Turn Back Time

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Pearce watched the fire die. The room grew steadily darker and a numbing chill settled upon her. Finally, she roused herself enough to stand up and squint at the Seth Thomas clock on the mantel, one of the few keepsakes she had wanted from her grandmother's home after her death. She could have had anything she wanted from the Main Line estate, but the only other things she'd taken were the photograph albums. When she was young, she and her grandmother had spent hours poring through the albums that had seemed enormous to her then. They had been filled with treasures--photographs of her grandmother when she was a child Pearce's age, images of old-fashioned cars and young men and women dressed in 1920s clothes, mementos of her grandmother and grandfather's courtship, and faded pictures of her grandfather in uniform from World War II. She loved to look at the hospital tents and jeeps with white crosses painted on the side, imagining herself in one of those field hospitals under a sweltering sun with the backdrop of aircraft and mortars for company while she performed life-saving surgery. Each photograph had been a story, and she had always loved her grandmother's stories, no matter how many times she heard them.

Now she kept the albums in a sealed plastic container on the top shelf of her closet, where they would be safe.

The clock chimed once, twelve thirty. She slid the key beside it off the mantel, carefully opened the hinged faceplate, and wound the springs for the hands and the gong. It was a seven-day clock, and every Saturday night she wound it, just as she had seen her grandmother do throughout the years of her youth. It was a ritual that reminded her of the best years of her life. She closed the clock and repositioned it in its place in the center of the mantel. Then she flicked on a wall switch that lit the chandelier in the center of the room and crossed to the bathroom, where she turned on the shower and efficiently stripped off her clothes while waiting for the water to heat. She let the warm water sluice over her injured hand while lathering her hair with the other. She didn't linger in the soothing spray. She had places to go.

"Hey, Rifkin," Mark Perlman called to her. "How about a game of pool?"

Perlman was a second-year surgery resident, and his first rotation upon arriving at Penn had been on service with Pearce. He'd been green and arrogant, a rich boy from Brown who still wore Ralph Lauren polo shirts and fabric belts with ducks on them. Six weeks into his residency he had called her in the middle of the night on the verge of a nervous breakdown, literally weeping because he never got home before ten at night and didn't have time to work out and how was he supposed to study when he didn't have time to sleep? He had said he was going to walk out of the hospital and never come back.

She'd debated telling him to switch to anesthesia or, better yet, internal medicine, but she considered maybe it wasn't his fault that no one had prepared him for what a surgical residency was really going to be like. She'd gone to the hospital, helped him finish his night work, and pretty much held his hand for the next six weeks. He'd adjusted, like most did, and now his arrogance was tempered with a little humility.

And Pearce had earned his undying gratitude.

"Maybe later," Pearce replied, lifting her glass and indicating her beer. She didn't want to call attention to her hand by trying to play pool, and she doubted that she would be able to shoot with her usual proficiency. It was a rare night that she didn't win twenty bucks if she was playing seriously. "I just got here."

Here was O'Malley's, the neighborhood bar two blocks from the hospital and across from the high-rise dorms. Students, residents, and nurses congregated there after work during the week and most weekend nights. She usually made it by a couple of times a week, especially when, like tonight, she wanted casual company and a diversion from the relentless pace of her life. And, she admitted, she'd been too content just relaxing with Wynter to face her empty apartment quite so soon.

"If you change your mind, look me up," Mark said exuberantly. "I feel like winning a few rounds tonight."

Pearce laughed and leaned back against the bar. "Still dreaming, I see."

"Maybe. And maybe not." The thin, sandy-haired man, whom most women considered very handsome with his sharply carved features and brilliant blue eyes, sidled closer to Pearce. "So what's the inside story on the new resident on your service?"

"Story?" Pearce sipped her beer, her fingers tightening around the handle of the glass mug.

"You know--with Thompson. First I heard she's married, but then one of the nurses told me she's divorced."

"Do I look like I'm the newsroom?"

"I just figured you'd know. A couple guys already tried to feel her out, but she kind of blew them off. So I thought I'd give her a--"

"Look," Pearce said so abruptly Mark jumped, "she's a surgery resident. What more do you need to know? She probably doesn't have time for a social life. Go sniff around one of the nurses."

"Some of us don't have your luck," he said good-naturedly.

"Maybe if you tried not to drool quite so much, you'd get somewhere." Pearce wanted him off the subject of Wynter. She'd seen the attention Wynter got from the male residents when they all hung out together in the surgeons' lounge between cases. If they weren't blatantly staring at her, they were striking up a conversation. Circling her, like a pack of dogs around a new bitch in the park. Feeling her out, trying to get a sense of whether she was interested. Pearce hadn't seen any sign of Wynter returning the interest, but she wasn't entirely certain she would recognize the subtle signs between women and men. It wasn't something she usually paid any attention to. Most of the time the men's attention to Wynter made her so antsy, she had to leave the room. She kept having fantasies of stuffing their heads in the freezer.

"Can I ask you something?" Mark asked.

Pearce regarded him suspiciously. He swayed, even though he had an elbow on the bar, and his gestures were expansive, as if he were an actor on a stage playing to the audience seated in the back row of the balcony. He'd clearly had one too many beers. "Are you driving somewhere tonight?"

"Nah. I'm staying at José's over at Forty-second and Spruce."

Pearce made a mental note to make sure that José, another resident, was actually riding herd on Mark. "Where are your car keys?"

"He took him...them." Mark smiled beneficently and bumped Pearce's shoulder. "How did you know you were...you know."

"You mean, like, gay?" Pearce stared at him in astonishment. All the guys pretty much knew her story, because she was certain it was one of the first things they told the new residents when they started. The fact that the chairman's daughter was a fellow resident and a lesbian was too good a topic of conversation not to share. But it was rare for one of them to really ask her about it, other than the occasional joke or innuendo.

"Yeah. That."

"When did you first start thinking about girls like they were different than boys?"

Mark's brow creased as he considered the question. "I don't know.

When I was six, maybe?"

"Me too."

"No shit." Mark grinned. "Cool."

"Yeah." Pearce didn't see any point in disillusioning him. Instead, when Mark ambled away in search of more loquacious company, she watched the crowd, listening to the sound level increase as the night wore on and the liquor flowed. She was nursing her second beer when Tammy walked in. The small, tight-bodied blond cut a path straight through the crowd toward her.

"Hey there," Tammy said, turning sideways against the bar so her inside thigh slipped behind Pearce's leg.

"You're kind of late getting started, aren't you?" Pearce said, aware of Tammy's crotch pressed against her hip.

"Oh no. I've been partying, but it broke up early. We ran out of coke."

Pearce glanced around quickly, but it was already going on two and everyone was pretty well lubricated. No one was listening to their conversation. "You might not want to advertise that." She took a closer look at Tammy's face and saw the pinpoint pupils and the flush that suffused her neck. "How much have you been doing?"

"Enough to get me really jazzed." Tammy snaked a hand around Pearce's leg and cupped her crotch. She squeezed, her thumb working the lower edge of Pearce's fly over her clit. "I'm so horny."

"Chee-rist," Pearce muttered, slamming her beer down on the bar.

She peeled Tammy's fingers from between her legs and kept a grip on her wrist to prevent another grope. "Who did you come with?"

"Alice. I think. Or maybe she left before we got here. We hit a few other places on the way."

Pearce started off into the crowd, Tammy in tow. "We're getting out of here."

"That's exactly what I was hoping."

"José," Pearce called in passing.

"Yo."

"Watch Perlman."

"Yo, boss."

Pearce flagged a cab and they piled into the backseat. She would have walked had she been alone, but there was no way that Tammy was going to make it on foot. As it was, Pearce had all she could do to keep Tammy's hands out of her pants and her tongue out of her mouth. She kept up a steady defense all the way back to her apartment. She tossed the amused cabbie a ten when he pulled up in front of her apartment.

"Thanks."

She pulled Tammy out of the backseat.

"Good luck," the cabbie called.

Pearce could hear him laughing as she slammed the door. She took Tammy's hand again. "Come on. Let's get inside."

Tammy continued her assault all the way upstairs, and when Pearce finally managed to get her apartment door open, Tammy picked up the pace. The instant Pearce closed the door, she was on her, her hands in Pearce's hair, her teeth on Pearce's neck. She thrust her pelvis between Pearce's legs, grinding into her, her breath rasping. "I'm so hot. Mmm, I'm gonna come so hard for you."

"Tam, let's take this over to the couch," Pearce said, jerking her neck out of range and twisting away. She could feel Tammy's pulse hammering beneath her fingers as she continued to hold her wrist. She was willing to bet her blood pressure was through the roof, and the last thing she wanted was to precipitate a confrontation. What Tammy needed was to settle down, not get more excited. "Come on."

"Oh yeah. Better over there. Come on, baby. Hurry." Tammy rushed to the sofa and, the instant they were seated, threw her leg over Pearce's and half climbed into her lap. "Play with my nipples, baby. I love it when you do that."

"Let's go slow. There's no rush," Pearce said soothingly, easing Tammy down beside her and turning so they faced one another. She kissed her gently. "That's nice. Nice and easy."

"I don't wanna go easy," Tammy protested, her hand on her own breast, tugging feverishly. "I wanna fuck. I wanna fuck so bad."

"In a little while." Pearce had seen Tammy like this before--it was one of the reasons they were no longer going out together. Pearce wasn't into drugs, and although she didn't mind when others indulged in a little recreational use, Tammy had been getting in deeper and deeper, and nothing Pearce said could stop her. She knew what Tammy would do when she was like this. She leaned over and pulled a light cotton blanket from the shelf underneath the coffee table and stood up, handing the blanket to Tammy. "I gotta take a shower, baby. Take your clothes off and cover up. I'll be right back."

"You don't need a shower. You're just fine. You always taste so good." Tammy was frantically peeling down her jeans. "Don't go anywhere."

"Get undressed. I'll be right back." Pearce disappeared into the bathroom and locked the door. Despite the excuse to escape, she really did need a shower to get rid of the scent of the bar and the sweat she'd worked up keeping Tammy at bay. She washed her hair again, thinking that she'd had two women who'd been more than willing to hop into bed in the last month, and this time, she hadn't even been tempted.

Tammy was a skilled lover when she wasn't coked out of her mind, and even high, she'd always managed to satisfy. Tonight, Pearce hadn't felt anything except concern and sadness.

When she judged enough time had gone by, she emerged in the robe she kept behind the bathroom door. Tammy was stretched out on the sofa, her body forming a soft curve under the blanket, her head pillowed on her bent arm. Pearce crossed to her and knelt on the floor by her head.

"You shouldn't have left me, baby," Tammy said drowsily, her expression lax, her eyes dazed. "I couldn't wait for you."

Pearce stroked her hair, having counted on this happening. "You feel a little better?"

"Mmm. It was nice and hard." Tammy clasped Pearce's hand. "Do me again?"

"Aren't you sleepy?"

"Feel kind of wrecked. Came forever."

Pearce leaned down and kissed her forehead. "Close your eyes for a while, then."

Tammy rubbed her cheek against the back of Pearce's hand and moaned softly. "You'll stay?"

"Right here."

"All night?"

"Uh-huh."

"Pro...mise?"

"Promise."

Pearce waited until Tammy's breathing grew quiet and her grip on Pearce's fingers loosened. Then she carefully rose and settled on the far end of the couch. Wondering how she had ever been satisfied with these frantic couplings and hasty affairs, she leaned her head back, closed her eyes, and willed sleep to come.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

"Ronnie, honey, don't put that in Winston's hair," Wynter said as she diverted her daughter's spoon. "Here, you two drop these berries in the batter and then you can both stir."

Winston and Ronnie, both still in pajamas, stood on adjoining chairs with a huge bowl of batter between them. As usual, Winston took the task extremely seriously, carefully stirring in the fruit, while Ronnie preferred to use the food ingredients as missiles. Both had red and yellow striped dishtowels loosely tied around their necks as makeshift bibs. Ken and Mina's seven-year-old daughter Janie sat on the opposite side of the table, out of Ronnie's range, playing with a Game Boy.

From the doorway, Mina, in her favorite pink chenille robe and slippers, laughed. "Oh, I can see that reinforcements are needed here."

Wynter smiled gratefully. "Good morning. You're just in time."

"I'm not so sure about that. I can see from the looks of the floor just how well things have been going." Mina skirted around the droplets of batter and crushed blueberries on her way to the stove. "You supervise the rest of the prep, and I'll cook. Just give me plenty of room."

"You sure? We were going to bring you a tray in bed."

"I'm not going to lie in bed when everyone else is having so much fun. Besides, it looks like you made enough batter for three families.

We'll have pancakes for days." She pursed her lips. "Why don't you call Pearce and ask her to come over. We might as well be neighborly, now that we know she lives so close. Besides, it's the least we can do with her getting all banged up helping with the move yesterday."

Wynter felt her face flush. She'd just been thinking that she'd walk over to Pearce's as soon as breakfast was over and she'd cleaned up.

She was looking forward to seeing her away from the hospital. When Pearce wasn't working, she was easy to be around--far more relaxed and surprisingly tender. "I don't have her home phone number."

Mina put her hand on her hip and regarded Wynter skeptically.

"Now I know you can call the page operator and they'll put you through.

All you have to do is say you're one of the residents. Ken does it all the time."

"She's probably busy."

"At seven thirty?"

"Sleeping, then."

"A surgery resident? You all get up early."

Wynter indicated her baggy Yale sweatpants and mismatched T shirt. "Besides, I'm not dressed."

"We're talking breakfast, not..." Mina narrowed her eyes even further. "Go call her, and then take a quick shower. I'll watch this crew."

"Mina," Wynter said with a sigh.

"Go."

"All right." Admitting defeat and not really minding, Wynter headed for the wall phone by the kitchen door. It took her several minutes to reach the hospital page operator, but once she explained that she was a doctor and wanted to be put through to Dr. Pearce Rifkin, carefully emphasizing the Pearce, she was immediately connected. The phone was answered on the first ring.

"Rifkin."

"Pearce? It's Wynter."

"Hey," Pearce replied, obviously surprised.

"I hope I didn't wake you."

"No."

"I know it's short notice, but we're making breakfast over here, and I thought...we thought...Mina and I thought..." Wynter caught Mina staring at her out of the corner of her eye and added hastily, "Why don't you come over? We've got lots. And good coffee."

There was a long silence before Pearce replied, her voice pitched low.

"Thanks. I'd like to, but I--"

Wynter heard someone call Pearce's name. A female someone.

"Oh. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...look, I'm sorry. I'll talk to you--"

"Would fifteen minutes be too late?" Pearce said quickly.

"Uh, no. It would be fine. Are you sure?"

"I'll be there."

Wynter hung up the phone and stood with her hand on the receiver, trying to sort out the awkward conversation. Obviously, Pearce had had someone there. Some woman. Some woman who had spent the night.

"She must have them taking numbers."

"Them who?" Mina asked.

"Oh," Wynter said, giving a little jump. "What? Nothing. I'm going to run and take a shower. Will you be okay for ten minutes?"

"Go. Go." Mina made shooing motions. "I think I can manage."

v "You don't have to hold her, you know," Wynter said, snatching up Pearce's coffee cup just before Ronnie, who was sitting on Pearce's lap, careened her Batmobile into it.

"She's okay." After Pearce had gotten over the shock of having the child climb into her lap and settle in for the duration of breakfast, she was glad to have the warm, sweet-smelling bundle of babbling energy to keep her mind off how good Wynter looked in a pair of tight-fitting blue jeans and a mint green crew-neck sweater. Surgical scrubs had a way of making everyone look asexual, but this outfit left no doubt as to what a great body Wynter had. Pearce tried not to stare, but as long as her heart was beating it would be difficult not to look now and then.

"Did you get enough to eat?" Mina asked.

"I'm stuffed," Pearce said. "It was great. Thanks."

Mina looked from Pearce to Wynter, then pushed up from the table. "I'll make a deal with you two. You walk down to the store and get me a gallon of Rocky Road, and I'll clear the kitchen. Oh, and take little Ms. Tornado with you."

"I'll get your ice cream," Wynter said quickly. "I'm sure Pearce has things to d--"

"Not really," Pearce said quickly. "I've got my beeper, and if I get called, well--I get called. Otherwise, I'm free."

Wynter wondered about whoever was in Pearce's apartment, if she was still there. Maybe she was snuggled in, taking a nap after a long night of...activity. Pearce certainly didn't look as if she'd slept.

She looked like she did after being up all night in the OR. The same shadows and slightly haunted look. Wynter tried not to stare at the pale expanse of skin above the collar of Pearce's blue button-down shirt, but she couldn't resist looking for bite marks. Nor could she deny her relief when she didn't see any. Of course, it could be that this one just wasn't a biter. Or maybe she liked to bite somewhere else. Maybe just above the top of those low-slung black jeans. Wynter shook her head, knowing that she was on the verge of making herself crazy with ridiculous thoughts.

