Wild with You (9 page)

“Tables turn over quickly.” He took her hand and led her toward the screen door separating the picnic tables from the indoor seating area. “We'll place our order at the counter. And while we wait for a table to open up, you can tell me about Josh's first session.”

She nodded, transforming from I-­want-­whip-­cream-­sex Kat to Dr. Katherine Arnold. “Your brother managed a Bourbon Pecan Pie today.”

He listened to the details, making mental notes of the little signs she thought spelled progress as they waited in line. When they reached the counter, he ordered the daily special, a pizza topped with local sausage.

“According to his medical history,” Kat continued as they moved away from the counter, joining a cluster of locals waiting for to-­go orders or an open table. “The staff at the rehab facility used memory games as part of his therapy.”

“Yeah, he hated those,” Brody said. “Said they just reminded him of what he couldn't do. And they seemed childish.”

“The key is balancing the frustration with success.”

“And having pie as a reward helps,” Brody said. “Or at least that's your theory.”

“It's a little more complicated than that. To be honest, your brother is in pretty good shape. A lot of the patients I see with brain injuries suffer from debilitating side effects.”

“Does cooking help them all?”

“No. And that is only one element. Our trial is designed to show that individuals suffering from TBI—­traumatic brain injury—­need help dealing with their emotions while they work to recover their memory.”

He heard the passion in her voice, punctuating each sentence. “You know, you seem to care a helluva lot more than his previous doctors.”

“Part of what makes me one of the best,” she said with a warm smile.

Brody cocked his head, studying her. “Why neuroscience?”

“It's one of the more difficult areas of medicine.”

“You like the challenge.” And you hate to lose, he thought. He suspected she'd spent enough time on the losing end of things growing up.

“I like coming out on top. But I'm also interested in how the brain works. How ­people build memories attached to emotions.” Her expression became serious. “After I leave, you might want to look for another therapist. Someone Josh can talk to, call day or night if he feels overwhelmed. I'm not joking about the link between depression and brain injuries.”

“Kat Arnold?”

Brody glanced over his shoulder and spotted Delilah Travis. A slim woman with short black hair, he'd known the young nurse for years. He still owed Delilah a thank-­you for taking care of Josh when his brother was in the hospital, though he suspected she'd prefer a more intimate sign of the Summers family's gratitude from Chad. Brody placed Delilah at the top of the list of single women in Independence Falls who mourned Chad's move from single playboy to off the market.

“You probably don't remember me,” Delilah said to Kat. “I was Missy Jackson's best friend back when we were kids. You were a few years ahead of us in school, but I spent a lot of time at the Jacksons' house while you were living there.”

Kat nodded, her lips forming a thin line. “I remember Missy. How is she?”

“Not as good as you. Two years at the community college isn't Harvard. She is living by the university now. Last time I spoke to her, she was thinking about getting a waitressing job when her youngest starts school next year. Missy's little boy is just the cutest. What about you? Are you thinking about moving back or just visiting?”

“I'm here for work,” Kat said.

“Kat's is one of the leading neurologists in the country,” Brody said. “She flew out to help Josh.”

“Wow.” Delilah's eyes widened. “Pretty amazing what going to Harvard can do for you, huh? I guess more ­people from here should apply to those fancy East Coast schools. Though it probably helps that you had such an interesting childhood.”

“Yes, it probably did,” Kat said.

The words sounded like verbal daggers. Brody could feel the tension rolling off Kat in waves, threatening to turn into a hurricane.

Oblivious, Delilah turned to him, placing her arm on his forearm. “Brody, you have to tell me all about the wedding.”

“It was nice,” he said. “The bride and groom seemed happy.”

“I want details,” Delilah insisted. “Tell me about the dress.”

“You'll have to ask my sister. I can tell you Georgia was a beautiful bride, but not much more.”

Stepping back, he pulled his arm away and stole a glance at Kat. Anger lingered in her green eyes. Delilah's words about Harvard and her childhood had breached her armor. But possession mingled with the hurt. If Delilah touched him again—­and heck, the black-­haired nurse had always been forward to a point that left him feeling uneasy—­Kat might release the storm brewing in her expression and attack. Verbally or physically, he wasn't sure. As much as he liked the hint of
he's mine
driving her fury, he didn't want to find out.

Brody reached for Kat's elbow. Back in New York, she might not need anyone to jump in and save the day. But right now she needed a rescue.

