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“Hunter.”
“Madison.”
A staring contest ensued, and though she fought to keep her eyes locked on his, doing so took more energy than she had at the moment. Seconds ticked by while her will to win the battle drained away. She let her thousand-pound eyelids drift down, but not before she caught his lips curve into a satisfied smile. “What?”
“Get some rest. You can find all sorts of new stuff to be stubborn about tomorrow.”
Dangerously charming, her brain reminded her, but she didn’t have the strength to fight him anymore tonight. “Fine. You win. I’m going to bed. Call me if you need me.” She stood, walked over to him, and gave Joy a soft kiss on the cheek. “Night, baby.” Then her eyes drifted to Hunter—the line of his collarbones, his strong, square chin. His lips.
“Good night, Hunter.” His clean, green tea scent swamped her senses. On impulse, she put her hands on his shoulders and rose onto her tiptoes to brush a kiss over one stubble-roughened cheek. Maybe she zigged, or he zagged, but somehow she ended up with her lips pressed to his.
They both froze for several seconds, and then his warm, firm, unquestionably masculine lips moved under hers, over, covering her mouth and taking control. Heat stormed in, immediate, consuming, and totally out of proportion with the relatively innocent contact. A quick, uncensored moan of longing reached her ears almost before she felt the vibration of her vocal cords in her throat. Her body switched to autopilot, arching
higher on her toes, fusing their mouths.
A big hand cupped the back of her head, holding her there. He leaned closer, increasing the pressure of the kiss, and relieving her of some of the effort of straining toward him. The move sent her pulse tripping. Whatever was happening, he wanted it, too. His lips teased hers open, and then he played—nipping, rubbing, reminding her it had been a long time since she’d been pressed up against a man. Held. Kissed. Her mouth suddenly ached for the deep, aggressive thrust of a hungry tongue.
The sensation of thick, silky hair under her fingers told her she’d moved her hands from his shoulders to his head. She tightened her grip until she could feel the hard outline of his skull, and her mouth opened wider in an inarticulate demand.
Apparently he spoke fluent inarticulate, because he adjusted his hold on her head and slid his tongue into her mouth. She closed grateful lips around him and clung, sucked greedily as he slowly withdrew. Other parts of her body contracted, too—a sharp, urgent pull low in her abdomen and between her legs, as if all her muscles working together could counteract the retreat of his tongue. Her mouth filled with the minty sting of toothpaste mingled with a new taste that belonged solely to Hunter. Salty, vaguely citrusy. Highly addictive.
She surged up and chased his tongue, sliding hers into his mouth. His welcomed hers with a tricky maneuver that sent hot and cold tingles all the way to her scalp. She eased back with the idea of returning the favor but got distracted by the smooth, even line of his teeth, broken by the angle of the third one in. He sank the point of it into her roving tongue, capturing her in a primitive trap, unleashing equally primitive responses. Her thighs clenched. Her nipples throbbed. The tight points scraped over his forearm and she moaned again as sensations ricocheted along every raw nerve ending in her body. He exhaled. She inhaled, absorbing him into her airway, her lungs, blurring the lines between scent, taste, and feel. It was all Hunter.
Her body went heavy and her head went light. She leaned into his strength, loving the feel of his hard thigh between hers, and the solid shelf of his arm supporting her breasts. She clasped the back of his neck and leaned in a little more, and…
A small, irritated cry filtered up from between them.
She jerked back. Guilt washed over her and she automatically reached for her daughter. “I’m sorry. I…” What? Lost my mind? Forgot all about my daughter? Jumped you? “I’ll take her.”
Hunter slowly released the back of her head and brought his other arm around to cradle Joy. “She’s okay. I’ve got her.” He rocked her tiny body and she immediately quieted. Like mother, like daughter.
“Oh.”
He aimed shadowy eyes at her and parted his lips to say something more. She panicked. “I’ll…um…see you in the morning.” With one last, quick peck on Joy’s cheek, she bolted for the bedroom.
