West Wing to Maternity Wing!(12)

She grimaced as the cuff reached its tightest point, shifting onto her  back. 'No, it's fine really. Just wishful thinking perhaps.'

He smiled and leaned forward. 'Wishful thinking about what?'

She ran her tongue along her bottom lip and shrugged her shoulders.  'That when the hero finally appears he usually brings the sleeping  princess some gifts. I was kinda hoping for cookies.'

'So now I'm the hero?'

'You were in my dream … ' Her voice trailed off, as if she hadn't really  thought about what she was saying. Her eyes fixed on his, which were  fixed on the monitor at her side. The thoughts of a medic were written  all over his face. So much for dreaming.

'David started me on some anti-hypertensives today.'

He pulled his eyes from the monitor screen-conscious of the fact she'd been watching him. 'And how do you feel?'

He knew better than to rely on readings from instruments when a patient could tell you exactly what you needed to know.

Amy gave a sigh of relief as the cuff released then propped herself up  in the bed. She pushed her hair out of her eyes, tucking it behind her  ears.

Lincoln fisted his hands, resisting the urge to do it for her.

'Crabbit.'

'What?' That got his attention. Miss Unpredictable.

She gave him a wicked smile. 'Crabbit-that's how I feel. I could  cheerfully take that blood-pressure monitor and lob it out the nearest  window.'

He gave a rueful smile. 'It is kind of noisy.'

'It's not the noise-it's the discomfort. Every time I think I'm about to  fall asleep the damn thing goes off again.' She narrowed her eyes. 'I  thought hospitals were supposed to be places of rest, Dr Adams?'

'No chance,' he muttered, sagging back in the armchair, his legs and arms flopping in exhaustion.

She raised her eyebrow. 'No rest for the wicked?'

He shook his head. 'I don't know about the wicked but there's definitely  no rest for me. I keep snatching a few hours here and there, but I feel  as if I'm walking about this place in a trance.'

Amy nodded slowly. It was always like this for a doctor on call. As soon  as their head rested on the pillow, their pager would go off again. By  the end of their shift they looked like death warmed over.

Although still one of the best-looking men she'd ever laid eyes on,  Lincoln looked tired. Bags hung under his eyes, and the little lines  surrounding them seemed deeper-more ingrained.

She was angry with herself. Had she forgotten the amount of  responsibility he had right now? He must be stressed up to his eyeballs,  and her presence here couldn't be helping.

She felt a surge in her chest. Her heartbeat started to quicken. Lincoln  was looking tired and vulnerable, but sexy as hell. He was watching her  through half-shut lids and it was sending tingling sensations along her  skin. Why had she come to find him? Was this only about safeguarding  her baby? Or was this about something else?

In the whole six years since she'd left the boat she'd never met anyone  else like him. No one else had had the same effect on her that he'd had.  And it wasn't just the sexual attraction. It was the friendship, the  conversation and the flirting. And she'd missed it. She'd missed it all.

There was no one else about. It was just the two of them. Maybe for five  minutes she could forget about things. She could forget that she'd had  breast cancer. She could forget about the problems with her pregnancy.  She could just be Amy. And he could just be Linc.

She pulled the cuff from her arm.

Lincoln watched as she lifted the covers and slid her legs to the side  of the bed, turning to face him. Long, slim, white legs with only the  tiniest bit of oedema around her ankles. And red-painted toenails with  tiny silver stars.

He'd forgotten about that. He'd forgotten that she loved nail art and  although, as a nurse, she couldn't have it on her fingernails, he'd  never seen her toenails without it.

'Nice stars,' he murmured, his eyes fixated on her toes. She slid  forward to the edge of the bed, the loose T-shirt she was wearing  hitching up around her hips and sliding down one of her shoulders. The  movement gave him the tiniest glimpse of bright pink panties. The lights  in the room were dimmed-to let her sleep whilst still being observed by  the nursing staff. Her tangled red hair was loose around her shoulders,  creating a perfect frame for her white skin and dark green eyes.  Something had changed. Something was different.         

