The Perfect Fit (Riley O'Brien & Co. #2.5) (9 page)

“Are you okay?” Jenny asked, placing her hand atop Margo’s.

Margo stared out the windshield of Jenny’s sporty BMW. It was late, past eleven o’clock, and the residential street was quiet.

When Margo didn’t reply, the other woman sighed. “You did everything you could to save that dog.”

Margo knew the vet tech was right. She’d spent five hours in the operating room with Jon and Jenny, trying to repair the injuries the golden retriever had sustained in a car accident while riding with its owner. But they hadn’t been able to save the canine.

“Do you need anything?” Jenny asked softly, sympathy shading her voice. “Wine? Ice cream? A Ghirardelli chocolate bar?”

“No.”

The only thing Margo needed was already in the apartment: Zeke.

“You did a good job tonight,” Margo told Jenny, knowing the younger woman was upset, too. “Thank you for staying late. And thank you for giving me a ride home.”

“Any time.”

She scooped her messenger bag from the floorboard, opened the door, and climbed out. “I’ll see you on Monday,” she said before pushing the door shut.

Looking up at the Victorian, she noticed the lights were on in the apartment. She doubted Zeke was still up, though. He usually went to bed around ten, even on non-work nights. When she teased him about it, he told her that old men go to bed early.

But he’d stayed up late for the Pictures & Paws gala last weekend. They hadn’t returned home until nearly midnight.

The evening hadn’t turned out as she’d hoped. He had treated her the same way he always treated her. And at one point, he’d disappeared to take a phone call from Andrea, leaving Margo alone with Derek.

Zeke’s indifference had badly bruised her ego, and when Derek had asked her out, she had impulsively accepted his invitation. Of course, she regretted that decision now, and she needed to find a way to gracefully get out of the date.

Pausing at the base of the steps, she tried to muster the energy to mount them. Just then, they seemed as overwhelming as the Rocky Steps at the Philadelphia Museum of Art.

Her entire body ached from the arduous, lengthy surgery. Mercifully, she’d been able to shower at the clinic, washing the stench of antiseptic and death from her skin. She would be able to immediately climb into bed and put this horrible day behind her.

She trudged up the steps and let herself into the apartment. Roby met her at the door, and the sight of him almost brought her to tears. She dropped her messenger bag by the door and knelt to hug her canine best friend.

Hearing footsteps, she glanced up to find Zeke towering over her. He wore a long-sleeved, heather gray T-shirt, a pair of blue-and-gray-striped pajama pants, and his favorite shearling slippers.

The expression on his face was one she’d never seen before. He looked like he wanted to kill someone.

Shocked, she lurched to her feet. “I didn’t think you’d still be up.”

“Where the hell have you been?” he thundered, his voice vibrating with fury. “You said you were going to be home at six. I’ve been calling and texting you for hours.” He moved closer, bending down until their faces were only inches apart. “What were you doing that was so damn important you couldn’t spare three seconds to let me know you were okay? Are you so immature and inconsiderate that you can’t think of anybody but yourself?”

His anger, coupled with the stress of losing a patient, was too much for her. A low cry burst from her throat, followed by a flood of tears that trickled down her cheeks.

Zeke froze. “
Fuck me,
” he swore viciously.

The vulgar word surprised her. He had never said
fuck
in her presence.

Through blurry eyes, she saw his face contort with a grimace. He reached for her, pulling her into his arms and hugging her tightly.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that.”

Burrowing closer to his body, she tried to muffle her sobs. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and then gently nuzzled her hair.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated softly. “Please don’t cry, Go-go. I promise I won’t ever yell at you again.”

She looked up into his face, a little exasperated by his assumption. “I’m not crying because you yelled at me. I’ve been yelled at before, and I can handle it. I can handle
you
.”

“Then why are you crying?” he asked, using his thumb to brush tears from the corner of her mouth.

“One of my patients died today. A golden retriever. They brought him in just before the clinic usually closes. That’s where I’ve been.”

Zeke’s face softened with sympathy. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He loosened his arms and ushered her into the living room. “Sit down. I’ll get you some Kleenex.”

