Part 52
She laughed during dinner. Her eyes danced in good humor as he told stories about med school, crazy cases and coworkers he'd had at other jobs, and made observations about the other diners.
They kept the conversation light and he smiled when she told him stories about things from high school and in med school. Some he'd heard, some he hadn't, but his cheeks began to ache after a while, a reminder that he didn't smile all that often.
Her smiles seemed to come easy. She was enjoying herself, engaging and flirting openly with him over her glass of white wine. He was a good boy. He didn't touch the alcohol. He got drunk on her instead.
We should have done this sooner.
The observation came to him when she threw her head back with an uninhibited laugh when he told a particularly revealing tale about Wilson. It was again that throaty sound of unadulterated delight.
They were getting to know one another through sharing life experiences they'd had in their years apart. Each thing she related was enlightening and defining. There was much they knew about each other and a lot they didn't.
Circumstances played a role in that.
Their time in Michigan had been too brief and Stacy had been with him when he showed up in Princeton looking for a job. Then everything had gone to hell for him with the infarction. But he could only use the latter as an excuse up to a point.
Through all of it, Cuddy had been there, giving them nearly a decade that they could have done what they were doing now.
But I avoided it.
Except for rare moments of emotional honesty with her, he'd chosen to keep her at a distance. He'd chosen to keep the acknowledged emotional depth of their relationship and interaction where it had been in the early days of their friendship at Ann Arbor — playful, intellectually challenging, desire lurking. She'd gone along with it and he hadn't blamed her. She'd seen what he'd become over time.
But he'd always felt more and wanted more, but been equally afraid of it — of having and then losing it, and afraid it wasn't what he really wanted it to be. It had been years of fear that virtually required denial on both their parts.
Time was gradually easing those fears for him. He was no longer in denial about what he felt for her.
He loved her. Being with her made him better. She made him want to be better. Which is why he was here, voluntarily checked into an asylum to get himself straightened out. He wanted to continue to see her and hear her and smell her and feel her and taste her with the clarity he'd had the past twenty-four hours.
She was radiant, brighter than he'd realized, and full of life. She hadn't always shown that, but it was on full display now.
She's uninhibited here. No responsibilities. No prying eyes.
Those eyes weren't privy to how her skin glowed in the diffuse, warm light of the restaurant, enhanced by the fireplace near their table. The flickering light successfully conspired with the ambient illumination to enhance the hints of red in her hair. They weren't nearly as visible in daylight or under the dull-yellow, fluorescent bulbs in the hospital.
Those eyes also couldn't see the tell-tale smirk that curled the corner of her mouth when he talked about pop-culture stuff she had no interest in. The one that said she was humoring him and enjoying doing so. He appreciated that look and really liked how she'd prop her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand when she was particularly interested in what he had to say.
He liked having her attention. Most people dismissed him, which was fine with him, but not her. He always wanted her attention, which is why he had continued to pull pranks over the years, talk about her ass and breasts, spread rumors, and do pretty much anything that would bring her in for close, fly-by orbits. Even if all it netted him was eye-rolls and proclamations of his idiocy or general assness.
He was glad she wasn't rolling her eyes now. Or calling him an idiot or an ass. She was laughing instead and shaking her head and swearing she would never look at Wilson the same way again.
She laughed again later, when they tumbled into the hotel bed while kissing and struggling with clothing. Friction and his sport jacket livened things up after he finally got one sleeve off. He brought his fingers to touch her neck and a static jolt had him drawing his fingers back and pulling his mouth from hers.
"Ow," he said, giving his hand a shake.
And there was that lush laugh again, deepened because she was laying flat on her back, him half atop her.
"Big baby. Want me to kiss it and make it better?" she teased.
He smirked. "I believe, traditionally, sucking is a better way to appease nerve endings in need of attention."
She hummed and laughed at the same time and took hold of his hand.
"Let's see," she said and drew his index finger to her mouth. More than his groin responded when she kissed the tip lightly then whispered, "Better?"
Yeah. It was better.
Finding himself incapable of speaking, he nodded his answer and mood shifted, playfulness giving way to something softer and gentler. He welcomed it and tried to temper his breathing when she released his hand and touched for his face.
She looked up at him, her gaze hooded with desire and more. The more enraptured him. It was the more that he'd run from in the past, whenever it surfaced, or threatened to. But he didn't run any more.
He wanted to see it and feel it. He'd reached for it repeatedly since that night in her hallway and he reached for it now, leaning into her hand while her gaze still held his. The effect his just doing that had on her was observable and palpable. Her expression gentled further and she trembled beneath him. Then she made a confession.
"This. Tonight. It's what I've wanted with you," she said softly on the warm air between them. "I had a taste in Michigan and have always wanted more."
He looked away, remembering how he'd left so suddenly. He'd meant to call her but he'd been so wrapped up in his situation that he'd given little thought to how she would feel. He'd been a selfish—
"Hey," she said softly, drawing his attention back to her and the moment, and away from the first dark thoughts he'd had since the morning. He was grateful. He didn't want to go there again and knew he wouldn't, for now, when she smiled that smile at him.
"That wasn't a criticism," she continued, her palm cradling his jaw. "I just wanted you to know." She touched her thumb to his lips, adding softer still, "I've never found it with anyone else."
Feeling special for any reason other than his intellect and medical prowess wasn't something he had much experience with but he was experiencing it as she continued to caress him.
He swallowed hard as her fingers eased down along his throat then around to the back of his neck. She just let her hand rest there and it was comforting.
"What do you want tonight?" he asked and barely recognized his own voice. It was deeper than normal and he sounded almost out of breath. His heart was racing and doing some weightless thing in his chest. He had come to associate the feeling with loving her.
She was still smiling that smile as her eyes moved over his face briefly. When they found his again, she whispered one word.
"You."
