Unfinished Business

  few days. He could even get by with only patches of sleep. But he couldn’t get by without Vanessa. He’d barely seen her since the weekend of the wedding—since the weekend they had spent almost exclusively in bed. He’d been forced to cancel three dates. For some women, he thought, that alone would have been enough to have them stepping nimbly out of a relationship.

  Better that she knew up front how bad it could get. Being married to a doctor was being married to inconvenience. Canceled dinners, postponed vacations, interrupted sleep.

  Closing the file, he rubbed his tired eyes. She was going to marry him, he determined. He was going to see to that. If he ever wangled an hour free to set the stage and ask her.

  He picked up the postcard on the corner of his desk. It had a brilliant view of the sun setting on the water, palm trees and sand—and a quickly scrawled note from his father on the back.

  “You’d better be having a good time, Dad,” Brady mused as he studied it. “Because when you get back, you’re going to pay up.”

  He wondered if Vanessa would enjoy a tropical honeymoon. Mexico, the Bahamas, Hawaii. Hot, lazy days. Hot, passionate nights. Moving too fast, he reminded himself. You couldn’t have a honeymoon until you had a wedding. And you couldn’t have a wedding until you’d convinced your woman she couldn’t live without you.

  He’d promised himself he would take it slowly with Vanessa. Give her all the romance they’d missed the first time around. Long walks in the moonlight. Champagne dinners. Evening drives and quiet talks. But the old impatience pulled at him. If they were married now, he could drag his weary bones home. She’d be there. Perhaps playing the piano. Or curled up in bed with a book. In the next room, there might be a child sleeping. Or two.

  Much too fast, Brady warned himself. But he hadn’t known, until he’d seen her again, how much he’d wanted that basic and traditional home. The woman he loved, and the children they made between them. Christmas mornings and Sunday afternoons.

  Leaning back, he let his eyes close. He could picture it perfectly. Too perfectly, he admitted. He knew his vision left questions unanswered and problems unresolved. They were no longer children who could live on dreams. But he was too tired to be logical. Too needy to be sensible.

  Vanessa stood in the doorway and watched him with a mixture of surprise and awe. This was Brady, she reminded herself. Her Brady. But he looked so different here, so professional, in his white lab coat with the framed diplomas and certificates surrounding him. There were files neatly stacked on his desk, and there was an ophthalmoscope in his pocket.

  This wasn’t the wild youth hell-bent on giving the world a left jab. This was a settled, responsible man who had hundreds of people depending on him. He had already made his niche.

  And where was hers? she wondered. He had made his choices and found his place. She was still floundering. Yet, however much she flailed or stumbled, she was always drawn to him. Always back to him.

  With a faint smile on her face, she stepped into the office. “You’ve got another appointment, Dr. Tucker.”

  “What?” His eyes snapped open. He stared at her as dream and reality merged. She was standing on the other side of his desk, her hair pulled back, in a breezy cotton blouse and slacks.

  “I was going to say code blue, or red alert, one of those things you hear on TV, but I didn’t know which would fit.” She put the basket she carried on the desk.

  “I’d settle for ‘Hi.’”

  “Hi.” With a quick laugh, she looked around the office. “I almost didn’t come in,” she told him. “When I came to the door, you looked so…intimidating.”

  “Intimidating?”

  “Like a doctor. A real doctor,” she said on another laugh. “The kind who uses needles and makes terrifying noncommittal noises and scribbles things on charts.”

  “Hmm,” Brady said. “Ah.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I can take off the lab coat.”

  “No, actually, I think I like it. As long as you promise not to whip out a tongue depressor. I saw your nurse as she was leaving. She said you were through for the day.”

  “Just.” The rest of the paperwork would have to wait. “What’s in the basket?”

  “Dinner—of sorts. Since you wouldn’t make a house call, I decided to see if you could fit me into your office schedule.”

  “It’s an amazing coincidence, but I’ve just had a cancellation.” The fatigue simply drained away as he looked at her. Her mouth was naked, and there was a dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose. “Why don’t you sit down and tell me what the problem is?”

  “Well.” Vanessa sat in the chair in front of the desk. “You see, doctor, I’ve been feeling kind of light-headed. And absentminded. I forget what I’m doing in the middle of doing it and catch myself staring off into space.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “Then there have been these aches. Here,” she said, and put a hand on her heart.

  “Ah.”

  “Like palpitations. And at night…” She caught her lower lip between her teeth. “I’ve had these dreams.”

  “Really?” He came around to sit on the corner of the desk. There was her scent, whispery light, to flirt with him. “What kind of dreams?”

  “They’re personal,” she said primly.

  “I’m a doctor.”

  “So you say.” She grinned at him. “You haven’t even asked me to take off my clothes.”

