"Wynter," Pearce murmured. She forced herself to take a step backward, still holding Wynter, but at arm's length--out of kissing range. "We should have dinner."

Despite a surge of disappointment, Wynter nodded, knowing it was what she had asked for. At the moment she couldn't quite remember why. And God, it was hard to think of anything except the heat in Pearce's eyes, the magic in her hands. "Can I just tell you how much I love it when you touch me?"

"No," Pearce said fiercely. "I'm dying here, give me a break."

"Try to hang on," Wynter lifted Pearce's hand from her waist and kissed her knuckles, which still showed signs of bruises, "and I'll try to be good."

Pearce tapped Wynter's chin with her finger. "You could start by trying not to torment me."

Wynter nipped at the end of Pearce's finger. "But I love to watch your eyes get all dark and--"

"Damn it, Wynter. Stop."

Laughing, Wynter moved away and gestured to the chairs. "Sit down. Let's eat this if we're not going to do anything else."

Shaking her head, Pearce settled beside Wynter. "I really am hungry."

"Good," Wynter said as she dished out the food.

Because they were used to eating together at the hospital, they fell into easy conversation about their cases and the upcoming rotations and other residents. Before Pearce realized it, she had cleaned her plate twice. She leaned back from the table with a groan. "God, that was great."

"You're certainly easy to please," Wynter remarked, pleased herself at Pearce's obvious enjoyment. She couldn't remember when doing something so simple for someone else had given her such satisfaction. When she saw the grin tug at the corner of Pearce's mouth, she held up her hand. "Don't start."

"You might regret saying that," Pearce said playfully, catching Wynter's hand. Their fingers entwined and she did not let go. "One of these days when you're crazy for me."

"Pretty sure of yourself."

Pearce looked down at their clasped hands resting on the tabletop.

It looked and felt so natural to be connected to Wynter this way, and at the same time, it was wholly foreign to her. Nothing that had transpired between them was new--she'd kissed women whom she'd known far less well than Wynter, and she'd had quick sexual encounters in dark corners and a few other semipublic places. But she'd never felt the urge to run the way she had last night. She looked up and met Wynter's worried gaze and smiled wryly. "I'm sorry I took off on you last night."

"Why did you?"

"Jesus," Pearce sighed. "Aren't you supposed to say `That's okay, I understand' or something else like that to let me off the hook?"

"Probably. And I would, if it really didn't matter. But it does, and I want to know."

Pearce stretched her legs out under the table and leaned back in the chair, keeping hold of Wynter's hand. With her free hand she fiddled aimlessly with her silverware. "Ten more seconds of kissing you like that--or of you kissing me, rather--and I'd've been fucking you up against the wall. Right there in the middle of that crowd."

"Assuming I would've let you," Wynter said, her voice husky and low.

"Wouldn't you?" There was neither triumph nor self-satisfaction in Pearce's voice, only a quiet certainty.

"Probably. I wanted you so much I wasn't thinking of anything else." Wynter laughed self-consciously. "I don't usually go quite that far in public places."

"No, I didn't think so." Pearce squeezed Wynter's hand. "I don't usually lose it like that, either."

Wynter heard the lingering desire in Pearce's voice, but also the regret, and that frightened her. She couldn't read Pearce well enough to know exactly what bothered her, but she didn't want anything about what they shared to hurt her. "Should I apologize for kissing you like that?"

"Jesus, no." Pearce turned Wynter's hand over between her own and kissed her palm before looking into her eyes. "Did I embarrass you with your sister?"

"No," Wynter said, smiling. "She's dying of curiosity, but she'll live."

Pearce's brows knit together. "Curiosity." Then came understanding, and she blushed. "You mean...she wants details?"

"Of course. That's what girls do when there's a new hotty on the horizon." Wynter couldn't help but laugh at Pearce's obvious discomfort.

It made her all the more charming. "She called this afternoon to give me the third degree."

"Is she upset about you being interested in a woman?"

There, Wynter thought, finally. She edged her chair around the table until she was sitting side by side with Pearce. Turning, she placed her free hand on Pearce's thigh. "She was surprised. Not upset. Pretty much like me."

"She might change her mind when she's had time to think about it."

"Pearce, my sister never really liked Dave, but she never said a word against him until she found out he was fooling around. Then she was all for flying up to New Haven and cutting his balls off."

"Good for her."

Wynter smiled. "She's not going to have a problem with me seeing you."

"What about the rest of your family?"

"You mean my parents?"

Pearce nodded.

"We're Quakers. Personal choice and individual freedoms are very important to us. My parents will support whatever choices I make."

"Sometimes people aren't so liberal when it's close to home."

"I know." Wynter caught a flash of some distant pain in Pearce's eyes. Knowing that Pearce's mother had died when Pearce was still a child, she realized it had to have been her father who'd put that sorrow there. She rubbed her hand up and down Pearce's thigh in unconscious comfort. She was venturing into dangerous territory, considering that Ambrose Rifkin was her boss, and discussing him, even when it was personal like this, was probably not the wisest thing to do. But she didn't care. She only cared about Pearce. "What happened?"

Pearce jerked, startled from the unintended memory. "Let's just say it wasn't a smooth ride for a while."

"Your father was unhappy when he found out you were gay?"

"He ignored it at first. I think he thought it would pass."

"How old were you when he found out?"

"Sixteen."