"Something wrong?" Pearce said quietly.

"No. Nothing."

"Would you rather it be just you and..." She nodded her head toward Ronnie.

Wynter smiled. "No. Let's go. It'll be fun to take a walk. I just need a few minutes to get her ready."

"Okay. I'll give Mina a hand."

"You don't have to. You can wait in the living room. Read the newspaper."

Pearce stood, swinging Ronnie up under her good arm as she did so, making her squeal. When she set her down, Ronnie tried to drive the Batmobile up her leg. "Whoa!" Pearce diverted the car before it scored a direct hit. "Go ahead. Mina and I will be fine."

"Five minutes," Wynter said, corralling Ronnie and whisking her away.

Grinning after them, Pearce turned to find Mina staring at her speculatively. She waited, but when Mina said nothing, she asked, "What can I do?"

"Bring me those plates and I'll get the dishwasher loaded."

"Got it."

"Wynter tells me you're her senior resident."

"Technically," Pearce said as she handed off the first stack of dishes. "We're actually the same year, but...well, I guess you know Wynter got a bit behind because of...that business at Yale."

"Mmm-hmm," Mina said noncommittally. "Ken thought about surgery--for about two days."

"Then he saw the light?"

"Then I informed him that he had a choice--more children or surgery."

Pearce glanced at Mina's prominent belly and laughed. "Easy choice."

"Not everyone thinks so." She turned away from the sink and regarded Pearce with a friendly smile. "How about you? Are children in your future?"

"I'm not married."

"That's not a prerequisite."

"I'm also gay."

"That's not a disqualification."

"Ever considered becoming a lawyer?"

Mina chuckled. "I've given it some thought, when the kids are big enough to stay in school all day. And there's no law against not wanting kids, you know."

Pearce stacked another armload of dishes next to the sink. "I didn't say that. Being a surgery resident makes it pretty much impossible."

"It sure makes it difficult, I agree. More so than for most residents."

"Wynter obviously does a good job of it."

"I do a good job of what?" Wynter said, leading Ronnie by the hand. In her red snowsuit, Ronnie looked like a fireplug with feet.

"Everything," Mina said fondly and turned back to the sink.

Pleased to be rescued from the odd conversation, Pearce grabbed her bomber jacket off the coat tree by the back door. "All set?"

"We're ready."

Outside, they walked side by side with Ronnie between them. She immediately took each of their hands and alternated between running until their arms were outstretched and then picking her feet up and swinging back.

"She'll do this until you're worn out," Wynter warned.

"Me? Not a chance."

"Uh-huh. I still want to get a good look at your hand. I noticed you kept it out of sight during breakfast."

"It's okay." When Wynter gave her a hard stare, Pearce amended, "All right. It's much better."

"Will you be able to operate tomorrow?"

"I'll probably beg off doing anything in the OR until Tuesday."

"Won't your father notice?"

"You can take his cases. He'll just think I'm being generous."

"You are generous with the cases."

Pearce shrugged, but she was pleased. "Thanks. And thanks for the breakfast. It beats the...heck...out of Pop-Tarts."

"Oh, you're welcome. I'm sorry it was such short notice. I know you had company." Wynter blushed, having said more than she intended.

"I mean--"

"I couldn't sleep so I went out for a while after you left."

"Uh-huh." Wynter knew she should tell Pearce that she didn't need to explain, but she said nothing.

"I ran into one of the OB-GYN residents at O'Malley's, and she was a little under the weather," Pearce said, wanting Wynter to know it wasn't what she thought. If she thought anything about it at all. Mindful of Ronnie, Pearce said circumspectly, "I couldn't send her home alone, and it was already so late, it just made more sense to bring her to my place."

"Of course." Wynter knew it shouldn't make one iota of difference to her what the reasons for Pearce having a woman in her apartment overnight might be. But she was unreasonably glad.

"I was going to call and explain, tell you to come by later, after she left."

Wynter smiled. "Well, it doesn't matter now. I'll look at your hand when we get back, before you go inside."

"Jeez, you're relentless."

"What did you expect? I'm a surgeon."

Pearce laughed. When Ronnie started making car noises--at least that's what Pearce thought she was doing--she had a sudden idea.

"Look, do you have a few extra minutes?"

"Sure. It's my day off. Why?"

"There's something I want to show you. Ronnie will like it."

Wynter gave her a perplexed look but nodded. "Okay."

They continued a few blocks in silence, and when they passed in front of Pearce's apartment, Wynter refused to think about Pearce's company.

"It's right here," Pearce said, leading the way down a narrow driveway toward a garage at the rear of a lot two houses away from her building. The white concrete structure with the black tar roof had double wooden doors and small round windows above each one. An industrial-scale lock secured the metal clasps, holding them closed.

Pearce pulled her key ring from her jacket pocket. "It stays pretty warm in here, but I have a kerosene heater if you're cold."

"Is this yours?" Wynter asked curiously.

"I rent it."

Pearce pulled open the doors and reached inside for the light switch. Unzipping her jacket, she watched Wynter gaze curiously around. Pearce's Thunderbird occupied nearly half the space. The frame of a '65 Corvair stood on cinder blocks next to it. Workbenches covered with neat rows of tools lined one wall, and an air compressor, jack, and other automotive equipment stood on the floor.

"I take it this is what you do with your spare time," Wynter said, not surprised to see that the space had a certain order and precision, not unlike an operating room.

"It's relaxing." Pearce squatted down next to Ronnie. "These are my cars. They're just like yours, only a little bit bigger."

"Mine," Ronnie announced, pointing to a shelf that ran above the workbench filled with classic car models.

Laughing, Pearce picked her up and carried her to the side of the room. "Which one?"

Wynter joined them. "She probably means all of them."

Pearce took down the replica of her Thunderbird. "You like this one?"

"Pearce," Wynter warned, but it was too late. Ronnie immediately grasped the car and held it tightly.

"Mine."

"Ronnie, honey, that's--"

"She can have it." Pearce leaned against the workbench, holding Ronnie loosely while the child waved her new possession in the air. "I can replace it."

Wynter turned away, feigning interest in the cars, which she knew absolutely nothing about. Pearce had such an easy way with her daughter, and Ronnie looked so sweetly happy that it hurt. It hurt because it should have been Dave holding Ronnie and making her laugh, and she didn't want it to be him. Realizing that only made her own unexpected sense of joy even more confusing. Her throat was tight, and she hoped her voice would sound normal. "You're careful, aren't you? Working in here alone?"

Pearce walked up beside her and put Ronnie down. The child sat at her feet and began to drive the car over the concrete. "I've been doing this since I was just a kid. I'm very careful."

"Did your father teach you?"

"Hell no," Pearce said with a bitter laugh. She glanced down at Ronnie. "Sorry."

"It's all right."

"My grandfather--my mother's father. I spent every weekend with my mother's parents, and some nights during the week too, if my father was working and my mother was busy."

"What does your mother do?"

"She was a microbiologist. She taught at Bryn Mawr."

Wynter heard the careful phrasing and saw the pain in Pearce's eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Hey, careful, you," Pearce said, quickly stepping sideways to block Ronnie's path before she could bump her head on the undercarriage of the elevated Corvair. Then she met Wynter's sympathetic smile.

"Thanks."

"How old were you when it happened?"

"Nine."

Wynter reached for Pearce's hand. She squeezed it and didn't let go.

Pearce resisted the urge to thread her fingers through Wynter's.

Her hand was so warm. So soft. The garage suddenly felt hot and close.

She dropped Wynter's hand and stepped away. "I guess we should go get that ice cream for Mina."

"Yes." Wynter shivered, although she hadn't unzipped her parka, and she wasn't cold.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

"Did you have a good walk?" Mina asked when Wynter joined her in the living room. She'd changed into a loose denim jumper and tie-dyed T-shirt but still wore her fuzzy pink slippers and was ensconced in a rocker surrounded by the Sunday papers.

"It was nice," Wynter said, leaving the door to the adjoining family room open so she could keep an eye on the children, all of whom were sprawled on the rug with their toys and games. "Do you want your ice cream?"

"In a little while." Mina nodded toward the overstuffed chair next to her. "Sit down and enjoy the fire."

Wynter settled back with a sigh and propped her feet on a footstool.

"Is Ken home?"

"Taking a nap. He said he was up all night."

Wynter made a sympathetic sound. "I'm not so sure it's a good thing I have two days off in a row. It makes me realize how abnormal my life is."

"Looked pretty normal this morning," Mina said. "Family breakfast, friendly company, nice quiet walk."

Wynter smiled, thinking just how right that had felt. Spending time with Ronnie. Being with Pearce. Pearce. She had no idea how Pearce had become part of her life outside of the hospital, but she was glad. The last month had brought so many changes, sometimes she felt as if she couldn't keep up. "I just wish there were more mornings like this."

"It won't be forever. You're more than halfway done."

"I know," Wynter said, staring at the ceiling. "It was just so nice to take Ronnie out and spend an hour just having fun."

"You were gone for a while. I was starting to worry."

"Sorry. Pearce took us by her garage where she restores old cars.

Ronnie loved the place."

"If it had anything to do with cars, she would."

Wynter laughed. "I think I'm raising an auto mechanic."

"Well, maybe it's hereditary. That's a lot like surgery."

"If I had the energy, I'd throw a pillow at you."

Mina reached for the cup of tea resting on the reading table beside her. "Pearce was good with her."

"She was great."

"So you all had fun."

"Yes." Wynter felt a ripple of apprehension for which she had no explanation. Almost every minute they'd spent together had been effortless and enjoyable. They'd conversed easily about Pearce's cars and Wynter's family. She'd told Pearce about growing up on a farm, and how shocked her parents had been when she'd said she wanted to be a doctor. Neither was a college graduate, and in their small community, many of the young people still married and settled down within walking distance of their parents. Even the ones who went away to college frequently returned, preferring the quieter life they had grown up with.

Ronnie seemed taken with Pearce. Although Ronnie rarely stopped babbling, she and Pearce seemed able to communicate even without words. Everything had been perfect, and yet the closer they had drawn to Pearce's apartment on the return trip, the less they'd talked and the more heavy the silence had become.

They'd climbed the front porch and stood facing one another, Ronnie between them, one of her small mittened hands on each of their thighs. Their breath hung like mist, an uninvited guest. Wynter had the urge to brush it away, as if it prevented her from seeing Pearce clearly.

"Let me check your hand," she said.

Pearce glanced up at the porch ceiling, as if she could see through the structure. "I'd ask you up, but..."

"No problem." Wynter tried to sound nonchalant, but she knew her words had come out harshly. She smiled to take the sting away. "Let me see your hand. Please."

Without another word, Pearce pulled her ungloved hand from her jacket pocket and held it out, fingers splayed. She slowly made a fist and opened it again. Wynter pulled off her own gloves and stuffed them into her pockets. She kept Ronnie trapped between her knees so she could use both hands to examine Pearce's. She repeated the procedure from the day before, gently probing, flexing and extending each finger, and studying the scrapes and bruises. Finally she was satisfied. "It's still very swollen, but better."

"It'll be okay." Pearce withdrew her hand from Wynter's grip.

"You should get going. It's freezing out here. Have a good one--I'll see you tomorrow."

As Pearce turned toward her front door, keys in hand, Wynter blurted, "What about you? What are you going to do today?"

Pearce gave her an inscrutable look over her shoulder. "I'm going in to make rounds, see what's going on. If I'm lucky, a good case will come in." Pearce glanced down at Ronnie and smiled. "Bye, kiddo."

Ronnie waved her new car and giggled. "Bye, kiddo."

Replaying the scene in her head, Wynter continued to stare at the ceiling. She still couldn't figure out what bothered her. She knew that someone waited for Pearce upstairs, but that didn't have anything to do with her.

"You look kind of lost, honey," Mina said. "Something wrong?"

"No, not really." Wynter frowned. "I guess I just don't know what to do with myself. Too much time on my hands. If you don't mind watching Ronnie, I'll go next door and do some unpacking."

"Want some company? I'll be over as soon as Ken wakes up. He can watch the kids."

"Sure," Wynter said, wondering what Pearce was doing and wondering why she couldn't get her out of her mind. "Company would be great."

v "Where did you go?" Tammy asked petulantly the minute Pearce walked into her apartment.

"Just for a walk. How are you doing?"

Tammy sat up, the blanket falling to her waist. She was nude. "I'm still a little wasted. What time is it?"

"Just after eleven. Are you working today?"

"I'm the night float. I don't have to be in until eight."

Pearce hung her jacket over the back of her desk chair. "You want something to eat?"

"Are you on the menu?"

"Not at the moment." Pearce went into the kitchen to investigate the food situation. Knowing what Tammy was like under these circumstances, eggs would probably do. She opened the cabinet above the sink and was in the process of taking down a bowl when Tammy's arms came around her from behind. Carefully, she set the dish on the counter, ignoring the play of Tammy's fingers over her abdomen.

Without turning around, she said, "Why don't you take a shower? I'll leave some of my sweats for you in the bathroom and by the time you're done, I'll have breakfast ready."

Tammy adroitly opened the button on Pearce's fly with one hand and pulled her shirt loose with the other. "You know I'd rather fuck first and eat later."

Pearce caught both wrists and stopped Tammy's errant explorations. "Cut it out, Tam. You need something to eat, and I'm not in the mood."

Tammy stepped back as Pearce turned around. She stared, mouth agape. "You're not kidding, are you?"

Pearce shook her head.

"Since when aren't you interested in sex?"

"Since right now." Pearce leaned against the counter, wincing when she tried to curl the fingers of her left hand around the edge of the counter.

"What the hell did you do?" Tammy reached for Pearce's hand.

"Jesus. You really did a number on this."

"I jammed it up yesterday."

"How?"

"Just helping someone move." The last thing Pearce wanted to do was discuss Wynter with anyone, but definitely not anyone from the hospital. And not one of the women she used to sleep with. She wasn't exactly sure why, because Wynter was just a friend. A fellow resident.

That's all. But she just didn't want to talk about her.

"Helping someone move." Tammy enunciated each word as if it were a foreign language. "Let me see if I get this right. Pearce Rifkin, the senior surgery resident who never does anything except work and screw, spent her day off helping someone move."

"Come on," Pearce said, grinning despite herself. "I do more than that. I read a book sometimes. I've even been known to watch a movie."

"When?"

"Once. Look, aren't you cold?" It was hard not to look at Tammy's naked body, especially when her nipples were puckered and hard. She had a beautiful body, muscular and compact, her narrow waist leading to subtly curved hips and smooth thighs. Pearce recalled vividly what that firm, smooth flesh felt like in her hands. "Besides, you're not legal, looking like that."

"It's about time you noticed." Tammy slid her arms around Pearce's waist and pressed against her. "Now, where were we before you lost your mind?"

"Tam," Pearce said, embracing her gently and kissing the top of her head. "I really don't want to. It's got nothing to do with you. I've just got..." Wynter. I've got Wynter on my mind. Jesus Christ. What am I doing? Tammy tilted her chin up, studying Pearce's face. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Sure." Tammy's nipples were firm against her chest, Tammy's body warm in her arms. One kiss was all it would take. One kiss and she could lose herself the way she always had in the sounds and sensation of passion. For a few minutes, an hour, there would be no expectations other than pleasure, no goals other than satisfaction.

She could be no one--or anyone--whomever she chose. No legacy, no promises. Just the moment burning bright, and then gone. She eased out of Tammy's grip, resting her hands on Tammy shoulders. "I gotta get over to the hospital."

"I don't care if you're seeing someone else," Tammy said, her tone surprisingly serious.

Pearce's heart began to pound. "I'm not seeing anyone at all."

"You're lying. To me. Or yourself. But I can see it in your eyes.

Somebody's got ahold of you deep inside."

"No," Pearce said hoarsely.

Tammy ran her fingers down the center of Pearce's chest, then put both hands on her waist and stood on her tiptoes to kiss Pearce hard.

Even when Pearce didn't respond, she kept her mouth against Pearce's for a long moment, as if imprinting the taste of her. Then she let go.

"You don't have the slightest idea what a woman can do to your heart. You're in trouble, baby."

Pearce didn't argue.

Wynter hit the knee switch to turn on the water at the scrub sink next to Pearce's. It was the first time she'd had a chance to talk to her in over thirty-six hours. Monday had been the day from hell. They had just begun dry rounds at five thirty in the morning when Pearce had been STAT paged to the emergency room. The entire team had been racing down to the ER when Wynter had been STAT paged to the SICU.

It had been nonstop surgery and emergencies the rest of the day, and the only time she'd seen Pearce had been at sign-out rounds that evening, which were truncated because there were three scheduled cases still to be done. Those cases had been bumped from the OR schedule during the day to accommodate the emergencies, and the attendings were insisting that they be done that night so as not to back up the next day's cases. The entire service had worked until midnight, even the residents who hadn't been on call. Now it was a new day, and it looked like it might be more of the same. "How does your hand feel?"