  “Good point.” Rising, he took her hand. “Come with me.”

  “Where?”

  “Your case warrants a full examination.”

  “Brady—”

  “That’s Dr. Brady to you.” He hit the lights in examining room 1. “Now about that ache.”

  She gave him a slow, measured look. “Obviously you’ve been dipping into the rubbing alcohol.”

  He merely took her by the hips and boosted her onto the examining table. “Relax, sweetie. They don’t call me Dr. Feelgood for nothing.” He took out his ophthalmoscope and directed the light into her eyes. “Yes, they’re definitely green.”

  “Well, that’s a relief.”

  “You’re telling me.” He set the instrument aside. “Okay, lose the blouse and I’ll test your reflexes.”

  “Well…” She ran her tongue over her teeth. “As long as I’m here.” She let her fingers wander down the buttons, unfastening slowly. Under it she wore sheer blue silk. “I’m not going to have to wear one of those paper things, am I?”

  He had to catch his breath as she peeled off the blouse. “I think we can dispense with that. You look to be in excellent health. In fact, I can say without reservation that you look absolutely perfect.”

  “But I have this ache.” She took his hand and pressed it to her breast. “Right now my heart’s racing. Feel it?”

  “Yeah.” Gently he absorbed the feeling of silk and flesh. Her flesh. “I think it’s catching.”

  “My skin’s hot,” she murmured. “And my legs are weak.”

  “Definitely catching.” With a fingertip he slid a thin silk strap from her shoulder. “You may just have to be quarantined.”

  “With you, I hope.”

  He unhooked her slacks. “That’s the idea.”

  When she toed off her sandals, the other strap slithered down her shoulders. Her voice was husky now, and growing breathless. “Do you have a diagnosis?”

  He eased the slacks down her hips. “Sounds like the rocking pneumonia and the boogie-woogie flu.”

  She’d arched up to help him remove her slacks, and now she just stared. “What?”

  “Too much Mozart.”

  “Oh.” She twined her arms around his shoulders. It seemed like years since she’d been able to hold him against her. When his lips found the little hollow near her collarbone, she smiled. “Can you help me, Doctor?”

  “I’m about to do my damnedest.”

  His mouth slid over hers. It was like coming home. Her little sigh merged with his as she leaned into him.
Dreamily she changed the angle of the kiss and let his taste pour into her. Whatever illness she had, he was exactly the right medicine.

  “I feel better already.” She nibbled on his lip. “More.”

  “Van?”

  Her heavy eyes opened. While her fingers combed through his hair, she smiled. The light glowed in her eyes. Again he could see himself there, trapped in the misty green. Not lost this time. Found.

  Everything he’d ever wanted, ever needed, ever dreamed of, was right here. He felt the teasing pleasure turn to grinding ache in the flash of an instant. With an oath, he dragged her mouth back to his and feasted.

  No patience this time. Though the change surprised her, it didn’t frighten her. He was her friend, her lover. Her only. There was a desperation and a fervency that thrilled, that demanded, that possessed. As the twin of his emotions rose in her, she pulled him closer.

  More, she thought again, but frantically now. She could never get enough of being wanted this wildly. She dragged at his lab coat, even as her teeth scraped over his lip. Desire pumped through her like a drug and had her yanking at his T-shirt before the coat hit the floor. She wanted the feel of his flesh, the heat of it, under her hands. She wanted the taste of that flesh, the succulence of it, under her lips.

  The loving he had shown her until now had been calm and sweet and lovely. This time she craved the fire, the dark, the madness.

  Control broken, he pushed her back on the narrow padded table, tearing at the wisp of silk. He could tolerate nothing between them now—only flesh against flesh and heart against heart. She was a wonder of slender limbs and subtle curves, of pale skin and delicate bones. He wanted to taste, to touch, to savor every inch.

  But her demands were as great as his. She pulled him to her, sliding agilely over him so that her lips could race from his to his throat, his chest, beyond. Rough and greedy, his hands streaked over her, exploiting everywhere, as her questing mouth drove him mad.

  His taste. Hot and dark and male, it made her giddy. His form. Firm and hard and muscled, it made her weak. Already damp, his skin slid under her seeking fingers. And she played him deftly, as she would her most passionate concerto.

  She feared her heart would burst from its pounding rhythm. Her head spun with it. Her body trembled. Yet there was a power here. Even through the dizziness she felt it swelling in her. How could she have known she could give so much—and take so much?

  His pulse thundered under her fingertips. Between his frenzied murmurs, his breath was ragged. She saw the echo of her own passion in his eyes, tasted it when she crushed her mouth to his. For her, she thought as she let herself drown in the kiss. Only for her.

