Engaging the Bachelor (Pulse) (11 page)

His grin turned wicked. “How about a little of that variation you were talking about.” He slid one big hand into her panties, and when his fingers connected with her sex—a long luxurious stroke that burned through her—all thoughts of skinny-dipping were long gone. He pressed into her then drew out, and she moaned and moved against his invading fingers. He stroked again, the friction setting her on fire. Honest to God, the man was so good with his hands.

In a smooth move, he reached behind him, gripped the back of his captain’s chair, and swiveled it. He withdrew from her, grabbed a condom from his shorts, and sank into his seat.

He crooked his finger. “Come ride me.”

Her skin grew hot, feverish, and it had nothing to do with the sun beating down on them. “Don’t you mean steer you?”

He laughed but it came out sounding sexually tortured, painfully needy. “I’m the captain, not the boat.”

She laughed, enjoying the easy intimacy between them, but that laugh died an abrupt death when his face went dead serious. “Now, get those panties off before I tear them off, and come straddle me. If you’re not on me in two seconds, I’m going to bend you over that seat and show you a few more variations.”

While that sounded equally fabulous, she stepped up to him and, feeling completely naughty, gripped the band on his boxers and pulled them until his cock popped out. “There is one thing I need to do first.” Dying to taste him again, she dropped to her knees and took him into her mouth.

“Fuck,” he moaned, and ran his fingers through her hair. She licked from his base to his crown, a slow drag of her tongue. His cock jumped, and she smiled, loving that she could do this to him. Pressure brewed between her legs as she swirled her tongue over him, and from his ragged moans, it would only be a matter of time before he put a stop to her explorations.

He pulled on her hair. “Come here.”

She stood, and he lifted her onto his lap. He ripped into his condom and with a practiced ease she didn’t want to think about, rolled it on. Hands that embodied control held her by her hips and lifted her as he guided her onto his cock.

“Carson,” she murmured as he pulled her down, controlling the depth and penetration as he slowly inched into her. She trembled, quaking on his lap, a desperate ache building inside. Dizzy from want, she tried to impale herself, but dammit, he wouldn’t let her. “More. Please…”

She took deep breaths as he entered, inch by glorious inch, and once he was settled, he pulled her head down, finding her mouth with his. She rocked against him, and his mouth devoured hers, slanting to get in deeper, tongue thrashing, seeking.

Her nipples brushed his bare chest, as his hands settled on her hipbones. He lifted her and pulled her back down, burying himself in her so deeply she wasn’t sure how she’d ever walk away from this ruse unscathed.

“You feel so good,” he murmured into her mouth as he powered upward to meet her body. His fingers tightened on her hips, grasping roughly as he increased the rhythm, pulling her down harder and harder, and angling his body for deeper thrusts. He filled her, stretched her, and she moaned at the erotic sensations. He tilted her hips slightly and her clit brushed his pelvic bone.

“Oh,” she said, each downward pump stimulating her even more. Pleasure gathered, built rapidly as he plunged hungrily. Christ, the man fucked like a god, and as much as she wanted this to last, there was no way she could hang on. She closed her eyes, and her body let go, giving over to the powerful orgasm pulling at her.

“Yes,” she cried, panting against his face. As she rode out the waves, she trailed kisses along his jaw, his neck, and when she reached his collarbone, her fingers slid down his back, scratching lightly.

His breathing changed, became rough and ragged, and he gripped her shoulders, burying his face between her breasts as he let go. He throbbed inside her and she groaned with pleasure. He threw his head back and gasped for breath. He pulsed and she squeezed, her muscles rippling around him

Warm hands slid around her back, and she crumpled against his chest. She lay there for a long moment, just breathing in his scent, then his hands cupped her head and lifted it.

“Damn,” he murmured softly. He pushed her hair back, his gaze caressing her as it moved over her face. “Damn,” he said again, then pressed his forehead to hers.

She swallowed. Hard. This is what she did to him? This is what having sex with her actually did to him? Her heart nearly failed. She’d never reduced a man to one-syllable words before. It played havoc with the things she was feeling for him.

“Jesus, Gemma.”

He splayed his hand over her chest, and the heat from his fingers seeped into her skin. A deep need rolled through her. She could really get used to this.