Pearce glanced around, but the adjoining scrub sinks were empty for the moment. "It hurts like a son of a bitch. I didn't want to operate yesterday, but it held up okay. I was too busy to notice that it hurt."

"It still looks swollen."

"It looks worse than it feels today. Really."

Wynter smiled. "Good."

"You're post call, Wynter. You need to go home. Why are you scrubbing?"

"Because we've got three rooms running, the first-year is taking McMurtry on rounds, and we need someone free to do floor work."

Pearce shook her head. "Anderson can start that mastectomy by herself. When Liu is done with rounds, he can scrub in and help her out. Go home."

It annoyed Wynter that she could only see Pearce's eyes above the surgical mask, and they were flat black disks, completely devoid of emotion. "You wouldn't go home."

"That's different."

"And why would that be?"

"Because I'm the chief, and I don't have a kid waiting for me."

"You can't be serious," Wynter said, her voice laced with acid.

"Are you suddenly going to become a jerk because you know about Ronnie? Like all the male residents and attendings who think that women shouldn't go into surgery because they should be home raising children?"

"What I think," Pearce said, her voice still steady and calm, "is that you were on call last night, and you're supposed to be going home this morning. You should take advantage of that and do whatever you might like to do with your time off."

"You are being a jerk. You never tell the guys to go home."

Pearce stepped on the kick bucket and threw her scrub brush into it. "Maybe I would if they had anything to go home to."

"I'm not leaving."

"Suit yourself." Pearce turned and started for room seven and the carotid endarterectomy that awaited her, not even certain why she was pissed. Wynter looked beat, and it bothered her.

"Pearce," Wynter called.

Pearce turned around, one eyebrow raised in question.

"Thanks."

"For what?" She walked back and leaned one hip against the scrub sink, her hands held out in front of her, the water dripping from her elbows onto the floor.

"For thinking about me...and about Ronnie. I appreciate it. But that's my responsibility."

Pearce blew out a breath, making her mask puff out like a tiny sail in a brisk breeze. When she breathed in, it molded itself to the contours of her lower face. "You're right. It's none of my business. Did you get any sleep last night?"

"A few hours."

"Will you go home after this case?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

Wynter moved closer, keeping her voice low when several residents stepped up to the scrub sinks adjacent to theirs. "My sister called me last night. Rose--the one who goes to law school at Temple."

"Uh-huh? Something wrong?"

"No," Wynter said quickly. "She and her boyfriend are going to the TLA on Friday night to hear Patti Smith. Friends of theirs were going with them, but they can't make it. So Rose is giving me the other tickets."

"That's cool."

"So I was wondering...you want to come with us?"

"Me?" Pearce couldn't hide her surprise.

"Yes. Do you like rock?"

"I like Patti Smith. You sure? I mean...don't you want to ask..."

She couldn't bring herself to say, Don't you want to ask a guy to go with you? because she didn't want to think about that reality. Stupid, she knew. But if she didn't think about it, maybe it wouldn't happen. At least not for a while.

"No," Wynter said firmly, as if she had heard the rest of Pearce's question. "I want to go with you. Okay?"

This time, Pearce's eyes sparkled, reflecting her smile. "Yeah.

Okay."

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Thursday was turning out to be a repeat of Monday. They'd barely finished morning rounds when Wynter was paged to the ER to see a patient with a cold foot. Sure enough, the sixty-eight year-old diabetic, a feisty, birdlike man who watched everything she did with bright, blinking eyes, had a pale, numb, pulseless right foot.

The STAT arteriogram she ordered revealed occlusion of the superficial femoral artery just above the knee with minimal collateral flow.

"You've got a blockage in the main artery that goes to your foot, Mr. Samuels," Wynter explained. "You're going to need an operation to remove it. You might also need to have a bypass or some other kind of graft to help widen that area so it doesn't get blocked again."

"Will it work?"

"Most of the time it does. Sometimes the artery will go into spasm and clot off or little bits of debris from the inside can float downstream and cause problems in your toes, but--"

"What happens if you don't fix it?" he asked impatiently, waving one hand as if chasing away flies.

"You're going to lose your foot."

"Well then, why don't you get started?"

"Yes sir. I'll do that." With a small smile, she picked up the wall phone and asked for Margaret Chung, the vascular surgeon, to be paged. Dr. Chung was a young surgeon who allowed the residents a fair amount of autonomy. She answered within five minutes, and Wynter explained the situation.

"Is Rifkin still on service?" Margaret Chung asked.

"Yes."

"Call her and tell her to give you a hand until I get there. Some tractor trailer dumped a load of hams on 95, and I'm going to be about forty-five more minutes."

"Will do. Thanks." Wynter redialed and asked the operator to find Pearce. Then she advised the patient of the plans. "Is there someone you want me to call?"

"You can call my daughter when you're done fixing things."

"She might want to be here before you go to surgery."

He shook his head. "She'll just fuss and worry. Worse, she'll probably cry."

"Well, it's a daughter's prerogative to cry over her father if she wants to. Would you rather she fuss a little bit before surgery, or fuss a lot afterward because we didn't call her?"

"You think that's the way it will be?"

Wynter laughed. "Oh, I can guarantee it."

With a long-suffering sigh, he relented. "Well then, go ahead and call her. But if she doesn't want to come in right away, that's just fine."

"Yes sir. I'll tell her that."

Wynter found his contact information on the chart, asked the operator for the outside number, and was listening to the phone ring when Pearce pulled the curtain aside and stepped in.

"What's up?" Pearce asked.

Wynter covered the receiver and said hurriedly, "This is Mr.

Samuels. His arteriogram is on the board over there. He's got an acute occlusion of the right superficial femoral and a badly ischemic foot....

Hello? Mrs. Rice?"

"Huh." Pearce looked at the films and then walked to the side of the stretcher. She held out her hand. "How are you doing? I'm Dr.

Rifkin. I need to take a look at your foot."

"Why not? Everyone else down here has."

Pearce grinned. "Yeah, but we're the only ones who count."

Mr. Samuels eyed her guardedly. "Don't they have any men doctors anymore?"

"There are a few around. We let them in when we can't find enough good women." As Mr. Samuels snorted and tried unsuccessfully to hide a laugh, Pearce lifted the sheet and placed her hand lightly on the top of Mr. Samuels's foot. It had the consistency and temperature of refrigerated chicken. "How long has it been like this, sir?"

"Since right after supper last night."

She looked up and met his eyes. "Your foot's in a bit of trouble here. You know that you need surgery, right?"

"The other doctor there explained it to me. You two planning on doing something about it?"

"We're going to take you up to the operating room and get things started. By then, Dr. Chung will be here. She's the vascular surgeon who will be in charge. Are you okay with that?"

"Have you ever done this before?"

"A few times." Pearce still held his gaze.

"You think you can be done before lunch? That one," he said, gesturing to Wynter who had hung up the phone and now stood with her arms folded, watching the conversation, "said I can't have anything to eat or drink."

"She's right. I can't promise you lunch, but you should be able to have dinner. Did you take any insulin this morning?"

"No."

"All right. We'll give you some sugar through the intravenous line while you're sleeping and insulin when you need it." She looked over her shoulder at Wynter. "Do we have labs and a consent?"

"We're just waiting on his CBC. I'll get his consent now. Then we're good to go."

"I'll meet you upstairs." Pearce patted Mr. Samuels's thigh. "See you later."

"See you, Doc." He leaned back and closed his eyes. "Did you talk to my daughter?"

"She's on her way."

"Good."

Three hours later, Wynter carefully rotated the tiny bulldog clamps that occluded the femoral vessel on either side of the opening they had made to remove the embolus. Then they had widened the narrowed area by meticulously suturing in a dime-sized vein patch. She studied the sutures she had just placed under Pearce's supervision. Dr. Chung had scrubbed out after Pearce had completed the first half of the anastomosis, leaving them to finish up.

"It looks pretty good, don't you think?" Wynter said.

"It's a thing of beauty," Pearce agreed. "Now let's see if it works."

She raised her voice and angled her head over the top of the ether screen. "We're going to take the clamps off now. You might see a little dip in his blood pressure."

"Go for it. He's stable," the anesthesiologist said.

"Okay," Pearce said to Wynter. "Let's see if your stitches will hold."

Carefully, Wynter released first the distal clamp to allow outflow and then the proximal one to allow the full force of the arterial pressure to stress the area of her repair. At first, thin rivulets of blood seeped between her sutures, but as her heart rate escalated into the stratosphere, the leakage quickly stopped. The artery danced in the depth of the wound as if resurrected. Not yet ready to celebrate, she said, "Can someone feel under the drapes and see if he's got pulses in his foot?"

"Stop worrying," Pearce whispered too softly for anyone else to hear. "It's perfect. You did a great job."

The circulating nurse called, "Plus four pedal and PT pulses. And his foot's warm."

Wynter looked across the table into Pearce's eyes. They were alight with pleasure, and--she couldn't be certain, but she thought- pride. "Fucking A."

"You got that right," Pearce said with a laugh. She glanced at the clock. "I've gotta go scrub on that hemicolectomy with the chief. You okay here?"

"I'm fine, but you're post call. Shouldn't you go ho--"

"Nice job, Doc." Pearce turned from the table, stripped off her gloves and gown, and was gone before Wynter could lecture her about never going home.

v Three and a half hours later, Pearce rolled her patient into the recovery room. She carried the chart to the counter at the nurses' station to write the postop orders. Ten stretchers with barely a foot between them lined the opposite wall, one nurse for every two postoperative patients. X-ray technicians trundled through with their heavy portable machines, shooting postoperative films. Lab techs swarmed around the beds collecting blood samples, and EKG and respiratory techs jockeyed for space around the patients, who were dwarfed by the plethora of monitoring devices and equipment.

Pearce was used to blocking out the cacophony of sound and the buzz of activity, so she wasn't aware of anyone nearby until her father spoke.

"I'd like to speak with you outside in the hall, Doctor."

Pearce finished writing the order she was working on and looked up. "Of course. I'll just be another minute with this."

Ambrose Rifkin, who somehow managed to look commanding even in rumpled scrubs, nodded. A minute later, Pearce joined him just outside the intensive care unit. Neither of them spoke until they walked to the far end of the corridor out of earshot and sight of visitors. If patients' family members saw them, they were likely to be accosted with questions. It was only natural that family members thought that the physicians' only concern was for their loved ones and that physicians were always available to discuss their care. It made accomplishing the work of the day difficult, however, unless one rationed one's time carefully.

"I'd like to speak with you about Dr. Thompson," Ambrose Rifkin said.

Pearce's stomach instantly tightened. "What about her?" She knew she sounded defensive, but she couldn't help it. Her immediate instinct was to protect Wynter.

"I need to know what your--"

"Look. She's an excellent resident. She's smart, she's got great hands, she's good with the pa--"

"If I may finish."

Pearce flushed. "Sorry."

"You've worked with her more than anyone else. What's your opinion?"

For a second, Pearce was confused. Somehow, she had expected him to confront her about something else. Something personal. But then, why would he? "My opinion?"

Ambrose studied her with a sharp, appraising expression. "You seemed to have quite a few of them just a moment ago."

"Oh. You mean what kind of a resident is she. She's great." Pearce repeated her previous assessment, trying to sound as objective as possible. "Why?"

"In confidence," he said, "I just learned that the Residency Review Committee has approved us for an additional slot. We can finish one more resident beginning next year. I intend to speak to Thompson this afternoon about moving her up a year so we won't lose that advantage."

"That's great," Pearce said immediately.

"You do realize that means more competition for the chief surgical resident slot."

Pearce smiled grimly. "I'm not worried."

Her father did not smile, but his eyes flashed with what Pearce hoped was pride.

"Your confidence is apparent. We'll see if it's warranted."

"Yes, we will," Pearce whispered as he turned and walked away.

v Wynter left Ambrose Rifkin's office at 6:45 p.m. She was on call, and she needed to get dinner before the cafeteria closed or else she'd be relegated to eating vending-machine food until midnight dinner.

Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn't had lunch. But as hungry as she was, the only thing she wanted was to find someone to share her excitement with. Suddenly, she wasn't looking at almost three more years before she finished, she was only looking at eighteen months. It felt like she'd been given a reprieve from a life sentence with no possibility of parole. She hurried toward the surgeons' lounge, and then, heart sinking, she realized there was no reason to rush. The only person she wanted to celebrate with was Pearce, and Pearce would have left hours ago.

As she slowed and turned the corner, she saw a familiar figure leaning against the wall just outside the women's locker room. Her heart leapt. "Pearce!"

Pearce grinned. She'd been waiting, hoping that she'd catch Wynter after the meeting. "You look hap--" She stopped when Wynter raced toward her. As if she had done it a thousand times, Pearce opened her arms and Wynter flew into them. Lifting Wynter's feet a few inches off the ground, Pearce held her around the waist and spun her in a half circle. When she set her down, they were both laughing, their bodies pressed together and arms entwined.

"I guess you saw the chief, huh?" Pearce said. "Congratulations."

"You knew?" Wynter said in astonishment.

"Just a little while ago. I didn't want to spoil it for you."

"Isn't it great?"

"Terrific." Pearce gave her a squeeze. "I'm really glad."

"You're okay with it?" Wynter asked softly. "I mean, we'll be in the same year now."

Several residents passed by, but Pearce never even gave them a glance. Wynter was still holding on to her, their bodies pressed together, their foreheads nearly touching. She marveled at what happiness did to Wynter's eyes, making their blue irises blaze with an untamed excitement that captivated her more deeply than any lust she might have encountered in another woman's gaze. Wynter's pure and simple joy gave her more pleasure than anything she'd ever known. She wanted to kiss her. She wanted to breathe in her pleasure and ride her wild joy.

She wanted to be the source of that happiness every bit as fervently as she wanted to taste it.

"Oh, baby, of course I'm okay with it," Pearce murmured. "You deserve it."

Wynter's lips parted and she stared into Pearce's eyes. Then she whispered gently, "Thank you," and eased away until their embrace broke. She felt Pearce's arms drop from around her waist and saw Pearce's expression shutter closed, but not before she had seen what was in her eyes. In the few seconds before Pearce brought her iron will to bear, Wynter had caught a glimpse of the same naked craving she had seen there once so long ago. But this time, the desire had been far more intense. This time, Pearce wasn't a stranger who took her by surprise and whisked her away to an isolated corner to sweetly seduce her with a moment of respite and escape from a life that suddenly seemed unbearably foreign. This was a woman she knew and respected and cared for. And she understood in that instant, more clearly than she ever had before, that Pearce was a woman for whom it was natural to desire the touch of another woman. She felt it in the fine trembling of Pearce's body and witnessed it in the arousal that had fleetingly escaped the mask Pearce usually wore. Wynter knew that she had finally seen Pearce Rifkin.

"I haven't had anything to eat for hours," Wynter said quietly.

"Can I treat you to dinner across the street? I think it's my turn."

"I...uh..." Pearce was a bit dazed. She'd come close to crossing a line, and she wasn't even certain why she hadn't. She'd been with women since she was seventeen years old, and some of them had been straight and a few had been married. She didn't have any political or philosophical objections to it. Her body couldn't help responding to Wynter, and she sensed--as she had the very first time they'd met- that if she pushed just a little bit, Wynter would be willing. But she just couldn't do it. She drew a ragged breath. "Thanks. I...I think I'll take a rain check. I've still got a few patients to see."

Wynter hid her disappointment behind a smile. "And you're still post call, and you still should be going home."

"I will. Promise." Pearce started walking backward, putting some much-needed distance between them. "I'm just going to check a few X-rays and I'll be gone."

"Don't forget about the TLA tomorrow night," Wynter said.

Pearce hesitated, knowing now was the time to break the spell before Wynter's hold on her grew any stronger. She hadn't been able to think of anything else all week except Friday night and being with Wynter, and being around Wynter was beginning to hurt. Idiot, she muttered.

"What did you say?" Wynter called.

"I said..." Pearce took a deep breath. "Don't worry. I'll be there."

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Wynter tilted the cream-colored silk lampshade rimmed with fringe the color of warm caramel toward the broad, bevel edged mirror above her bedroom dresser. Both items had been in her family for generations, and she'd come to love them even though the lamp didn't provide much light, having been designed for an era when a muted glow that softened the features was desirable. Squinting, she assessed the damage wrought by the previous sleepless night on call.

Judiciously applied makeup had covered the worst of the fatigue lines and blunted the obvious shadows beneath her eyes. She'd had a nap when Ronnie had finally tired in the midafternoon, and they'd both fallen asleep while she'd been reading Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

"I don't know, honey," she murmured to Ronnie, who sat in the middle of the floor intently covering pages of her coloring book in bright primary colors. "Clinique might not be enough tonight."

