The Surgeon's One Night to Forever Read online

  Why was he so relieved? Cort took a prescription insert out of his pocket and found a spot to write on. The effort needed to concentrate on what he was doing was a welcome excuse not to keep looking at her, so hopefully she wouldn’t see how much it meant that she was at least considering it. When he held the sheet out to her, and she took it, the relief morphed to elation.

  “This is my cell number and address. We’ll work out the timing when we get a chance.”

  “Okay,” she said, taking the paper from his hand, a hint of some emotion he didn’t recognize breaking through her level tone.

  Was she annoyed? Fed up? He couldn’t tell, but was left with the distinct impression that hearing from her was out of the question. Which was why he was frankly shocked when he got a text from her just as he was preparing to leave the hospital at the end of his shift that same day.

  Will you be at home later?

  Cort stood, staring at his phone, wondering if it was a figment of his imagination brought on by his driving need for her.

  “Everything okay?” Reggie Morrison asked.

  “Hmm?” Cort looked over at the other surgeon, who was also getting ready to go home. “I’m sorry. What?”

  Reggie slammed his locker door shut. “I asked if everything was okay.” He lifted his chin toward the phone still clutched in Cort’s hand. “You’re glaring at that phone as though you want to strangle it.”

  “Oh, yeah. Everything’s fine.” Cort managed a smile and stuck the phone into his pocket. “Just an unexpected message.”

  “You still meeting us at the Red Rover Inn later?” Having plopped onto the bench, Reggie was putting on his street shoes. “Last I heard we were aiming for seven.”

  “No.” There was no way he would put off Liz just to have drinks with the guys. “I don’t think I can make it. Give the others my apologies, would you?”

  “Sure.” Reggie got up and stretched. “Maybe next time?”

  “Definitely.” Cort pretended to be engrossed with something in his locker, desperate for a little privacy. He had a message to answer. “Have a good time.”

  “Will do.” Reggie lifted a hand in farewell. “Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  Cort whipped his phone back out even before the locker-room door closed.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  OKAY, SO SHE was weak.

  Pathetic even.

  When Cort had issued his ultimatum she’d walked away, already having decided to tell him to go to hell. Instead, here she was on her way to his place.

  Liz switched the bag of Chinese takeout from one hand to the other so she could wipe the sweat off her palms on the legs of her jeans.

  It’s not a date. More like...um...a tryst. Yeah. A tryst.

  Yet thinking that didn’t make her feel any less nervous. It had been a very, very long time since she’d gone out of her way to be with a man, other than just for sex. Cort may have said he wanted to continue what had, to that point, been strictly a sexual relationship, but going to his place bearing food from her favorite Chinese restaurant smacked of it becoming something more.

  And it was that more she’d been assiduously avoiding.

  She couldn’t help thinking of how Andrew had charmed her into doing whatever he’d wanted, no matter what her instincts had been saying. The resentment she felt now seemed an echo of those times, and she cursed herself for a fool. She should have told him to go to hell.

  “Too late now,” she muttered to herself, stepping out of the elevator onto the floor where Cort’s apartment was. Taking a deep breath, reminding herself she didn’t have to stay, or come back if it didn’t go the way she wanted, she marched up to his door and rang the bell. It felt as though it took forever for Cort to answer. By the time he did, she’d tried to convince herself to leave one more time, then talked herself out of it again by remembering just how incredible he made her feel.

  It’s just for sex...

  When she heard the sound of the door being unlocked, she stiffened and held her breath.

  “Hi.” Cort stood there, smiling, and despite her anxiety, or maybe because of it, Liz’s heart fluttered. He pulled the door open wider and stepped back, gesturing her inside with a sweep of his hand. “Come on in.”

  Not sure whether to be annoyed or relieved that he hadn’t done something trite like kiss or hug her, Liz took him up on the invitation. Once inside, she pushed back the hood of her jacket and thrust the bag of food toward him. “I got Chinese. Wasn’t sure what you’d like, so a got a bunch of different dishes.”

  Good grief. She was babbling, and forced her lips shut to stop it. The visceral response she experienced whenever she saw Cort was magnified by being in his home, making her brain race and her heart thump.

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Still smiling, he closed the door. “You can hang your coat in the closet there.”

  Cort disappeared around a corner, into the kitchen, she suspected as she unwound her scarf and opened the door he’d indicated. Unlike her own hall closet, which often looked as though a bomb had gone off in it, his was incredibly neat. She shrugged out of her winter coat and then hung it, together with her scarf, on a free hanger. Then she perched on the bench near the door and took off her boots. With a deep breath, she got up and went after Cort.

  He was, indeed, in his galley kitchen, which was separated from a living/dining room by an island, on which he was unpacking the food. He glanced at her and smiled without pausing in what he was doing.

  “Have a seat. What’ll you have to drink?”

  “Just water, thanks.” Ignoring his suggestion to sit, she prowled around the room, taking it all in.

