She hated the way he looked at her when he spotted her in the hotel lounge. The look on his face was a mixture of sympathy and irritation, the combination of which made Izzie want to turn around and flee the bar. She held her ground, though, raising her chin defiantly as he crossed the hotel's impeccable carpet, his eyes never wavering from her face as he took a seat next to her.
"Izzie, you can't do this. You can't just call my room and tell me that you're waiting for me in the hotel bar! What if Callie had answered the phone?" he questioned with exasperation.
Izzie's face flushed as George said his wife's name, but she refused to back down from why she'd come. "I had to see you, George," she told him, hating the desperation that was evident in her voice. She looked away from him briefly in embarrassment, turning to the bar in front of her and picking up her glass of chardonnay, finishing the drink in a single swallow. Taking a breath, she turned back to him. "Callie told me that you guys are…are trying to have a baby."
He sighed when he saw the fear in her eyes, finally understanding what had inspired this impromptu meeting. "Yeah, we are," he answered simply, glancing away from her face when he saw her flinch.
She was reasonably sure that he couldn't have hurt her more if he'd ripped her heart out with his bare hands. Not even trying to mask her disappointment, she looked at him pleadingly. "But…but I…I thought…"
He cut off her stammering with a glare. "You've got to stop this, Izzie. What happened between us was a mistake, and we have to move on. I'm married, and my wife and I are planning on starting a family. There can't be anymore conversations about us in the scrub rooms, no more kissing in elevators, and especially no more late night visits to my hotel. There's never going to be an 'us,' do you understand? It can't happen, so just stop this," he said impatiently, ignoring her wounded look as he rose from the bar stool, quickly exiting the lounge.
She watched him walk into one of the elevators located just beyond the bar's entrance, her heart breaking as she saw the doors close in front of him, sending him back upstairs to his wife. That was definitely not how she'd pictured their meeting in her mind.
She wiped a tear away absently as she turned back to the bar, suddenly feeling overwhelming lonely. The bartender walked up to her, seeing her tears. "You okay, Sweetie?" the middle aged woman asked, leaning towards Izzie understandingly.
Izzie sniffed as she shook her head, swiping at another tear before it had a chance to fall down her cheek. "I need a shot of tequila," she said straightforwardly, ignoring the quiver in her voice. "And keep them coming."
It didn't take long before her comfortable buzz turned into full out drunkenness. She knew that she should cut herself off – she had to get home somehow, after all, and that could be tricky given her intoxication – but the amber liquid was stubbornly refusing to numb her pain, so she signaled for another shot.
"You sure that's a good idea?" a voice asked from behind her.
Izzie rolled her eyes as she recognized the strong, masculine tone, and she turned around to meet Mark Sloan's smug stare. "Oh please," she said, vaguely aware that her words were beginning to slur together. "I don't need a lecture from you tonight."
Mark raised his eyebrows as he sat in the seat that George had vacated earlier. He signaled to the bartender, ordering a drink for himself. "Those are mighty brave words for an intern to say to her attending," he observed lightly, gladly accepting his drink from the bartender and taking a hearty sip.
Izzie glanced at him sideways. "Attending, huh?" she questioned, watching his face carefully. "So does that mean that you didn't get Chief of Surgery?"
He didn't immediately respond to her question as he downed the rest of his scotch, setting down the empty glass and requesting another before turning back to Izzie. "No, I didn't get Chief of Surgery," he admitted, his voice low.
She narrowed her eyes as she studied him, noting the strain on his features. "I'm sorry," she said sincerely before turning back to look at the countertop before her.
Knowing that she was not his biggest fan, Mark was surprised by her consideration. "Yeah, well, no one really thought that I had a chance at getting the position anyway," he acknowledged sullenly, brushing off her pity as he accepted his drink from the bartender.
She glanced back at his face when she heard the brooding tone to his voice. Giving him a small smile, she told him quietly, "I did."
He was unprepared for her kindness, and not knowing how to respond, he opted to ignore it. Clearing his throat in an effort to absolve the awkwardness, he looked down at the shot glass in front of her before bringing his eyes back up to her face. "So, what brings you to my hotel tonight, Dr. Stevens?" he asked her suggestively, bringing his face inches from hers. "Looking for some company?"
She was anything but surprised by his flirtation and, looking at him seductively through her long lashes, she eliminating even more space between them as she brought her head to his, their lips almost touching. "I'm not having sex with you," she told him sarcastically, before rolling her eyes and leaning away from him.
Mark smiled, seemingly unfazed by her sarcasm. "Well, that's certainly too bad for you," her told her.
She rolled her eyes again as she poured salt on her fist. "If you only knew how great I am in bed, you wouldn't be saying that," she told him wryly.
Mark watched with interest as her tongue licked the white crystals from her hand, and she swallowed yet another shot of tequila, not even flinching as the liquid burned down her throat. He drew in a deep breath, surveying her intently as she picked up a wedge of lime, her full lips surrounding the fruit and sucking it of its juices.
The force of his desire hit him hard, virtually stealing the oxygen right out of his lungs. "Well, then why don't you show me," he whispered suggestively, his hand finding a place on her thigh.
Her breath caught in her throat when she felt his fingers graze suggestively along the inside of her leg, and she slowly dragged her eyes up to meet his waiting stare. "Okay," she said simply, her oath to not sleep with him suddenly forgotten as her skin began to tingle from his touch.
Mark knew that his face was a dead giveaway for his surprise, but he couldn't stop his mouth from falling open when she so readily agreed to hop into bed with him. Was this the same woman who'd repeatedly complained about his innocent flirtation?
"Okay?" he questioned suspiciously, certain that he must be falling into some sort of manipulative female trap.