She kicked off her tennis shoes and settled on the sofa with her knees drawn to her chest. Roby started to jump up next to her, but she pointed toward his red corduroy bed, and he curled up there instead.

Zeke returned a moment later, a box of tissues in his hand. After passing it to her, he sat down and draped his arm around her shoulders.

“What happened to your patient?” he asked.

“He was in a car accident with his owner. I tried to save him, but I couldn’t.” She sucked in a breath, trying not to cry. “His injuries were too extensive.”

“I’m sorry.” Zeke clasped her hand. “Violent death takes a toll on everyone, but I think it’s worse for people like you … the people who heal … the people who repair the damage that others have created.” He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. “I’ve seen some horrible things. Men blown apart in front of me. Women who’ve been gang-raped and beaten to death. Kids with their throats slit.”

She had been waiting for him to open up … to share his pain with her, but the thought of him seeing those things made her sick with sorrow. She tried to hold it in, but she couldn’t. It overflowed, and she started crying again.

He pulled her closer, tucking her smaller body against his side. “Shh,” he murmured. “It’s going to be okay.”

The fact that he was comforting
her
when she was upset about something that had happened to
him
… well, that just made her cry harder. He was the best person she’d ever known—innately kind, quietly compassionate, and surprisingly thoughtful.

“Have you ever lost a patient before?” he asked.

“Yes. It always makes me sad, but this time it was so much worse. I don’t know why. Maybe because he fought so hard. We worked on him for five hours. I really thought he was going to make it.” Grief clogged her throat, and she cleared it roughly. “When he was gone, I didn’t bother to check my phone. I had it on silent, so I didn’t hear your calls or texts.”

He leaned his head against hers. “I am
such
an asshole.
Jesus
.”

She giggled soggily. “You are not.” She plucked a tissue from the box and wiped her eyes. “You were right. I
should
have let you know where I was.”

“I called the clinic a few times and got the answering service,” he said. “When I couldn’t reach anyone, I drove over to check. But all the lights were off, and the door was locked.”

She immediately felt guilty for being so wrapped up in her own misery that she hadn’t considered him or his feelings. If the situation had been reversed, she would have been frantic. She would have yelled at him until she was mute and he was deaf.

“I’m the asshole in this situation, Zeke, not you. I would have been worried, too.”

“I wasn’t worried.” He sighed tiredly. “I was scared to death. I thought something had happened to you.”

Stunned by his comments, she turned her head to look at him. He did the same, and she stared into his dark eyes for a long moment.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, her voice almost a whisper.

“I have never been so scared in my life, Margo.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

Zeke had deployed to two of the most dangerous places on earth, and he’d lost a leg. But the thought of something happening to her had scared him more than combat and amputation.

The urge to touch him overwhelmed her, and she tentatively placed her hand against his cheek. Holding her breath, she waited … praying that he wouldn’t jerk away.

Her prayers were answered.

As he sat beside her, motionless, she traced the strong line of his jaw. His stubble was prickly against her fingers, and she lightly scratched her nails through it, making a circle around his mouth.

When she grazed his bottom lip with her fingertips, he swallowed audibly. She removed her hand and shifted on the sofa until she knelt beside him.

“Zeke…”

His gaze fell to her mouth and lingered there. “What?” he asked huskily.

Leaning forward, she curved her hands over his shoulders and pressed her lips against his. He gasped, obviously surprised by the kiss, but didn’t pull away.

She was so elated, so relieved, she almost laughed. Instead, she took advantage of his surprise, darting her tongue inside his open mouth. He tasted so good, an exotic spice that set her taste buds on fire.

She delicately touched her tongue to his before withdrawing it. A growling sound rumbled deep in his throat, the noise heating her insides and creating an ache between her thighs.

Suddenly, he moved, palming the back of her head and forcing their mouths together. This time, she was the one who gasped in surprise… He had turned into the aggressor.

Sinking into his kiss, she opened for him and let him have what he wanted. He took control, driving his tongue inside her mouth. He licked deeply, sweeping it across the interior of her cheeks and along the edge of her teeth.