  The rest of the apartment was as neat as the hall closet but had an unfinished, hardly lived-in feel. Yes, there was a sectional and an easy chair that toned with it, and a small bar-height dining table surrounded by four chairs. Sure, there was a coffee table and an end table, and a large-screen TV, but there was also a lack of decorative touches. No pictures or mementos on the console beneath the TV, no paintings on the walls. Not to mention the pile of boxes in the corner. Not that any of it was her business anyway...

  “Not settled in yet?”

  She could have bitten off her own tongue for giving in to her urge for small talk. That wasn’t why she was here.

  “No.” He was clattering stuff around in the kitchen, doing who knew what. “It didn’t seem to make sense to unpack, only to have to pack it all up again in a year. Actually, any box that I don’t open between now and then I’ll probably just throw away.”

  “Hmm.” Restless, not knowing what to do with herself, she moved closer to the boxes. Although handwritten, the labels all looked exactly alike and were aligned on the boxes in precisely the same way. He’d been in the military, she remembered, so maybe that type of precision and his neatness were holdovers from his training. Not a bad trait for a surgeon to possess. “‘C. M. Smith,’” she read aloud. Cort wasn’t really a name, was it? It must be short for something. “What’s your full name anyway?”

  Maybe it was the sudden silence, or the fact he didn’t answer right away, but whatever it was had Liz turning to look at him. When he glanced up at her, his face was noncommittal, and the expression had her antennae quivering.

  “Cortland Main Smith.”

  “Maine, as in the state?” She drew closer to the island as he turned his back to her and opened a drawer.

  “Nope, just M-A-I-N.”

  “Cortland Main.” Liz sat on one of the bar stools, all her focus on the man setting chopsticks on the counter in front of her. “Interesting names. Are they traditional to your family?”

  “No.”

  The curtness of his reply took her by surprise, but she only said, “I’m not judging, believe me. My full name is Eliza Honoria.” That got the expected response of raised eyebrows and a barely controlled upward t
witch of his lips. “My parents had the bright idea of naming me after two of my father’s old aunts who never married, hoping they would leave him something in their wills.”

  He was trying manfully not to laugh, but she was sure she still read tension in the set of his shoulders. “Did it work?”

  The old bitterness-tinged amusement rose in her. “Nope. At least, not the way my parents wanted it to. My great-aunts were the ones who left the trust I told you about, the one I had to go to that damned luncheon for. But don’t change the subject. How did your parents come up with your names?”

  “They didn’t.” Both hands on the counter, he held her gaze. There again was that noncommittal expression, but his eyes were too carefully shielded. “Child protection agents gave me that name after I was found in a cardboard box at the corner of Cortland Road and Main Street.”

  * * *

  Cort waited for Liz’s reaction, his skin clammy, his heart pounding. There were few people who knew his story and how she reacted would determine where they went from here. He didn’t need pity, or to be looked down on because of his rootless existence.

  Liz’s eyes widened, but he should have known she wouldn’t react like anyone else.

  “Oh, that explains it,” she said, her gaze clear, penetrating. He must have shown some sign of his surprise at her matter-of-fact comment because she added, “Your reaction to Baby Jane coming in. Were you hypothermic too, when they found you?”

  “A bit.” He watched as she almost unconsciously picked up the chopsticks in front of her and dipped into one of the containers of food. As she popped a piece of Schezuan chicken between her lips, he found himself continuing, “It was early spring, still cold.”

  “Hmm.” She finished chewing, swallowed, and then said, “Any other problems?”

  He took a moment to slide a plate toward her, then rounded the island. Her pragmatic approach to his story caused the tension that had built in his muscles to dissipate with each step. For perhaps the first time, the story seemed to belong to the past, and could be discussed with a certain amount of detachment.

  “A broken arm,” he replied to her question, as he sat on the stool next to hers and reached for the fried rice. “And they discovered I had nonstructural scoliosis.”

  Following his lead, she started piling food onto her plate. “Cause?”

  “Inflammation. It was successfully treated.”

  For a while they concentrated on eating, but Cort could almost hear the wheels turning in her head. Liz Prudhomme wasn’t the type to let a conversation like this just drop. Not if she was really interested.

  So it wasn’t a surprise when she finally asked, “Were you adopted?”

  “Nope.” That also didn’t sting so much anymore, although when he’d been a teenager it had. “I ended up aging out of the foster-care system.”

  She nodded. “Nowadays there would be all kinds of posts on social media, people lining up to adopt you. Back then, not so much.” The glance she sent him had warmth rushing down his spine, although he didn’t know why. “You made it through the system, though, and all the way to success. That takes guts and determination.”

  He couldn’t hold her gaze, pleasure at her praise making him turn away. Looking down at his plate and wrestling with a particularly slippery tangle of noodles was a welcome distraction. Getting them into his mouth and chewing also put off the need to reply until the unexpected rush of emotion subsided. “I had help.”

  “Really?” When he looked at her out of the corner of his eye, Liz was no longer watching him but helping herself to more food. “That’s unusual in the foster-care system, or so I’ve heard.”

