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.
‘Amy?’
He lifted his head from her neck and pulled back, watching her in the dim light. She looked stricken and her cheeks were tinged with pink. She was embarrassed? Why on earth would she be…?
Then it hit him like a blow to the head as he realised how her hands were positioned. He lifted his finger to her pale cheek and stroked it gently as a slow, silent tear slipped down it.
He moved forward, this time to sit alongside her at the edge of the bed and put his arm around her shoulders. She was trembling.
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered, ‘I didn’t think. I just acted on instinct.’ He pulled her closer and dropped a kiss on her head as she rested it against his shoulder. ‘But you should know, Amy, that it doesn’t matter to me.’
He could hear her breathing, ragged and uneven. So he held her closer, wrapping both arms around her. His mind was whirling. Was this his fault? Had he taken advantage of her?
No. He didn’t think so. She’d seemed sure. Confident about what she was doing.
Her hand reached over and squeezed his. ‘I wasn’t thinking either. I haven’t been close to anyone since I had my surgery. I didn’t know what to expect.’
Linc stepped in front of her, cupping her face with his hands. ‘I wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable. I would never do that to you.’
She nodded. ‘I know that, Linc, it’s just that…I’m not comfortable with it yet. I don’t feel right. I don’t feel normal.’ The tears were flowing freely down her cheeks now. She looked down her uneven frame. ‘This just doesn’t feel like me.’
Her voice was shaking as she struggled to get the words out. ‘And now with everything else…’
He brushed one of the tears from her cheek. ‘I know this is hard. But you’re still Amy. You’re still little Miss Unpredictable that I met six years ago on the Amazon.’ He pointed a finger to the centre of her chest. ‘I don’t need to tell you this, but it’s what’s in here that counts—not what’s outside. Look how many kids we worked with on the boat who had facial abnormalities, what
did we tell them?’
She collapsed back against the bed, her head in her hands as the sobs racked her body. ‘But that’s just it, Linc, I feel like such a fraud. I said all those words to those kids. But now that it’s me, I don’t believe them, I don’t believe them in here.’ She prodded at her heart. ‘I don’t want to be like this. I want to have my body back. The one I’m comfortable in. I had my surgery planned—I even had a date set. Then this…’ she pointed at her stomach ‘…other stuff happened and everything else had to go on hold.’
‘Have you ever spoken to someone about this?’ Linc’s professional head was pulling into focus. This sounded like someone who hadn’t really come to terms with what had happened yet.
And he was used to this. Used to dealing with patients and their families. Used to seeing women who had healthy pregnancies then, for unknown reasons, went into premature labour and often had to deal with very sick babies with a whole range of complications. The counsellor attached to his NICU in San Francisco was one of the most essential members of staff. His unit couldn’t function without her.
He walked over to the bathroom and grabbed some toilet tissue, handing it to Amy and sitting back down on the bed beside her. ‘I’m sure there is someone who you will be able to talk to about this.’
Amy pushed herself up on the bed and blew her nose. ‘I’ve tried, Linc. I went to a local group. It was all women who had breast cancer. But I just didn’t fit in. There were some really strong personalities—some women were really against any type of reconstructive surgery. They thought you should embrace the fact you’d had a mastectomy and beaten the disease.’ She shook her head. ‘But that just wasn’t me. It wasn’t how I felt about things.’
Linc touched her arm. ‘But there has to be more than one group. Maybe you could try another one, with different personalities?’
Her hands settled over her stomach and she raised her red-rimmed eyes to meet his. ‘It’s more than that. When you touched me…’ Her voice faded out.
‘What? When I touched you, what?’ He didn’t want to push, but right now it was clear that Amy needed to talk.
She buried her head in her hands again. ‘It didn’t feel right. When you used to touch me, I loved the feel of your hands on my breasts. This time your hands came round and I expected what I used to feel. Except this time I felt nothing. It was like a big blank. I wasn’t ready for that.’