Starting with a Kiss

“I wish I could see you in that teddy.” The velvet tones wrapped around her, heated her, excited her.

She prudently kept quiet.

“Abby? Are you still there?”

“Yes, but not for long. Good night, Greg.”

She hung up the phone while she had an ounce of strength left. Pulling the covers up to her chin, she tried to sleep, but the picture in her mind refused to let her relax. Over and over she imagined him making love to her. She knew it would be glorious!

She seemed to know how his hands would feel on her bare skin. She knew they would be hot and electric against her breasts, her belly, her thighs. His body would be hard, sculpted with muscles. Her own hands would trace their outlines, learn his particular shape. Her mouth could explore his skin and learn his taste as he’d be learning hers.

With a groan, she rolled over and pulled a pillow on top of her head. Now she was driving herself crazy.

It rained Wednesday and Thursday and Abby was afraid it would continue through the weekend. She caught glimpses of Greg several times through the rest of the week, though they never had a moment to talk, and he’d never told her why he’d called about the committee.

Friday night when Abby turned the key in the door to her apartment, she wanted nothing more than a hot bath, a quick dinner and bed. She was exhausted! She’d had two difficult cases in the past two days and one emergency at three in the morning.

She had gone directly to work after the emergency and put in a full day. The uncommonly long hours proved difficult, though she usually loved her job. She had worked hard for a long time to attain her present position and wasn’t about to complain about the down-side—though she was tempted. It was times like today that she especially missed Carol. And Jeb.

In earlier times, she would have called them. The three of them would have gathered at their favorite pizza restaurant and regaled each other with the trauma of practicing medicine. Sharing problems always made them seem lighter.

But those days were forever gone.

Kicking off her shoes, she wandered into the bedroom and collapsed on her bed. It was a wide four-poster, covered with a colorful quilt and a mound of pillows. Closing her eyes, she relaxed completely. Long, slow minutes slid by, then, worried she’d fall asleep still fully dressed, she forced herself up and into a bath.

Later, dressed in her most comfortable faded jeans and a loose cotton top, her hair still drawn into a high ponytail from bathing, she fixed a quick omelette for dinner. Revived by her bath and dinner, Abby turned on the television. It was something to while away the hours until bed. She was sleepy—it wouldn’t be long.

When the doorbell sounded, Abby turned down the volume on the television and went to see who it was. She wasn’t expecting anyone. It could be Kim, though she usually had a date on Friday nights.

Or Jeb?

No, surely he’d be out with Sara.

Greg Hastings was the last person she expected to find standing in the hall when she opened the door.

He wasn’t wearing a suit, but dressed comfortably in dark slacks and a baggy tweed sweater. Obviously he’d been home and changed. What was he doing here?