“Kiss.”
That was all I said before she raised on tiptoes, her lips touching mine. That was the reminder I needed of why I brought her to this concert, amongst hundreds of people, when crowds weren’t usually my thing.
“Are you hungry?” she questioned, our lips still touching.
“Not for food.”
She pulled back, laughing when I threw my arm around her waist. “That’s all I’m offering in this park, Doctor.”
Shit.
Never, and I swear I meanneverhad I ever had a fantasy of a woman dressed in a nurse’s dress while calling me doctor. I’d never been turned on by that, but goddammit if Grace didn’t just make that happen.
“I hope you have an extra pair of scrubs.”
“What?” She frowned.
“Nothing.”
“Sit,” she insisted as she pulled open the huge, heavy picnic basket. I knew how heavy it was because I was the one to haul that thing from the car to where we were, which had been about a half a mile walk due to all the cars and filled parking.
My stomach instantly growled when she took out paper plates and loaded them with turkey and Swiss cheese sandwiches on whole grain bread with salad and fruit. I’d eaten at restaurants that cost an arm and a leg, whose food didn’t have half the attention and detail put into the way she plated it.
When she handed me my plate, it was all I could do to keep from bringing her with me. As soon as she opened her door, I told her that she hadn’t needed to prepare all of this. That we could’ve picked up something on the way or gotten food from one of the many vendors down here at the park.
“Ah,” she’d waved dismissively, “who knows what’s in that food. I like quality and flavor.”
She also liked serving others. She didn’t say it, but it didn’t need to be said, either.
I watched her while she ate, happily. Her ears perked up as the music by a local jazz band began to play.
“These guys play at Rocket sometimes.” She faced me with a wide grin on her face as she bounced in time with the instrumentals.
She seemed so carefree and in her zone that, yet again, my own discomfort of the crowds around us fell away. Pulling Grace into me, I adjusted our bodies so that her back was to my chest as we finished eating.
I set my plate aside and let my hands rest on her sleeve-covered arms, rubbing them up and down. Grace pushed up farther to my chest, resting her head on my shoulder. We listened to the music as one by one a number of local and some well-known artists around the country entered and exited the stage, gracing the audience with two to three songs a piece and wishing farewell to the summer.
“You belong up there.”
Grace turned her head to stare up at me. “I don’t.”
“You’re better than anyone who’s touched the stage tonight.” I could’ve been my biased, but her vocal talent was in-line with what I heard coming from the microphone on stage.
“I don’t want to be famous or well-known. I don’t sing for that reason.”
I moved my arms around her body, coming to rest on her abdomen. “Why do you sing?”
There was a heartbeat before she said, “For me. I stopped singing after my mother died. Thought I hated it. Then … I got on stage one day and remembered I enjoyed the feeling of letting music flow through my vocal cords.”
“That’s why you sing at Rocket.”
She nodded.
Leaning lower, I nibbled on her earlobe. Her gasp shot right to my cock.
“Put the blanket over you,” I ordered in her ear.
“Jaco—”
