Don't own them, but they no longer want them...finders, keepers, I say. Dedicated to Lorraine for her amazing, inspirational gift.
Eggsnog
She was tipsy, she knew. Too much eggnog, not enough food. Never a good idea, but Christmas drinks in the surgeons lounge would always undo good ideas, and give rise to bad ones. She should just collect her coat and leave, but she'd stopped dead in her tracks when she saw him exiting the OR. She watched as he removed his surgical cap and scrunched up the sleeves of his gown. Then he was moving, strutting purposefully, making a bee-line for his office. She watched him go, his surgical gown billowing behind him, and she watched fascinated, wondering how one small man could take up so much space and project such presence.
She found her feet following him, her pace increasing as she seemed to cruise in the slipstream he created. He opened the door to his office and entered, leaving the door open. She caught up and stood, arched in the door frame, watching silently. He removed his gown, unaware of her presence and hung it on the coat hook behind his desk.
"There you are," she said leaning on the door frame, her hands clasped behind her back.
He turned quickly, surprised by the sudden sound of her voice and looked at her, raising an eyebrow in unspoken question. He said nothing, waiting, watching, and she felt the weight of his eyes upon her, looking at her with the same intense gaze that she was used to. Looking right at her, seeing right through her, leaving her feeling all but, stripped bare. She should be mad at him for his blatant leering, but she had searched him out, so she said instead. "You didn't come to the party."
He smirked, folding his arms across his chest. "Didn't seem prudent since, whilst you all made merry, my hands were busily occupied inside of my patients chest cavity."
She dropped her gaze to his right hand, which was curled around his left bicep, his fingers gripping it slightly, betraying his flippant tone. It was strong and masculine with long delicate fingers...perfect, for his chosen career. Perfect for…
"What can I do for you Doctor Corday?"
She heard his voice, and brought her eyes back up to meet his. Doctor Corday? That threw her. "My, my, aren't we being formal today."
He shrugged, and she watched his broad shoulders rise and fall briefly, a small smile forming on his face, but she could see the puzzlement growing ever larger in his eyes. "So, once again, what can I do for you?"
She closed the door and crossed the short distance, so there was just his desk between them. "You didn't come to the party."
"I think we've already established that. So?"
"So, I couldn't give you your present."
He sat down in his office chair, wary. "I don't see you holding a gift."
She smiled and walked slowly around the desk, her eyes on his as he watched her every move. She reached out one hand and swivelled the chair and him to face her. She brought out her other arm from behind her back and produced a sprig of mistletoe, which she held over his head. He looked up at it, then back to her and smiled. "You really have made merry, haven't you?"
She returned the smile. "Well, would you like your present?"
He widened his smile but made no move. This is your game, his eyes spoke, your move.
She bent down towards him and lowered her lips to his, and he gave her his mouth, open and wide, his tongue sweet, tender, exploring; a kiss unlike none other she'd had before. She melted into it, into him and lowered herself onto his lap, dropping the mistletoe, folding her arms around his neck as he wrapped his around her waist, pulling her in to him, on to him, possessing her.
It was everything, and more; thrilling and sweet, consuming and suffocating and she knew in that instant that, if she ever gave into this man, he would own her outright, and it scared her to her core. Her brain alerted her to the sudden danger and self preservation screamed at her to get out, to get away from him.
She quickly forced herself to withdraw her lips, and moved her head aside, laying it against his cheek. "Merry Christmas Robert," she whispered.
She knew he sensed her retreat, her prior bravado now failing her, and he brought a hand up to caress her other cheek. Those long surgeons fingers, surprisingly soft, tenderly stroking the contours of her face. "Merry Christmas, Lizzie," he said then dropped his hands and released her.
She stood on shaky legs and willed them to carry her out of there as fast as they could.
Robert Romano sat and watched her leave, the taste of her, mixed with eggnog still on his lips, and he smiled. "Merry Christmas, indeed," he said to himself, leaning back in his chair, folding his hands behind his neck with a self-satisfied smile on his face.