13. CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

S he avoided him for the rest of the day, then when he thought they could talk the next morning on their run, she was nowhere to be found. He knew she was still in the house. He heard her in the bedroom and bathroom, but he never saw her.

He didn't see her on Wednesday either.

She was a master at avoidance, and even the kids were wondering if they'd done something to upset her.

So on Thursday morning, he set his alarm for four o'clock and waited. Sure enough, she came down the stairs, quiet as a church mouse in her running gear. She didn't go into the kitchen, and he noticed that her protein powder and shaker bottle disappeared after their morning tryst on Monday. She probably took them to her room.

He came out of the kitchen just as she was putting on her shoes. "You're avoiding me now?"

She jumped and squeaked in surprise. It was too dark in the foyer to see her blush, but he could tell by the way she chewed on the inside of her cheek that she was uncomfortable.

"I … I thought it would be easier this way," she stammered.

"For whom?" He stalked toward her slowly. He wore his running gear, and Jagger knew of his plan and was reluctantly coming over.

"For everyone involved," she breathed.

The door opened, and a grumpy, bed-headed bear with a beard and frown entered. He wore his flannel pajama pants, no shirt, and had a big sherpa blanket draped over his shoulders. He didn't even grunt at them, he just collapsed on the couch and started snoring.

"Let's go for a run and chat," Bennett said, tilting his head to the door.

Justine exhaled deeply and nodded. "Fine."

Neither of them said anything as they walked to the security gate and he flicked on his headlamp. By five in the morning, it was light enough he didn't need a headlamp, but at this ungodly hour, it was still dark enough to sprain an ankle or get hit by a bus.

Tension flickered like static and he ached to take her hand, wrap his arm around her or touch her in some way. He craved the feel of her soft skin beneath his again. He also wanted to comfort her, to ease her strife and whatever warred inside of her, harsh enough to make her believe avoiding him was the only sensible recourse.

He punched in the code for the gate and held open the man-door for her.

When they reached the main road, they started to jog.

"I'm sorry if you feel uncomfortable now," he said, inhaling the dewy morning deep into his lungs. It'd rained overnight and the constant drip, drip in the trees was soothing. "I never intended for that to happen. I never intended for that to happen either." He pointed into the woods for some stupid reason, like the exact tree they'd had sex against was right there. "But for what it's worth, I'm glad that it did."

Her lips flattened into a thin line.

"Justine, please …" Heat rushed into his chest and his fingers tingled. "Do … do you regret it?"

Her eyes snapped to his, but that caused her to veer right and they ran into each other.

Her exhale was laden with emotions he couldn't comprehend, and they stopped.

Pain formed in the back of his throat as the guilt swamped him. "Look at me … please."

Her brown gaze tipped to his, and she squinted so he removed his headlamp.

"I … I don't regret it, but … I feel guilty."

She felt guilty? About what?

Oh shit! He just assumed she was single because she was there by herself. But … oh fuck! Shoving his fingers into his hair, he spun away from her for a moment, then pivoted and stalked back. "Are you married? In a relationship?"

"No. I … I'm single." Regret and pain flickered in her eyes, though it was tough to really see in the muted, foggy light of the early morning.

"Then why do you feel guilty? Help me understand. It's torture not seeing you. Feeling like you're avoiding me."

Her eyes grew watery, and she swallowed. "A small, stupid part of me hopes that maybe I'm not as barren as all the doctors said, and one irresponsible moment—one amazing irresponsible moment—got me pregnant." She huffed a humorless laugh. "How pathetic is that?"

He glanced away for a second to collect his thoughts and figure out how to soften the blow, but also not panic because a woman he just met wanted his baby. "I um … I had a vasectomy six months after Aya was born."

Another humorless laugh burst from her chest. "Now I just feel like a fool. And you probably think I'm crazy." She made to peel away, but he reached for her hand.

"You're not a fool, and I don't think you're crazy."

The glint in her gaze said she didn't believe he believed either of those things, but she didn't pull her hand away.

"You do know that a baby would have tied us together forever, right? I'm not some sperm donor. I'm a father. And I'd be a father to a child we created together." He scratched his head. That sounded so weird to say out loud, let alone think.