He kissed her again—soft, less hurried, the connection imbued with a new kind of tenderness. A quiver moved through her, and she sucked in a breath, his gentleness—his lovemaking—complicating her mission to keep this thing between them purely physical. Cripes, she’d gone into this expecting him to prove he was like every other guy, caring only about himself and his own needs. If only he had, then it would be so much easier to forget about him once the time came.

“You are incredible,” he whispered, his thumb brushing her bottom lip.

She worked to pull herself together and prayed her voice didn’t come out as shaky as she felt inside. She studied her nails, feigning boredom. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

His chuckle curled around her, warming even her coldest depths. “Need more variety?” he teased.

“I’m still waiting for you to bring your A game.”

He laughed and whacked her ass. “How about that swim, tough girl.”

He lifted her from his hips, and as he pulled out of her body, she felt an incredible sense of loss. Oh boy.

“Let me clean us up first.” He removed the condom and guided her to the small bathroom. He wiped them down with tissue, pressed a kiss to her mouth, and just held her for a minute.

She laid her head against his chest and listened to his strong heartbeat. It pulled her in deeper and gave her a false sense of security. But she didn’t do relationships, didn’t trust guys not to hurt her. And she certainly wasn’t going to give her heart to a man who wasn’t asking for it.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Let’s swim.”

They made their way to the back of the boat, and both jumped off the tanning deck. The cool water felt glorious, and helped her get her head on straight. They swam until the afternoon drifted away, although she never strayed too far from the boat.
Sharknado
had been very convincing, after all.

They climbed back onto the boat, dressed, and headed in to the marina. She cast Carson a glance and had never seen him look so content before. “What are you smiling about?” she asked.

“That was fun.”

“Yeah, it was.” And if she knew what was good for her, she’d put an end to all this fun right now. His hand found hers, and he held it until they reached the marina. As he went about securing the boat, Gemma took that time to pull herself together.

“All set?” he asked, shouldering his backpack.

She grabbed the takeout bag with their wrappers, and followed him off the boat. Silence fell over them as they walked back to the car. He opened her door for her, and she slid in. Her leg kicked her purse, and she reached inside to check the time on her phone.

“Shoot.”

Carson slid into the driver’s seat. “What?”

She worried her teeth over her bottom lip. “I missed a bunch of calls from my mom.”

“You’d better call her back.” She hesitated and stared at the phone. “Gemma?”

“Yeah, you’re right.” She swiped her finger across the screen, her stomach in knots. The only time she heard from her mother was when she was in between men and she needed something. Unease grew as the phone rang and rang. Finally her mother answered with a weak hello.

“Mom, it’s Gemma.”

“I’ve been calling.”

“I know. I was out with a friend.” She cast Carson a quick glance and found him watching her. “Are you okay?”

“No, I fell. I’m bleeding.”

She cursed under her breath. “Can you get to the hospital?”

Carson started the car and backed out of his spot.

“No. I hate hospitals. You know that.”

“How badly are you bleeding?”

“I hit my head on the counter. I woke up on the floor.”

God, she had to have been drinking. “How long were you out?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is Derek there?”

Her mother started crying, and Gemma’s heart sank. “No, he’s gone, and he’s not coming back.”

Outside the marina parking lot, Carson turned left instead of right. Gemma covered the phone. “Where are you going?”

“Your mom still lives in Brooklyn right?”

She nodded. “Yes, but—”

“Then we’re going to check on her.” Gemma drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, embarrassment ebbing through her. She didn’t want Carson to see this side of her life. It was hard for her. She shook her head to stop him. “Carson…”

He put his hand on her leg and squeezed. “It’s okay, Gemma. Really. Tell your mom to find a safe spot to lie down, and we’ll be there as fast as we can.”

Her heart crashed against her chest as she gazed at him. She really should say no, but there was no way he’d turn the car around. He was possessive, and protective, and bossy as hell. But dammit, she didn’t want to get used to having him around, or worse, start relying on him.

“Carson,” she said.

“Not going to happen, Gemma.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose and exhaled slowly. Okay, she got it. He was taking her to her mother’s place. End of story. Short of jumping out of a moving vehicle, there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.

“Mom, I want you to lie down. I’m on my way. And I’m bringing my…” Carson cast a quick glance her way. Blue eyes full of tender concern locked on hers, and the hand on her leg tightened as he stared, as if he were waiting to hear her description of their relationship. But they didn’t have a relationship, right? He was paying her to help him, and the sex was an added benefit. Christ, she really needed to get herself together. “A friend.”