  He grasped her hips, fingers digging in. With each breath he took, her scent slammed into his system, potent as any narcotic. Her hair curtained his face, blocking the light and letting him see only her. The faint smile of knowledge was in her eyes. With her every movement, she enticed.

  “For God’s sake, Van.” Her name was part oath, part prayer. If he didn’t have her now, he knew he would die from the need.

  She shifted, arching back, as she took him into her. For an instant, time stopped, and with it his breath, his thoughts, his life. He saw only her, her hair streaming back like a wild red river, her body pale and gleaming in the harsh light, her face glowing with the power she had only just discovered.

  Then it was all speed and sound as she drove them both.

  This was glory. She gave herself to it, her arms reaching up before she lost her hands in her own hair. This was wonder. And delight. No symphony had ever been so rousing. No prelude so passionate. Even as sensation shuddered through her, she begged for more.

  There was freedom in the greed. Ecstasy in the knowledge that she could take as much as she wanted. Excitement in understanding that she could give just as generously.

  Her heart was roaring in her ears. When she groped for his hands, his fingers clamped on to hers. They held tight as they burst over the peak together.

  She slid down to him, boneless, her head spinning and her heart racing still. His skin was damp, as hers was, his body as limp. When she pressed her lips to his throat, she could feel the frantic beating of his pulse.

  She had done that, Vanessa realized, still dazed. She had taken control and given them both pleasure and passion. She hadn’t even had to think, only to act, only to feel. Sailing on this new self-awareness, she propped herself up on an elbow and smiled down at him.

  His eyes were closed, his face so completely relaxed that she knew he was next to sleep. His heartbeat, was settling down to a purr, as was hers. Through the contentment, she felt need bloom anew.

  “Doctor,” she murmured, nibbling at his ear.

  “Hmm.”

  “I feel a lot better.”

  “Good.” He drew in a deep breath, let it out. He figured that was the most exercise he would be able to handle for days. “Remember, your health is my business.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.” She ran a fingertip down his chest experimentally. And felt muscles jump. “Because I think I’m going to need more treatments.” She trailed the tip of her tongue down his throat. “I still have this ache.”

  “Take two aspirin and call me in an hour.”

  She laughed, a low, husky sound that had his blood humming again. “I thought you were dedicated.” Slowly, seductively, she roamed his face with kisses. “God, you taste good.” She lowered her mouth to his and sunk in.

  “Vanessa.” He could easily have floated off to sleep with her gentle stroking. But when her hand slid downward, contentment turned into something more demanding. He opened his eyes and saw that she was smiling at him. She was amused, he noted. And—pun intended—completely on top of things. “You’re asking for trouble,” he told her.

  “Yeah.” She lowered her head again to nip at his lip. “But am I going to get it?”

  He answered the question to their mutual satisfaction.

  “Good God,” he said when he could breathe again. “I’m going to have this table bronzed.”

  “I think I’m cured.” She pushed the hair from her face as she slid to the floor. “For now.”

  Groaning a little, he swung his legs off the table. “Wait till you get my bill.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.” She handed him his pants, then slithered into her teddy. She didn’t know about him, but she’d never think the same way about examining room 1 again. “And to think I came by to offer you some ham sandwiches.”

  “Ham?” His fingers paused on the snap of his jeans. “As in food? Like meat and bread?”

  “And potato chips.”

  His mouth was already watering. “Consider yourself paid in full.”

  She shook back her hair, certain that if she felt any better she’d be breaking the law. “I take it to mean you’re hungry.”

  “I haven’t eaten since breakfast. Chicken pox,” he explained as she pulled on her blouse. “If someone was to offer me a ham sandwich, I’d kiss her feet.”

  She wiggled her toes. “I like the sound of that. I’ll go get the basket.”

  “Hold it.” He took her arm. “If we stay in this room, my nurse is going to get a shock when she opens up tomorrow.”

  “Okay.” She picked up his T-shirt. “Why don’t we take it back to my house?” She rubbed the soft cotton against her cheek before handing it to him. “And eat in bed.”

  “Good thinking.”

  An hour later, they were sprawled across Vanessa’s bed as Brady poured the last drop from a bottle of chardonnay. Vanessa had scoured the house for candles. Now they were set throughout the room, flickering while Chopin played quietly on the bedside radio.

  “That was the best picnic I’ve had since I was thirteen and raided the Girl Scout overnight jamboree.”

  She scrounged for the last potato chip, then broke it judiciously in half. “I heard about that.” There hadn’t been time for Girl Scouts with her training. “You were always rotten.”

 
“Hey, I got to see Betty Jean Baumgartner naked. Well, almost naked,” he corrected. “She had on a training bra and panties, but at thirteen that’s pretty erotic stuff.”

  “A rotten creep.”

  “It was hormones.” He sipped his wine. “Lucky for you, I’ve