Mina waggled her eyebrows. "Maybe you should think about taking him on."

"He's a she," Wynter said, feeling herself grow warm.

"Oh, my. That's interesting." Mina studied Wynter over the top of her mug. "And I assume the ward clerk was of the usual female variety?"

"Oh yes, very much so." Wynter's eyes glinted. "She looked like she was about to start taking bites out of Pearce any second."

"Pearce. That's the chief resident with the wandering hands?"

Wynter flashed on Pearce's hand, strong and broad, and the ward clerk's dark black hair tangled between her fingers. Such a beautiful hand, so powerful. She remembered how precisely Pearce's hands had moved in the operating room, deftly teasing at the tissues with her instruments, gently pushing aside vital organs. Good hands. Simple words that said everything.

"Wynter, honey? Where did you go?"

Wynter jumped. "Oh. Nowhere. Just tired, I guess. What were we saying?"

"Dr. Hotty Pants. Is that Pearce?"

"Yes. Pearce Rifkin. She's the chairman of surgery's daughter."

"Well, no wonder she doesn't mind having a quickie during rounds. She can probably get away with anything she wants."

"No," Wynter said immediately. "She's not like that at all. She's incredibly focused and very responsible about work. She's not taking advantage of her position."

"Sounds like you like her a little bit."

"I..." Wynter stood and carried her mug to the sink. As she rinsed it out, she said with her back to Mina, "I don't have to like her, I just have to work with her. And I'd rather not walk in on her when she's feeling up some bimbo in the storage closet."

"Uh-huh. I get that." Mina pushed herself up with one hand on the edge of the table and released a soft groan. "Maybe I should let Ken take care of his urges at the hospital. I'm about done with this baby making business."

Laughing, Wynter turned and rested her hips against the sink. "Oh yeah, I can see that." She reached out for Mina's cup. "Here, let me take that."

"So, is it the extracurricular activities that bother you or that she's gay?" Mina asked casually.

"I don't care that she's gay," Wynter said immediately. She frowned. "Why would you think I would?"

"I didn't. I just wondered."

"I couldn't care less who Pearce Rifkin sleeps with," Wynter said succinctly. "Man, woman, or beast."

Mina laughed. "Well, sometimes they are hard to tell apart."

"Oh, who cares who any of them sleep with." Wynter linked her arm through Mina's. "I'm going to go kiss my sleeping fairy princess good night."

"Just be sure you don't wake her up."

"Don't worry, I'll be careful. I have to be up at four and I'm ready to fall into bed."

"Pleasant dreams," Mina said as they parted just outside the kitchen.

Wynter hoped that she didn't dream at all.

v Pearce stretched out on the narrow bed in the small windowless on call room. She'd shed her shoes and arranged her assorted equipment on the tiny bedside stand--beepers, cell phone, wallet, and keys. She folded her arms behind her head and stared at the ceiling. She didn't expect to sleep, because she knew that within a few minutes--or certainly before an hour had passed--the phone would ring. Sometimes it would just be a question about medication or instructions for dressings, and she could take care of it without leaving the room. But her sleep would be interrupted nevertheless, and sometimes the frustration made it not worth going to sleep at all.

Other times, a nurse would call to report a change in a patient's vital signs, and Pearce would need to get up to evaluate the situation.

A temperature spike in the middle of the night could signal something as simple as incisional pain preventing the patient from taking a deep breath. Mucus and other secretions eventually accumulated in the lungs and produced a fever. The treatment was simple--voluntary coughing.

At other times, however, a sudden fever indicated a severe wound infection or, worst-case scenario, a breakdown in the area of surgical repair. In those instances, a missed diagnosis or delay in treatment for even a few hours could seriously affect the patient's well-being. Those were things she couldn't, or shouldn't, handle over the phone. Some residents tried, because night after night of no sleep and the unrelenting pace made cutting corners look inviting. But for the most part, the residents lived up to their responsibilities, and for Pearce there was never any question. She knew what needed to be done, and she did it.

She willed her body to relax, hoping that if she didn't sleep, at least she could unwind. But she tossed and turned, more keyed up than usual. The day had been a roller-coaster ride of unexpected emotions, starting when she'd first seen Wynter in the hallway. Wynter had been on her mind ever since they had parted, and why she couldn't just shrug off Wynter's anger, she didn't know. Sure, they had a little bit of history, but a lot less than she had with some women she saw every day. A few of the women she'd had short liaisons with made it pretty clear that they'd like to hook up again, but she had no problem sidestepping their attentions. She'd never even kissed Wynter, and she was totally off her stride around her. She made a disgruntled sound and squirmed around, trying to get comfortable.

"Horny," she muttered, but she didn't have the energy or inclination to do anything about it. She'd been keyed up all day, and she doubted it would take more than a minute or two, but somehow she knew that a quick orgasm was not going to settle her disquiet. She rolled onto her side and faced the wall, drawing her knees up and closing her eyes.

She must have drifted, because the soft kiss on her neck was completely unexpected. She hadn't heard anyone come in. Blinking in the dark and trying to clear her fuzzy brain, she rolled onto her back.

"Who?"

A warm wet mouth descended onto hers, a soft tongue tracing the outline of her lips. She tasted something sweet. Peppermint, maybe.

The curve of full firm breasts pressed against her side and a hand tugged at the tie on her scrub pants. Pearce slapped her hand over the fingers working at her pants.

"Hey. Andrea?"