  “Yes, well, some of my foster families were good people.” Not all, but he didn’t want to go there. “But it was a couple of teachers who really got me on the right track at the right time.” When she made an interested sound in the back of her throat, he continued. “I had a football coach who kept at me until I joined the school’s officer trainer program, and a science teacher who saw something in me I didn’t see in myself. She suggested I consider medicine.” Even now, the memory made him laugh. “Imagine a scruffy, angry teenager in dirty, too-small clothes being told he should aspire to be a doctor. I told her she was nuts, but she persisted and the two things, the training program and her insistence, came together in the end.”

  When he least expected it, she sent him another of those clear-eyed looks. “Somewhere along the line your own determination had to come into play. No matter what anyone else says to a person, if they’re not committed to a goal they won’t make it.” She mimed doffing a hat. “Kudos to you.”

  What could he say to that? Desperation had been his initial driver, but he doubted she’d understand the life he’d lived, so he just sketched her a bow and saw her lips quirk with her version of a smile.

  “The army played a huge role too.”

  “You sound almost nostalgic about the service. Why’d you leave?”

  Memories, like noxious smoke, suddenly filled his head, and had to be forced away. Keeping his gaze on his plate, he said, “It was time.” Knowing how abrupt it sounded, he forced a smile and asked, “What about you? How did you end up in medicine?”

  She shrugged, pushing away her plate, but there was an infinitesimal tightening of the skin around her mouth before she replied, “I knew from when I was a child what I wanted to do.”

  “And no one was talking you out of it, huh?”

  He said it as a joke, but the way she nodded told him there was a lot more to the story. “Hell, no.” When she met his gaze, her eyes were gleaming with the laughter she hardly ever allowed to escape. “Many tried, none succeeded.”

  Desire stabbed through him, shocking in its swiftness and intensity. It was the twinkle in her eyes, her candid acknowledgement of her strength of will, and, he admitted to himself, the easy way she’d heard and taken in his story. No drama, or false sympathy. It all just made him want her with the same ferocity he’d felt when knowing they only had a few minutes to be together in the hospital. And now remembering they had all night heightened his arousal. His need.

  It must have shown on his face, because her eyes got slumberous, her lips softened, and a hint of color touched her cheeks and the tips of her ears. It made him want to tease her, much as he had the night they’d spent together in Mexico. That night had seemed to stretch to infinity, redolent with soft gasps and hot kisses, the intimate stroke of hands and lips across skin, the rise of unstoppable passion.

  Getting up, he held out his hand to her.

  “Come, let’s go sit on the couch, maybe watch a movie.”

  Those eloquent eyebrows twitched, and her eyelids drooped farther. “Sure,” she said, and took his hand with no hint of hesitation.

  His heart leapt at that calm acceptance.

  Tugging her to her feet, he let go of her hand to unbutton her sweater. “Make sure you watch the movie carefully, no matter what happens,” he said. “There will be a test later.”

  “Ha-ha-ha,” was her reply, but there was a breathy quality to her voice that told him she knew exactly what kind of distraction he planned. “And what kind of reward will I get if I get all the answers right?”

  Leaning in close as he slid the sweater off her body, he whispered into her ear, and got his own reward when a pleasure-drenched little sound broke from her throat.

  “I’ll pay really close attention.” It was an amusement-laden croak. “I want my prize.”

  “Good.” He started on the button of her jeans, excitement firing across his flesh as he anticipated making her climax over and over again. “I want you to have it.”

  Want you to have it all.

  CHAPTER NINE

  SHE WANTED TO STAY.

  Liz lay still beside Cort, trying to convince herself to get up and go home.

  Staying the night had never been part of the deal
.

  It smacked of that more she’d promised herself to avoid at all costs.

  Yet his bed was comfortable and, so far, there was no snoring to disturb the quiet of his apartment. Coming from outside, the hum of traffic, muted by gently falling snow, was also having a soporific effect.

  She forced her eyes open to stare at the window, which was covered by light sheers, while she catalogued the pleasant aches caused by Cort’s incredible lovemaking.

  Sex. It was wonderful, but just sex.

  A shiver crept up her arms, making her nipples bead. Whatever she called it, it was fantastic. Something about looking into those eyes, dark with passion, intent on her, elevated the experience from purely physical to something she didn’t want to think about, much less name. Just the thought of it brought a sheen of anxious sweat to her forehead.

  So, instead, she thought about what he’d told her about his beginnings, and how he’d ended up a surgeon. Knowing where he’d come from to become the man he was filled her with admiration. And that didn’t even include whatever it was that had caused him to leave the service. There was a story there, one he’d shied away from telling, which probably meant it was really bad.

  She doubted she would have survived, much less thrived the way he had.

  The man in question rolled over onto his side to face her. Immediately her body quickened, tingles racing through her belly to settle between her thighs.

  He made her so greedy.

  So when he reached for her, pulled her close, she didn’t resist, even though her head was telling her to. And when he kissed her, his hand slicking across her skin again to find a spot she hadn’t even known was an erogenous zone until he’d shown her it was, she melted, gave in once more.

  Later, floating down from the high he’d taken her on, she again thought about leaving, convinced herself she’d do it in a couple of minutes.

  “There’s something I have to say.”