Forever Family (Forever #5) (8 page)

To tell the truth, I hadn’t told Darion either. He had a shift today, so he was here at the hospital. But I knew his routine. I could avoid him. I’d confess later. I just couldn’t risk somebody talking me into going. Not worth it.

A nurse slipped in the room. “Asleep?” she whispered.

I nodded. She made a note on her iPad. “I’ll hold his lunch tray,” she said.

I returned to my sketch. I’d made many of Albert, almost as many as I had of Darion and his sister, Cynthia. Sometimes I drew him painting or sculpting. Other times, it was like this, in a hospital scene. But mostly I liked to capture his expressions. His face always told me so much about him, as much as his art, if I looked closely. He was so haunted. But so eager to impart what he could to me.

While he could.

My breath hitched just thinking about the dark day that surely wasn’t far off. Albert slept more and more. Layla helped me track his wakeful periods so I could visit him at those times. Today she was having lunch with a friend, and I was perfectly content to skip the baby shower and sit with him.

I wasn’t sure how much longer I would get to.

The door eased open again, and I looked up, expecting that the nurse’s message didn’t get to the kitchen and Albert’s tray had arrived anyway.

But it was Darion.

He stepped inside. He had on a crisp white coat today, which meant he’d been doing some administrative work. He was still relentlessly proper about those things despite my efforts to get him to relax.

His attention turned to Albert for a moment, then he raised his eyebrows at me. I sat stonily, then realized I was busted. Jenny or Corabelle must have messaged him.

I closed the sketch pad and slid the charcoal stick into its slot in my art box. Party over. Or pity party. Whatever this was.

The bag bumped my back as I slung it over my shoulder. I squeezed Albert’s arm. He didn’t stir.

Darion reached for my hand as I approached. I took it, trying to calm myself with the touch of his cool fingers. We walked silently down the hall until we passed the nurses’ desk.

“Let’s go to the staff lounge,” he said. “It’s quiet today.”

Saturday afternoons were always a peaceful part of the surgical ward. All the scheduled procedures were done in the morning, and it would be hours before the night activity jumped the ER into gear.

“You’re sneaking me into the doctors’ den?” I asked.

“Mm-hmm,” he said. “Just remember if anyone shows up to act like Chevy Chase and Dan Aykroyd in
Spies Like Us
.”

This did make me laugh. “Doctor, doctor? Doctor, doctor?”

He waved his badge on the door and nudged it open with his shoulder. “Precisely. Only sexier.” His voice dropped into a low rumble.

I obeyed. “Doctor, oh,
doctor
,” I said with a smile.

“That’s more like it,” he said.

Now I wondered what he was up to.

We headed inside the lounge. Two sofas lined one wall. In the middle, three large round tables filled the open space. The back wall was all kitchen. A long desk held a couple laptops and charging cables.

A female surgeon in scrubs poured a cup of coffee from one of four carafes near the sink. She gave us a curt nod and headed back out.

“So, this is how the other half lounges,” I said.

“Hardly anybody uses this place anymore other than to grab coffee. Nobody has time to sit around and talk shop.”

“Damn managed care,” I quipped. We’d had this conversation before.

He shrugged out of his white coat. “It is what it is.”

Darion was dressed formally as always, white shirt, dress pants, and tie. But he loosened the knot at his throat.

“You going to change?” I asked.

He pulled me close to him. “Undressing isn’t necessary on location.”

NOW I got it. I glanced at the door. “Are you serious? Right here? In this huge open room where anyone can walk in?”

“They do it all the time on
Grey’s Anatomy
.” He leaned in and kissed me.

I relaxed into his lips and felt the loosening in my belly, but still. This was an open lounge. Not Surgical Suite B, where nobody ever walked in, well, other than a random custodian.

Still, I didn’t break the kiss. I was willing to go where Darion would take me. I was the wild one. He couldn’t scare me. And I wasn’t convinced he would follow through on this.

Darion slid my bag off my shoulder and dropped it behind him on a table. I could feel everything falling away as I focused on him.

He slid his hands beneath my fuzzy sweater and ran them up my back. “Mmm, braless as usual,” he whispered against my lips.

