If it was too bold, Cal didn’t show it. He deftly stood, holding out a hand for my own, and said, “What you want, you should have.”
It should have felt cheesy or weird like something out of an eighties movie, but it felt just right—like Goldilocks. I went willingly, padding on the carpet toward the large bedroom. The light was already dimmed, and Cal sat me gently on the bed, kneeling in front of me, running his large hands up and down my thighs and staring up at me.
“Still okay?” he checked in, and as soon as I murmured, “Better than okay,” he flicked the button on my jeans. He made quick work of shimmying them off. I didn’t make it hard, lifting my butt so he could slide them down, yanking them over my ankles and bare feet.
Briefly, I remembered knocking my shoes off underneath the table when we were eating. I couldn’t think about it for long because Cal was yanking my panties to the side, his warm breath hitting all my sensitive spots, sending chills up my spine. I watched him inhale from above, breathing in my scent before his tongue touched right on my bundle of nerves. He teased me for a while, light laps, feathering touches, until he used his teeth to give me a nip that had me bucking into his face.
“Oh God,” I said, half embarrassed, half in ecstasy.
“Good?” Cal lifted his head with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.
I didn’t answer, only grinned like a kitten with a bowl full of milk right back at him. Here I was, spread wide open, my sweater still on, in front of a fully clothed man. And I should have been worried—was my ass too fat? Did I have cellulite? Was my stomach rippling? Yet all I could think about was how amazing I felt.
Cal went back to work, adding a finger to the mix, at first tracing my nub with it before slipping inside me.
With a juxtaposition of fast and slow, hard and soft, rough and gentle, I started to come apart, unabashed about how I looked or sounded until I’d finished riding the wave. As I began to come down, the doubt blanketed my heart and ran circles in my mind.
Until Cal whispered, “Beautiful. So beautiful.”
Crawling onto the bed next to me, guiding me to the pillows he laid next to me, taking my cheek in his palm, he was about to kiss me, my taste on his lips, when his phone let out a hideous ring.
“Shit,” he murmured. “Shit, shit, shit,” he kept saying, yanking his phone out of his back pocket where it was vibrating up a storm. “Hello, Dr. Rand here,” he said, sitting on the side of the bed, his back to me. I heard a lot of “Uh-huhs,” before he asked, “Tom is with another patient?” He listened a bit more, and then said, “No, no. I was having dinner with a friend, but I’m on my way. Thank you.” I watched him slip the phone back into his pocket, lifting his ass cheek off the bed, before he turned and said, “I’m so sorry, Willa. That was my answering service. One of our patients is in active labor with triplets and Tom, my partner, can’t leave them, and I was second on the list. We have another patient who is bleeding, maybe miscarrying. I have to go… This isn’t how I wanted the night to end. Shit,” he mumbled again.
In a flash the glow of orgasm was long gone, Cal fully sobered after his one cocktail and seemingly digested meal. I didn’t even know if it mattered. I tried to tell myself this was his job, and he was doing right by this pregnant woman, but my heart sank like the selfish Hollywood starlet I was.
“Okay, I hope everything is going to be all right,” was what I said, standing and grabbing my jeans, straightening my underwear, wondering the same about myself. Jeez, I’d been lying there naked, making a mess of the comforter while all this was happening—I chastised myself.
“It will be.” He placed a closed-mouth kiss on my lips and said, “I have to go. I’ll text?”
“Of course,” I answered, but I knew I wouldn’t encourage much after this. Cal lived in the real world, and I didn’t. This wasn’t going to work; my schedule was a nightmare on its own. Not to mention Cal was a decent person who did incredible acts of humanity, while I acted like a bitch. “I’ll walk you out,” I said, holding my hand out for him, thinking it would be the last time I’d feel him.
He took my hand with the one that had been inside me and my odor lingered in the air between us. As I wished him well and told him I hoped his patient was okay, I thought about the orgasm he’d given me—the best ever—and wondered why he’d done that first. Not one man had ever put my needs first, but now wasn’t the time to analyze.
With another quick kiss, I watched Callum Rand walk out of my room and life. It wasn’t until I was inside that I realized we hadn’t bothered to call Frank. He preferred to handle any entrances or exits in case of paparazzi. Oh well, he’d have to deal with a little disappointment. We all had to.
Callum
Late December
It was late, and I was bone-tired—I needed to go home.
The Conway baby was delivered early yesterday, meaning my job with their family was done over twenty-four hours ago, but I couldn’t force myself to leave.
Why? I sawthe detailwhen I grabbed a coffee this morning.
Most people would miss it, but not me. Frank’s back was to me when I slipped inside the rear entrance of the hospital, and I hadn’t been able to forget it.
Of course, by now the world knew Billy Conway had welcomed a niece. The story had been on every major news outlet by midmorning accompanied by a still photo of her holding the tiny baby wrapped up in a pink blanket, face barely visible to the outside world. I knew this was the combined strategy of Billy’s public relations person and Ford’s marketing team to snuff their mom out of the publicity equation. It was the one morsel I’d gleaned in the last appointment Billy attended—she’d swoop in and snap a pic with the baby, her PR person crafting a quick media release, and Beatrice would be usurped, allowing them all to enjoy baby time.
The world knew who Billy’s father was—former beloved Supreme Court justice—therefore, they knew Beatrice was the lucky grandma of this beautiful baby girl. Billy breaking the news left Jamie and Laura happily ensconced in the corner and not part of the media circus. I couldn’t help but think more of Billy—being the ever-gracious aunt, taking the media’s heat and focus, and knowing it was for the best. At least I assumed.
“Oh hey, Cal.” Betsy caught me off guard, daydreaming and walking down the corridor.
“Hey, Betsy. You coming? Or going?”
“Coming. Soooo you were right. No baby for Billy Conway, but a niece. Saw the pics this morning. Nice delivery for you. Ford Conway is a creampuff.” She blushed as she spoke Ford’s name.
I couldn’t help but smile; every woman I’d met had a crush on Ford Conway. “His wife is lovely too, and now they have a healthy baby to spoil. Together.”