As soon as those two words left her mouth, Carson turned his eyes back to the road.

Chapter Ten

Carson parked the car, and they hurried up the stairs to her mother’s apartment complex. Gemma used her key to let herself in the security door, and they walked the three flights of stairs to her mother’s floor. Gemma didn’t bother knocking but, instead, let herself in and held her breath, never knowing what to expect. The door creaked open, and the smell of stale alcohol hit like the sting of a thousand angry hornets. She crinkled her nose, and Carson shut the door behind them.

“Mom,” she called out and headed straight for her bedroom, passing empty gin bottles and a trail of bloodied washcloths. Her stomach twisted, but the hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently, gave her a measure of comfort.

“Sorry. I should have warned you.” His tone was low and contrite. “Head wounds bleed far worse than they usually are.”

Gemma swallowed hard, but nodded and moved on. She found her mom lying on the bed with a damp cloth draped over her forehead. “Mom, I’m here.”

Her mom lifted one end of the cloth and peeled an eye open. She squinted against the lamplight, and it took a moment for her to focus. “Gemma,” she said. She looked past Gemma’s shoulder. “This is your…friend.”

“Mom, this is Carson. Carson this is my mom, Cara.”

“How are you feeling, Cara?” he asked, his voice so even and professional that it took Gemma by surprise. She stood still, watching him, never having seen him in physician mode before—outside of playing doctor with her, of course.

Cara shimmied up on the bed, her wrinkled T-shirt bunching at her waist and her cotton summery shorts riding up her too-thin thighs. She blinked and grabbed her head. “Whoa.”

“Easy,” Carson said. “Slow down.” He slipped his backpack from his shoulder and let it dangle in his hand. “How about if I take a look at that cut?”

Cara flashed him a smile and smoothed her hand over her hair. “Come on, now. I’m sure a fine-looking man like yourself has better things to do with his time than look at my little old cut.”

Gemma’s jaw dropped. Seriously? Her mother was flirting with Carson?

“He’s a doctor, Mom.”

Her glassy eyes went wider. “A doctor, you say.”

Carson placed his backpack on the mussed-up sheets beside her mother and unzipped it. He pulled out a medical bag, and slowly peeled the zipper open, his hands moving with a grace she knew so well as he sorted through the supplies. Gemma peeked into the backpack and glimpsed a change of clothes as well. So that’s what he kept in there. She supposed he always needed to be prepared, for incidents like this, or late nights at the hospital.

“If I could just take a quick look into your eyes.” He produced a slender penlight from the bag and shone it in each eye, flicking it back and forth. Cara blinked rapidly. “Your pupils are equal and reactive, so that’s a good thing. Now I need to check your wound,” he said. He spoke in slow, soothing tones, describing what he was going to do and why as he gently probed the cut over her eye. In that moment, Gemma was so grateful that he’d insisted on coming.

“Is she going to be okay?” she asked quietly.

“She’s going to need a few stitches, and I’d really like to get a CT scan of her head, just to be on the safe side and rule out a concussion.”

“I’m not going to any hospital,” her mom piped up. “Nobody’s poking and prodding me, or doing any kinds of experiments.”

Carson let out a sigh, but his expression suggested that he’d expected her reaction. “Or I can stitch it up here. I have a laceration kit in my pack.”

Of course he did. She took her mother’s pale hand in hers and gave it a squeeze. “Only stitches and a CT scan of your head, Mom. No experiments, I promise.”

“No.”

“Then Carson will stitch you up here,” Gemma said, giving her mother no choice in the matter.

Carson stood. “Where can I wash up?”

She guided him from the bedroom and pointed to the bathroom. He made a move to go, but she touched his arm, her heart pounding a little too hard in her chest.

“Carson,” she said quickly, her voice catching in her throat.

He turned to her and dipped his head. “Yeah,” he said quietly, his fingers going to her chin, a slow sweep of his thumb that nearly made her lose her train of thought.

“Thank you.” She went up on her toes and placed a kiss on his mouth. He kissed her back, his lips lingering, and the warm familiarity in his touch took her to a place where emotions ruled—a place she swore she’d never go.

“You’re welcome,” he whispered into her mouth. “She’s going to be fine.”