His voice followed her down the hall. “Good night, Madison.”
Those were the last words she remembered hearing. She’d expected to toss and turn all night, if not from the mess of emotions swirling inside her as a result of the kiss, then from a rollercoaster of anxieties caused by not having her baby at her side. But no, she woke when dawn spilled into the room, Joy’s soft snores echoing in her ears, and the disconcerting awareness that the baby hadn’t been the only one Hunter had attended to last night. Apparently he’d tucked her in, too. She couldn’t call into focus any memory of the event, but someone had come in and covered her with an extra blanket. The notion of Hunter arranging the blanket around her sent bone-dissolving warmth through parts best left unheated.
Quiet ruled the rest of the house, which suggested Hunter had already left for work, and an uncomfortable heaviness in her breasts announced Joy was overdue for breakfast. The nightstand clock confirmed both impressions. She tossed the covers aside and crawled out of bed. A peek at Joy reassured her she had time for a quick trip to the bathroom. Knocking out the morning essentials didn’t take long, but she still had a mouth full of toothpaste when a drowsy little cry reached her ears. She rinsed fast and hurried back to the bedroom. On the way, she swept past Hunter’s desk and accidentally knocked a file to the floor. Papers scattered.
Dang. She gathered the papers up and then tossed them onto the desk. Once she got Joy squared away she’d put everything back in some semblance of order.
The baby cooperated through a diaper change, despite her hunger—mama’s little trooper—and then snuggled in for breakfast. Madison sat in the desk chair and used a couple pillows to prop Joy up. While she supported the baby with one arm, she opened the file and turned the first sheet of paper over. It looked like a printout of some kind of application. She turned the next page and stared. Not just some kind of application, an Association of American Medical Colleges application, which looked pretty darn official and included…she leafed through the stack of papers…a confirmation of submission dated the past June. Next came a bunch of school-specific applications from places like Duke, Emory, Vanderbuilt, and Morehead. These reflected more recent dates.
She lowered the page she held and stared at Joy. Holy crap, the man was in the middle of applying to medical schools. A few brave steps into his version of a second chance, and even with everything that had happened before, what had he gone and done? Opened his home to a virtual stranger and her baby. He’d taken on two major distractions—again—at a point when he ought to be focused on his goals. She looked at the next sheet in the stack—a recent correspondence from one of the local schools.
Thank you for your inquiry regarding the status of your application. As you know, we require one academic letter of recommendation, and one professional. At this time, we are in receipt of a letter from Professor Bryant, providing the academic recommendation. Please remind your professional contact to forward a recommendation letter at her earliest convenience. No letters postmarked after February 15th will be accepted, and no incomplete applications will receive further consideration. Thank you.
Not good. Hunter had all sorts of strict deadlines to see to. The last thing he needed was a couple of long-term houseguests disrupting his sleep, his files, and his life.
Hunter had his goals, and now, she had hers. She was going to beg, badger, or bribe her doctor into clearing her to return from leave next week, collect two weeks of pay and tips, and find a place to live. They’d be out of his guestroom by the time Joy celebrated her second-month birthday, come hell or high water.
Chapter Eight
Hey, where are you? I went to the Grind, but Marcy gave me the death stare and told me you didn’t work there anymore. I went to our old place, and that asshole Randy says you moved. Maddy, I need to see you. We need to talk.
Madison snapped her crappy, old flip phone shut and resisted the urge to turn the last part of her afternoon walk with Joy into a sprint. She did succumb to an irrational urge to scan the street for a black F-150. Talking to Cody was the last thing she needed. Marcy, her old boss, had pegged him as trouble the minute she’d slapped eyes on him. The imposing divorced mother of five wouldn’t tell him a thing. Madison hadn’t left a forwarding address with Randy, her former landlord, so he couldn’t divulge anything even if he wanted to.