Ronnie held up a Jackson Pollack reproduction with exuberant pride.

"Beautiful!" Wynter proclaimed. "Maybe I should try crayons instead of blush. Maybe then I won't resemble the walking dead."

She jumped when a voice behind her said, "Maybe you should stay home and get some sleep."

Wynter turned, a hand on her hip, and gave Mina an arch look.

"You're the one who's always telling me I should get out more."

"And it's true, but I didn't mean after you'd been up for thirty six hours." She dangled the house keys in her right hand. "You didn't answer your bell, so I let myself in." She indicated the mug in her hand.

"Then I made tea."

"Sorry. We were taking a bath."

Mina sniffed and murmured appreciatively. "I just love the smell of baby powder."

Wynter laughed. "I actually feel fine. I slept some this afternoon.

Besides, I've been looking forward to this all week. There's no way I'm not going."

"You look nice," Mina observed as she took in Wynter's brown leather pants, matching boots, and forest green silk blouse. Small square emerald earrings set in gold glinted through the strands of her red-blond hair, which she wore loose and down to her shoulders.

"Thanks."

Mina turned at the sound of a shout from below. "That's Ken. The kids were getting ready to watch a movie, and they're probably getting impatient."

"Stay there, I'll bring Ronnie down." Wynter collected Ronnie and her coloring books and led her by the hand from the room. A few minutes later, she returned. "Thanks for watching her tonight. You've got her all week and then--"

"Kids are like dogs," Mina said. "After two, what's one more? You might as well let her sleep the night and just come over in the morning to get her. If you don't sleep in, you can have breakfast with us."

"That sounds great." Wynter made a few final adjustments to her hair.

"So," Mina said as she made her way around a pile of unpacked boxes to the bed and lowered herself with a sigh. "Is this a date?"

Wynter grew still. "I'm going with Pearce."

"I know that, but that's not what I asked."

"We're friends."

"Uh-huh." Mina sipped her tea. "Do you remember when you and Ken were medical students, and we invited you over to dinner for the first time?"

Wynter smiled. "Yes."

"That was my idea."

"That was really nice of you."

"Not really."

Wynter studied Mina curiously. "What do you mean?"

"I wanted to get a look at you. You were Ken's study partner, and he spent hours with you every day--more than he spent with me. He talked about you all the time. I wanted to see if you were competition."

"Me?" Wynter's eyes went wide. "You're serious?"

"Of course I'm serious. Men and women don't usually form simple friendships, not if they're both straight. The sex thing gets in the way."

Mina set her tea aside as the sentence hung in the air.

Shocked, Wynter protested, "But I never...Ken never once--"

Mina laughed and held up her hand. "I know that now. But I didn't know that then. I wanted to see if there was a situation brewing that I needed to take care of."

"Is there a reason you're telling me this story now?"

"Pearce is a lesbian, sweetie. You might be thinking of her just as a friend, but chances are she's not thinking about you in the same way. If you went out on a Friday night with a single man, you'd at least be thinking about it being a date--or that he might consider it one, wouldn't you?"

"Well, yes. Probably." Wynter remembered the look in Pearce's eyes the previous evening. She remembered how easily their bodies had fit together. How naturally. "What are you saying, Mina?"

"Pearce is probably thinking the same thing, or at least wondering.

So sooner or later, you're going to have to be clear with her."

Wynter picked up a small glass prism and turned it between her fingers, studying it as if there were secrets hidden within the rainbows trapped inside. At length she looked up to find Mina watching her. "I almost kissed her once."

Wynter had rarely seen Mina surprised by anything, but the expression on her face now was one of total incredulity. Finally Mina managed an intelligible word.

"When?"

"Match Day."

"Almost four years ago?" Mina shouted.

Wynter nodded.

"And you're just telling me about it now? If I thought I could catch you, I'd get up and thrash your butt."

"You couldn't catch me even when you're not pregnant."

"Don't you try me." Mina crossed her arms beneath her full breasts. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Wynter set the prism carefully back on her dresser. "It was all over in a few minutes. A few minutes that I couldn't even explain myself. I just didn't want to ruin them by trying to." She lifted her hands and let them fall helplessly. "We met by accident, and it was as if there was a connection between us that had always been there. Being with her felt totally...right."

"What about now?"

"It still does."

The doorbell rang.

"That will be Pearce," Wynter said.

"We're not done with this," Mina warned.

"I know," Wynter said softly. She grabbed her full-length dark brown leather coat from the back of a nearby chair, hurried to Mina, and kissed her cheek. "Good night."

"Have fun, sweetie."

Wynter smiled gratefully. "Thanks."

Once downstairs, Wynter rushed to the front door, gathering her keys and wallet from the sideboard in passing. She felt irrationally happy, excited, as if the evening held endless possibility. All she knew for certain was that she was going out with Pearce, and she was going to have fun. She was going to listen to Patti Smith rage, and feel her blood stir, and not think about a single thing that life demanded of her.

She pulled open the door and instantly forgot everything she had just been so sure of.

Pearce wore black. Tight black jeans, heavy black motorcycle boots, a black T-shirt, and a black motorcycle jacket cut in at the waist and wide at the shoulders that accentuated her powerful build. Her thick black hair was slicked back, her high cheekbones knife-edged above an angular jaw. This was not the Pearce Rifkin she was used to.

This woman exuded something exotic and dangerous and alluring.

"Hi," Wynter said, feeling suddenly bereft of normal speech.

Pearce smiled. "Hi." She reached out and fingered the blond strands that were trapped between the collar of the leather coat and Wynter's throat. "Your hair looks nice down like this."

"Thanks." Wynter's vision narrowed until all she saw was Pearce's face. Then just her mouth, lips parted and intoxicatingly full.

Neither woman moved. The very tips of Pearce's fingers rested against the pulse that beat erratically in Wynter's neck. Wynter leaned ever so subtly into her caress.

Pearce traced her thumb along the edge of Wynter's jaw and let her eyes drift downward, taking in the leather duster, the long legs sleekly encased in softer sheaths of leather, the hint of green silk calling to her like a cool mountain glade on a hot summer day. She'd barely slept the night before, the memory of Wynter in her arms tormenting her all night long.

Mina came up behind Wynter, her gaze traveling between them.

"If you all don't want those tickets, Ken and I will take them, and you two can stay here and babysit."

"Not a chance," Wynter said, her eyes never leaving Pearce's face.

Pearce smiled and gently moved her hand away. She looked past Wynter. "Hi. How are you doing?"

"Other than the fact that I'm getting too big to get out of my own way, I'm just fine. Now, if you two could move along, I'll close up over here and go find out what trouble my husband has gotten himself into with those children."

"All set?" Pearce asked, unable to keep her eyes from Wynter's face for long. Looking at her was the only thing that eased the ache that had set up permanent residence in the center of her chest.

Wynter put her hands in her pockets before she touched Pearce somewhere, anywhere. And she couldn't. Not when there was so much she didn't understand. She cared about Pearce too much for that. "Yes.

I'm ready."

"My car's around the corner."

Wynter followed Pearce down the stairs, Mina's question resounding in her mind. Is this a date? Of course it wasn't. Was it? v "There they are," Wynter said, pointing into the crowd that milled around on the sidewalk in front of the Theater of the Living Arts on South Street.

Pearce looked where Wynter pointed and saw a woman who had to be Wynter's sister Rose, since she looked like her carbon copy, only slightly shorter. Rose was glued to the front of a surprisingly scruffy guy in a black leather jacket that looked very much like Pearce's. He had a diamond stud in his left ear and blue jeans that were torn out in the ass. Rose had her arms around his waist, both hands stuffed into his back pockets, and was squeezing said ass. "Tell me he's a law student too."

Wynter laughed. "He's a drug counselor when he isn't playing bass in a rock band."

"Interesting combination."

"Apparently it's working for them. Come on," Wynter said, grabbing Pearce's hand. "Let me introduce you."

If Rose was surprised by Pearce's presence, she didn't show it.

She smiled and extracted one hand from her companion's jeans and held it out. "Hi. I'm Rosie, and this is Wayne."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Pearce."

"Good to see you," Wayne said in a surprisingly mellow baritone.

Further conversation was curtailed as the doors opened and the crowd surged forward. Pearce and Wynter fell in behind Rose and Wayne in the haphazard line. Wynter held tightly to Pearce's hand, and in a few minutes the crowd had poured itself into the theater, from which all the seats had been removed on the main level. It was standing room only in the dark, warm space. Staircases on either side led to a balcony area where a few tables stood along the railing, but most of the area on that level was filled with people standing as well.

"It's really jammed," Wynter shouted above the din.

"We're going to go upstairs," Rose said, struggling for balance when someone unintentionally bumped her hip in passing. "We'll meet you after, if we don't see you up there."

"Okay." Wynter looked at Pearce. "Upstairs or down?"

"Your call," Pearce replied, automatically sliding her arm around Wynter's waist and pulling her close as two men with plastic cups of beer sidled past them.

"What do you say we stake out a place on the stairs?"

Pearce nodded as Rose and Wayne disappeared. "We'd better move fast."

Plenty of people had the same idea, but luckily they found two open steps halfway up along the wall. Pearce claimed the upper one and Wynter wedged in on the one just below her, leaving barely enough room for people to pass next to them. They shed their jackets and stashed them against the wall by their feet. The security staff, men and women in black T-shirts and jeans who shouted into walkie-talkies as they pushed through the throng, looked the other way despite the fact that standing on the stairs was in violation of code. The entire theater was wall-to-wall people by the time the warm-up band bounded onto the stage.

Wynter, her back lightly cushioned against Pearce's chest, tilted her head back against Pearce's shoulder. "You okay?"

"Terrific." Pearce steadied herself with a hand on either side of Wynter's hips when another person crowded onto the stair just behind her. As soon as she regained her balance, she quickly moved her hands.

"Sorry."

"No need to be." Wynter's face was very close to Pearce's. As the band started to play, she said, "I'm really glad you came tonight."

"Me too," Pearce shouted before all conversation became impossible.

Waitstaff, against all odds, managed to snake their way through the packed room holding aloft circular trays laden with bottles of beer.

Pearce snagged two, tossing what she hoped was a ten onto the tray before passing a bottle to Wynter. Unlike most openers, the first band was better than good, and forty-five minutes later the crowd was primed for the main attraction. When Patti Smith hit the stage growling, lean and hungry in leather pants and a faded Dylan T-shirt, the room was seething with the contagious energy of sex and booze and rebellion.

Wynter rocked against Pearce as she clapped and stomped, her body hot against Pearce's chest and stomach. The sounds were primal, the words prophetic, and Pearce was on fire. By the time Patti screamed that desire was the hunger, Wynter's hips pressed and rolled between Pearce's legs so hard that her mind filled with the red haze of arousal.

She had no conscious awareness of sliding her arms around Wynter's waist or of Wynter clasping her hands and tightening the embrace. When Patti proclaimed that the night was made for lovers, Pearce buried her face in the curve of Wynter's neck and breathed her scent, her mouth open against sweat-dampened skin. Moaning softly, she surrendered to sensation, content to have just this small, sweet surcease. But it was Wynter who wanted more.

At the first touch of Pearce's mouth against her neck, Wynter turned molten inside. Patti roared, the crowd raged, and Wynter soared to a place she'd never been. She arched her back and, without a single thought, pivoted and wrapped her arms around Pearce's neck. She fisted her hands in Pearce's hair and feasted on her mouth as if she'd been starving for years.

Pearce kissed her back, unable to do anything else. She'd wanted this for weeks. Wynter's mouth was hot, soft, and demanding at the same time. Wynter's tongue raced over the inside of her lips, and her stomach twisted with urgency. When she heard Wynter groan and felt the telltale rocking of Wynter's hips, some part of her mind separated itself from her wildly demanding body. She found herself looking down at them as if from a great distance, saw Wynter carried away on a wave of abandon, and she suddenly knew she had to stop. She had to stop it, because she understood the consequences.

"Hey," Pearce gasped, turning her head away from the kiss and brushing her lips over Wynter's ear. "I'm losing my grip here."

"Oh God, me too," Wynter moaned, nipping lightly at Pearce's neck. "I've been wanting to do that since Match Day."

Pearce fished in her pockets for her keys, and pressed them into Wynter's hand. "Take my car home. I need to take a walk."

Uncertain, Wynter searched her face. "Why? What is it?"

"This isn't Match Day anymore." Already slipping into the crowd, Pearce shook her head. "I gotta go, Wynter."

Wynter leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes. Her body was in turmoil, her mind incapable of rational thought, but somewhere, deep inside, she knew Pearce was right.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Pearce cut across the small lobby, ignoring the curious stares of the staff, and shouldered through the door. She carried her jacket hooked over her shoulder, not slowing for even an extra second to shrug it on. The heat from the simmering crowd and the unrelenting arousal chased her, propelling her as if she were besieged. It was nearly 11:00 p.m., and the biting cold never even registered in her mind as she strode west, forcing her way through the teeming streets. Even now, in the dead of winter, the nightlife pulsed along the twelve-block stretch of South Street extending from Penn's Landing on the Delaware River.

Boutiques, bars, tattoo parlors, and fast food kiosks jammed every available inch of real estate. Packs of teenagers jostled and preened, taking their first steps in the age-old mating rituals. Curious out-of towners gawked and the locals strolled. And Pearce ran.

She had only one goal in mind, and that was to put distance between herself and Wynter. She needed some space to resurrect her shattered defenses. She'd known that going out with Wynter tonight was a risk. She'd known for days, weeks in fact, that she'd been pretending.

Pretending that her attraction was controllable, her desire containable, and most dangerously of all, that Wynter was available. But she hadn't had the strength to walk away, and now she had to run. She wondered how far and how long it would take to run from the memory of Wynter's hungry kisses, the firm hot pressure of her body, the small sounds of pleasure that had cut through her with the deadly precision of surgical steel. Farther than she had yet, she knew that.

She weaved unseeing through the oncoming Friday night crowds, barely aware of crossing the streets with or without the lights. Her thin shirt stuck to her chest, drenched with the sweat of desire and despair.

She almost expected it to be blood.

The University Hospital was thirty blocks west, and she covered the distance in just over thirty minutes, arriving weak-limbed and panting.

She fumbled for ID in her wallet, although it wasn't necessary. All the guards knew her. If the two at the main entrance were surprised by her appearance, they didn't show it. She went directly to the elevators and rode up to the locker room. It was empty, as it usually was in the middle of the night. The residents were either busy on the floors or operating, and the only OR personnel around were occupied with the nonstop flow of emergency cases. Pearce opened her locker with trembling hands and methodically stripped off her boots and clothes. She pulled on clean, soft scrubs, stepped into her shabby, blood-spattered clogs, and went in search of forgetting.

Her first stop was the ER, where she perused the whiteboard that covered one wall. It was divided into a series of rows and columns with the cubicle numbers on the left-hand side, followed by the patient name, attending ER physician, and a shorthand chief complaint. She studied the list. Back pain, cough, earache, painful urination, abdominal pain.

Abdominal pain. Bingo.

"Hey, Henry," Pearce said when she found the ER attending putting on a cast in the treatment room. "What's the story with the abdominal pain?"

The heavyset African American didn't even look around as he smoothly rolled the three-inch strip of plaster of paris around the soft padding he had applied to an elderly woman's wrist. "Sixteen-year old basketball player who said he thought he pulled a groin muscle during practice two days ago, but today he lost his appetite and spiked a temp."

"White count?"

"22,000."

"Ouch. X-rays?"

Henry Watson straightened with a grimace but smiled at the white haired woman in the wheelchair. "All done. How does it feel?"

"Much better. How long will I have to wear this thing?"

"That's going to be up to your orthopedic doctor," he said, "but I imagine about six weeks."

"Oh my. That's going to make it difficult to shovel if it snows again."

He pressed his lips firmly together, apparently trying not to laugh, and nodded seriously. "You might need help with that." He patted her shoulder and motioned to Pearce to follow him back into the hall. When they moved a few feet down the corridor, he said, "I hope I'm worrying about shoveling when I'm eighty-seven."

"Yeah. Me too."

"So what are you doing down here? I called for a surgery consult, but I didn't expect to see you."

Pearce shrugged. "I happened to be in the neighborhood."

"Uh-huh. Well, while you're passing through, why don't you go lay your sainted hands on that boy's belly so I can get him out of here.

We're backed up until next week."

"I'll take care of it."

Henry grunted his thanks and walked away, and Pearce went in search of the chart. When she found it, she skimmed it quickly to make sure there wasn't anything else she needed to know and then went to see the patient. She introduced herself to Rodney Owens and explained that she wanted to take a look at his abdomen.

All one hundred ninety pounds of Rodney Owens turned bright red as he clutched the thin hospital sheet to his chest. "I don't think there's anything wrong with my stomach."

"Really? Your chart says you came in complaining of abdominal pain."

"It's not exactly my abdomen. It's more...like...lower."