Now he definitely had me. I turned my head just a little. “Deciding to put your career on the line?” I asked against his cheek.

“If doctors got fired for sex on the job, the patients would run the hospital.”

I pulled back to look into his eyes. “Dr. Darion Marks, what’s gotten into you?”

He shifted a hand around to the front to cup one of my breasts. I sucked in a breath. He said, “It’s really more about getting into
you
.”

His hands moved down to the backs of my thighs and lifted me up against him.

I allowed my knees to part and wrap around his hips. My arms snaked around his neck so I could hang on.

He nuzzled into the hair over my ear. “That’s it.”

My heart sped up. Darion was not a risk-taker. This was big. He pulled me firmly against him and took several long strides toward the long counter next to the sink. He set me on an empty spot and shoved the sugar and creamer containers out of his way.

His lips caught mine again. I closed my eyes and quit thinking about where we were, just got lost in the spiraling need that was spinning through my body.

Darion’s hands slid up my thighs beneath my skirt. Now the drumbeat was pulsing between my legs, wanting him to move faster, to be bold.

His fingers curled around the lacy strap of my panties. I sucked in a breath against his mouth. “I should ban these,” he growled.

“Are we going to need duct tape again?” I asked. Darion had been forced to repair my underwear during a lunchtime tryst when we were first together.

“My skills are better honed,” he said. In one quick movement, he lifted me and jerked the panties to my knees.

“Just be glad I prefer to wear skirts,” I said.

He tugged the panties down my legs and tossed them on the counter. “I am,” he said.

His thumb made a path up my thigh, and I clutched at his neck. When he reached his destination, I lurched against him, desperate for contact. How had he known exactly how to fix me, exactly what to do?

He massaged my nub, making me writhe against his hand. My hips moved with him, reveling in the attention and care he took with each heightening sensation, my tightening need.

I heard his belt jingle and reached down to help him unfasten the buckle. “Now if you would just switch to kilts, we’d be in business,” I said, jerking down his zipper.

“We are anyway.”

His voice hitched when I found him, lifting him up and out of the boxers.

“Don’t take your time,” I said, sliding forward on the counter so I was perched on the edge.

His hands spread my thighs wider. I found myself calculating the risk. If someone walked in, they’d see his back, my bare knees. Not much else. My skirt covered us.

It was fine.

Darion shifted forward, and I found him. He reached around to grasp my bottom and drag me onto him.

I gasped as he thrust straight inside. We’d spent so much time being comfortable lately, behind closed doors, in our big perfect bed. This was exhilarating, liberating. Fun.

He reached between us again. He knew what would get to me fast. His thumb pressed against key parts in tight circles. My head felt light, the world falling away. The contact was intense and fierce. He worked me hard with his fingers and his hips rocked against me.

The pleasure radiated out, broad and heavy at first, then splintering into lightning shards. I cried out as it bolted through my body, making me clutch Darion, holding on for dear life.

He buried his face in my neck, his rhythm fast and steady and forceful. My body clamped down on his as the orgasm reached its peak. I felt his body tense, then release, and warmth spread through me. I gasped for breath, coming down with him in degrees.

Darion wrapped his arms around me. “Thank you for indulging me,” he said.

I smacked him lightly on the arm. “It was such a terrible inconvenience,” I said with a laugh.

He pulled back, his eyes mischievous and merry. “I’m a bad influence on your pristine soul.”

“I’ll drag you back from hell,” I said.

Darion looked down. “I guess we can’t stay like this indefinitely.”

I followed his gaze to where my skirt was draped over us. One of my shoes had fallen off. “We could always insist we were doing an obstetrical workshop.”

This made him laugh hard, his voice cutting through the quiet of the lounge. “Worth a shot.”

He pulled back. His hair was disheveled, his shirt wrinkled, and his pants creased. He looked perfect.

I hopped off the counter and retrieved my shoe as he buckled up.

“So, how did you know where I was?” I asked.

“When Corabelle said you weren’t at the shower and not responding to texts, I had a good idea.” He tried patting his short hair back into place, but just made it worse. I giggled and ran my fingers through it.

“How is Albert?” he asked.