He sucked on her tongue, drawing it into his mouth, over and over. When he finally lifted his lips from hers and dropped his hands from her head, she was breathless. Her nipples were hard under the lace cups of her bra, and the flesh between her legs was drenched and aching for him.

Was Zeke as aroused as she was? God, she hoped so.

She leaned back to look at him. His face was flushed, his mouth was damp and puffy from their kisses, and his eyes were hazy, the dark irises barely distinguishable from the pupils.

The leather cushions made it easy for her to slide backward on her knees. She glanced at Zeke’s lap; his cotton pajama pants couldn’t hide his erection.

She wanted to be with him … to feel him inside her. But she knew that wasn’t going to happen tonight. He hadn’t told her about his leg yet, and until he’d shared that information with her, she knew he wouldn’t feel comfortable enough to have sex.

But she wasn’t going to leave him like this—hard and wanting.

Sliding from the sofa, she scooted between his knees. He tensed visibly, and she knew why: he was worried she would touch his prosthetic leg.

He started to straighten from his relaxed position, but she stopped him by placing her palm on his flat stomach and pushing gently. He opened his mouth, ready to protest, but she stopped him again, this time by cupping her hand over his erection and squeezing lightly.

With a moan, he dropped his head back against the sofa cushion and closed his eyes. She lifted the hem of his T-shirt and unbuttoned the fly of his pajamas.

“Lift your hips,” she murmured.

He complied, and she began to tug down his pajamas and boxer briefs. The moment she freed his hard-on, he immediately dropped his hips. It took her a moment to realize he was afraid she would expose the socket of his prosthetic limb, which probably began mid-thigh.

She hated the fact that he was self-conscious about something that showed how brave he was. She desperately wanted to make him forget about his missing leg, just for a little bit.

She focused her attention on his erection. Longer and thicker than she had expected, it jutted out from a cluster of dark hair. The plump, fleshy head glistened with fluid that seeped from the tiny slit, and her mouth literally watered with the desire to taste him.

Feeling his eyes on her, she impulsively decided to give him a better view than her forest-green scrubs. With no ceremony, she whipped the top over her head, tossed it behind her, and unhooked the bra clasp between her breasts.

As she slowly pulled apart the blue lace cups, his gaze avidly tracked her hands. His breath hissed between his teeth when she revealed her nipples.

She moved deeper into the space between his knees. Gripping his hips, she exerted gentle pressure to bring him toward her.

“Closer,” she urged.

He widened his legs and slid forward until his erection almost touched her chest. She swiped her forefinger across the tip, gathering pre-cum. His gasp quickly turned into a groan when she smeared the pearly cream on her pebbled nipples. They were so hard they hurt.

Taking Zeke’s hands, she placed them on her breasts and held them there. His dark skin was a dramatic contrast to her pale flesh.

“Touch me,” she implored.

He shaped the mounds with his warm palms, massaging gently before brushing his thumbs back and forth over the puckered tips. When he rolled the peaks between his callused fingers in a delicate pinch, pleasure-pain streaked through her.

While he continued to play with her breasts, she grasped the base of his erection and wrapped her lips around the rounded head. The musky smell of his arousal surrounded her.

“Oh, Jesus,” Zeke groaned. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

She sucked lightly before tonguing the tiny slit and tasting him. His flavor filled her mouth, salty and tangy.

Widening her mouth, she took him deeper, letting her teeth graze the thick veins along his penis. She alternated between sucking his hard-on like a lollipop and licking it like an ice cream cone.

Lifting her head, she asked, “Do you like this? Does it feel good?”

He nodded, his jaw clenched so tightly she could see the muscle ticking. When she enveloped his erection again, he flexed his hips, slowly and repeatedly thrusting into her mouth. His breathing changed, becoming choppy and labored.

“Your mouth,” Zeke gasped. “Jesus Christ, Margo. Your mouth.”

She lifted her head again. “What?”

“Don’t stop,” he begged, pushing her head back down. “Please don’t stop.”