Authors: Dianne Venetta
She balked. “We’re sitting here, roaming around the middle of nowhere. Why not dinner in a restaurant?”
“You may have said no.”
“And...”
“I couldn’t have accepted that.”
The finality to his voice cut her to the quick.
Jennifer clutched her sheets to her chin. Images of the dream streamed through her mind, transcending time and place. Unbelievable visions, unacceptable positions, save for the safety of her sub-conscious.
The tepid breeze tossed her dark brown hair about her shoulders, blowing long bangs across her face. Careless to the other men on board, most of whom she never saw but was keenly aware existed as captain and mates, chefs and stewards, she walked out on deck and stopped at the edge of the table. The full-length lingerie was blue, like her eyes, with an intricate lace bodice that fit snugly at the breast. Her eyes were fixed upon his. Her old life was no more. Life would go on, had to go on, with or without her.
“Oh my...”
Constantine
swallowed hard.
“You are a goddess.” Though not roaming up and down, she was certain his eyes were taking in her body in its entirety. Strange, but she was apprehensive, excited and hopeful at the same time.
“Well?” she prompted, seeking his approval. “Do you like it?” Wearing sexy underwear had never been her thing, yet here, with him, she found it titillating.
“Oh, I more than like it...”
The compliment caused a hot rise to her cheeks.
“You are the kind of woman men live and die for, Jennifer.” Fire leaped to his eyes. “Come here.”
Without a second’s hesitation, she moved toward him, despite the uncustomary hardness to his voice.
“I have to touch you.”
The words sent shivers racing through her body.
Lifting his hand,
Constantine
allowed his eyes to fall upon her chest. He touched her skin with his finger and skimmed the border of fabric along her breast. The tingles created by his touch turned her skin into a sheet of goose pimples, inflaming her want, swelling her loin with desire.
“You are so beautiful,” he said, speaking a fraction above a whisper.
Frozen, her breath trapped in her chest, Jennifer dangled on the edge of his caress.
Constantine traced her curves as his hand slid down to her waist, stopped briefly at her hip, then stole behind her back, pulling her onto his lap.
With an ease of familiarity, Jennifer slid her arm around his neck. Where she had no idea as to what he might do next, she found that she cared little. It was a remarkable feeling and so freeing, to think only of the here and the now. It was not her nature. She drew comfort from having a plan. But nothing about her life here was normal, nor would it ever be. As far as she was concerned,
Constantine
could do whatever he wanted. She was prepared.
“Do you believe in love at first sight?”
Jennifer nodded with a smile, though not sure what she believed at the moment, her senses overwhelmed.
“I fell in love with you the moment I saw you. I knew right then, no other woman in the world would suffice.”
The admitted reason behind her presence here fell limp against her craving for his touch. She had all but forgotten the reasons, the event surrendered to circumstances beyond her control.
Constantine’s hand rose and slid across her cheek, his fingers stopping to entwine her hair within them. Drawing the long strands away from her head, he played with them as he gazed into her eyes. “Are you happy?”
She nodded in idle awareness.
Releasing her hair, he brushed it back and stroked her neck, then her collarbone, eyes trailing his route along the line of her body, stopping at the strap of her gown. Pausing, he rubbed his finger back and forth over the thin satin band, as though in contemplation. Suddenly, his eyes sprang to hers. “Stand up,” he commanded.
Startled, she did as he asked.
“Step back.”
She did so.
“I want to see you. All of you.”
The statement sent shock waves through her body.
“Show me. Show me now,”
Constantine
ordered, urgency coursing through his voice.
Jennifer prepared herself for the moment of truth. It was time to follow through with the prospect that had been lurking in the shadows of her desire. Hooking a thumb under each strap of her negligee, she pulled them down simultaneously, not stopping until she had passed the arc of her hip whereby the gown fell to the floor of its own accord.
It was a powerful moment. Wearing nothing more than a wisp of panties, she was excited by her nakedness, yet felt vulnerable in its exposure.
“Oh my...” Constantine’s eyes engulfed her every inch, slowing over the small lace vee between her legs. Reaching for his glass of champagne, he brought the drink to his lips and sipped, unhurried, savoring the sight before him.
Jennifer waited, trembling with need.
“Turn around,” he said on impulse.
She did so, without embarrassment, never more turned-on in her life.
“Take everything off.”
The visual his request would create was almost more than she could bear, but she obeyed, causing
Constantine
to abandon his restraint and take her right there. With his first touch, Jennifer’s body experienced levels of pleasure she never imagined possible.
Jennifer bolted awake in a cold sweat. Her pulse thumped in her ears. Grasping for some sense of reason, she seized upon the bright red numbers piercing the darkness: 3:36.
Where was she
? Jennifer looked around the black room. She was in bed. Her hands twisted the cotton blanket into fists.
At home.
Alone in bed, in the middle of Coral Gables...not on a yacht with Constantine in the middle of nowhere. Pained by the realization, she dropped back to her pillows. A strange mix of disappointment and relief wound through her. It had all felt so real. But why?
Why was he back
?
Chapter Twenty-Five
Jennifer pulled the surgical glove off with a snap, followed by the second. In the harsh light of the cath lab, exhaustion burned in her eyes. It had been a dicey case. The patient’s arteries were stiff as cardboard, about as pliable too. Another super end to a long day.