 

Chapter 11

K
AT
REM
EMBERED
THE
chipped pink paint on the walls of the room she'd shared with Missy Jackson for 457 days, even though she couldn't recall the woman with the pixie cut. But the way Delilah placed her hand on Brody didn't exactly inspire warm, friendly feelings. And Delilah's oh-­so-­eloquent words about Kat's “interesting childhood” and her time at Harvard didn't help either.

Was it so hard to accept that she had a sense of agency in her life? Kat wondered. Harvard had opened up doors and given her opportunities. But her hard work and determination delivered success. No one ever offered her top marks simply because she'd grown up alone, passed from house to house. In fact most of the time they'd expected less of her.

She felt Brody's hand on her elbow. A warning that she shouldn't attack a woman for touching him? For dredging up feelings she'd rather keep buried?

“You know, this place is packed,” Brody said. “I'm thinking we should cancel our order and go somewhere else.”

He offered a cursory smile to the woman with the pixie cut. “See you around, Delilah.”

“Say hi to your brothers for me,” Delilah said with a wink. “We miss seeing them out.”

Kat allowed Brody to blaze a path to the counter, watching as he smiled at the frazzled woman distributing orders. “Trish, can we cancel our sausage pie?”

The waitress spared Brody a smile. “I'll see if they've made it yet. If they have—­”

“I'll take it.” a young mom with one toddler balanced on her hip and the other clinging to her legs said, her eyes wide with relief. “If it is ready, I want it. Doesn't matter what they ordered.”

“Done.” Brody turned to the mother. “Casey, this one is on me. You can thank your husband for picking up an extra shift last week when we were short a driver.”

“Will do, Brody.” The child in her arms screamed, diverting Casey's attention.

“You know everyone, don't you?” Kat said as they headed for the exit.

Brody shrugged. “Small town.”

She followed him out of the restaurant and into the packed parking lot. “You know, we didn't have to rush out of there.”

“I didn't want to run the risk you'd hurt Delilah.”

She shook her head. “I shouldn't have let her get to me. But going to Harvard wasn't a joyride.”

“No, I don't imagine it was,” Brody murmured.

“Especially not the way I did it,” she continued, the words spilling out. “Alone, with no one to call when I aced a test, or passed the boards, or . . .”

Kat closed her lips, biting them shut, knowing she'd already revealed too much. Sob stories about medical school weren't exactly a one-­way ticket to whip-­cream sex.

But Delilah's words had brought that time in her life back into focus. And when Kat thought about school, the loneliness surfaced. The other students had a place to go when they closed the dorms for the holidays. She'd managed by making arrangements to stay with friends. But she never forgot the fact that she was on her own. This town, the ­people here, Missy Jackson's family—­one of the many who'd handed her back to the social worker as quickly as they could—­everything about Independence Falls had set her up to navigate the world alone.

“Where are we going?” she said, mentally pushing the depressing thoughts away. She wasn't the orphaned student anymore. She had a life. Back in New York she had a career, colleagues, and friends waiting for her.

And tonight she had Brody Summers. She focused on his broad shoulders as he led the way through the maze of parked cars. She let her gaze linger on the way his jeans outlined the shape of his perfect butt.

“I'm still taking you to dinner,” he said as they reached his pickup.

“I wouldn't object to eating closer to home and the whip cream.” She didn't need the getting-­to-­know-­you dinner-­date routine. This man had already unearthed more of her, from the memories she kept under lock and key, to the way she bowed to his control when the clothes hit the floor, than anyone in her life, past or present. Right now she wanted to lose herself in fantasy and sex.

“You haven't forgotten about dessert, have you?” she asked.

Brody opened the passenger side door and turned to face her, his brown eyes roaming over her. “Kat, every time I look at you I think about new ways to try dessert. I want you. I can't stop picturing you in my bed. But—­”

“Tell me what you see,” she demanded. “I don't need promises. We don't need to talk about tomorrow. Not now. Tonight, I'd like a chance to build new memories of this town.”

As she said the words, the truth unraveled. She'd taken Josh's case and returned to Independence Falls to show this town how far she'd risen, to prove that she no longer needed them to want her. But after walking into the hotel lobby, and then bumping into Missy Jackson's former best friend, maybe she also needed to prove to herself that her recollections of this town wouldn't cripple her. And the best way she could think of doing that was to retrain her brain and build new memories.

“Please, Brody,” she added. “Describe the picture in your mind and let's see if it lines up with mine.”