Her breath escaped her thinly parted lips, but her chin wobbled. She was holding back big emotions, trying to be stoic. "My sister told me that she froze her eggs when she was in med school. That it was the sensible thing to do because she wanted a family, but she also wanted a career. She just wanted her best eggs to be her babies." She rolled her eyes. "Everyone in my family is a doctor. Both parents and both my sisters. We're practical people. And freezing my eggs seemed like a practical thing to do when I was in med school. Only they discovered that I have not only severely damaged fallopian tubes—for no apparent reason— also no viable eggs to harvest, and an insane amount of uterine fibroids. So even if we dealt with the fibroids—which we do—the chance of me conceiving is less than point-five percent."

"I'm so sorry."

She shook her head and sniffed, glancing away again. "I've come to terms with it. Took a while, but I have." That humorless laugh was back. "Or maybe not. Seeing as I secretly hoped our tryst against the tree resulted in a medical miracle baby. But you're snipped, so … I'm just an idiot." She said the last bit mostly under her breath and hung her head.

He studied her, searching for words of comfort, but unable to come up with anything that wouldn't sound corny.

"It pitched me into a pretty deep depression spiral at first. Made me wonder if this was the universe's way of telling me I'm not meant to be a mother. That'd I'd be terrible at it."

"Women who can't conceive naturally and adopt, end up being fabulous mothers. Women who are step-mothers can be fabulous mothers. There are foster-mothers who are saints. That's not what this means. At all. You can still be a mother if you want to. If you feel the need in your heart. And I'm sure you would be incredible at it."

She still wouldn't look at him.

"I threw myself into my studies instead. I was second in my class at Hopkins and did a cardio fellow at Mayo before I was poached by Seattle Memorial. I rose quickly through the ranks there, and people from all over the country came to me for second opinions and surgery. Because I'm not afraid to take a risk."

It was like she was speaking to the trees now, not to him.

Gentle, warm drops of rain landed on his hands and nose, his ears and cheeks. The drips in the trees increased and the pungent, earthy smell of wet dirt hit his nostrils.

"I loved my job. I love to cut." Finally, her gaze met his. "Do you know what it's like to hold a human heart in your hands?"

He shook his head.

"It's exhilarating. They don't call surgeons arrogant for nothing. It's a high unlike anything else." The sparkle in her gaze dulled a little. "But it's also a privilege. Mr. O'Malley—Clarence—trusted me. He trusted me to do everything in my power to save him."

"And you did."

She shook her head and glared at him. "No. I didn't. I allowed my personal life into the OR and my mind was not entirely on my patient. I messed up and he died. He died."

"Accidents happen."

Her glower intensified. "Not to me."

"Justine …"

"Not. To. Me. If a patient dies on my table, it is because the sutures won't hold, it is because they were too far gone already. It is because of a complication. It is not because I screwed up. Until that day. When I did. When it cost a man his life. When it cost a wife her husband, and children their father. Because I couldn't keep my feelings on the other side of the door long enough to repair a man's extremely damaged heart. But it was a heart I could have fixed. I know it." A tear slid down her cheek and she rolled her lips inward. "You say that Mr. O'Malley would forgive me and that I should forgive myself, but I can't. When I try, the guilt won't let me. My heart won't let me. Anytime I feel joy, the guilt creeps up and stomps on that joy. It reminds me that my patient will never experience joy again. That his wife and children are grieving. How can I, in good conscience, laugh or smile or—" She tossed the woods some side-eye. "when my patient will never get to experience those things again? Because of me. What gives me the right?"

"People make mistakes. It's what makes you human. You are human. "

"I've been avoiding you because when I'm with you, when I'm with your girls, I feel joy."

He squeezed her hand. "I feel joy when I'm with you too."

She pulled her hand free. "And I can't."

"Yes, you can."

Now it was really raining and he couldn't tell what were tears and what were raindrops on her face.

"What happened before you went into the OR? What was so terrible that you couldn't compartmentalize? That you couldn't leave it on the other side of the door?"

She shook her head and clamped down hard on her bottom lip with her teeth. "I can't. It's so stupid now. Looking back, I just feel shame that I let something like that take over my brain. That I let it get in the way of treating Mr. O'Malley properly. Of saving him."

"Try me," he said softly, tugging on her fingers a little.

But she just shook her head again and made to pull away. "This was all such a terrible idea. I shouldn't be in your house." The cords of her neck stood out as if she were fighting a lump in her throat and even though tears slid down her cheeks, he knew she was keeping her emotions in check as best she could. If she gave into them, she'd probably collapse against him and sob. Maybe she needed that.

Did she ever cry and let all the pain out after her patient died? After whatever happened before that?