Izzie set down her glass and picked up her purse from the countertop. Standing up, she looked lustfully at Mark, ignoring the obnoxious voice in her head that was telling her she was making a mistake. "You better hurry up," she told him as she turned around and started to leave the lounge. "It's going to be pretty hard for me to find your room if I'm all alone."
Mark turned back toward the woman behind the bar, seeing her raised eyebrows as she watched Izzie walk to the elevators. "Uh, charge our drinks to room 1082," he uttered as he stood up, quickly following in Izzie's trail.
He arrived just as the elevator doors were opening, and they both walked on, visibly disappointed to see other the other occupants on the lift. "Tenth floor, please," Mark muttered, walking behind Izzie to stand along the back wall.
The ride was quick, but it seemed agonizingly long to both Izzie and Mark, whose hands remained painfully glued to their sides. Mark felt as if his fingers were itching to roam Izzie's body, and he had to remind himself that it would only be a few more minutes before they reached the privacy of his suite.
They exited the elevator on the tenth floor, and Izzie followed behind Mark as he led the way to his room. She felt her heart begin to beat nervously in her chest when he stood outside of his door, digging into his pocket to find his keycard. You're not making a mistake, she silently repeated to herself. This is the only way you're ever going to get over George.
She heard the door unlock with a click and she stepped forward as he pushed it open, walking into the darkened room. The door closed behind her and an instant later, a gasp escaped her lips as she felt his body collide with hers, his strong chest pressing against her back as his hands snuck around to cover her breasts.
Her head fell back against his shoulder when she felt his mouth cover the smooth skin on the side of her neck, and he eagerly roamed her body with his hands. She was intensely aware of his touch as he moved from the curve of her breasts down to her hips, his fingers barley skimming the inside of the waistband of her pants.
He surprised her when his hands moved back up so that he could grip her shoulders, turning her around so that she was facing him. In the darkness of the room, she watched him as his eyes traveled the length of her body, lustfully lingering on her curves.
"Like what you see?" she asked him seductively, feeling completely uninhibited by the alcohol in her system.
An animalistic sound escaped Mark's throat in response, and he roughly pulled her body to his, placing his hands on the buttons of her shirt. He growled in frustration when his shaky fingers fumbled with the tiny clasps, and, feeling himself losing control, he pulled forcefully at the lapels of the blouse, ripping the buttons free of their stitches.
Izzie giggled drunkenly as the buttons flew across the room, and Mark paused, suddenly realizing the full extent of her intoxication. Gritting his teeth, he somehow assembled the strength to push her gently away from his body as he shook his head slowly. "Maybe this isn't such a good idea," he told her carefully, his breath coming out in pants.
Izzie laughed giddily, pushing his hands away so that she could step toward him, molding her body to his. "I know you don't mean that," she whispered, her hand sliding slowly between their bodies to rest on his obvious arousal.
That was all the encouragement Mark needed, and with that, he hastily guided her toward the bed, pushing her onto the mattress that hadn't seen any action since before his meaningless sixty-day pact with Addison Montgomery.
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Izzie groaned as the sun penetrated the curtains of the room, dragging her from sleep into a painful consciousness. She gingerly brought her hand up to rest on her pounding forehead, massaging it gingerly as she cringed at the taste of her dry, sour mouth.
A painful moan escaped her lips as she stretched her sore muscles, realizing that she had most likely slept in one position the entire night. I'm never drinking again, she thought regretfully as she began to wonder how she had gotten home from the bar after her many shots of tequila.
Her eyes widened in surprise and her body tensed when she suddenly felt a strong arm fall leisurely over her hip bone. Oh Christ, what happened last night? she thought frantically. Her brow furrowed as she wracked her brain to remember the events of the previous hours. She obviously recalled going to George's hotel to talk with him about their relationship. Oh no! Did I sleep with George? she wondered, trying to push through the haze that surrounded the previous night's events.
Her eyes widened as a certain part of her bedmate's anatomy pressed intrusively into her lower back. Oh…oh my…that's most definitely not George, she thought wryly, a quiet giggle escaping her lips.
As carefully as she could, she gradually removed herself from the arms of her unknown lover, sliding across the large bed and rising to the floor. She took a deep breath before slowly turning around, her eyes widening as she saw a slumbering Mark Sloan stretched sexily across the bed, a thin bed sheet doing little to mask his nudity. You've got to be kidding me.
She could feel her cheeks flushing as the events of the previous night came rushing back to her, erotic memories suddenly filling her mind. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.
Izzie's eyes scanned the room hastily, quickly pinpointing her clothes littered across the floor. Her arms subconsciously folded across her body in an attempt to conceal her nudity in case Mark were to awaken. It's a little late to be concerned with modesty now, she thought ironically, a blush spreading across her face as she remembered the things that she'd allowed Mark to do to her the night before.
Suddenly feeling an overwhelming urge to escape the room, Izzie walked over to her clothes, pulling on her panties and slacks, and then quickly fastening her bra before picking up her shirt from the floor. Oh shit, she thought, panicking as she looked at her tattered blouse. She sighed in frustration when she saw the buttons that had scattered across the floor. What do I do?
Her eyes fell to the white shirt that Mark had been wearing the night before, which rested in the same spot where she'd dropped it after stripping it from his body. She quietly walked over to the shirt, picking it up from the floor and eyeing it apprehensively. Izzie sighed when she realized that her options her wearing his obviously too-large shirt or looking like a hooker as she walked through the lobby of the hotel holding the front of her blouse closed with her hands.
Her mind made up, she quickly pulled the shirt over her head, grabbing her bag from the table by the door and stuffing her mutilated blouse inside of it. With one last glance at Mark's slumbering form, she cautiously let herself out of the room. This never happened, she thought as she quietly closed the door behind her.