“He didn’t wake for me today. I just sketched.” I tugged on my spriggy ponytails. One had been knocked askew, and bits were falling out. We were both a mess. I worked on it as I watched Darion, waiting for him to ask why I hadn’t gone to Jenny’s party. He was supposed to have met me after the shift, and I hadn’t even told him I wasn’t there.

But he didn’t mention it. He picked up his white coat. “I just have the pediatric rounds to go. Lots of them are in your art therapy. You want to come along?”

He wasn’t going to ask. I didn’t have to say anything. My throat closed up. He got it. He knew me. He really, really knew me.

“Sure,” I managed to get out, my voice thick with emotion. I picked up my bag. “I want to see how Henry is doing.”

“He’s feeling pretty low from his chemo, but he’s a cheerful little guy,” Darion said.

We headed for the door. “Can we see him first?” I asked.

“No reason why not,” he said as he held it open.

The walk through the halls was different from when I’d arrived, dark and heavy from visiting Albert and guilty for skipping Jenny’s shower. This time I noticed the new bulletin boards and nodded at passing staff. I was better. This day was passing without a breakdown. Darion had known just what to do.

And what not to try to say.

We were already in the farthest wing of the hospital, almost to Henry’s room, when I remembered something.

We’d left the panties on the counter of the lounge.

Chapter 10: Jenny

Some freaking Thanksgiving.

Everyone out in the living room was drinking and partying. I was stuck in the back bedroom of a rock star’s mansion, clumsily trying to get Phoenix to latch on to my overfull boob.

I’d waited too long. I knew it. We’d left the sanctity of my mother’s place hours ago and come to a party hosted by a musician on Chance’s new record label. Chance was anxious and animated, ready to schmooze.

And I was trying to feed an infant.

I despaired at the milk dribbling onto my glittery skirt. I knew I should have worn something more practical — but this was a party! At least I’d managed to leave Phoenix for three hours yesterday to get my hair fixed.

But neither my fabulous new cotton-candy-pink dye job nor my clever outfit mattered at all since I was stuck in a back room.

Phoenix screwed up her eyes in frustration and wailed. At three weeks old, she’d definitely found her lungs. I searched around for a door to a bathroom, but the only one led me to a closet. I needed a towel to get some of this milk out so my boob was softer for her to latch on to.

Stupid me for waiting so long. I knew I was about to explode. But Phoenix had been asleep, and I hadn’t wanted to wake her.

I didn’t want to go back out into the hall, where several people were hanging out or hooking up, sprawled on the floors and draped over chairs. I’d had to step over them on my way here.

My shirt was useless for this task, some synthetic stretchy sparkly rayon that wouldn’t absorb anything. It scratched me mercilessly anyway. There had to be something here to soak up extra milk.

I wished we were at Dylan Wolf’s, where I at least knew people and could ask for help. This was some other guy, some hotshot newcomer who already had a duet with Selena Gomez in the works.

I searched through the closet, but it was empty except for some boxes and a couple sealed suit bags. I looked back at the bed.

I didn’t want to do it. But I would have to.

I jerked back the covers and grabbed a pillow. The pillowcase was Egyptian cotton, high thread count. I fumbled to pull it off while holding the howling baby. I had to set her on the bed to get it done. Finally, it came free.

“Sorry, rock-star dude,” I whispered as I pressed it against my boob and squeezed. I could see why Phoenix was having trouble. It was hard as a rock.

I worked it for a couple minutes, placating the baby with a milk-covered finger. The pillow was thoroughly wet before I felt like I’d gotten enough out to try latching her on again.

Thankfully, this time, she went right on. I sank onto the bed in relief. I glanced over at the soaked pillowcase. I wasn’t sure what to do with it. No telling what bodily fluids got spilled in back bedrooms at parties like this. I’d just leave it on the corner and let his cleaning people manage it. I had no choice. I wasn’t exactly going to tug on his sleeve in the middle of a party and explain that he had breast milk all over his guest-room pillowcase.

Now that my panic was waning, the sounds of the party filtered through the walls. I could hear exactly what I was missing.

Someone had hooked up an electric guitar and was banging out chords. Then a piano filled in a melody. After a minute, somebody sang something and a bunch of people joined in.