“For tonight, anyway.”

He paused and put his arms around her. Strong hands dragged her in against his chest, and he kissed the top of her head. “This is hard on you,” he said. It was a statement, not a question, so she didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure she could get any words out past the knot in her throat, anyway. “And you’re right. I think she could use some counseling. But one thing at a time, okay?”

She nodded against his chest, and he brushed her hair back. “I’ll get cleaned up and be right in.”

“You have everything you need to do that?”

“Yep. You know me—always prepared.”

“Okay.” She swallowed, wishing she had better prepared herself for him.

He stepped into the bathroom, and she slipped back into the bedroom. Her mom’s eyes were closed, and she was actually glad she didn’t have to make conversation. She wasn’t really in the mood to talk.

Carson came back to the bedroom and began pulling supplies from his bag and placing them on the nightstand.

“I think she’s asleep.”

“Wake her, please.”

“Mom, wake up.” She nudged her mother, and Cara let out a big snore, her head jerking when she awakened.

“Gemma,” she said, blinking as if she was trying to figure out where she was and why she was there.

“Carson is going to stitch you up now.”

She was about to help her mom up, but Carson touched her arm. It was like a squeeze to the heart.

“I need her to lie back, just like she is, but remove the pillow.” He went back to the bathroom and returned with a towel, rolling it up as he walked. “Cara, I’m going to put this under your neck, okay?” He squatted beside the bed and adjusted the towel. She tried to nod, but the movement was minimal. “It will help to stabilize the head,” he explained to Gemma as he pulled a green packet labeled
sterile towels
from the backpack. “I have a feeling it’s going to be a bit tricky, but we’ll do the best we can under the circumstances.” He looked up from the array of supplies. “I could use an assistant.”

“Just tell me what you need.”

Something flickered in his eyes, an expression Gemma hadn’t seen before, and then it was gone.

“Come and kneel beside her,” he instructed, shifting to his knees and scooting over to make room for her. “Talk to her, but appeal to the mother, not the patient,” he said quietly. She gave him a puzzled look. He leaned over and whispered, “If you appear frightened by what’s going on, she’ll concentrate on soothing you and not on what I’m doing.”

Gemma nodded, but wasn’t sure what to do or say.

As if sensing her uncertainty, Carson suggested, “You’re looking a little squeamish. Maybe you’d feel better if your mom held your hand?” He leaned closer and whispered, “Lidocaine stings like a bitch when it’s injected into the skin. Her natural instinct will be to grab at it. Fold her hands over her stomach and hold them. Cleaning the wound will be easier for her if it’s numb.”

And so it began. Carson chatted with her mom as he drew the medication into a syringe. He squirted a little of the lidocaine into the wound, changed the big needle for a tiny one and then did a couple of small injections, gradually increasing the amount and depth as the skin blanched and became numb.

“I’m just going to clean the wound first, Cara.” He ripped the corner off a packet of antibacterial cleanser and emptied it into the tray that had held the suture supplies he’d dumped out on one of the sterile towels. “You’ll feel me touching you, but it shouldn’t hurt. You’ll tell me if it does, right?”

“You can count on it.”

“I have no doubt,” he laughed, scrubbing the wound with a wad of gauze soaked with pink, soapy liquid. After a bit, he checked the area and, satisfied that it was clean, tossed the gauze into the trash can beside the bed. As he continued to work, he joked with her as though he’d known her all his life.

He turned to Gemma. “I need to create a sterile field. Can you help?”

She wasn’t sure what to do, but nodded anyway. He showed her how to open the supplies so they dropped untouched onto the green towel with the other supplies. Then he pulled on a pair of pale yellow gloves and bent over her mom, draping the remaining towels over her face until only the laceration was visible.

The first pierce of her mother’s skin with the
C
shaped needle caused Gemma’s stomach to pitch.

Carson glanced at her, those astute eyes taking her in. “You can go in the other room if you want, Gemma.”

“No, it’s okay.”

“You sure?”

She nodded, and he returned to the task. Deft hands moved with a master’s precision. The second stitch was a little easier. Gemma’s nausea had changed to fascination by the time Carson had finished the third, closing the laceration just above the curve of the eyebrow.

He cut the last suture, dabbed the cut with antibiotic ointment, placed a strip of gauze over it and taped it in place.