"Lower. Lower like in your groin?"

He nodded vigorously. "Yes. My groin. That's it."

Pearce leaned her hip against the side of the stretcher and tucked the chart under her arm. "Groin as in the inside of your leg or groin as in your testicles?"

"Those," he said faintly.

"Ever had any problem there before? Like a hernia?"

He shook his head.

"Any recent trauma? Maybe during the workout a few days ago?"

Another headshake.

"Swelling?"

"No," he whispered.

"So is it one or both that hurt?"

"Just the right one."

"Okay. Let's have a look at your belly first."

Rodney let go of the sheet, and Pearce pulled it down to his hips.

She lifted the stethoscope that was draped over the blood pressure apparatus and put it on the upper left quadrant of his abdomen, then moved it until she had covered the entire surface.

"Quiet in there," she said as she tossed the stethoscope onto the counter. "I'm going to press, and you tell me if it hurts. Okay?"

"Okay."

She followed the path she had previously traced with the stethoscope, probing deeply and letting go rapidly. Rodney showed no evidence of direct or rebound pain until she reached the right lower quadrant, where she felt an infinitesimal tightening of his muscles. She looked up. "Does it hurt here?"

"Just a little."

She didn't feel a discrete mass, but there was a suggestion of fullness in that area. "I'm going to take a quick look at your groin just to make sure there's no problem. If anything hurts, tell me."

Rodney stared resolutely at the ceiling while she palpated each testicle.

"Doesn't seem to be any problem here." She pulled the sheet up and turned to wash her hands. "Are your parents here?"

"Just my mom. I think she went to get a soda. What's wrong with me, do you think?"

"I think you've got appendicitis."

"Then why does it hurt...you know."

"Probably because your appendix is irritating the structures on the inside of your abdomen, some of which lead down to that area. We call it referred pain."

"So I'm going to need an operation?"

"I think so. But it won't be a big deal, and you'll be as good as new in a week or so." Pearce dried her hands and tossed the paper towel into the wastebasket. "I'm going to go find your mom, and then I'll be back."

Thirty minutes later she was wheeling Rodney to the operating room, doing what she did best, and hoping that the challenge of fishing Rodney's appendix out through the laparoscope would be enough to keep her mind off Wynter. She hurt down deep, a little bit like Rodney, but her referred pain struck straight to the heart.

"God, wasn't that fabulous," Rose crowed when Wynter finally found her and Wayne in the lobby.

"It was great," Wynter agreed.

Rose looked around. "Where's Pearce?"

"She had to leave." Wynter tried to sound nonchalant, but she could tell by the expression on her sister's face that she had failed.

When, murmuring something to Wayne, Rose took her by the arm and dragged her a few steps away, Wynter steeled herself. The last thing she wanted to do was talk when her mind was a jumble of questions and her body felt like it belonged to someone else. She'd never reacted to anyone that way before. She didn't want to talk or think until she recognized herself. Maybe then she could make sense of what she'd done.

"What's going on?" Rose asked.

"Nothing. Really. Pearce just needed to leave. I have her car, so I'm fine. You two go on home."

Rose pulled Wynter farther into the corner out of the way of people streaming toward the doors. "Did you have a fight?"

"No."

"You work with her, right? I wasn't paying all that much attention when you said you were bringing a friend."

"Look, Rosie--"

"So why are you so upset if nothing happened?"

"Can we talk about this some other time? I'm really beat. I worked all night last night, and now--"

Rose folded her arms and looked as if she were settling in for a siege. "I never see you, and you're always too busy to talk on the phone. You and Dave get divorced, and then you show up here two months ago without even telling me you're coming. We get together for the first time in forever and you go from being on top of the world to looking like..." Rose squinted and peered into Wynter's eyes. "You look like you're going to cry. Jeez, what did she do to you?"

Wynter's throat burned and she was terrified that she would cry.

She never cried. "She didn't do anything. But I think I might've done something stupid."

"Like what? God, you didn't do drugs or anything did you?"

"No, nothing like that," Wynter said, her voice edging upward toward what she feared might become an hysterical laugh. "I'm a mess, I kissed her. She was upset."

"You kissed Pearce? As in a serious kiss kiss?"

Wynter nodded.

"Is she gay?"

Wynter nodded again, but she was thinking about the kiss. About the way Pearce's body had tightened against hers, about the scrape of teeth over her lips and the hungry plunge of tongues, about the possessive hands that had cupped her butt and tugged her close. She shut her eyes, hoping it would stop her head from swimming.

"Holy. Holy holy holy. So what...are you gay?"

Wynter opened her eyes. "I haven't thought past her. I can't seem to think about anything except her."

"Jeez, Wynter. Maybe you should."

"Yes," Wynter said wearily. "Maybe I should."

v Rosie made Wynter's excuses to Wayne, and Wynter walked to the car, hoping against hope that she would see Pearce somewhere along the way--tucked into a doorway, her ankles crossed and that grin on her face that was an irresistible combination of amusement and cocky self-assurance, or leaning against the Thunderbird, waiting as she had been just the previous evening. Thirty-six hours that felt like forever. Her life was divided into thirty-six-hour segments, it seemed, a repetitive cycle from which she could not shift back into the routine that most of the world followed. She'd never been able to explain her work, or what it demanded of her, to anyone who hadn't experienced it. Now, that sense of alienation extended to the very core of her. She could say the words. I kissed her. It was simple enough. She even knew why. She'd done it because every atom in her body had been drawn to Pearce from the instant they'd met.

There was no one waiting at the Thunderbird except a couple of young men who stood on the sidewalk admiring its sleek lines and dazzling chrome.

"Yo, lady," one of them said. "Some fine ride."

Wynter unlocked the driver's door. "It is, isn't it."

"Your old man do the restoration?"

"Not exactly." Wynter slid in and took a few seconds to acquaint herself with the gauges and gears. Fortunately, she wasn't intimidated by anything mechanical, and although she hadn't driven anything quite like this before, she knew that she could. She pulled out carefully at the first sign of a break in the traffic that crawled down the two-lane, one-way thoroughfare and quickly headed for one of the less populated streets to return to West Philadelphia. She didn't want anything to happen to this car.

Once she felt comfortable, she fished around in the deep pocket of her leather coat and found her cell phone. She had Pearce's cell programmed in, just as she had the numbers of all the other residents on the service, and they had hers. She tried the number, her heart hammering. When she got voicemail, she didn't leave a message. What could she say? What had she intended to say if Pearce had answered? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to kiss you? No, because that wasn't true. She hadn't thought about it, she hadn't made a conscious decision to do it, but she'd meant it.

She disconnected and pushed one on the speed dial for the most important number in her life, the hospital operator. When the call was answered, she identified herself and asked to be put through to Dr.

Pearce Rifkin's home number.

"I can do that, Doctor, but Dr. Rifkin is here in the hospital. Would you like me to page her for you?"

"Yes, please," Wynter said. She wasn't surprised, now that she thought about it. Pearce rarely spent any time at home even when she wasn't on call. She felt a surge of irrational relief that Pearce hadn't gone to O'Malley's or some other place looking for a diversion, then laughed at her own self-deception. Pearce could find all the company she needed in the hospital if she wanted it.

As if to prove the point, a woman came on the line. A woman who wasn't Pearce.

"Are you paging Dr. Rifkin?" the woman asked imperiously.

Wynter tried desperately to place the voice. She thought she would recognize Tammy's, because they ran into each other a fair amount in the OR lounge. Andrea she wasn't too sure of. She snapped, "Yes I am.

This is Dr. Thompson."

"Dr. Rifkin is scrubbed in the OR. Would you like to leave a message?"

"No. Thanks." Wynter disconnected and put the phone back in her pocket.

She rubbed her eyes, feeling them burn with frustration and fatigue. Whatever she was going to say, she had to say in person. Pearce deserved that.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Wynter slept fitfully. The new house was too quiet with Ronnie gone. With just the two of them now, Wynter kept both of their bedroom doors open to monitor the small sounds her daughter made in the night. The bedroom was hot, stuffy, and she irritably kicked off the covers in a light doze. Her skin burned, despite the damp film of stress sweat. She was used to this anxious half sleep from being on call, when every night resembled this one; but usually when she was home, she slept like the dead. Tonight, her mind wouldn't stop racing, replaying every minute of the evening until she was once again in Pearce's arms, their mouths and bodies cleaved. Each time she relived the memory she grew aroused, her thighs tight and her stomach twisting with need.

At 5:00 a.m. she finally got up, showered, and went next door to Mina and Ken's. She let herself in and crept quietly up the stairs to the room where Ronnie slept with Winston when she stayed overnight.

When Wynter peeked in the room, she saw what she expected: Ronnie was awake, carrying on an earnest and animated one-sided conversation with a stuffed rabbit. Winston, apparently used to Ronnie's early morning monologues, slept on. Stepping carefully over toys, Wynter scooped Ronnie up and tiptoed out. She left a quick note in the kitchen for Mina, writing one-handed while she balanced Ronnie on her opposite hip.

On the short trip home, she said, "How would you like to go out to the diner with Mommy for breakfast, honey?"

Ronnie and the rabbit thought it was a great idea. Thirty minutes later, with Ronnie washed and dressed and carrying Mr. Bunny, Wynter buckled her into the child seat in the rear of her Volvo wagon and headed for the Melrose Diner in South Philly. Open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, it was a perfect place for a fast meal and a chance to think. Unfortunately, by the time she returned home an hour and a half later, her stomach was full but her head was no clearer.

She took Ronnie inside and settled her on the bed with her favorite books and toys while she curled up next to her with a newspaper. It was all for show, because she couldn't concentrate on anything. Fortunately, Ronnie required little in the way of focused conversation. When her cell phone rang Wynter snatched it up, trying not to be disappointed when she recognized the number.

"Hi, Mina," she said.

"I take it that really was you who kidnapped our little darling before sunrise this morning."

Wynter couldn't help smiling. "Guilty. Are you interested in the ransom demands?"

"Of course. How much are you going to pay me to take her back?"

"I don't think I've got enough saved." At that moment, Ronnie crawled into her lap and closed her eyes. "However, right this minute, she does resemble an angel. Maybe we could negotiate price."

"Must be nap time."

"You've got it." Wynter nuzzled the top of Ronnie's head, soothed by the smell of Johnson's Baby Shampoo and innocence.

"How come you didn't stay for breakfast?"

"It was early. I knew we'd just wake up the whole house."

"Did you eat?"

"We went to the Melrose."

There was a moment of silence. "The Melrose. On a Saturday morning."

"Uh-huh."

"Something happen I should know about?"

"How do you do that?" Wynter closed her eyes and stroked her daughter's soft hair.

"Doctors, especially surgeons and anesthesiologists, are creatures of habit. You have very few and very predictable responses to stress.

Ken eats ice cream out of the carton by the gallon and forgets about sex.

You go to the Melrose and brood."

"Ken really forgets about sex?"

"Get Ronnie settled. I'm coming over."

Wynter was in the kitchen making tea when Mina arrived. She looked over her shoulder and said, "Do you want some toast?"

"I'm fine. So tell me what happened, and don't dance around."

"We went to the concert," Wynter said as she carried two mugs of tea to the table. "It was wild. I don't know if it was that place or the music or the fact that I haven't been out on a date in years, but I..." She stopped and stared at Mina. A date. "Well. I guess that answers your question from last night."

Mina sipped her tea and said nothing.

"I felt so good. A little bit crazy. She put her arms around me and every nerve in my body fired at once." She smiled, remembering how alive she'd felt. "I turned and kissed her. I couldn't seem to get enough of her." Her voice drifted off as she tried to recognize herself in that kiss and failed. Confused, she met Mina's warm, kind gaze. "I think I scared her. She left in a hurry, and I haven't talked to her since."

"Were you scared?"

"Scared." Wynter tried the word on for size, then shook her head.

"No. No, I wasn't. Or uneasy or embarrassed. I was just...nuts for her."

Mina drummed her fingers lightly on the tabletop, a slight frown of concentration breaking the smooth contours of her forehead. "It's funny, the things we don't know about our friends. I've known you, what? Going on eight years, maybe?"

Wynter nodded and pushed her tea aside. Her stomach had tied itself into a knot.

"Have you ever been with a woman before?" Mina asked.

"No," Wynter said softly.

"Ever wanted to?"

"If you'd asked me three months ago, I would have said no."

Wynter looked at Mina, but her gaze was unfocused as she searched the past. "I always had a lot of friends growing up. Our community was small and pretty tight. All the kids hung out together in one big social group all the way through high school, boys and girls both. We didn't pair off the way a lot of kids seem to do. I thought of boys as friends first, I guess, and boyfriends second. Naturally, I was closer to my girl friends."

"So you never had any indication that maybe you liked girls as more than friends?"

"No," Wynter said, but she sounded uncertain.

"What?"

"I told you about Match Day. I bumped into Pearce," Wynter smiled, "literally. She looked a little younger and tougher then. Still just as beautiful as she is now, though. I just kind of got lost in her." She looked at Mina and shook her head, unable to find the words to describe what she felt. "I just wanted to be with her. When she started to kiss me that day, I wanted that more than I'd ever wanted anything in my life. It made no sense, and I never even questioned it."

"What happened?"

Wynter snorted. "Dave called at the critical moment. And I suddenly realized that I was about to kiss a woman who happened to be a total stranger. I left her there, and I didn't see her again until a couple of months ago."

"But you thought about her."

"Yes."

"That way."

"Yes. Sometimes. For just a second, and then I'd brush it away."

Wynter sighed. "I was pregnant when I met her, Dave and I were ready to move to Yale and start our residencies, and I thought it was just a fluke. Just a moment of perfect insanity."

"Like last night."

Wynter shook her head. "No. Last night was a thousand times better."

Mina laughed. "Woo-ie, you are in a bad way."

"This is serious, Mina. Pearce was really upset. She walked out of the concert in the middle of the night, left her car, and went to the hospital."

"She's probably scared right down to the tips of those big black sexy boots of hers."

Wynter frowned. "Why?"

"Oh come on, sweetie. You're a divorced mother, straight as far as everyone including you can tell. She probably thinks you're just...

playing--you know, experimenting."

Wynter rose quickly and strode to the sink, dashing the now-tepid tea into the drain so forcefully it splashed out. "That's ridiculous. I would never do that."

"Well, she probably doesn't know that."

"Well, she should."

"Honey," Mina said, rising slowly, "you might have to do some explaining. Because I'll tell you one thing. She's got a serious case for you."

Her heart racing, Wynter asked softly, "You think?"

"I know. It's written all over that beautiful face of hers."

v As soon as Mina left, Wynter retrieved her phone from the bedroom, called the page operator, and asked for Pearce.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Rifkin has signed out for the day."

"Sorry, didn't I say Pearce Rifkin? She's on call for the chief's service," Wynter said, knowing Pearce's schedule as intimately as she knew her own.

"Just a moment."

Wynter tuned out the background chatter of the page operators, four women who occupied a glassed-in booth on the first floor opposite the admissions office. Most of them looked like they'd been with the hospital since the first brick was laid, and they knew every person on staff by name. She was certain they could tell stories that would top the New York Times Bestseller List for years.

"Dr. Rifkin is not on call today. Dr. Dzubrow is covering for Rifkin's service."

Wynter frowned. She was certain Pearce was scheduled to be in house today. "Can you page her to--"

"She left word that she would be off beeper for the entire day. Do you want to leave a message in case she calls in?"

"No," Wynter said slowly. "Thanks."

She closed her phone and stared at nothing, wondering what to do.

One thing was certain, she'd go crazy if she had to sit around all day wondering where Pearce was and what she was doing, and with whom.

She glanced at the leather coat she'd dropped over the rocker next to her bed, then idly scanned the dresser where her wallet and keys and...

Pearce's keys...lay jumbled together. She opened her phone again.

"Mina? I'm sorry. Do you think I can bring Ronnie over for an hour after she wakes up?"

"Chloe is coming by with her kids, so we might as well make it a party. Bring her by whenever."

Just after noon, Wynter walked down the narrow driveway toward the garage where Pearce kept her vehicles. Both doors were open, and somewhere in the cavernous space, Patti Smith wailed about the night.

Wynter unzipped her parka and removed it when she stepped inside.

The CD was so loud that Pearce couldn't have heard her coming even if she hadn't been almost entirely underneath the body of the Corvair. All that was visible were the bottoms of her blue jeans and the soles of her scuffed workboots. Wynter knelt down, contemplating how to announce herself without startling Pearce. As if sensing her presence, Pearce shifted one booted foot to the concrete floor and propelled the dolly on which she'd been lying out from underneath the car. Wordlessly, Pearce turned down the portable CD player by feel, then lay on her back on the wooden slab looking up at Wynter, who leaned over her from two feet away. A smudge of grease streaked Pearce's cheek just below her left eye, and there was a small scrape on her chin. She wore no jacket, only a stained gray T-shirt that had pulled free from her jeans.