Stepping into her space as the rain fell, beading on her lashes and nose, he tipped up her chin. "You're not going anywhere. And even if you don't believe you deserve joy, I believe that you do. I believe that you deserve happiness, kindness, joy … and pleasure."

Her lips parted after that last word.

"I have no idea what is going on between us, but I know that I want to be around you whenever I can. That I need to touch you. To smell that body wash or shampoo, or whatever you use. I haven't properly slept since Monday, since we …"

She swallowed.

"You might not think you deserve forgiveness, but I do. And if I have to forgive you for yourself until you can do it, then I will. But I'm not going to stop trying to convince you to find joy again and to let go of the guilt." He cupped her jaw. "I'm going to kiss you."

She blinked up at him through the rain.

"I'm going to kiss you with tongue."

More blinking.

"I'm going to kiss you so that we both feel it. So that the guilt in your heart has no choice but to take a backseat to the joy. To the pleasure." He lifted his brows slightly. "Okay?"

She could barely nod since he held her jaw firmly, but his pinky finger rested against the pulse in her neck and it beat wildly. "O-okay."

Then he kissed her.

He kissed her like he'd never kissed her before and this was the first time their lips ever touched. He kissed her like she was in air and he'd been trapped underwater, desperate for just one more breath. He kissed her like she needed to be kissed, which was hard, thorough, and with a lot of tongue.

She melted into him, wrapping her arms around his neck as he deepened the kiss even more, taking her by the waist and pressing his body to hers. The rain fell around them, on them, and soon they were both drenched. By the time they broke the kiss, you could wring out their shirts like a beach towel.

But she was smiling.

And that was like the clouds parting.

"Come on," he said, taking her hand and turning them back toward the property.

"Wh-where are we going?"

"To get some exercise." Then he hauled her forward until she caught her feet and kept pace with him. They reached his office in no time and he punched in the code for the door, opening it and letting her step inside first.

He was back on her as soon as the door closed, pushing her up against the door, cupping her face and devouring her once again.

She moaned into his mouth and grappled at his soaked shirt.

It was not easy stripping out of their wet clothes. Nearly as difficult as it had been on Monday when they were sweaty. But this time everything was as wet as if they'd jumped into the ocean and it took a bit of patience—which neither of them really had—to get undressed.

"Dear god, just cut them off me," Justine said with a frustrated growl, reaching for the scissors on his desk. "Just cut off my pants. I have more. Just cut them off!"

He snorted and took the scissors, but didn't use them. "Slow down." He put the scissors back on his desk and reached for the hem of her leggings, then he dropped to a crouch as he carefully rolled the sopping Lycra down over her waist, her hips and her thighs. Her skin turned a sexy pink as the cool air of his office hit her, igniting a wave of gooseflesh to rise.

He reached her ankles and gently helped her out of her shoes before removing the leggings completely.

All she did was watch him, a fire in her brown eyes that mimicked the one he felt in his entire body.

Standing back up to his full height, he reached for the hem of her long-sleeve shirt and removed it, then the tank top, and finally the industrial-strength, multi-clasp, probably-made-for-NASA-or-some-shit sports bra, which admittedly, she needed to help him with.

But then, she was naked besides her underwear. He quickly stripped as well, down to his boxers, and before he could reach for her, she was lunging at him and jumping up onto his hips.

He folded her over his desk, sending his meticulously organized papers, pens, and keyboard crashing to the floor.

He did not care.

Their lips collided, their teeth nipped and scraped as he fished his cock out of his boxers and pushed her panties to the side.

He broke the kiss for just a moment and their eyes locked. "Feel this," he said, notching himself at her center and slowly pushing inside. "Feel this."

Her lips parted and a small, sexy gasp snagged her in her throat as he pushed his way deeper into her hot, slick channel.

"Feel this, Justine. Feel me ."

She nodded and her lips parted a little more.

"No guilt here, okay? Not right now. Got it."

She nodded again, and her short-trimmed nails raked across his shoulders and down his back.

"I want to hear it."

"I …"

"I want to know, Justine." He bucked up into her harder and she moaned.

"I feel you," she whispered. "I feel … joy."

"That's a good girl." Then he picked up speed and fervor, and started to really hammer into her. Her legs came up and wrapped around his waist to hold on, and when he broke their kiss for a moment to rake his teeth across her jaw and down her neck, he caught a glimpse of her perfect tits bouncing back and forth with each rock of his hips.