Tearing the scrub mask from her face, she made her way around the staff, now working to move the patient, grabbed the chart and flipped through the sections. Stopping at a steel table, she plucked the nearest pen, scribbled down her post-op note, then dropped the pen with a clang. Tossing a curt thank you behind her, she strode out of the cath lab without a word.
Smacking the metal plate on the wall, she proceeded through the automatic double doors, slipped through a side door to the stairwell and headed up to the fourth floor.
Last night had been another without sleep. But more than a nuisance, she had experienced an insane feeling of guilt when she awoke.
Guilt
—over making love to a fantasy. It was ridiculous!
Pulling herself up and around the third floor landing, Jennifer fought the absurdity. It was only a dream, for heaven’s sake! A figment of her imagination.
But the lure had been strong.
The ideal man; the ideal connection. The psychologist had been clear in her analysis. More than body to body, she had allowed her tycoon access to the deepest crevices of her soul—once she moved past the initial impression, that is.
Once she got to know the man inside...
Jennifer stopped mid-stride. She grasped the cold metal door handle and thought,
the real
Constantine
.
Moving beyond first impressions.
Jackson
.
She pushed through the door and out into the hallway, her steps quick and determined, barely evading collision with a passing orderly. She made a beeline for the nurse’s station.
“Hi, Dr. Hamilton.”
“Hi, Angie.” But it was
Aurelio
that Constantine reminded her of—not Jax! Looking straight through the people around her, she hurried to the rack of charts. She was losing it. Sure as she was standing here, she was going insane.
It was the stress. The stress of her mother, the stress of the wedding. The stress of pure exhaustion.
“Your patient in 402 is complaining about Wilson.”
Again
, is what Jennifer heard. The man was an excellent technologist, but his bedside manner left much to be desired. Grabbing a chart, she said, “I’ll go and talk to her.” Add stress from her job, stress from her partners, it was a wonder Jennifer hadn’t lost her mind sooner!
Flipping back to the H and P she read:
Fifty-eight-year-old overweight Caucasian male, lifetime smoker, arteriosclerosis, suffering from acute angina
.
Why did people push their luck? Why did they hold life in so little regard?
She knew the risks and opted against any invasive procedures. Because she was more afraid of that than death
.
Darn it, she fumed. Jax’s mother had been too young to give up! Her son needed her. Every child needs his or her parent. But, no. She only considered herself. Jennifer returned her thoughts to the pages in hand. Like this man. She scoured the progress notes, fighting the urge to compare his situation to Jax’s. Not only had this patient refused treatment in the past, he continued to smoke. Her outlook soured. And he expected her to fix it.
She was a doctor. “This patient needs a miracle,” she muttered beneath her breath.
“You okay, Dr. Hamilton?”
Jennifer looked up.
The nursing supervisor shot her a look of concern.
“Yes, I’m fine. Just tired.” And distracted.
“Aren’t we all,” the other chortled good-naturedly, the sound low, deep and merry. “And don’t forget overworked and underpaid.”
While you’re at it, throw in confused and depressed, Jennifer mused. My future is falling apart, my plans are shattering at my feet, and my best friend is on a trip to hell. But Jennifer only smiled at the woman. None of it was her fault. The only good news was Beverly. Her doctor called to let her know they had a heart. Surgery was set for tomorrow.
Closing the chart, she shoved it under her arm and proceeded down the hall. The fracas in her head had to be stopped and the best way she knew how to achieve that was work. En route to her patient, she darted into room 402 for damage control.
Hours later, showered and ready to call it a day, Jennifer sat upright in bed. Dumping the latest medical journal to one side, she called to check on Patty and Blake.
She sighed. If only her exhaustion stemmed from a long day at the office. But it didn’t. Not really.
It was
Jackson
.
“Hello?”
“Hi Sam.”
“Hey.”
“How are you? How’s Patty?”
“I don’t know what she’s going to do,” Sam said, her voice tightly controlled.
“Oh no... Has Blake taken a turn for the worst?”
“He hasn’t taken
any
turns—that's the problem. We keep waiting for some word as to what our next step is, what can we expect, but we get nothing.”
“Do you want me to call and talk with his doctor again?”
“Thanks, but no. That’s not the problem. The problem is he’s not doing well, and I’m afraid for Patty.”
Jennifer waited through her pause—afraid for Sam—but ready to support her in any way she could.
“Her whole life is wrapped up in Blake. She has no job, no skills. She makes babies and takes care of them. What’s she going to do? She can’t earn a living on that kind of resume!”
“
Sam
, slow down. It’s too soon to make those types of assumptions. You’re barely forty-eight hours into this—anything can change at this point.”
Heedless to the advice, Sam barreled on, “Like you always say, Jen, we’ve got to have a plan. Right now, it’s not looking good. Even if Blake does recover, and let’s just say as full a recovery as one can, under the circumstances, she’s still looking at
months
before he can return to work.” She paused, her frustration audible.
“Let’s face it. Engineering is a profession that requires the neurons to be firing full power in order to succeed and he won’t see that kind of action for some time to come.”