They stared at one another until Wynter reached down and wiped the grease away with her thumb. Then she brushed Pearce's chin adjacent to the scrape. "Didn't anyone ever tell you that you shouldn't lead with your chin?"

"You should see the other guy."

"I parked your car across from your house."

"Thanks."

"I can't stay very long. Mina's got Ronnie, and I need to spend time with her on my day off."

Pearce sat up and straddled the dolly, her legs kicked out in front of her, her hands resting between her parted thighs. "Good. I understand."

Wynter knelt on the cold hard floor and framed Pearce's face with both hands. "I don't think you do. I don't know that I do. But we need to talk about last night."

"Wynter," Pearce said quietly, remaining still although her every instinct screamed to get up and back away. Or finish what they'd started the night before. "You're a great person. Terrific. But we can't...get involved."

"Why is that?"

The muscles in Pearce's belly quivered, a rush of heat raced along her spine, and everything she had figured out in the last six hours as she'd welded and winched and created order out of disorder began to slip away. Every reason why that kiss had been a mistake seemed negotiable now that Wynter was here and she could see her eyes and hear her voice and feel the warmth of her hands. "Too complicated," she finally managed to rasp.

"I agree with you there," Wynter said gently. She leaned forward and lightly kissed Pearce on the mouth, then drew back. "Just checking."

"Checking what?" Pearce's chest rose and fell as if she had been running for miles.

"To see if kissing you still made me want to climb inside your skin." Wynter drew her fingers over Pearce's mouth. "It does."

"Jesus, Wynter." Pearce closed her eyes. "You're straight. You've got a kid. We're both residents, and it would take about three days before everyone knew we were fucking. I don't have time for a relationship. I don't even want a relationship." She opened her eyes. "And I'm done sleeping with women who are sleeping with men."

Wynter leaned back on her heels and rested her hands on her thighs. She held Pearce's gaze and said very clearly, "The last one is easy. I'm not sleeping with anyone at all." She took a deep breath. "The other ones are a little more problematic, except for Ronnie. She's a given. I don't know if I want a relationship either. I don't know if I'm straight. I don't know if I'm not. As to who knows what about anything we're doing, I don't care." She pressed her hands harder against her thighs to hide their trembling. "Your turn."

"No strings. No promises. We see what happens." Pearce reached behind her, found the body of the car, and used it to push herself up. She rested her backside against it, because her legs were shaking. "That's all I've got to offer."

Wynter stood, took a step forward, and pressed full length against Pearce. She put her arms around her neck as she had the night before and kissed her. Unlike the night before, she took her time, starting with a light play of the tip of her tongue over the surface of Pearce's lower lip. When she felt Pearce's arms come around her, she slicked her tongue inside just a fraction--in and out again--forcing Pearce to chase the kiss, to follow with her tongue. They teased and tangoed, back and forth, deepening the kiss until they were both moaning. Finally, Wynter braced her hands against Pearce's shoulders and pushed away, panting.

"No strings. No promises. We see what happens." She turned and retrieved her jacket from the floor. "Come to dinner tonight. Seven o'clock."

Then she walked away.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Pearce waited until Wynter reached the end of the driveway and disappeared from sight before slumping to the floor, her back against the side panel of her Corvair. She sat with her legs straight in front of her, her hands in her lap, her head back, eyes closed. Her lips tingled. Her face was hot, the thermal imprints of Wynter's hands branded in her skin. One breath. Two. She still couldn't get enough air.

Her stomach was tense, her chest constricted.

Wynter had taken her by surprise the night before. Pearce knew that she'd invited the kiss with her unconscious embrace, but she hadn't been prepared for the intensity of Wynter's reaction, or her own response. Wynter's mouth, her hands, had been insistent, taunting and sweet and unapologetic. Pearce was used to women who made their needs clear, and usually she had no problem giving them what they wanted, taking her own pleasure in the process. Last night, her instantaneous and uncontrollable arousal had disassembled her. She'd craved Wynter's touch with the desperation of a drowning woman clawing her way toward the ocean's surface. She felt the same way now, and it scared her in more ways than she could count.

All her life she'd had one goal--to fulfill her father's expectations.

His requisites had never been spelled out for her, because they'd never needed to be. From the time she was aware of herself in the world, she'd understood her heritage and her destiny. Nowhere in the design had there been room for anything other than ambition and accomplishment.

No blueprint for love, no roadmap for a relationship, no outline for life other than a professional one. She did have the model of her parents' marriage, which appeared to be have been one of mutual convenience and polite propriety, absent of passion or real companionship. She'd learned her lessons well.

The superficial liaisons she'd allowed herself satisfied her needs and never interfered with her aspirations. In less than five months, she'd be the chief surgical resident at one of the premier institutions in the country and on her way to achieving everything she'd set out to accomplish. Everything that was expected of her. Everything that she wanted. Success was within sight.

She opened her eyes to the empty garage, seeking the familiar to remind her of who she was. But she could still see Wynter's face. Still hear her voice. Still feel her. And that was not part of the plan.

No strings. No promises.

Whatever it took, that's the way it had to be, because there was no room in her life for complications or diversions. And if she doubted that, she had only to remind herself that Wynter was very likely to wake up some morning and realize that she'd let her body overrule her senses.

And then she'd be gone.

"Just let it play out and don't take it too seriously," she muttered as she pushed herself to her feet. Satisfied that she had things under control, she ignored the thrum of excitement that lingered in the pit of her stomach. Dinner was just dinner. Everyone had to eat.

v The phone rang just as Wynter was sliding a roast into the oven.

She caught it on the fourth ring. "Hello?"

"Hey, whatcha doing?"

She smiled at the sound of her sister's voice. "Cooking dinner."

"What's the Little Princess doing?"

"You're the only one who calls her that, which just proves you haven't been doing enough babysitting."

Rosie laughed. "I hear you."

"At the moment, she's trying to push SpaghettiOs onto her fingers.

She thinks they're rings."

"Oh, that sounds so cute."

Wynter glanced over at Ronnie, who had spaghetti sauce in her hair, on her face, and all over the kitchen table as far as her arms could reach. She smiled. "Pretty much. Oh, wait--you should say hi." She held the phone for Ronnie. "It's Aunt Rosie, honey." Ronnie made excited conversation for sixty seconds and then lapsed into silence.

Wynter took over again. "So, what's up?"

"That's what I was calling to ask you. What's happening with Pearce?"

"We talked."

"And?"

"She's coming to dinner tonight."

"Your idea?"

"Uh-huh."

"Do you have ulterior motives?"

Wynter ran water in the sink to wash potatoes and carrots. "Such as what?"

"You know what what. You already kissed her. Are you planning on doing more?"

"I don't know. Maybe. We agreed to see what happens."

Rosie snorted. "Oh please. That's what everyone says when what they really mean is, let's hop into bed at the first opportunity."

"Is that right?"

"Yes, it is, and you're only hedging because Pearce isn't a guy."

"Don't you think that makes sense?"

"I don't know. Does it? You've already kissed her. That kinda cancels out the guy thing, don't you think?"

Wynter moved Ronnie's empty dinner plate out of reach and draped a damp dish towel over her daughter's hands. As she methodically wiped each finger, she said, "I'm attracted to her. I don't know what that means beyond that fact. Maybe nothing will happen."

"What about last night, then?"

"I hadn't planned it. I just...did it without thinking."

"You're not usually impulsive."

"No. I'm not. I've never had a chance to be."

"What if it turns out you're gay?"

"Is this really why you called?" Wynter picked Ronnie up, cradling the portable phone against her shoulder. "Come on, honey. Bath time."

"I guess," Rosie said after a pause. "I mean, I just never suspected...

you never said anything like maybe you were."

"I haven't been keeping secrets, Rosie," Wynter said, hearing the hurt in her voice. "I would've told you."

"Honest?"

Wynter smiled. "Honest. I never thought about it. I was in school, then I was married, then the residency started. Then it all went to hell. My life was either too busy or too crazy to think about much of anything."

"Your life's still pretty crazy, you know."

"I know. She's just coming for dinner."

"Uh-huh. Yeah. Sure."

"Would it bother you?" Wynter sat Ronnie on the closed toilet seat, handed her a bath toy to keep her occupied, and knelt to untie her sneakers. "If it turns out that maybe I am?"

"Would it bother you?"

"I don't think so. Mom and Dad pretty much raised us to believe that people's private lives are private." Wynter tugged off Ronnie's corduroy overalls. "I'm not naïve enough to think it would be easy, but that's never stopped me. You didn't answer my question."

"You know, we never got to talk very much after you went away to school, and I only saw you and Dave a few times a year at holidays.

But you never looked particularly happy to me."

"It wasn't all his fault," Wynter admitted, pulling Ronnie's T-shirt off over her head. "He's a horse's a--" she glanced at Ronnie, "behind, but I wasn't paying very much attention to what I needed or wanted."

"You looked happier last night than I can remember since high school."

"I was."

"So why would it bother me?"

Wynter closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Thanks."

"I love you. I gotta go study. Wayne's got a gig tonight, and I promised I'd be there."

"Have fun."

"You'll tell me when something happens, right?"

"If something happens."

"Uh-huh."

"I love you too. Go study." Wynter set the phone aside and cuddled her daughter. "Ready for a bath with Ducky?"

Ronnie nodded yes, accompanied by quacking sounds for emphasis.

As Pearce climbed the steps to Wynter's new home, it occurred to her that she had never had a dinner invitation like this before. She didn't date. She had neither the time nor the inclination. Most of the time she fell into bed with someone she bumped into at O'Malley's or crossed paths with in the middle of the night in the hospital. She didn't take women to the movies, she didn't go with them to concerts, and she didn't spend Saturday nights in their homes. But here she was.

She shook her head, wondering exactly how Wynter managed to get her to do things she'd never done before. Deciding there was no point in trying to figure out why everything had always been different with Wynter, she rang the bell.

A minute later, Wynter answered, a scrubbed and pajamaed Ronnie in her arms. "Hi. I was just putting her to bed. Come on in. I'll just be a minute."

"Hi." Pearce noted that Wynter looked just as good in her casual jeans, sneakers, and red open-collared shirt as she had in leather the night before. Realizing she was staring, Pearce held out a bottle of wine. "A housewarming present."

"Thank you." Wynter held the door wide. "Do you remember where the kitchen is?"

Pearce nodded, adding a bit shyly, "And something for Ronnie."

She passed the box containing Bob the Builder's Wooden Race Track set into Ronnie's outstretched arms. "Here you go, kiddo."

"Oh," Wynter said with a laugh. "You're in trouble now. She'll never go to bed."

"I suppose it's too late to take it back."

"Way way too late." Wynter leaned forward and kissed Pearce's cheek. "That was sweet."

Pearce wondered if Wynter could tell that the slightest touch from her made Pearce vibrate like a tuning fork snapped against the side of a table. She was surprised the air around her wasn't moving. "It's just a little thing."

"Would you mind very much setting it up for her while I put the last few touches on dinner?" Wynter smiled sheepishly. "I know it's probably not what you had in mind for the evening, but--"

"It'll be fun," Pearce said quickly. "Besides, I wanna see how it goes together."

Laughing, feeling ridiculously happy, Wynter said, "Let's go upstairs."

Fifteen minutes later, Wynter walked down the second-floor hallway to Ronnie's room, listening to her daughter's delighted laughter.

She stopped in the bedroom doorway to take in the scene. A wooden racetrack in a figure eight sat in the middle of the floor surrounded by half-constructed houses. Pearce lay on her side on one side of the track with Ronnie on the other. Each held a wooden racecar that they propelled more or less around the track. Ronnie seemed to delight in trying to drive hers into Pearce's. After a particularly resounding crash, Pearce made sounds resembling an explosion and fell over onto her back. Ronnie clapped.

Pearce turned her head, saw Wynter, and grinned. "She's tough."

"I should've warned you." Wynter took in Pearce's form as she sprawled unselfconsciously on the floor. She wore the same black boots as the night before, this time with blue jeans and a plain white T-shirt.

The jeans, cinched with a wide black leather belt, rode low on her hips, and Wynter could imagine fitting her body into the vee of Pearce's thighs and the shallow plane of her stomach. Wynter's gaze traveled up to Pearce's face, and when their eyes met, she had to look away as a wave of heat passed through her. "Let me put her to bed."

Pearce got to her feet. "Should I wait downstairs?"

"Probably," Wynter murmured as she lifted Ronnie. "You're too much of a distraction."

"Oh yeah?" Pearce ran a fingertip down the outside of Wynter's arm. She'd seen the appreciative look in Wynter's eyes, and it'd gotten her stirred up. It didn't take any more than that from her. Just a look.

Not even a touch. She felt a pulse beat between her thighs. "Is that a problem?"

"Yes," Wynter whispered. "Go away now."

Pearce laughed and touched Ronnie's hair. "Night, kiddo."

Ronnie grinned. "Night, kiddo."

When Wynter came downstairs, Pearce was waiting in the living room. She leaned against the sofa, her ankles and arms crossed, a lazy smile on her face. "Everything okay?"

"No," Wynter said, crossing the room to her. "I forgot something."

"What?" Pearce asked nonchalantly, even though the heat in Wynter's eyes had ignited the fire in her belly that always seemed to simmer when she was anywhere near Wynter. This time, she was more than ready for Wynter to put it out.

"This." Wynter put both hands on Pearce's arms and pulled them down to her sides, then leaned into her and kissed her. It was just as she remembered it, only better. Pearce's body was just as hot, just as tightly coiled, but this time, Pearce kissed her back with a ferocity that took her breath away. Pearce's arms came around her hard, and Wynter felt hands cup her ass, felt a hard thigh thrust between her legs. Then she was spinning, and she was against the sofa and Pearce's mouth was on her neck. She arched her back. "Oh God."

"I love the way you smell," Pearce groaned, licking the undersurface of Wynter's jaw. "And taste." She pulled the shirt from the back of Wynter's jeans and slid her hand underneath. "Oh man, your skin's so hot." She caught an earlobe in her teeth and tugged at it. "I want you so bad. Jesus, Wynter." She raked her teeth down Wynter's neck, then licked the faint red mark she'd left behind. "Tell me what you want."

"Pearce." Wynter held her tightly, feeling her tremble, knowing she was holding back. "Pearce." She pressed her mouth to Pearce's ear.

"I want you too. I do." She twisted her fingers into Pearce's hair and turned her head until she could find her mouth. She ran her tongue over Pearce's lips, thrust into her mouth, nipped at her jaw. She finally pulled back, gasping. "Oh, I do. Can we just...wait. Just go a little slower?"

Pearce pressed her forehead to Wynter's shoulder, forcing herself to breathe, trying to clear her head, struggling to tamp down the terrible yearning. "Okay. Okay." She shuddered. "Okay."

"God, you're so sexy," Wynter moaned, still holding Pearce close.

She nestled her cheek on Pearce's shoulder. "Now I really need that distraction. Can I interest you in dinner?"

Pearce laughed shakily. "As opposed to hot monkey sex with you?"

"Uh-huh."

Pearce kissed Wynter's forehead and stroked her cheek with trembling fingers. "Sure. I'd like that."

Wynter leaned back, her eyes heavy-lidded and hazy with lingering arousal. "You're not mad?"

"No," Pearce whispered. She cupped Wynter's chin, then kissed her eyelids and finally her mouth. "No. There's no hurry."

"I'm not so sure. I feel as if something might explode," Wynter confided as Pearce moved away. She caught Pearce's hand, unwilling to let her go very far.

Pearce grinned. "I hope so."

Wynter laughed and tugged Pearce toward the kitchen. "Come on. I slaved over this, so I expect you to make appropriate sounds of gratitude."

"Considering it's the first meal that a woman has ever cooked for me, I'll probably get on my knees in thanks."

Wynter arched an eyebrow. "That could be interesting."

Pearce stopped abruptly and pulled her into her arms again. She brushed the rim of Wynter's ear with her tongue until she felt Wynter shudder. "Careful. Don't tease if you want me to go slow."

Wynter's breath came in shallow gasps. "Can't I have both?"

"You can have anything you want," Pearce murmured, her mouth against Wynter's neck. In some part of her mind, beyond the madness of desire, she feared that might be true.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

"Can I help with something?" Pearce stood next to the kitchen table watching Wynter toss a salad, feeling helpless and inadequate. She hadn't been kidding when she'd said that a woman had never cooked dinner for her before--not counting her mother, who had cooked but usually left it to the housekeeper, or her grandmother.

Somehow, it didn't seem right for Wynter to be doing all the work.

"You can open that bottle of wine you brought," Wynter said as she peered into the oven. "This roast looks done. There's a corkscrew in the drawer on the far left of the counter. I hope you're hungry."

"Starving."

Wynter closed the oven door and turned slowly. "If we're going to get through dinner, you can't speak to me in that tone of voice."

