Page 17 of Rescuing Dr. Marian (Made Marian Legacy #1)

FOSTER

The cold water of the shower in the SERA gym did absolutely nothing to cool the fire burning under my skin.

Tommy’s not married.

The words ricocheted around my skull like a pinball, bouncing off every assumption I’d built since leaving Hawaii. Knocking down every wall I’d constructed to protect myself from wanting something I couldn’t have.

He called off his wedding. Because of me.

He’d actually flat-out said, “…kissing you felt more real than anything I’d experienced in ten years with her.”

And his face when he said it—so fucking vulnerable and hopeful and determined—had made me want to kiss him more than I’d ever wanted anything in my life.

Christ . What was I supposed to do now?

I braced my hands against the shower wall and let the spray hit the back of my neck .

I’d spent six fucking months trying to convince myself Tommy Marian was an asshole who’d used me for some pre-wedding experiment. Six months trying to hate him for making me want him when he belonged to someone else.

And still , despite believing I had every reason in the world to be pissed at him, the second I’d seen Tommy again, my whole chest had seized, my heart had fucking fluttered, and I’d very nearly thrown away my own self-respect by offering to fuck around with a man I’d thought was married.

So how the hell was I supposed to resist him now that I knew he was single?

Now that I knew he’d been single the whole goddamn time ?

Now that I knew he was a man who’d chosen honesty over comfort, truth over security, and walked away from a ten-year relationship rather than go through with a marriage that felt wrong?

I had no clue. But one thing I knew for sure was that I did need to resist him.

I wasn’t built for temporary relationships.

I’d learned that lesson the hard way over the years as tourists and seasonal workers came and went from Majestic, as men like Matthew picked up stakes and moved on, brushing the dust of my small town from their boots.

Guys had found me fun enough for a few weeks or a summer, promised to visit or call, and swore geography didn’t matter…

but when push had come to shove, their real lives were elsewhere, and I was just an interlude.

In most of those cases, it hadn’t been a big loss. A sting, maybe. A little bruise to my heart. A few weeks of disappointment.

But with Tommy ?

After a single evening with Tommy Marian—one conversation, a few drinks, two mind-melting kisses, eight hours or less—I’d caught a terminal case of feelings and spent the last half a year all up in my head over him.

So what would happen if I gave in and actually got to know him?

If I spent the next seven and a half weeks trading smiles with him across a canteen table, seeing his hazel eyes twinkle, listening to how much he loved his family, watching him do his job with skill and compassion, and mapping the precise texture of his lips, his skin, and his dick with my tongue?

What would happen if I let myself really, truly fall for him and pretend we had a future together?

Nothing good, that was what.

Because Tommy might have left his high-profile job in Manhattan, but I’d bet anything the California job he’d mentioned applying for was just as fancy. He still belonged in a world of hospital politics and medical conferences that was as foreign to me as Mars.

And I belonged in Majestic, Wyoming, where the air never smelled like car exhaust and the cows outnumbered the people two to one. Where I had family and community. Where my own career was as much a part of my identity as Tommy’s career was of his.

It was hopeless, and therefore, I needed to keep my guard up. That was the smart thing to do.

I turned off the water and grabbed a towel, catching my reflection in the small mirror. My hair was dripping, my skin flushed from the heat, and my eyes were wild .

I looked like a man on the edge of making a very stupid decision.

I dressed quickly in clean tactical pants and a fresh SERA shirt, trying to ignore the way my hands shook as I pulled the fabric over my head. When I arrived at the truck, Tommy was waiting in the passenger seat, staring at his phone.

The drive back to the trailhead was torture of a completely different kind than the trip to SERA had been.

Instead of anger and misunderstanding, the cab was filled with awareness so acute it made my skin burn.

Every time Tommy shifted in his seat, every time he ran his fingers through his still-damp hair, I felt it like a physical touch.

By the time we pulled into the trailhead parking area, I felt like I was going to combust.

“You okay?” I asked stupidly.

“Peachy,” he said before climbing out of the truck. “Despite what some of my fellow instructors think, I’m capable of remaining professional and ignoring distractions. Besides, there’s nothing around to distract me anyway.”

