Page 12 of Saving Love (Pulse Medical #2)

When their eyes met, it was as if James no longer existed.

The pull to walk over was inexplicable, something magnetic that overpowered her usual cautiousness in a social setting.

It didn’t matter that they hadn’t spoken much out of their therapy sessions, Emily just wanted to speak to Bette, to see her smile, to hear her voice.

Was that so bad?

“Excuse me, James,” Emily said quickly, forcing the words out with a smile that barely masked the newfound nervousness twirling around in her stomach. “I’ll be right back.”

She didn’t wait for him to respond or even to acknowledge the confused twist of his brows, she just stepped forward, one leg at a time as she maneuvered through the crowd.

“Bette,” she called, a little too eagerly when she was just close enough away that she wasn’t shouting.

For some reason, it felt so good to say her name out loud.

“Hi. I didn’t expect to see you here. Or I did, but when I didn’t see you anywhere, I thought maybe you weren’t coming, or that you—” she cut herself off before she blabbered on too much.

Her mouth was moving faster than her brain.

“Doctor Sharp,” Bette said, her voice calm and collected as always, but there was a glimmer of warmth Emily hadn’t expected.

Maybe she was glad to see her too. “You look…well, wow.” She paused for a beat, her eyes roaming over Emily’s body and unlike when James did it, this felt completely different, like a compliment rather than an evaluation.

Emily didn’t mind one bit.

“Thank you,” Emily muttered, but then her mouth went dry and her mind blank. She scrambled for something clever to say, but nothing came. She was terribly grateful when Bette said, “Do you want to get something to drink?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Bette’s lips twitched, showing just the faintest hint of amusement, before she gestured toward the bar. “Shall we?”

Emily nodded, falling into step beside her.

It was ridiculous how aware she was of every movement Bette made; the way her suit jacket shifted as she walked, the faint scent of something clean and lavender, and the confidence in the way her shoulders were pulled back as if she was completely at ease in her own skin.

Emily, on the other hand, felt all over the place, hyperaware of every inch of space between them.

When Bette’s arm brushed slightly against hers, leaving what could only be described as a hotspot on her skin, a sound slipped from Emily’s throat.

Bette glanced at her. “Something wrong?”

Emily shook her head. “No… Not at all. Everything is perfect.” She really needed that drink. It seemed the accident hadn’t just taken her ability to operate, it had also taken her confidence.

“You sure?” Bette asked, frowning. “You seem a little nervous.”

“I-I’m not nervous,” Emily said, though her voice was cracking and all of a sudden, her brain was thinking about that tan on Bette’s ring finger and if it meant something.

“Good,” Bette said when she reached the bar. She ordered a whiskey and Emily opted for a double gin and tonic, something that could knock out the flutters in her stomach.

“I’m glad you came tonight,” Emily said, her voice unexpectedly quiet. She wasn’t sure why she’d said it—she hadn’t meant to say anything at all—but now that it was out, she couldn’t take it back.

Bette’s eyes met hers. She smiled. “Me too. Even if it was just to see you in that dress.”

The bartender slid their drinks across the counter, but Emily barely noticed them at first. She was far too preoccupied with the bit of side boob sticking out of Bette’s blazer, her pale skin looking silky soft.

“To being forced to attend a hospital gala,” Bette said, lifting up her tumbler. “And suffering through small talk with an overinflated ego. Not you, of course.”

Emily huffed a laugh and picked up her glass, clinking it against Bette’s. She was just about to speak when someone jostled into Bette’s shoulder from behind, sending her stumbling forward into Emily.

It wasn’t a hard knock. It was barely even a knock at all.

But the sudden closeness was like a shock to Emily’s system.

Bette’s arm brushed against her waist, the heat of her body pressing up against Emily’s side.

It was almost too much. Her brain seemed to register the closeness with a sort of exaggeration, every inch of where they touched was heightened, magnified.

“Sorry about that,” Bette muttered, her voice a little rough. She didn’t immediately pull away, instead her hand lingered on Emily’s waist for a second longer than necessary, fingertips pressing into the fabric of the dress.

“No problem,” Emily mumbled, her cheeks feeling hot and her voice no doubt thick. Whatever that was, it had scrambled her brain and left her chest feeling tight in a way that was both dizzying and addictive.

“Do you want to get some air?” Bette asked, glancing at the ballroom. “Away from all…of this?”

The question was so simple, so inviting, Emily’s head moved of its own accord. Before she knew it, she was following Bette through the crowd. The night air hit them as they stepped outside, and the soft rustle of palm trees and the distant hum of the ocean was all that surrounded them.

Bette led them out of the building, onto a manicured path toward a small garden.

There were hanging lanterns on the trees, their soft glow flickering against the deep green leaves.

It was serene, the island ocean breeze wrapping around them, but Emily barely had time to take it all in when Bette turned to her, brown eyes dark in the dim light, and then, without a single second of hesitation, she cupped Emily’s jaw and pressed their mouths together in a slow, searing kiss that stole the air right out of Emily’s lungs.