His brown eyes stared into hers, and she saw the moment desire crushed the reasons on his I-­shouldn't-­take-­Kat-­to-­bed list.

Not just desire, she thought. This man cares about ­people, from his family to the total strangers he rescues. If you ask, he'll set aside his reservations. He'll crush the god-­awful memories. He'll make you feel wanted tonight. And maybe the night after that . . .

Her body warmed to the thought. A mental picture of Brody's naked body hovering over hers formed in her mind.

But what if he claimed more than her body?

No, she had to draw the line at fantasy sex. To invest in another person's life, to trust in them knowing feelings changed and shifted—­she couldn't travel that road. In the back of her mind she would always be counting down the days until she hit 457, the maximum number of days the state allowed a minor to remain with one foster family. She'd always be waiting for the cycle to end. It was better if she kept an eye on the door. If she started hoping that it would stay closed, that this time she'd finally found a place for her heart to call home . . .

No. She already had a home. New York. And there was Brianna to consider. One day that little girl might open up and let Kat in. Not to mention her job—­

“Close your eyes.” He issued the command with an undertone of sensual promise, and she obeyed, blocking the runaway what-­ifs. Because tonight just might take the route she desired—­straight back to the bedroom.

She heard him open what she suspected was the glove box. Placing a hand on her waist, he turned her around.

“Keep them closed,” he warned.

Fabric touched her face and she jumped at the unexpected. “You're blindfolding me?”

“Yes.”

She felt his fingers working at the back of her head, tying a knot in what a quick peek told her was a bandanna. Then his hand took hers. He guided her into the front seat of his truck and secured her seat belt.

“Brody Summers, you're full of surprises,” she said, fascinated by the way she heard every detail of his movements as he settled into the truck.

“At the hotel the other night, you told me swimming would help. Consider this my version of a dip in the pool,” he said as the pickup shifted beneath her, making a right hand turn out of the lot. “Ready to hear my plan?”

“Take-­out Chinese? I love lo mein after sex,” she said as they accelerated.
Wait, were they merging onto the highway?
She touched the side of the bandanna, determined to steal a peek.

“Dinner will be a surprise.” He drew her hand away from her face and placed it back in her lap. “But for dessert, I picture you in my bed.”

“Might be messy,” she murmured, her excitement unwinding, rushing to the parts of her body begging to know what happened next.

“Not the way I see it,” he said. “Your arms stretched out overhead, your wrists tied. Whip cream between your breasts waiting to be licked clean.”

“That's one way to enjoy dessert.” She shifted, her thighs rubbing together. The combination of the blindfold and his words left her flat-­out aching for him.

“It might be better if I turn you over, tie your legs to the bedpost,” he said. “I can picture you lying there while my fingers leave a trail of cream up the back of your calves, a touch in the curve of your knee, a dash on the back of your thighs. I'd start at the bottom and lick you clean.”

“My hands?” The words escaped on an exhale, her chest rising and falling as her breathing detoured from calm and collected to erratic and wanting.

“Free to press into the mattress, lift your ass in the air and ask for more.”

And oh God help her, his voice was a low growl.

She felt the truck merge right, slowing down then pulling to an abrupt stop. “Where are we?”

“Salem,” he said.

“What?” How on earth had they ended up in the state capital when all the signs indicated a joyride leading straight to bed and bondage?

“You can take the blindfold off,” he added, a hint of humor replacing his rough, needy tone.

Kat ripped off the bandanna. She blinked her eyes, adjusting to the soft light of dusk. Cars lined the city street. Salem was a world away from Manhattan when it came to metropolitan areas, but it wasn't Independence Falls. She couldn't demand an orgasm in the front seat of his pickup and expect no one would notice.

“Turn the truck around,” she ordered.

Smiling, he took her hand, pulling the bandanna free from her grip. With every touch, her breasts begged to be next, followed by all the parts of her body he planned to cover in whip cream.

“Before we get to dessert, I'm buying you dinner. There is a bistro here called A Taste of Paris that I think you'll like.” Cupping her cheek with one hand, he leaned over and stole a brief kiss. “I'm going to feed you before I tie you to the bedposts.”

“OK,” she murmured. The sexual need lingered, outpacing hunger. But his tone didn't leave room for argument. One hand on the car door, she glanced back at him. “Independence Falls, the ­people there, they don't have a clue about your wild, dirty mouth, do they?”

“No.” His deep brown eyes stared into hers. “Only you, Kat. I'm only wild with you.”