Prescription: Marry Her Immediately

“Next time I’ll stock up on supplies so we can each have our own,” she said.

“I prefer it this way,” Quent murmured.

She stopped trying to deny the heat deep inside her, the tingling in her lips, the inability to think of anything except Quent’s broad chest. She simply had to find an excuse to touch him, just once.

“Are you sure that sweatshirt isn’t too tight?” She ran her hand across his shoulders. “It looks snug.”

“I can’t tell you what that does to a guy.” He set his mug beside Amy’s on the coffee table and clasped her waist. “You’re going to slug me for this, but I can’t resist.”

Amy’s mind went white. Time slowed, and the universe filled with the slow, inevitable descent of Quent’s mouth onto hers.

Her lips parted to welcome him. Despite its tenderness, the kiss jolted her. She swayed toward him until her breasts grazed his chest.

His palms caressed her hips, bringing her closer, then raised trails of sparkles as he stroked up her rib cage. She ought to draw back. Ought to, but couldn’t.

Amy played her hands along Quent’s back, down to that incredibly tight masculine butt. She might never get this chance again, she thought dazedly.

When his tongue explored the corners of her lips, she teased it with light nips that intensified his probing. At the same time, wonder of wonders, his strong, skilled hands slid beneath the waistline of her sweater and smoothed upwards to the swell of her breasts.

She wore only a thin sports bra, a fact that he discovered rapidly. His hands covered the small nubs, arousing white-hot flames that licked through her body.

Was he simply acting like a guy, responding unthinkingly to whatever woman he found himself with? Amy didn’t know, and didn’t want to know. She’d never felt such powerful sensations before.

“Amazing.” Quent drew his head back. “I should have known you’d be…you’d be…”

Whatever he meant to say, Amy was never to learn, because at that moment a huge crash shook the room. It felt as if a bomb had gone off.

She was too shocked to move until cold water blasted her face and tiny pieces of something spattered across her hand. “What on earth?”

With an oath, Quent pulled her away from the couch. “We’d better turn off the power before something catches fire.” He reached down and unplugged the heater. “That’s for good measure.”

There were pieces of white ceiling plaster clinging to her sweater, Amy realized. Her brain still struggled to accept what had happened, but by the time they reached the doorway en route to the fuse box, the truth dawned.

She’d finally kissed the man of her dreams, and the roof had caved in.

Chapter Two

“That’s one heckuva palm tree,” said the fireman, studying the wreckage from the rain-drenched parking lot.

The tree had fallen straight across Amy’s roof, smashing shingles and the gutter. The fire-team members, their bright yellow slickers deflecting the downpour, had thrown a tarp over the roof to protect the contents from further damage, but it was clear the place would be unlivable for some time to come.

“How big do you make it?” Quent asked. “Twenty, thirty feet?”

“Hard to tell. You’ll need to get a private contractor out here to cut it up and haul it away, and you’ll need to board over that hole it made. I’d suggest you contact a roofer as soon as possible.” The man turned to talk to another firefighter.

The sheeting rain and stormy late-afternoon darkness diffused the lights of the rescue vehicles. Their flashing reds and haloed whites reflected eerily off the blacktop.

Holding the umbrella a neighbor had loaned them, Quent strolled to the overhang where Amy stood surveying the mess. “You wouldn’t happen to know a good roofer, would you?” he asked.

“The condo association will take care of it,” she said. “I already called the manager.” Somehow, he saw, she’d managed to snag her purse and cell phone on their way out of the unit. “They’re the ones who carry our insurance and maintain the common roof.”

“We’ve been complaining about that tree for years,” grumbled the middle-aged woman who’d given Quent the umbrella. “I’m glad nobody got hurt.”

“I’m going to ask the battalion chief if it’s safe to go in and fetch some of my clothes.” Amy took the umbrella. “My laptop, too, and some case files I brought home.”

“I’ll talk to him.” Quent swiveled toward the firemen.

“It’s my condo. Besides, those guys have been taking funny looks at your sweatshirt,” she said.

“Huh?” He glanced down in surprise. Darn, he’d forgotten about the pink top and the feminine-looking cat.

“I can handle the situation,” Amy said. “Why don’t you just stand here and look pretty?”

“Why not? I’m so good at it,” he shot back. Her answering grin told him she’d enjoyed the quip.

Despite his remark, Quent would have preferred to take care of business himself, but Amy had already crossed the pavement. Her slim figure managed to be authoritative and sweetly appealing at the same time as she put her case to the man in the yellow slicker.

“Tell Amy to keep the umbrella as long as she needs it,” said the neighbor, and went inside.

Quent stuck his hands in his pockets to keep from obeying his instincts to charge out there and protect Amy. It was obvious she didn’t need his help.

She stood her ground, speaking calmly as the chief listened. A younger fireman, working nearby, kept glancing at her with unconcealed interest. If that guy came any closer, Quent was going to intervene.

It came as a relief when the younger man moved away. Besides, the guy looked too callow for Amy.

Quent hoped he hadn’t annoyed her by grabbing her that way on the couch. After holding himself in check all these weeks, he’d seized his chance so abruptly he hadn’t shown much subtlety.

Maybe it was a good thing they’d been interrupted. Going to bed with Amy would be fabulous, but he wasn’t sure how they could strike the right balance. Relationships, in his experience, had a way of careening out of control.

Several years ago, Quent had nearly become engaged to a graduate student in business. The closer he and his girlfriend grew, however, the more they’d quarreled.

She’d resented his long hours at the hospital, while he’d experienced a spurt of jealousy when he saw her studying with a male friend. Their friendship had degenerated into mistrust and tension that all his efforts had failed to dispel. Soon they’d broken up and gone their own ways.

He didn’t want anything like that to happen with Amy. He didn’t want to lose her, and he knew their relationship would change irrevocably once they became intimate. Yet there’d been a fierceness to her response that stirred him profoundly. The things she could teach him…

He swallowed hard and tried to turn his thoughts to something unpleasant to cool his ardor. Foul-tasting medicine. Tetanus shots. Dr. Fingger, the interim head of the Well-Baby Clinic, wearing his customary prune-sucking expression of disapproval.

The tactic failed, to Quent’s dismay. He knew perfectly well that his cutoffs didn’t hide much of anything. He preferred not to think of Amy’s pals chuckling if she described his awkward groping on the couch, followed by his obvious physical arousal as he stood watching her in the rain like some lustful tomcat.

Oh, heck, Amy wasn’t the kind of woman to make fun of him to others. At least, Quent didn’t think so, but the image of her friends’ mirth succeeded where his discouraging thoughts had failed, and his body came under control.

Amy returned a moment later. “They believe the place is structurally safe but they have to err on the side of caution,” she said. “They’re going to allow me inside for ten minutes. Can you believe that? Ten minutes to collect my gear for who knows how long!”

“Let me help,” he said.

“Great! I’d appreciate it.” She led the way to the wide-open front door. “We’re ready,” she told the battalion chief.

He nodded. “Go on in.”