“All set,” he said quietly. He stood, his hands moving assuredly as he wrapped the used items in the towels and repacked his supplies. He shouldered his backpack and, with a nod, gestured for Gemma to join him in the hall. She followed him out and guided him to the small living room.

She put her hand on his chest, and he closed his over it. “It’s doubtful that she has a concussion, but between the amount of alcohol she’s probably consumed, and the blow to the head, I don’t think she should be alone.”

“Right. I’ll stay.” She pulled away and started toward the door to see him out. “I can take the bus back tomorrow. I don’t work until the evening, so I’ll have plenty of time. I’ll text Andy and get her to take care of Gracie.”

“Gemma,” he said, his voice soft, his tone low.

She turned and found him standing by the sofa, his eyes serious as he looked at her.

“What?”

“I’m not leaving.”

Her heart fluttered. “You don’t have to stay,” she said quickly, not wanting to admit that having him here made things so much easier.

He sat and patted the sofa. “Come on. Let’s find something to watch.”

She stepped back into the living room and started gathering the bottles. “Carson—”

“Come sit, Gemma. You look exhausted. We can clean up later.” His gaze moved over her face, and he was once again in doctor mode. “Actually, you look a bit pale.”

“Blood,” she explained. “I could never do what you do.”

“Sit,” he demanded. He grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. Why the hell did he have to be so sweet? Shaking her head, she shot off a quick text to Andy then sat down on the sofa beside him, and he put his arm around her. She leaned into him and breathed in his scent, letting it wash away the smell of stagnant alcohol and sadness.

He flipped through the channels, and she tried to stifle a yawn, sleep pulling at her hard. All the fresh ocean air must be affecting her.

“Want to lie down?” he asked.

She grinned. It was hard to keep anything from him. “This is a one bedroom apartment.”

“Come here.” He pulled her down onto his lap, and stroked her hair. “Why don’t you get some sleep?”

“What about you?”

“I don’t need to lay down to sleep. My body is always so tired, I can fall asleep standing up.”

She laughed. “You’re like a horse.” Another big yawn threatened, and she put her hand over her mouth, giving in to it.

He winked. “Yeah, in more ways than one.” She shook her head at his joke. “Now, close your eyes and sleep.”

“So bossy,” she said. He
was
bossy. Terribly domineering and controlling, too. She’d never liked it when a man took control, and had always prided herself on being the one to call the shots. But tonight there was something comforting in having Carson take care of her. It didn’t make her feel needy or dependent, or like a weak, helpless female who couldn’t be without a man. It actually made her feel a little special.

Get your head out of the clouds, girlfriend. This is a fake engagement!

“Carson.”

He turned the volume down on the TV. “Hmm.”

“Why are you still single?” she asked, exhaustion breaking down her walls and allowing her to ask questions she wouldn’t normally ask.

“I told you, I don’t like fake. Everyone wants something, Gemma.”

“Do you think Audra wants something?”

“Yes. My last name, and what’s in my wallet.”

“She thinks you two are a good fit. Your parents must, too, if they’ve been trying to set you up.”

“Which is why we’re in this engagement.” He exhaled slowly. “It doesn’t matter how many times I tell them to back off, they think they know what’s best for me.”

“They don’t,” she said. “But they do care about you.”

“I’m not going to marry someone I don’t love.” A beat passed, and then he added, “I live in a world with a lot of expectations placed on me. But fuck, I’m sick of it. My father wasn’t even happy that I went to medical school. I actually disappointed him.” He scoffed. “And you know what, I fucking hate that I disappointed him, Gemma. Hate that he looks at me differently because I damn near beat that guy to death. But fuck, come on.” He took a couple of deep breaths. “I guess I just want my parents to accept me for me, and support my decisions even when I don’t make the right ones. And I want others to like me for who I am, not the family I come from, or what I can give them.”

She went quiet, sensing he was sharing intimate details of his life that he’d never shared with anyone.

“This is who I am. Take it or leave it, right?” he added.

His instinct to protect and guard ran deep, not only others, but himself. Truthfully, they came from different worlds, but they weren’t so different inside. Neither of them was willing to put themselves out there. She wouldn’t risk the heartache that came with abandonment, and he’d closed himself off, unable to stomach the social climbers in his world. Her heart hurt for him. Was wanting someone to like him for who he was, and accept the decisions he made—good or bad—too much to ask?