"When did you know?" Wynter wondered what was wrong with her that she'd never even had an inkling that she could be attracted to another woman. Was she really that out of touch? "I started to think about it when I was twelve or thirteen, and by the time I was fifteen, I knew for sure. One of the nice things about going to a girls' prep is there's a lot of girls around." Pearce grinned.

"Oh, I bet you were dangerous then." Wynter leaned forward and brushed a kiss over Pearce's lips. "I bet you broke a lot of hearts."

The kiss was light, gentle, and Pearce felt its sweetness all the way through to her heart. Wynter had a way of making her feel so many things--poignant pleasure, wild passion, aching need. How could that be? How could one woman do that so effortlessly? When had anyone touched her that way? "Not so very many," she murmured. She didn't want to revisit the past. She wanted to feel what only Wynter had ever made her feel. She slipped an arm behind Wynter's back and tugged her over into her lap.

The slat-backed wooden chair creaked.

"Hey," Wynter protested with a laugh. "We're going to end up on the floor."

"I'll catch you if we do."

"Promises, promises." But she wound her arms around Pearce's neck and kissed her again. Kissing her was a banquet of delight, a feast that satisfied her in her deepest reaches while whetting her appetite for more. She cupped her hand on Pearce's throat as she slid her mouth over Pearce's lips, loving the slick heat and the racing pulse beneath her fingertips, glorying in Pearce's excitement. She felt heady with power and kissed her harder, probing, reaching inside until she drew forth a groan. "I could kiss you forever," she gasped.

"I might go up in flames," Pearce moaned, slipping both hands beneath Wynter's shirt and onto her bare back. She smoothed her hands up and down Wynter's spine, allowing herself that much and no more. She didn't dare do anything else, because she knew she would never be able to stop. When Wynter shifted to straddle her on the chair, Pearce forced herself to keep her hands on Wynter's back, even though Wynter's breasts were so close, her nipples tight against the stretched cotton fabric. Wynter seemed to feel no such constraints, caressing Pearce's neck, her shoulders, her chest. When her fingers skimmed Pearce's nipples, Pearce jerked in the chair, her head falling back. "Don't."

"Why?" Wynter whispered, rocking in Pearce's lap, sucking the soft flesh at the base of her throat. "Why?"

"Can't stop again," Pearce groaned. She caught Wynter's hands and pulled them from her breasts. "I want you too much."

"No," Wynter said fiercely, pulling Pearce's hands to her own breasts and pressing them there. "Not too much. Never too much.

Touch me."

Pearce felt Wynter's nipples harden against her palms, sensed her breasts grow firm with arousal, heard the need in her voice. She couldn't remember why she should hesitate. Wynter wanted her to touch her, and she ached to do it. She'd never hesitated before to take and give pleasure. She squeezed gently and Wynter moaned her name. That sweet sound broke her resolve. She would have what she'd hungered for all these weeks. Tightening her hold, she stood, fastening her mouth to Wynter's neck as Wynter's legs came automatically around her hips.

She bit down gently until Wynter whimpered. She wanted to lay her down on the kitchen table and take her right there. She could feel the fire between Wynter's legs through their clothes. She knew she could have her. One touch and Wynter would surrender. Right here. Right now.

She pressed her mouth to Wynter's ear. "I won't make love to you like this. I want to make you come slowly the first time."

Wynter worried she might come just thinking about it. She'd never been so aroused in her life. She dug her fingers into Pearce's shoulders.

She wanted to scream, but could barely speak. "If you don't put your hands on me soon, I think I might die."

"Can we go upstairs?"

"Yes. Yes." Wynter feared in another minute she wouldn't be able to stand. "God, yes. Please. Now."

"What about Ronnie?"

"What?" Wynter asked almost desperately, struggling to make sense of Pearce's questions. "She sleeps soundly. She'll be fine."

Pearce covered Wynter's mouth in an urgent kiss, needing the taste of her to carry her until she could have more. Then she gently eased her down, keeping one arm around her waist. "Please, will you take me to your bed?"

Wynter stroked her cheek, wondering why she felt tears threatening.

She'd never felt anything as right as when she said, "Oh, yes. Yes, I will."


CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The upstairs hallway was dark. Wynter and Pearce moved quietly with just the night-light in Ronnie's room to guide them. Wynter led the way, holding Pearce's hand. Out of habit, she paused in the doorway to Ronnie's room and listened for her soft, regular breathing. After a second, she continued on, aware of Pearce just behind her, sensing the air around them scintillate with excitement. When she reached her bedroom, she pressed the dimmer switch and turned the light down until there was just enough illumination to maneuver by.

She tugged Pearce over the threshold and quietly closed the door.

"What if she gets up?" Pearce murmured.

Wynter pointed to the small receiver on her bedside table. "We'll hear her."

"Handy." Pearce pulled Wynter close and kissed her neck. She ran her hands rhythmically up and down Wynter's back, their bodies melding as they swayed together in the near dark. "Sure about this?"

"Yes." Wynter gripped Pearce's T-shirt and pulled it out of her jeans, then snaked her hands underneath. As she danced her fingers over Pearce's stomach, she confessed, "I haven't used the child monitor in over a year, but I hooked it up after I saw you this morning. Just in case I needed to close the door."

Pearce hissed in her breath at Wynter's caress. "Pretty sure of yourself."

Wynter laughed and skimmed the undersurface of Pearce's breasts with trembling fingers. "Just hopeful. God, can I touch you soon?"

"Oh man," Pearce groaned. "Anything you want."

"Oh," Wynter breathed out, "I like the sound of that."