     



 

His breath hitched in his throat. It was how she was looking at him. Her  gaze was intent and he heard her take a deep breath and let the air out  slowly through her pink lips. For the first time since he'd met her two  days ago she didn't seem afraid. She didn't seem worried. She seemed  strong and self-confident.

Her hand reached over and took his. 'So, Lincoln … ' Her voice was low,  husky. 'If you're so tired, what are you doing here in the middle of the  night, visiting me?'

He heard the words, but was too captivated by the picture in front of  him to answer. A smile appeared on her lips and she turned his hand over  in hers, running her fingertips lightly across his knuckles then across  his palm. Did she know what she was doing?

She moved his hand towards her body and rested it firmly on her hip.  Yes, she knew exactly what she was doing. Amy lifted her hands to his  head, running her fingers through his tousled hair. He let out a groan,  his other hand automatically lifting to cradle her other hip. He closed  his eyes as her fingers trailed over the top of his head and down  towards his neck.

The sensations igniting within him were spurred by memories of the past.  Six years he'd waited for this. Six years he'd waited to have her in  his arms again. He ignored the tiny red flags in his brain. The ones  that tried to make him think rationally. Right now he didn't care about  professional boundaries. Amy wasn't his patient-and never would be. Her  touch was like a drug. His sleep-deprived brain was addicted. His head  and neck were on fire underneath her fingertips and he wanted more, he  wanted to be closer.

It was instinct. Pure instinct. He heard her feet touch the floor in  front of him and he pulled her towards him, lifting his head as she bent  hers to meet his.

There was nothing unsure or unconfident about this kiss. Her lips met  his, full and plump, kissing him as if her life depended on it. His lips  parted as her tongue entered his mouth and he pulled her closer. He  ignored the extended abdomen and pushed his hands up the length of her  back and into her tangled hair.

Ringlets. Little spirals. That's what he felt. On a lazy day he would  have lain next to her in the bed, pushing his fingers gently into her  hair, teasing the curls. Tonight he just wanted to touch her hair. Mess  it up. Feel it between his fingers again. Remember everything about what  it felt like to touch.

And her skin. He wanted to feel her soft, smooth skin. His hand fell to  her bare shoulder, running along the curve of her neck, across her  delicate bones and back again to the base of her neck, where his fingers  danced lightly across her skin again. She gasped, her legs wobbling,  her lips releasing from his and her eyes catching his in the dim light.  'Oh, Linc,' she groaned, 'you know what that does to me.'

And he was there. Caught in this moment. Mesmerised by the woman before  him. His hands curved around her back, sliding under her T-shirt, his  fingertips dancing up and down her spine like butterfly wings. His lips  touched her ear, his voice deep with desire. 'I remember exactly what  this does for you.'

Amy tipped her head back, revealing the pale skin on her neck as he bent  his head towards her. This was just like the dream she'd had. This was  exactly what Lincoln had been doing to her. Only this time it wasn't in  her imagination. It was real. She could feel him. She could smell him.  She could taste him.

And nothing tasted as good as this.

Well, maybe almost nothing.

Her hands dipped lower. He was still wearing the hospital-issue scrubs.  The lightest, flimsiest material in the world. She could feel him  pressing against her. But it wasn't enough. She wanted to touch him.

Her hands slid beneath the thin material, to what she imagined was his  trademark white jersey boxers underneath. A surge of pleasure swept  through her as she felt his back stiffen and his breath catch as she  touched him. Running her fingers up and down his length. When had the  last time been she'd felt this much in control? When had the last time  been she'd had any sort of sexual encounter? Had even thought of sex?

This was exactly how she remembered it. Every pleasurable second.

His hands swept around from her back towards her breasts. Towards her  breast. And she stopped. Her heart beat furiously against her chest.  Panic overtook her.

She'd been so busy thinking about other things, she'd forgotten about  this. She'd forgotten about the fact she was no longer a whole woman.  Her hands jerked back from where she'd been holding him. Back to her  breasts. Back to her breast.

Lincoln froze, feeling her instant stiffening and her pull away from  him. What was wrong? He didn't want this to stop. He didn't want this to  stop at all.