Breathlessly, she answered, “Yes.”
He pressed his lips to hers. When he sucked on her lower lip, she groaned as she tasted his drink. His tongue licked the seam of her closed lips, and she opened her mouth, pressing her lips to his with a tentative curiosity. She wondered if he could tell she had no idea what she was doing. She’d never wanted to kiss a man before until now. Her chest rose and fell, rubbing against his hard body.
He ended the kiss and pressed his forehead to hers. “Mmm, I could kiss you all night.” He took her hand and led them back to their table.
The dance floor began to fill with a younger and more exuberant crowd. “Ladies, would you like to get a table downstairs? The performances have ended, so we can talk some more,” Kyle suggested.
Harper surprised herself when she said, “Yes.”
Chapter 2
Kip paid their bill and left a generous tip before they headed downstairs. Kyle placed cash in the maître d’s palm, and the foursome was escorted to a corner table. Kip and Kyle both switched to seltzer, while the girls repeated their previous drink order.
Harper knit her cocktail napkin between her fingers. Kyle reminded her of Chantal. He seemed more spontaneous than Kip. He created the baby daddy idea in a sec and pushed Kip to tell his Acrobat story—they all could have died.
Sheesh, Harper, that was twenty years ago. That didn’t mean Kip was like her. He seemed more thoughtful than Kyle, but once he decided, he was fearless. That was far from her. She mulled every possibility until her chance was too late.
“What’s turning in your head, sweetheart?” Kip asked Harper.
“Nuthin’, catching my breath,” Harper lied.
“We’ve consumed the conversation. What do you do?” Kyle tilted his glass toward them.
“I am partner in a restaurant in the Central Business District.” Chantal smiled proudly. “I’ve come a long way from the cooking line.”
“What’s the name?” Kyle pursued.
Chantal’s smile grew bigger. “La Raison d’Être.”
“Kip, check that organizer of yours and make a reservation,” Kyle insisted.
“Once I merge my organizers, I promise,” Kip said.
He is a planner,Harper thought.
“What do you do, Harper?” Kip turned the conversation to her.
Harper saw it with the war story and now here: he didn’t like being the center of attention. It seemed he’d rather take everything in. “I’m a critical care nurse,” Harper answered.
“She works for the Sommerstone Corporation. Part-time for the hospital and part-time for the Women’s Health Center. You know, the ones occupying floors two through six in your new building,” Chantal said snidely, her face pinched with disgust.
“Tell us what you really think, Chantal?” Kip asked.
Harper wanted to run. She could feel her face heat.
“Harper, when are you going to have a chance like this?” Chantal demanded.
Kip swiveled in his chair and reached for Harper’s hands. “Sweetheart, I’ll be happy to listen.” His hands warmed her icy ones.
“Um, is your company taking over the practice?” She absorbed the warmth, if it lasted only a moment.
“Why do you ask that?” Kip cocked his head, his expression neutral.
She looked around them to see if anyone was listening. “Supplies are growing short. They’re not replacing big ticket items if they break. Corners are being cut.” She shook her head. “We are always short-staffed. Dr. Rene Sommerstone is Chief Medical Officer of the hospital, the women’s health practice, and a nursing home in the 8thWard. Rene is an OB/Gyn; Lourdes, his wife, is a woman’s surgical oncologist. She’s quick to cut. Jerrod, their son… he’s an OB/GYN oncologist.” Her voice dropped off, and she pulled her hands free.
“The nursing home always has available beds. That’s not possible unless they push the census. Patients who come into the Center or the ER for treatment are sometimes dirty or have bedsores. The staff tries so hard, but their staffing ratios are worse than ours. I swear they’re milking Medicaid,” she vented, then shook her head. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Harper, don’t second-guess yourself. I promise you, what you said is safe with me.” Kip’s lips turned up.