The corner of Pearce's mouth quirked upward. "What tone?"

"That smoky, hungry, sexy tone. It goes right through me."

Every muscle in Pearce's body twitched. "Then stop saying things like that. It makes me want to jump you."

Wynter smiled a satisfied smile. "Fair is fair." She pointed toward the counter. "Corkscrew."

Pearce did as directed. She'd never met a woman who could control her so easily with just a smile. She'd been with beautiful women, smart women, sexy women, hot demanding avaricious women, but she'd never been anywhere near a woman who could turn her upside down with a glance. Hell, not even a glance, a single word. "This is crazy."

"What?"

"Nothing. Glasses?"

"Um...water glasses will have to do. I haven't found the wineglasses yet."

"Hell, I'd drink this out of a jelly glass."

"Don't laugh--it might come to that." Wynter placed the serving platter in the center of the table. She'd set two places adjacent to one another at one end, and although she couldn't find her good dishes, she had found the candles. She lit them with a flourish. "There."

"It looks great." Pearce put the wine bottle down on the table and slid her arms around Wynter's waist from behind and hugged her gently.

She rubbed her cheek against Wynter's hair. "Thank you."

Wynter leaned back and folded her arms over Pearce's, closing her eyes. Pearce's breath was warm against her cheek, her body solid and strong. She felt arousal awaken from the restless slumber to which she had remanded it a short time before and welcomed the resurgence of excitement. She loved the way Pearce made her feel. Desired and desirable. Alive.

She turned her head and kissed the corner of Pearce's mouth.

"I should also mention you're not allowed to touch me until after dinner."

"It's hard not to." Pearce turned Wynter around and kissed her on the mouth. She played her hands over Wynter's shoulders, stroked down her arms, and then settled them on her waist. She kissed her slowly, deeply, enjoying the taste and heat of her mouth. She kept her touch light, her body still, not pressing for more than the kiss. When she drew back, Wynter's eyes were cloudy, her neck flushed. "You're very beautiful."

Wynter drew a shuddering breath and placed her hands flat against Pearce's chest, her fingertips resting on her collarbones. "When you say it like that, I believe it."

"Wynter," Pearce murmured. She forced herself to take a step backward, still holding Wynter, but at arm's length--out of kissing range. "We should have dinner."

Despite a surge of disappointment, Wynter nodded, knowing it was what she had asked for. At the moment she couldn't quite remember why. And God, it was hard to think of anything except the heat in Pearce's eyes, the magic in her hands. "Can I just tell you how much I love it when you touch me?"

"No," Pearce said fiercely. "I'm dying here, give me a break."

"Try to hang on," Wynter lifted Pearce's hand from her waist and kissed her knuckles, which still showed signs of bruises, "and I'll try to be good."

Pearce tapped Wynter's chin with her finger. "You could start by trying not to torment me."

Wynter nipped at the end of Pearce's finger. "But I love to watch your eyes get all dark and--"

"Damn it, Wynter. Stop."

Laughing, Wynter moved away and gestured to the chairs. "Sit down. Let's eat this if we're not going to do anything else."

Shaking her head, Pearce settled beside Wynter. "I really am hungry."

"Good," Wynter said as she dished out the food.

Because they were used to eating together at the hospital, they fell into easy conversation about their cases and the upcoming rotations and other residents. Before Pearce realized it, she had cleaned her plate twice. She leaned back from the table with a groan. "God, that was great."

"You're certainly easy to please," Wynter remarked, pleased herself at Pearce's obvious enjoyment. She couldn't remember when doing something so simple for someone else had given her such satisfaction. When she saw the grin tug at the corner of Pearce's mouth, she held up her hand. "Don't start."

"You might regret saying that," Pearce said playfully, catching Wynter's hand. Their fingers entwined and she did not let go. "One of these days when you're crazy for me."

"Pretty sure of yourself."

Pearce looked down at their clasped hands resting on the tabletop.

It looked and felt so natural to be connected to Wynter this way, and at the same time, it was wholly foreign to her. Nothing that had transpired between them was new--she'd kissed women whom she'd known far less well than Wynter, and she'd had quick sexual encounters in dark corners and a few other semipublic places. But she'd never felt the urge to run the way she had last night. She looked up and met Wynter's worried gaze and smiled wryly. "I'm sorry I took off on you last night."

"Why did you?"

"Jesus," Pearce sighed. "Aren't you supposed to say `That's okay, I understand' or something else like that to let me off the hook?"

"Probably. And I would, if it really didn't matter. But it does, and I want to know."

Pearce stretched her legs out under the table and leaned back in the chair, keeping hold of Wynter's hand. With her free hand she fiddled aimlessly with her silverware. "Ten more seconds of kissing you like that--or of you kissing me, rather--and I'd've been fucking you up against the wall. Right there in the middle of that crowd."

"Assuming I would've let you," Wynter said, her voice husky and low.

"Wouldn't you?" There was neither triumph nor self-satisfaction in Pearce's voice, only a quiet certainty.

"Probably. I wanted you so much I wasn't thinking of anything else." Wynter laughed self-consciously. "I don't usually go quite that far in public places."

"No, I didn't think so." Pearce squeezed Wynter's hand. "I don't usually lose it like that, either."

Wynter heard the lingering desire in Pearce's voice, but also the regret, and that frightened her. She couldn't read Pearce well enough to know exactly what bothered her, but she didn't want anything about what they shared to hurt her. "Should I apologize for kissing you like that?"

"Jesus, no." Pearce turned Wynter's hand over between her own and kissed her palm before looking into her eyes. "Did I embarrass you with your sister?"

"No," Wynter said, smiling. "She's dying of curiosity, but she'll live."

Pearce's brows knit together. "Curiosity." Then came understanding, and she blushed. "You mean...she wants details?"

"Of course. That's what girls do when there's a new hotty on the horizon." Wynter couldn't help but laugh at Pearce's obvious discomfort.

It made her all the more charming. "She called this afternoon to give me the third degree."

"Is she upset about you being interested in a woman?"

There, Wynter thought, finally. She edged her chair around the table until she was sitting side by side with Pearce. Turning, she placed her free hand on Pearce's thigh. "She was surprised. Not upset. Pretty much like me."

"She might change her mind when she's had time to think about it."

"Pearce, my sister never really liked Dave, but she never said a word against him until she found out he was fooling around. Then she was all for flying up to New Haven and cutting his balls off."

"Good for her."

Wynter smiled. "She's not going to have a problem with me seeing you."

"What about the rest of your family?"

"You mean my parents?"

Pearce nodded.

"We're Quakers. Personal choice and individual freedoms are very important to us. My parents will support whatever choices I make."

"Sometimes people aren't so liberal when it's close to home."

"I know." Wynter caught a flash of some distant pain in Pearce's eyes. Knowing that Pearce's mother had died when Pearce was still a child, she realized it had to have been her father who'd put that sorrow there. She rubbed her hand up and down Pearce's thigh in unconscious comfort. She was venturing into dangerous territory, considering that Ambrose Rifkin was her boss, and discussing him, even when it was personal like this, was probably not the wisest thing to do. But she didn't care. She only cared about Pearce. "What happened?"

Pearce jerked, startled from the unintended memory. "Let's just say it wasn't a smooth ride for a while."

"Your father was unhappy when he found out you were gay?"

"He ignored it at first. I think he thought it would pass."

"How old were you when he found out?"

"Sixteen."

"When did you know?" Wynter wondered what was wrong with her that she'd never even had an inkling that she could be attracted to another woman. Was she really that out of touch? "I started to think about it when I was twelve or thirteen, and by the time I was fifteen, I knew for sure. One of the nice things about going to a girls' prep is there's a lot of girls around." Pearce grinned.

"Oh, I bet you were dangerous then." Wynter leaned forward and brushed a kiss over Pearce's lips. "I bet you broke a lot of hearts."

The kiss was light, gentle, and Pearce felt its sweetness all the way through to her heart. Wynter had a way of making her feel so many things--poignant pleasure, wild passion, aching need. How could that be? How could one woman do that so effortlessly? When had anyone touched her that way? "Not so very many," she murmured. She didn't want to revisit the past. She wanted to feel what only Wynter had ever made her feel. She slipped an arm behind Wynter's back and tugged her over into her lap.

The slat-backed wooden chair creaked.

"Hey," Wynter protested with a laugh. "We're going to end up on the floor."

"I'll catch you if we do."

"Promises, promises." But she wound her arms around Pearce's neck and kissed her again. Kissing her was a banquet of delight, a feast that satisfied her in her deepest reaches while whetting her appetite for more. She cupped her hand on Pearce's throat as she slid her mouth over Pearce's lips, loving the slick heat and the racing pulse beneath her fingertips, glorying in Pearce's excitement. She felt heady with power and kissed her harder, probing, reaching inside until she drew forth a groan. "I could kiss you forever," she gasped.

"I might go up in flames," Pearce moaned, slipping both hands beneath Wynter's shirt and onto her bare back. She smoothed her hands up and down Wynter's spine, allowing herself that much and no more. She didn't dare do anything else, because she knew she would never be able to stop. When Wynter shifted to straddle her on the chair, Pearce forced herself to keep her hands on Wynter's back, even though Wynter's breasts were so close, her nipples tight against the stretched cotton fabric. Wynter seemed to feel no such constraints, caressing Pearce's neck, her shoulders, her chest. When her fingers skimmed Pearce's nipples, Pearce jerked in the chair, her head falling back. "Don't."

"Why?" Wynter whispered, rocking in Pearce's lap, sucking the soft flesh at the base of her throat. "Why?"

"Can't stop again," Pearce groaned. She caught Wynter's hands and pulled them from her breasts. "I want you too much."

"No," Wynter said fiercely, pulling Pearce's hands to her own breasts and pressing them there. "Not too much. Never too much.

Touch me."

Pearce felt Wynter's nipples harden against her palms, sensed her breasts grow firm with arousal, heard the need in her voice. She couldn't remember why she should hesitate. Wynter wanted her to touch her, and she ached to do it. She'd never hesitated before to take and give pleasure. She squeezed gently and Wynter moaned her name. That sweet sound broke her resolve. She would have what she'd hungered for all these weeks. Tightening her hold, she stood, fastening her mouth to Wynter's neck as Wynter's legs came automatically around her hips.

She bit down gently until Wynter whimpered. She wanted to lay her down on the kitchen table and take her right there. She could feel the fire between Wynter's legs through their clothes. She knew she could have her. One touch and Wynter would surrender. Right here. Right now.

She pressed her mouth to Wynter's ear. "I won't make love to you like this. I want to make you come slowly the first time."

Wynter worried she might come just thinking about it. She'd never been so aroused in her life. She dug her fingers into Pearce's shoulders.

She wanted to scream, but could barely speak. "If you don't put your hands on me soon, I think I might die."

"Can we go upstairs?"

"Yes. Yes." Wynter feared in another minute she wouldn't be able to stand. "God, yes. Please. Now."

"What about Ronnie?"

"What?" Wynter asked almost desperately, struggling to make sense of Pearce's questions. "She sleeps soundly. She'll be fine."

Pearce covered Wynter's mouth in an urgent kiss, needing the taste of her to carry her until she could have more. Then she gently eased her down, keeping one arm around her waist. "Please, will you take me to your bed?"

Wynter stroked her cheek, wondering why she felt tears threatening.

She'd never felt anything as right as when she said, "Oh, yes. Yes, I will."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The upstairs hallway was dark. Wynter and Pearce moved quietly with just the night-light in Ronnie's room to guide them. Wynter led the way, holding Pearce's hand. Out of habit, she paused in the doorway to Ronnie's room and listened for her soft, regular breathing. After a second, she continued on, aware of Pearce just behind her, sensing the air around them scintillate with excitement. When she reached her bedroom, she pressed the dimmer switch and turned the light down until there was just enough illumination to maneuver by.

She tugged Pearce over the threshold and quietly closed the door.

"What if she gets up?" Pearce murmured.

Wynter pointed to the small receiver on her bedside table. "We'll hear her."

"Handy." Pearce pulled Wynter close and kissed her neck. She ran her hands rhythmically up and down Wynter's back, their bodies melding as they swayed together in the near dark. "Sure about this?"

"Yes." Wynter gripped Pearce's T-shirt and pulled it out of her jeans, then snaked her hands underneath. As she danced her fingers over Pearce's stomach, she confessed, "I haven't used the child monitor in over a year, but I hooked it up after I saw you this morning. Just in case I needed to close the door."

Pearce hissed in her breath at Wynter's caress. "Pretty sure of yourself."

Wynter laughed and skimmed the undersurface of Pearce's breasts with trembling fingers. "Just hopeful. God, can I touch you soon?"

"Oh man," Pearce groaned. "Anything you want."

"Oh," Wynter breathed out, "I like the sound of that."

"Yeah?" Pearce claimed Wynter's mouth again, walking her backward toward the bed while exploring the warm recesses with her tongue. Then, as quickly as she had claimed the kiss, she broke away.

At Wynter's muffled cry of protest, Pearce whispered, "No hurry, remember?" She thought back to her first time, and how the memory stayed with her always. But she'd been a teenager then, all raging hormones and desperate desire. Everything had been miraculous and mind blowing and she couldn't touch everywhere fast enough. She and her girlfriend had fumbled and groped and crashed into orgasm almost by accident. This would be different. This would be her gift, to Wynter and to herself. "Watch."

"Wha--" The word died on Wynter's tongue as Pearce gripped the bottom of her T-shirt and stripped it off along with everything beneath, baring her upper body. Her breasts glistened in the half-light, lifting and falling with her rapid breathing, nipples tight and beckoning. "Oh my God."

Pearce fingered the waistband of her jeans, watching Wynter's face, pacing herself until any hint of shyness or discomfort in Wynter's expression was eclipsed by desire. She unbuttoned her fly, one slow snick at a time. When Wynter stretched out a tentative hand toward her breasts, she shook her head. "Not yet. Not until we're both naked. And I'm going to undress you next, so it will be a while."

"Just looking at you is making me nuts." Wynter drew a ragged breath. "I'm going to fly apart."

"No," Pearce said tenderly. "You won't. Promise." She pushed her jeans down, kicked off her boots, and stepped free of the tangle.

If Wynter was like her, it would be easier to touch than to be touched, and she wanted this to be easy for her. For this time to be a wonderful memory. She reached for Wynter's hands and drew them to her breasts.

She shuddered, unprepared for her own response. At the first touch she closed her eyes and bit back a groan. When Wynter flicked her thumbs over her nipples, her knees nearly gave way. "Christ."

"You like that?" Wynter murmured thickly, entranced by the incredible softness, the unbelievable firmness, the enchantment of caressing her this way. She wanted to make her groan again. She wanted to make her scream; she wanted to do things for which she had no words. She captured both nipples and squeezed, laughing softly when Pearce jerked and grabbed her hands away. "You like it, don't you?"

"Too much," Pearce gasped. "Makes me want to come."

Wynter's eyes widened. "Could you?"

"Not usually, but you do...unexpected...things to me." Pearce held Wynter's hands away from her body, not daring to be touched again so soon. She'd felt the first twitches of orgasm shimmer down her thighs. "But you're getting way ahead of me. Let me undress you."

"Yes. Please."

Slowly, carefully, Pearce opened each button on Wynter's shirt.

When she parted the fabric a few inches and skimmed her fingertips just inside over the rise of Wynter's breasts, Wynter rested both hands on Pearce's forearms as if to steady herself. Pearce dipped her head and kissed between Wynter's breasts. "Your skin's so soft, so beautiful."

She fanned her fingers lower, just grazing the tips of Wynter's nipples, eliciting a quiet whimper. When she cradled the soft weight of each breast in her palms and closed her fingers gently, Wynter sagged against her, her forehead on Pearce's shoulder.

"I don't think I can go this slow," Wynter gasped.

"Yes, you can." Pearce kissed her forehead. "I need you slow.

Please."

Wordlessly, Wynter nodded, bracing herself with her hands on Pearce's shoulders. She wanted Pearce to have whatever she needed.

No matter what it took to bring her pleasure, she wanted to give it.

"When can I touch you?"

"Soon." Pearce knelt and opened Wynter's jeans. With her hands curled around the waistband, she pulled them down below Wynter's hips, exposing her smooth abdomen and the top of each thigh. Encircling Wynter's hips to support her weight, she kissed her stomach.

"Oh!" Wynter's thighs trembled, and she clamped both hands onto Pearce's shoulders. She gripped harder as her knees threatened to buckle. When Pearce kissed her lower, brushing her lips just above the delta between her thighs, she insinuated the fingers of one hand into Pearce's hair and stroked the back of her neck. When the barest hint of Pearce's breath blew over her hypersensitive flesh, she moved Pearce's face away.

Pearce looked up, a gentle question in her eyes. "Wynter?"

