had come for beer. At least he could indulge in that one last time.
Then he’d felt someone’s gaze on him and foolishly he’d looked. The sight of her had taken his breath away. Even in the dim lighting of the bar he could see her hair shone like gold.
There was an air of confidence about her but also something else, a barrier that held the world at bay. If he had more time, he very much wanted to break that wall down.
In her, Clint had seen a challenge, and before he’d been able to stop himself, he’d moved over to her. Drawn to her like a moth to a flame, and when he’d been ensnared, when he’d seen those blue-gray eyes, he’d hit on her. Something had compelled him to. Idiot that he was.
Never in a million years had he expected her to kiss him, and though he should pull away, he couldn’t. He was drowning in her sweetness, her softness compelling him to claim her, to hold her in his arms and protect her forever.
He wanted her badly.
She broke the connection first, dropping her head so her forehead brushed his chin and he drank in the intoxicating scent of her hair. The scent of something clean and floral.
Feminine.
It made him want her all the more and he let his hands travel down her back, her body trembling under his touch.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice breathless.
“There’s nothing to be sorry about.”
When Ingrid looked again and met his gaze there was something in his eyes, a twinkle that gave Ingrid the distinct impression that she was prey in his predatory gaze, but not in a threatening way. It was in a way that made her body burn like a white-hot flame.
Ingrid wanted him. Desired him.
Maybe he wasn’t the only one giving off the vibe of predator. She knew, without a doubt, she had a bit of the hungry eyes going on.
Live.
There had been so many times she’d come close to having sex. She had wanted to, but she’d always chickened out, the one difference now being that she’d never been so turned on before. Never, because she’d never let them through her walls. Walls that were there for a reason. This time was different. Once she crossed that threshold there was no turning back.
She wouldn’t. There were no plans to marry in her future. No plans for children. Her own miserable childhood and her own parents’ unhappiness had steered her off that path. She wasn’t saving herself for anyone, but she didn’t want to die a virgin.
When she was old and gray, she didn’t want to look back and have regrets in her life. She wanted to look back and see that she’d taken a chance, that she’d lived.
Whatever the consequences were, she could own this moment. She could control this moment and never regret it. One night of passion and she wouldn’t get hurt.
No promises had to be made. No fear of shattered hearts and abandonment.
Steeling her courage, she grabbed his hand. “Come on.”
He cocked an eyebrow but came with her as she led him toward the exit. “Where are we going?”
“To the hotel attached to this bar.” And that’s where she led him. Through the double doors and into the hotel lobby.
Clint pulled her back, holding her close. “Whoa, are you sure?”
“Positive.” And to drive her point home she pressed him against the wall and kissed him again, releasing every last hang-up and doubt out of her system.
She wanted him.
Badly.
His hands moved over her back until they cupped her butt, gripping her as he brought their bodies even closer together with the hard ridge of his erection against her stomach as a moan rumbled in his chest.
When they came up for air, she felt a bit dazed and out of breath.
Did she really just make out with a stranger outside a country-and-western bar?
Hell, yeah, and it was so good.
“Should I get us a room?” Her voice shook a bit.
Did I really just ask that?
“No need. I’m staying here before I head back to the base for deployment. It’s my last hurrah.”
“Then lead the way.”
Clint led her down the hall they’d been making out in. His room was at the very end.
Her pulse thundered in her ears. Usually at this point her common sense would take over and she’d bolt, but her common sense must have scarpered because she was ready for this.
So ready.
The door opened and Clint flicked on the lights as she stepped over the threshold. When the door shut and he locked it, she pulled him back against the wall, her lips finding his.
This time there was no need to stop and talk about where they were going to go and what they were going to do.
They were alone. This was going to happen.
He hoisted her up and her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. He walked toward the bed, carrying her, his head buried in her neck.
“You have protection?” Ingrid asked, as his lips traveled down her neck.
“Always.”
“Good.”
And as he pressed her down on the bed Ingrid reveled in the moment. Her moment of rebellion, of living dangerously.
It was only one stolen moment that she’d always remember.
Tomorrow he’d be gone, on his way to deployment, and she’d be an ortho attending at Rapid City Health Sciences Center.
Tonight, though, she was his.
Tonight she’d live. If but just for a moment.
Seven months later
“PAGING DR. WALTON. Dr. Walton, please head to the emergency room, stat.”
Ingrid let out a sigh, not because she’d been paged but because she was hungry. The baby was kicking furiously, and there was a great chicken-salad sandwich with a big old dill pickle just two inches away from her mouth.
She was also dead tired, but that was to be expected. She was turning into a house apparently. A giant mountain of a woman who was forced to perform surgeries like a puppet on a string—dance, puppet, dance.
She