"You expecting someone else, baby?" Andrea murmured, nipping her way along Pearce's jaw as she pushed her hand inside Pearce's scrubs. "I couldn't wait until I got off work tonight. I am so hot for you."

"How about you slow down a lit--" Pearce gasped as Andrea's fingers dove between her thighs. "Jesus!"

"I knew you'd be wet." Andrea climbed onto the bed, her skirt hiked up to her hips, and threw one leg over Pearce's thighs. She rocked hard against her leg. "I have been dying to do this. Oh, you feel so good."

The shock of the sudden assault on her already overstimulated nerve endings catapulted Pearce's body into overdrive. She wanted Andrea to stop and she wanted to come all at once. Panting, hips heaving, she groaned, "Let up on me for a minute. Just wait, will you."

Andrea was moaning, pulling at her, writhing against her, already too far gone for reasoning. Pearce felt teeth against her neck, and before she had time to object or resist, she came in quick sharp spasms. She bit Andrea back, her mouth finding soft flesh, and Andrea screamed out in pleasure. Pearce's mind went blank as another orgasm rocketed through her.

"Oh God, baby," Andrea moaned, licking at the spot she had bruised on Pearce's neck. "I needed that. And I could tell that you did too." She squeezed between Pearce's thighs. "Didn't you."

"Sure," Pearce said tonelessly as Andrea sat up to rearrange her clothes. "That was just what I needed."

"You should change your pants, baby," Andrea said as she stood and fluffed her hair. "I left a wet spot on your leg."

Pearce closed her eyes to the sound of Andrea's laughter fading down the hall. When sleep eluded her, she got up and made her way to the roof. The sky was overcast, the night bitterly cold. The distant echoes of Andrea's attentions still twisted through her, but there was no trace of warmth left by her touch.


CHAPTER TEN

Wynter arrived in the cafeteria the next morning ten minutes before rounds. She was slightly annoyed, but not surprised, to see Pearce there before her, slouched in a chair, a Styrofoam cup of coffee in her hand. She checked the table, half expecting to see evidence of street dog detritus, but there was none. She assumed that the street vendors hadn't warmed the chili yet. She pulled out a chair next to Pearce. "Morning."

"Looks like it," Pearce grunted.

"Rough night?" Wynter sipped her own coffee and glanced at Pearce, then stared at her neck. A quarter-inch bruise marred the pale skin just above her collarbone. It was more than a hickey; it was an intentional bite mark. Someone had meant to mark her, and had succeeded. The idea that someone wanted to possess her that way, and that Pearce had allowed it, offended her. An image of the brunette in the utility room, crawling all over Pearce, flashed through her mind, and she reacted without thinking. "From the looks of things, I guess so."

Pearce frowned at the sarcastic note in Wynter's voice, then saw where her eyes were riveted. She rubbed her neck and felt the tenderness. Crap.

"I've got some cosmetics in my locker if you want to cover that up," Wynter said coolly. "Unless you don't mind that everyone knows what you were doing while you were...on call."

"I might have been on call," Pearce said with an edge to her voice, "but what I do while I'm waiting for something to happen is no one's business."

"Has it occurred to you that it sets a lousy precedent for the other residents?"

"You think so?" Pearce leaned forward, her nerves jangling.

Despite the fact that no emergencies had arisen after Andrea's middle of-the-night visit, she hadn't slept. She'd spent an hour on the roof, despite the frigid temperatures, then been propelled inside by the urgent desire to shower. She felt soiled, and wasn't sure why. It wasn't as if she'd never had a tryst in her on-call room before, and she usually enjoyed a woman who took what she wanted, because so did she. Plus, Andrea hadn't done anything she hadn't done half a dozen times in the last year. But for some reason, Pearce was angry. Angry that Andrea thought she could walk in uninvited and find Pearce willing. Angry that she hadn't said no and meant it. Angry that when it was finished, she'd felt nothing. Wynter's criticism now only underscored her own self loathing, and that was more than she could handle after thirty hours of no sleep. "Has it occurred to you that your job is to take care of patients and not offer your opinions on things that don't concern you?"

Wynter rocked back in her chair, stunned by the cutting tone of Pearce's voice and the flat, hard fury in her eyes. Belatedly, she realized that she was out of line. Pearce was not only her senior, she was a virtual stranger. They'd shared a dinner, but that didn't give her the right to pass judgment. Still, the anger--arising from where, she couldn't be certain--simmered. It was all she could do not to snap back. Instead, she did what she always did when her back was against the wall. She grew very still, damping her emotions with iron control. In a voice that revealed none of her feelings, she said, "I'm quite prepared to take care of my patients. Thank you."

Cursing under her breath, Pearce stood abruptly and walked back to the cafeteria line. When she returned with her second cup of coffee, the other members of the team were present. As she sat, she avoided Wynter's eyes and said curtly, "Let's take it from the top."

In a studied voice, Wynter said, "1222, Arnold. Four days post..."

When they'd finished updating the patients' status, Pearce gave everyone their instructions for the day. "Wynter, you're with the chief on that splenectomy he's doing later this morning."

"Great case," Bruce said enviously.

"Are you leaving?" Wynter asked Pearce as the junior residents left to take care of the work generated during rounds.

"In a while," Pearce said vaguely. By rights, she should be off call now and could go home. Should go home. But she very rarely did.

Wynter gave her an appraising glance, but decided not to mention the fact that Pearce looked worn out. As the senior resident had just pointed out quite succinctly, it was none of her business. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."