Drawn to the dark brown nipple like a moth to a flame, he latched his mouth around it and sucked, reveling in her cry of pleasure and the way her pussy tightened around him. He never broke his cadence, never slowed down. He sucked on one tight bud, then the other while still driving in and out of her, knocking his pubic bone against her clit and hitting her as deep as he could.

"Don't hold back," he grunted. "Feel it all. Let it all out."

"Oh god …"

"That's right."

Her pussy fluttered around his cock as he drove deeper and tipped his hips up a little. She squeezed him every time he plunged, then released when he withdrew. But then next time he pulled out nearly to the tip, she tightened her muscles so damn much it was a bit of a struggle to slide back in. But fucking hell, did it feel good.

He lifted his gaze and caught her smiling.

The sexy minx knew exactly what she was doing.

Growling, he nipped that delicate spot where her shoulder met her neck, and she mewled, then squeezed her muscles around him again.

She was playing.

She was finding and feeling joy.

As much as he wanted this to go on forever, he could tell she was getting close. She could no longer meet him thrust for thrust and keep with his rhythm. The way her pussy juices flooded out and her channel swelled, had his balls cinching up against his taint and that familiar, warm buzz in his belly intensifying.

With no warning, she broke.

Her nails dug deep wells in his shoulder blades and, like it had a heartbeat of its own, she pulsed around him with each wave of her release.

When she tightened her muscles mid-climax, that was when he felt it was okay to leap off the ledge and join her.

Stilling his movements, he dropped his head to the crook of her neck and poured himself inside her, allowing the orgasm to tear through him with no remorse until he was boneless, satiated, and worried he was crushing her.

"Not yet," she croaked, wrapping her arms tighter around his neck when he went to pull off her. "Just another moment … please?"

Smiling, he nodded and kissed that tender spot on her shoulder where he'd apparently sunk his teeth. He didn't even remember doing it.

"Thank you," she whispered a minute later, releasing him.

He stood up and reached for the box of tissues on his filing cabinet, handing it to her. She grabbed several and shoved them between her legs, her eyes scanning the floor for their scattered soaking-wet clothes.

"We, uh … we didn't really think this one through," she said. "I can't put anything but my shoes back on."

He refused to let the guilt of their impetuous behavior swamp their high. So he shook his head and rummaged through the Rubbermaid plastic tote in the corner. "I'm sure we can find something in here. Hang on."

"Is there a bathroom somewhere?"

"I use the one in the brewery."

"Right."

"Ah-ha! Here." He tossed her a pair of swimming shorts and a hoodie. They were from their lost and found. "They're washed. If we find something in a cabin and nobody comes back to claim it, it goes in the lost and found. But we wash everything first. These should fit, right?"

She picked up the men's board shorts, which were probably at least eight sizes too big. But they had a drawstring, so hopefully she could cinch it tight enough around her waist. And the hoodie looked to be a youth small.

She put them on, and sure enough, the pants swallowed her up, but she made them work, and the hoodie was way too short in the arms and more of a crop-top.

He threw on a pair of navy sweatpants he found in the bin for himself, but went without a shirt. "It's still really early in the morning. Nobody will see us if we're quick."

She still hadn't said anything, and that was unnerving him, but she was probably just wondering how the hell they were going to get up the hill without alerting all the guests to their impromptu quickie in his office.

He gathered up all their wet clothes and held them against his chest. "After you."

Unease shone brightly in her eyes, but then a twinkle emerged and the cutest little smile tugged at the side of her lips.

That sealed the deal for him, and he dropped the clothes in his arms, slammed the door shut and pressed her back up against it, taking her mouth all over again.

And she let him.

They made out for five or so minutes before she pressed her hand to his chest and pushed him away. "We should get back."

He nodded. "We should."

Scooping the clothes back into his arms, he thanked her when she held open the door for him. "Are you filled with regret and guilt?" he asked as they quietly made their way across the gravel parking lot and up the hill to the security gate. She used her code this time.

"No." It was a soft, quiet "no." But she accompanied it with a headshake and a small smile.

They reached the house and thankfully—not that he would have cared—Jagger was turned away from them on the couch and snoring like the bear he resembled.

"You shower first," he said to her, jerking his chin toward the stairs.

Like the rest of her expressions, her smile and nod remained small. But they were genuine. She was happy. He could tell.

He just hoped that the shower didn't wash away all those endorphins and good feelings, leaving her with nothing but guilt and regret.

Good thing he planned to take the entire day off to bake cake and cupcakes, because he might need to spend some of that time reminding her to find some joy.