Her fingers curled against Bette’s waist, her pulse a frantic drumbeat in her ears. But she didn’t pull away. Couldn’t. Not when Bette was kissing her like that. Like she was something to be unraveled, something worth losing control over.

Bette flipped them around so that Emily’s back hit the stone wall and pressed her entire body against her.

“We probably shouldn’t be doing this, Emily,” Bette breathed, sliding a knee in between Emily’s thighs, giving just the right pressure at just the right place. “We work together. You’re my patient.”

“Who gives a flying fuck,” Emily mumbled out of breath, forgetting all about ethics. There was something far more important on her mind, something serious enough that would warrant this whole thing a complete fuck up if it wasn’t addressed.

“You’re not married, are you?” The words were out before Emily could stop them, but at least her brain was working. She quickly tilted her head down to Bette’s hand. “You’ve got a tan on your ring finger.”

Bette lifted up her hand, the same hand that had moments ago slid along Emily’s waist. She studied it for a second and then two before she said, “Divorced. You don’t mind if we don’t speak about that right now?”

“Of course not,” Emily said, hating herself for even bringing it up in the first place. Without waiting for any awkwardness to set in, her mouth was on Bette’s mouth, her fingers dipping under the blazer, reaching smooth skin.

When Bette stuck her tongue into Emily’s mouth, Emily sent her palm up the woman’s stomach, over her ribcage, all the way to her breasts.

Bette wasn’t wearing a bra, which meant Emily had no more obstacles to manage.

She was just about to palm Bette’s tits, flick her nipples between two fingers.

But before she could, Bette gripped her wrist, tangled their fingers together, and with her free hand, pressed the heel of her palm down on the gusset of Emily’s panties, rubbing harder and harder until Emily could feel a million bursts of energy between her thighs.

Her body was a furnace. Small moans ripped from her throat, getting ever stronger when Bette drifted her mouth down to her neck, kissing her along the nape of her jaw.

But it wasn’t enough.

Not for either of them.

Before Emily could say they should leave, go back to Bette’s place, or better yet find a room in the hotel, Bette was dropping to her knees.

“I’m going down on you.” Bette glanced up at Emily. It wasn’t a question. It seemed completely undebatable. Not that Emily would protest. Not in a million years.

Bette hitched the dress up to Emily’s hips, which she grabbed with shaky fingers and watched as Bette pulled down her panties, letting them pool at her high-heeled feet.

“Lift up your left leg,” Bette instructed, her palm smoothing against the outside of Emily’s leg, her fingers inching ever close to her inner thigh. “And put it over my shoulder.”

It took all of Emily not to shiver and shake, not to stumble away from the wall and lose her balance, not to snap her head back and close her eyes wondering if it was all a dream.

Because how could it not be? Bette Bridge was kneeling in front of Emily, ready to eat her whole.

And in a public space no less. This was the craziest thing Emily had ever done.

Yet, she did exactly as she was told, staring at Bette’s salt and pepper hair as her face drifted closer.

Oh fuck!

That feeling was glorious. The first touch of Bette’s tongue against Emily’s wetness was like no other.

No words could describe it. No feeling could compare.

And then all those other touches—the way Bette’s fingers gripped her thighs, the way Bette’s breath came hot against her pussy, the coldness of the stone against Emily’s back… she could barely breathe.

Bette needed no instruction. She found Emily’s clit on the first try and began circling it with her tongue, over and over again, pressing against that delicious bud of nerves.

“You’re so wet,” Bette muttered, dropping her tongue.

“I fucking love it,” she added, slipping her tongue between Emily’s slick folds.

It was like a game. The more Bette lapped at her, the harder Emily’s hips rolled and then all of a sudden, Bette would stop and move her tongue away, back to Emily’s clit.

The process went on and on until Emily practically started grinding herself against Bette’s face, gripping the woman’s hair for support.

Bette dug her nails deeper into Emily’s thighs, the slight pain of it adding to the pleasure, and then Bette wasn’t just dipping her tongue in and out, or teasing her clit, she was sucking, her whole mouth working over Emily’s burning core.

All of a sudden, out of nowhere, a tidal wave of pleasure slammed right into Emily, almost knocking her off her feet. She groaned so loud, that Bette yanked her head back and looked up at her with wide, panicked eyes. “Ssh,” Bette said,

Emily didn’t care about being quiet. She cared only about what had happened, how she had felt, and how she was going to repay her debts. But then voices sounded around the corner, one raspy and the other sweet and high-pitched. Voices that sound far too familiar.

Doctor Meissner and his wife, Gabi, were heading right for them.

“Fuck!” Emily muttered under her breath, lifting her leg off Bette’s back. She grabbed her panties from her ankles, yanked them back on, and straightened her dress. Who knew what state the rest of her looked like. “We need to go.”

Bette whipped her head back to the garden entrance, her eyes wide but smiling. “You’re right. We need to get back to the gala.”

“The last thing I want is to go back in there,” Emily said, rolling her eyes, unable to keep the smile off her face.