I stared after him as his cold words washed over me. He sounded pissed. He sounded hurt.

Good , I told myself. This was good. It was better this way. Nothing left to do but focus on the job.

I couldn’t focus for shit .

The drill itself went off without a hitch. The “missing kayaker” was an instructor playing the role of a hypothermic victim with a dislocated shoulder—challenging enough to test the students’ skills without being life-threatening.

But despite my earlier bitching at Tommy, this time, I was the one who was distracted as hell.

I kept finding my attention drawn to him as he worked with his medical team.

His confidence as he gave instructions, the gentle manner he used with nervous students, the way his pants pulled tight across his ass when he bent to examine their “patient.” The way he calmed a panicked student who was second-guessing his own decisions with a reassuring “You’ve got this.

Trust your training” that reminded me so much of the voice that had whispered my name in Hawaii.

At one point, he caught me staring and raised an eyebrow in accusation. The slight flare of his nostrils sent heat straight to my groin…

Professional , I reminded myself. Keep it professional.

Easier said than done when every cell in my body was hyperaware of Tommy’s presence.

“Sheriff Blake?” One of my students, a park ranger from Colorado named Marcus, was looking at me expectantly. “The lowering system?”

I blinked, realizing I’d completely zoned out while Marcus was asking about rope techniques. “Right. Sorry. Show me your anchor setup.”

I forced myself to focus for the rest of the drill, but by the time we loaded back onto the bus, my nerves were stretched tight as piano wire. The students were chattering excitedly about the day’s events, comparing notes and asking follow-up questions, but I barely heard them .

All I could think about was the coming evening, when Tommy and I would find ourselves alone again in the cabin.

Dinner in the dining hall had quickly become one of my favorite parts of the day at SERA—good food, easy conversation with fellow instructors and the students, and the satisfaction of a productive day.

But tonight, it felt interminable. I sat at one end of the long table, picking at the grilled vegetables in front of me and trying not to stare at Tommy, who was deep in conversation with Robyn about the next day’s activities.

He laughed at something she said, the sound warm and genuine, and my chest tightened with an emotion I didn’t want to examine too closely.

“You planning to actually eat that or just move it around your plate?”

I looked up to find Trace studying me with knowing eyes. “What?”

“Your dinner. You’ve been pushing the same piece of carrot around for ten minutes.” He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “I sensed some tension out there today between you and the doc.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said automatically.

Trace lifted his eyebrows in surprise before tilting his head at me. “Right. I see.” He glanced down the table at Tommy, then back at me. “Look, I don’t care what you two do on your own time, but this tension is starting to affect the program. The students are picking up on it.”

My jaw clenched. “We’re handling it.”

“Are you?” Trace’s voice was quiet but firm. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re both coiled tighter than a rattlesnake. I can’t decide if you want to punch the guy or sleep with him. Figure your shit out, Foster, whichever one it is.”

Before I could respond, he stood and moved to the other end of the table, leaving me alone with my untouched dinner and his blunt assessment.

Figure your shit out.

The problem was, I didn’t know how.

I could hate Tommy Marian—okay, not really, but I could give a decent impression of it by acting cold and dickish.

I could fall for Tommy Marian in a heartbeat.

But one thing I didn’t know how to do, had never known how to do, was to be indifferent to the man.

My brain couldn’t comprehend the notion of liking him just a little. Of being friendly and casual with him like I was with the students and the other instructors. I didn’t know how to pretend he hadn’t rocked my world six months ago and left me reeling. That I didn’t want him still.

As I watched him laugh with the other instructors, saw the way his eyes crinkled at the corners and the genuine warmth in his smile, I felt my resolve to stay on guard cracking.

These next few weeks were my only chance to be with him. Did I really want to give that up, just to save myself from the pain of letting go of him later?

Wasn’t it going to hurt to walk away from him regardless?

Maybe it was worth the pain if it meant I got to touch him again, to feel that connection we’d shared in Hawaii.

Maybe I was losing my goddamn mind.