding from Rosalind’s kiss. What was she thinking? This was madness, some form of emotional craziness. She couldn’t possibly have feelings for her after having only met her yesterday. She was being rash and impulsive. Hell, maybe Rosalind was right, she was jealous and projecting, and somehow that had masked itself as attraction. That had to be it. Tomorrow, she would worry about it tomorrow.
When she got to work tomorrow, she would find Rosalind and just admit to everything, tell her that the kiss was a mistake brought on by tumultuous emotions from Leslie being hurt and feeling pushed aside by someone with such a big reputation. She would probably understand, and even if she didn’t, that was fine to, as long as she accepted it. She imagined how the conversation would go, but if she let her mind wander, it always seemed to end the same way, and it wasn’t with them amicably parting ways as friends. She was attracted to Rosalind; she couldn’t deny that. But that’s all it was, just a physical attraction, nothing more. Jane was lonely, and it had been a long time since she felt anything like this. After trying to shake the thoughts from her head yet again, she decided that her best course of action was a glass of wine and a long bath.
A few minutes later, she was standing naked in front of a mirror. She regarded her long slender body without shame; she felt beautiful. She sipped her wine and let that thought roll around in her head. How was it that Rosalind had her head so wrapped up? Why did she feel so self-conscious when Rosalind was around? She traced her fingers around her small, supple breasts, her toned abdomen, across her hips. She thought of Rosalind again and took another sip of wine. It was her second glass, a rare indulgence. In her floaty state of mind, she wondered why she was resisting so much. She was attracted to Rosalind—what was so wrong with wanting to explore these feelings?
She slipped into the hot, perfumed water, feeling the tension melting from her muscles. She thought about their kiss. She had initiated it. Heat flooded through her again as she thought about Rosalind’s lips on hers, her tongue slipping through them. She slid her hand down between her thighs feeling the heat coming from her despite the warmth of the water. She wondered what Rosalind felt like, what she tasted like. She slipped her fingersacross her clit, hot and swollen with desire. With thoughts of Rosalind’s lips, she stroked herself, losing herself in the fantasy. She slid a finger inside herself, stroking and pumping as the tension built. She could almost feel Rosalind’s lips against her skin, her neck, her breasts. With a moan she brought herself to climax, though it was not nearly as satisfying as she had hoped. As the water cooled around her, she felt lonely again; she had to get ahold of herself. The crazy thought crossed her mind to go back to the hospital and find Rosalind, but Jane knew that after two glasses of wine, the last place she needed to be was at work.
Finally, she climbed out of the bathtub and pulled a robe around her shoulders. She went to bed, without bothering to put clothes on. She slept, but it was plagued with dreams of Rosalind.
5
Rosalind
Rosalind woke with a start in the dark on-call room. She had only managed a couple of short naps that night, though nothing serious came through, a couple of lacerations and one badly twisted ankle. It was mostly quiet, which, ironically, was the reason Rosalind had trouble sleeping. She was waiting. Waiting for the next horrific bombing or gunfight, she laid awake on the cot staring at the ceiling and trying in vain to convince herself that these things didn’t happen in Phoenix Ridge. She knew this information. She knew that Phoenix Ridge was a safe place for the most part. There was a much bigger threat from stampeding moose or hungry bears than from insurgents or rebel militias, but she couldn’t shake the anxiety.
When she did sleep, however, her dreams weren’t filled with gunfire or explosions. Instead, the face of Jane Roberts seemed to take precedence. Rosalind couldn’t figure out how Jane had managed to worm her way so deeply into Rosalind’s mind. She had known this woman for barely more than a day, and yet her every thought seemed plagued by her. Sometimesit was with irritation. Jane thought she could tell Rosalind how to do her job, how to perform her surgeries, but Rosalind had almost a decade more experience, and the experience itself was exponentially more difficult than anything Jane had likely ever encountered.
Other times, the feelings were deeper, more primal. Jane had thoroughly shocked her with that kiss, and Rosalind had surprised herself with how quickly and passionately she had responded. She wanted more. Admitting that was difficult, even rage inducing, but it was true. She had never felt an attraction like what she felt for Jane. Then there was the added complication of Leslie. Jane had said that they were not together but seeing them in that room made her think otherwise. Rosalind wondered if she was just a rebound because whatever Jane had had with Leslie was deeper than she was willing to admit.
Against her better judgement, Rosalind made the trip to intensive care to check in on Leslie’s recovery. Leslie was flipping through the channels on her television when Rosalind poked her head into the room.
“Good morning,” Rosalind whispered. It was technically morning, but no rational person would be awake at this hour.
“Morning,” Leslie croaked. Her face had lost some of the swelling, but it was still purple and black across most of it. Her eye had opened just a slit, and Rosalind could see it twinkling beneath the bruises.
“What are you doing awake? Are you in pain?” Rosalind asked and started checking the machines.
“No,” Leslie answered, then grimaced. “Well, no more than I can handle, the morphine makes me itch.”
Rosalind nodded in understanding. She’d seen and given more than her share of morphine during her service, and though it was sometimes necessary, it was a harsh drug. “You’ll tellme if it’s too much.” Rosalind lifted her brows at Leslie for affirmation.
“Don’t worry, I will,” Leslie said, her lips curling slightly at the edges. “I like to think I’m pretty tough, but I don’t have anything to prove.”
“That’s good to hear,” Rosalind said and sat down next to the bed.
“What are you doing here at this hour? Shouldn’t you be home sleeping?”
“I’m on call tonight,” Rosalind said with a shrug. “I can’t really sleep.”
“That makes sense, if half of what I hear about you is true,” Leslie adjusted her shoulders into a more comfortable position.
Rosalind tried to school her expression but didn’t succeed.
“You don’t like people talking about you, do you?” Leslie said, more of a statement than a question.
“It’s pretty discomforting,” Rosalind admitted. “It’s like I’ve already given a first impression, except I wasn’t there for it. Now people have these expectations of me and I don’t have a clue whether I am even coming close to meeting them.”
“They’re just excited, that’s all,” Leslie said. “The only outsiders around here are the tourists, and most of them are just city people wanting to ‘rough it’ for a while.”
“I’m not sure I’d call myself an outsider,” Rosalind said with a hint of indignation.
“You got out of here,” Leslie said. “Not many accomplish that around here. You’ve seen the world, stepped outside of this life. Like it or not, that makes you an outsider.”
“I don’t guess I have much to say about that,” Rosalind said and deflated a little.
“Can I ask you something?”
