she was fearless, plunged ahead into dark waters without the slightest hesitation, knowing it was her Godgiven right as a Stockton to conquer the world.
“We shouldn’t be having this conversation.” Not yet.
“Why not?”
Had she moved closer or had he? Either way, mere millimeters separated their mouths. Her warm breath brushed his lips and need, hot and heavy, consumed him.
Need that he was tired of denying, tired of fighting.
“Because of this.” He’d foolishly closed the minuscule distance, devoured her mouth with his, held on to her as if she were his only lifeline.
In that moment, she was the heat that warmed the cold numbness in his veins. Time had stopped and all that existed was the two of them.
Unfortunately, the moment ended all too quickly. Ended when Amelia pulled back, stared up at him with wonder and shock in her eyes. “Cole?”
“That shouldn’t have happened.” Not before he had the chance to break things off with Clara. “I need to talk to your sister.”
He’d stepped back, determined to go find Clara, to put a stop to the events unfolding, then paused at the horrified look on Amelia’s face.
“But, Cole, I…” She hesitated. “You…” Her fingers closed on his biceps, clamping down as if for support. “You can’t, Cole. You kissed me. Me.”
“Amelia.” He raked his fingers through his hair, searching for the right words to tell her that somewhere along the line he’d fallen for her, but had denied his feelings even to himself for far too long. “This is complicated.” Such an understatement. “Wait for me. Let me talk to Clara and wait for me.”
Her lower lip disappeared into her mouth. “Are you getting married tomorrow, Cole? Tell me.”
“No, I’m not getting married tomorrow.” He’d tipped her chin toward him, pressed another kiss to her upturned lips. “Promise me that you’ll wait. I’ll explain everything.”
Because he’d had to talk to Clara first, to put a stop to their wedding, to be free to tell Amelia that it was her smile that warmed his soul.
Only, when he found Clara, she was crying, something he’d never seen her do. Never seen any Stockton do. He was hit with horrendous guilt, thinking she’d seen him and Amelia, had overheard what he’d said. She hadn’t.
Instead, she’d had similar realizations to his own and didn’t want to get married any more than he did. It seemed they’d both been hanging on to something that hadn’t existed, something neither of them had wanted, but each hadn’t wanted to hurt the other because they truly did love one another—just not in the way a man and woman should love the person they were going to marry.
He hadn’t been able to refuse her one request, to leave immediately without explaining to anyone why they’d decided to call the wedding off. But that one request had cost him more than Clara could imagine.
“I’m busy,” Amelia practically growled, making Cole refocus on the present, on the fact he stood on the USS Benjamin Franklin wanting to finish what he and Amelia had started years ago, wanting the fulfillment of the promises in her eyes when she’d looked at him that night. “So if there’s something you want…”
He itched to reach out, to brush his fingers over her sleeked-back hair, to loosen the long silky strands from the tight bun at the base of her head. He wanted to know if she’d thought of him during the time since they’d last seen each other, if she remembered all the hours they’d spent together as friends, if she remembered the passion of their kisses.
“I want to put the past behind us.” He couldn’t have spoken truer words had he searched the Holy Scriptures.
“Fine, you want to put the past behind us.” Her melted-chocolate eyes narrowed with growing irritation. “But why would I want to do that? Why would I even care?”
Because not a day has gone by since I last saw you that you haven’t crossed my mind. For two years he’d waited, hoping she’d forgive him, hoping time would heal the rift, but she hadn’t forgiven him and he’d gotten tired of waiting.
He’d done what he’d said he wouldn’t do, what she’d asked him not to do before she’d kicked him out of her dorm. He’d come for her. This time, he wouldn’t let her push him away. Not when there were unresolved feelings between them. One way or another, they would deal with the chemistry between them.
“We’re going to be working closely together for the next few months, Amelia.”
Her upper lip rose in an almost snarl at his use of her first name. He should call her Dr Stockton, but changing how he thought of her wasn’t going to be easy.
“If we don’t come to some sort of understanding, it’ll affect our jobs,” he told her honestly, knowing they did have to come to an understanding until they dealt with the past and appealing to her professionalism. “Neither of us wants that.”
“You’re the ship’s surgeon. I’m the general medical officer. You stay in your surgical suite, and I’ll stay in my sick ward.” Her gaze burned into him, searing him with her hatred.
Hatred he deserved in her eyes.
“Our paths don’t have to meet often,” she continued. “When they do, we’ll pretend we don’t see each other. No big deal.”
He raked his fingers through his hair. He didn’t want to pretend he didn’t see her.
He wanted to see her. Lots of her. All of her.
Every delectable inch of her. Right here. Right now.
Wrong. He couldn’t do that even if she begged him to. He couldn’t kill his career. Sexual relations were strictly forbidden aboard ship and most often punished with a dishonorable discharge.
Hadn’t he wanted time for him and Amelia to get to know each other outside the parameters of their former relationship? Hadn’t he wanted time to win her trust before they acted on the physical chemistry? Wasn’t that why he was here? He needed to focus on the here and now. On work. On building bridges with Amelia, not getting her into bed.
“I’ll expect to consult with you on cases, Dr Stockton. I’ll expect to help when the sick ward is busy, and I’m not in surgery. Don’t be naïve in thinking we can easily avoid each other,” he warned. “Our paths are going to meet often.”
He’d see to it.
Her lips pursed in displeasure. “As I said, we’ll just pretend not to see each other.”
Frustration surged through him.
“No.” Hell, no. Seeing Amelia was why he was here.
Her brow quirked upward. “No?”
“Under the senior medical officer, I’ll be next in command in the medical division,” he pointed out. “I won’t have the GMO pretending not to see me. How would that look?”
“Who