"I won't be able to stand it." Wynter caressed her cheek. "I'm afraid you'll make me come right away."

"It's all right?"

Wynter laughed shakily. "Oh God, yes. But not yet."

"Sorry." Pearce nestled her cheek against Wynter's stomach and closed her eyes, breathing Wynter's scent, waiting until her own restless need settled and she could start again.

"Not sorry," Wynter said thickly. "Never be sorry for wanting me." She tilted Pearce's face up to hers and waited until Pearce opened her eyes. "Finish undressing me. I want to lie down with you and feel you everywhere against me."

Tenderly, Pearce drew Wynter's jeans down her legs and helped her out of her sneakers and clothing. Then she stood, amazed at her own weak legs, and using just the tips of her fingers, skimmed off Wynter's blouse. When she'd finished, an inch of space separated their bodies.

She lowered her gaze, heart pounding. Looking at Wynter's body was like cresting a mountain and coming upon a vista that stretched until forever--incomprehensively beautiful, indescribably exquisite. Her vision blurred as a swell of desire rose so swiftly she lost her breath.

She pulled Wynter to her and held her tightly, moaning as Wynter's body met hers for the first time with no barrier between them. She ached and exalted at the pleasure.

"Your skin is on fire," Wynter marveled as she slid her palms down Pearce's back. "Am I doing that to you?"

Pearce laughed unsteadily. "Oh yeah. I'm just about gone here."

"Oh, I love the way you feel." Wynter spun Pearce in a half turn and pulled her down to the bed. They landed facing one another, arms and legs entwined. She drew her thigh up until it was tight between Pearce's legs. When she felt the hot sheen of Pearce's arousal against her skin, she arched her back and cried out in surprise and wonder. "Oh my God. Oh my God. I never..." She framed Pearce's face. "Is that for me?"

"Unh, unh..." Pearce could barely think. The slide of Wynter's skin over her hot and ready flesh was driving her too high too fast.

She swore and flipped Wynter onto her back, easing away from the exquisite pressure. Her stomach tightened almost painfully and she groaned. "Damn it."

"What?" Wynter crooned, nuzzling Pearce's neck. "Hmm, what?"

But she knew. She'd felt the swift pulse of Pearce's heart beating against her leg. She loved the way it felt. She loved knowing that Pearce trembled with desire for her. For her. "I want to make you come."

"Any more of that and you will." Pearce gritted her teeth and forced herself to breathe past the need to surrender.

"Why are you holding back?" Wynter rolled her hips beneath Pearce's and kissed her neck, tangling her hands in her hair. She slid her mouth along the edge of Pearce's jaw and tugged at her lower lip with her teeth. "I can feel how close you are. It makes me crazy."

Pearce's arms shook with the effort of supporting herself. "It's your first time," she gasped. "I want it to be special."

"Oh, honey," Wynter murmured, "you make it special. It's you.

Don't you know that?" She caressed her hand down the center of Pearce's back and pushed her leg between Pearce's thighs again, urging Pearce to ride out her passion. She pressed her mouth against Pearce's ear. "Come on me. I know you need to. Please. Let me feel you come on me."

With a hoarse cry, Pearce buried her face in Wynter's neck and let herself fall over the edge. She lost her breath, she lost control, she lost her mind. She shuddered and heard herself crying out and couldn't stop. And while she shivered helplessly, Wynter cradled her in her arms and stroked her through the storm. When she finally could speak, she mumbled, "That was an accident."

Wynter laughed and held her fiercely. "Oh, I've never known anything so amazing as that."

Pearce eased onto her side and stared at Wynter through the receding mists of nearly unbearable pleasure. "It wasn't what I planned."

Wynter kissed her. "You aren't what I planned either."

"You mind?" Pearce slipped her hand between their bodies and circled her palm down the center of Wynter's abdomen. She felt the muscles beneath her fingers tense and twitch and saw Wynter's lips part on a gasp.

"Not the tiniest bit. Pearce..."

Pearce heard the urgency in Wynter's voice as her fingertips brushed through moist curls. "Keep your eyes open."

Wynter caught her lower lip between her teeth. She held on to the steady, tender passion in Pearce's eyes as her body tightened. At the first gentle stroke of Pearce's finger over her clitoris, she arched her back and moaned helplessly.

"Wynter," Pearce said soothingly. "Wynter. Not yet. Not yet, baby."

"Oh, I have to."

"I know. I know." Pearce kissed her softly. "Soon. I promise."

As she spoke, she slid her fingers lower, gently curling upward and inside.

"Oh. My. God."

Pearce smiled and pressed deeper. "Ready?"

Wynter clutched Pearce's shoulders, unable to speak. She nodded, her hips rocking on Pearce's hand.

"Don't close your eyes," Pearce whispered as she began to thrust, watching Wynter's face, slowing down when she saw Wynter about to come, speeding up to push her to the edge again. She paced her, pushed her, teased her closer and closer until Wynter was pleading and shaking and blind with pleasure and then, with one deep thrust, brought her over.

v Wynter awoke with her head on Pearce's shoulder. She sensed from the darkness outside the windows that it was deep in the night.

She lay for a few minutes just listening to Pearce breathe, feeling her heart beat beneath her cheek. It had been many months since she had slept with anyone beside her, and she had never awakened in the arms of a woman. Her hand rested beneath Pearce's breast and their thighs were entwined. Pearce's body was hot.

Her own felt languid and supremely satisfied. Her stomach and thighs were heavy with the aftermath of her orgasm. She remembered Pearce trembling in her arms and crying out at the peak of her passion, and she felt herself quicken. She wanted her again. She understood for the first time in her life how sex could be addicting. She'd never felt anything as exciting, as euphoric, as the sweet satisfaction of knowing she had been the cause of Pearce's pleasure. She moaned softly and involuntarily pressed her hips against Pearce.

"You okay?" Pearce murmured, slowly drawing strands of Wynter's silky hair through her fingers.

"Oh, I'm so so so good." She kissed the side of Pearce's breast and ran her hand down Pearce's body. She caressed her stomach and the tops of her thighs, then cupped her lightly between her legs.

"Wynter. What are you doing?" Pearce groaned.

Wynter leaned up on her elbow and kissed the tip of Pearce's chin.

"I want to feel you come again. You're so amazing when you do."

"Oh, Jesus," Pearce gasped as Wynter's fingers closed around her.

"Easy. God."

Wynter gently bit the tip of Pearce's shoulder and stroked. "Too hard?"

"No. Oh man. Wynter." Pearce's legs stiffened, and she lifted her hips into Wynter's palm. "Don't stop."

"Mmm. I don't plan to." Wynter stroked faster. "Are you going to come for me?"

"Want...me to?"

"Oh yes." Wynter bore down when she felt Pearce grow harder.

"Oh yes. You're there, aren't you? Going to come, come for me--"

"Yes." Pearce closed her eyes and clamped her jaws down on a scream. "Yes."

Wynter watched the orgasm wash over Pearce's face, scarcely breathing. When Pearce finally sagged back to the bed, Wynter sighed and curled up against her again, holding her hand still until Pearce stopped throbbing.

When Pearce's breathing grew even once more, Wynter said, "Do you how many women I've examined in my career?"

"Hundreds, probably," Pearce said drowsily.

"At least. And I have never imagined, never conceived, of a woman as beautiful as you."

Pearce roused herself enough to turn on her side so she could see Wynter's face. "No one has ever done to me what you do to me."

"Oh," Wynter murmured, tracing Pearce's lower lip with her fingertip. "Oh, I like that."

"Yeah, me too." She kissed the tip of Wynter's chin, then her mouth. "You feel okay about everything?"

Wynter smiled. "You mean what we just did?"

Solemnly, Pearce nodded, her eyes dark with worry.

"If I didn't have to go to work in the morning, I would keep you in this bed for the next twenty-four hours and make love until we both disintegrated."

"Can I have a rain check?"

"Deal."

Sighing with relief and pleasant fatigue, Pearce drew Wynter's head down to her shoulder. "No more tonight, then. You need some rest."

"Will you stay?"

Pearce rarely spent the night in anyone's bed. She held Wynter tighter. "I'll be here when you wake up."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Wynter," Pearce whispered urgently, shaking Wynter's shoulder. "Wynter!"

"Mmm?"

"Wake up."

Wynter burrowed deeper into the curve of Pearce's shoulder.

Somewhere in her consciousness she registered that it was too early to be awake. Typical of those whose lives revolved around tight schedules, she rarely needed a watch or an alarm clock. Her body knew when it was time to get up, and it wasn't. Half asleep, she kissed the warm, soft skin beneath her lips. Nice.

"She's awake. You have to do something."

"Who?"

"Ronnie."

Wynter opened one eye and squinted at the bedside clock. It was a quarter to five. "Isn't it Sunday?" she muttered.

"Yes. What--"

"Mmph." Wynter closed her eye. It was Sunday. They didn't make dry rounds until seven thirty on Sunday. Sighing, she molded her body more closely to Pearce's and went back to sleep. Almost.

"Wynter," Pearce repeated, a desperate edge creeping into her voice.

Wynter opened both eyes. "What's the matter, honey?"

"Ronnie is talking or something. Isn't that supposed to wake you up?"

A steady stream of happy, staticky chatter came through the monitor and finally penetrated Wynter's foggy brain. Smiling, she levered herself on top of Pearce and settled comfortably into a new position with one leg between Pearce's and her head pillowed on Pearce's shoulder. Her voice still thick with sleep, she said, "That's her 'I'm awake and playing with my stuffed animals' sound. She's not ready to get up yet."

"Are you sure?"

"Mmm-hmm. Lots of practice."

"Should I go?"

Suddenly much more awake, Wynter raised her head. "Why?"

"Won't she think it's strange that I'm here?"

"She's three, Pearce. She doesn't think that way." Wynter blinked, trying to focus. They'd gone to sleep with the light on in the bathroom behind the partially closed door. Even in the dim light, she could see the concern in Pearce's eyes. "What are you worried about?"

"Nothing."

"Bull. What?"

"She's really cute. I like her."

Wynter pushed up further on one elbow, completely awake. She was used to going from deep sleep to full wakefulness within a matter of seconds, especially when she sensed something serious was going on. Pearce's body was one tense knot beneath her. "But..."

"No buts. I..." Pearce hesitated, thinking it unwise to mention that she almost never woke up in a woman's bed, and never with one who had a little chatterbox wired into the room. "I just don't know very much about kids."

"And..." Wynter clasped Pearce's chin and shook gently. "God, getting information out of you is like breaking into Fort Knox. You can't think that Ronnie seeing me being affectionate with a woman is going to traumatize her?"

"No, but I didn't want her to, you know...get used to seeing me here or anything."

A cool wind blew through Wynter's heart. "In case you're just passing through."

"Fuck," Pearce muttered, feeling Wynter pull away. She caught her with an arm around her shoulders and rolled them over until she was on top, looking down into Wynter's face. "I don't know exactly what I mean, Wynter, okay? I've never been with anyone like you."

Wynter took a deep breath. "I'm sorry." She traced her fingertips over Pearce's eyebrows, then down the side of her face and across her mouth. "Ronnie's fine, but your thinking about her--that means a lot to me. Thank you."

"Yes, but--"

"Hey, we said we'd see what happens. So, one day at a time, right?"

Wynter tried to sound as if the uncertainty of that didn't bother her. It shouldn't. She knew that. But knowing was different than feeling. And right now, what she felt was how good the weight of Pearce's body felt on hers. Of how comfortable it had been awakening in her arms.

Of how incredibly natural it felt to touch her and be touched by her.

Of how damn right everything about last night had seemed. Like stop action images flickering on a screen, she saw Pearce kneeling with her face pressed against her stomach, remembered the heat of Pearce's skin and the aching pleasure of being filled by her, felt Pearce come beneath her fingertips. Arousal shimmered through her, and she was instantly wet. She closed her eyes and closed her mouth over Pearce's.

Pearce shuddered, ambushed by a flood of feeling. Wynter had a way of doing that to her. Catching her completely unawares, even when they stood face-to-face. It was as if she were a house standing empty, waiting to be filled, and Wynter had just stepped through the door unannounced and populated her barren spaces with touches of home.

Groaning, Pearce filled her hands with Wynter's hair and opened her mouth to the demanding heat of Wynter's tongue. Her body throbbed, full and ripe to bursting. Lost in the kiss, she was dimly aware of Wynter's hand thrust between them, reaching down to cup her. She pulled back, rasping, "No."

"Why?" Wynter demanded restlessly, her legs twining around Pearce's. "Let me. Let me. I know you're wet."

"Jesus," Pearce muttered, sliding rapidly down the length of Wynter's body until she was nestled between her legs. "I'm done waiting for this."

Wynter raised herself on both elbows and looked down at Pearce through heavy-lidded eyes. "You have control issues."

"No, I don't." Pearce grinned and lightly kissed Wynter's sex.

"Not when I'm in charge."

"Do that again," Wynter said, her voice catching in her throat.

Pearce's eyes darkened, and she did, more slowly this time, letting her mouth linger just a whisper above Wynter's center. She blew gently, her own sex pulsing as she heard Wynter's swift gasp.

"You told me to watch. Last night." Wynter's voice was dreamy, but her hips rose insistently. "Go ahead. Let me see."

Groaning, Pearce took her fully into her mouth. Gently, she sucked and teased until Wynter's clitoris turned to rock beneath her tongue, and then she grew still, looking up into Wynter's face. Lips parted, breasts heaving, Wynter was a study in need, her expression half pleasure, half pain. Pearce swept a hand up the center of Wynter's abdomen and closed around her breast. When she squeezed, Wynter's entire body shook.

"Pearce." Wynter sounded as if each word were wrenched from the deepest part of her being. "I'm going to come soon."

Pearce licked her once and grew still.

"Again." Wynter made a sound that was half laugh, half whimper.

"There. Almost. There."

Pearce did it again and Wynter's head fell back, a strangled sound escaping her. Pearce wanted to keep her there, teetering on the brink while she drank in her beauty. But she couldn't stop herself from drowning in her, and she slipped her fingers inside as she closed her lips around Wynter's clitoris. Wynter came on the first stroke, whispering Pearce's name as her arms gave out and she fell backward, hips thrashing.

"Pearce," Wynter gasped, one hand flailing ineffectively at Pearce's shoulder. "Come up here. Hurry."

Instantly concerned, Pearce pushed herself up and lay on her side, her head propped on her elbow. "What's the matter?"

Wynter turned her head on the pillow, the only body part she could control. "We've got about two minutes."

Pearce stared at the monitor, listening to Ronnie and realizing that the word mommy was now frequently interspersed with the happy chortles. Fuck.

"Do you need to come?" Wynter said weakly.

"No," Pearce lied bravely. It wouldn't be the first time she'd finished off in the shower when time was short.

Wynter smiled, her eyes still lazy. "Liar."

Pearce grinned.

"Do it here, not in the shower."

"Oh man," Pearce muttered, her stomach instantly in knots. Her hips twitched before she could stop it and she knew from Wynter's expression that she'd felt it.

"For me," Wynter murmured.

Pearce kissed her and slipped her fingers between her legs, knowing that she'd be gone in a few strokes. She sucked on Wynter's lower lip as the pressure grew in the pit of her stomach. Groaning, she squeezed and circled the spot that always made her come. She was getting close. Her legs tensed. She opened her eyes and saw Wynter's rapt expression. She whispered, "Coming."

"Mmm, yes." Wynter kissed her and she exploded.

A few minutes later, Pearce opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. Next to the bed, the monitor carried the sounds of Wynter and Ronnie's excited conversation to her. She pictured them together and wondered what she was doing in Wynter's life. Just passing through, Wynter had said. She rolled on her side, straining to make out the words of mother and child. Real people with real feelings. Wynter deserved more than a casual encounter. They both deserved more than Pearce had to offer.

Pearce closed her eyes and listened to their voices, wanting just a few more moments of simple happiness.

v "Here you go," Wynter said, settling Ronnie into one of the booster seats at Mina's kitchen table next to the other children. She put the backpack with Ronnie's favorite toys, coloring books, and trucks on the floor. "I should be back in the morning tomorrow unless there's a heavy OR schedule. I'll call you."

"That's fine," Mina said automatically.

Wynter kissed Mina's cheek. "Thanks. Bye."

Mina glanced at the clock, then at Wynter. "You're early and you're leaving without breakfast?"

"I've got a few things to do before I leave for work."

"Uh-huh." Mina narrowed her eyes. "Nice try." She poured milk into three cereal bowls and set them in front of the kids. "Give."

Wynter moved closer to Mina where she stood by the sink and lowered her voice. "I have company."

"Company." Mina's voice rose with interest. "You don't say. And just who might that be?"

"Look, I'll tell you all about it--"

"You just bet you will. But for now, I want the name."

Wynter blushed. "Pearce."

Mina's expression grew serious. "All-night kind of company?"

"Yes."

"And everything's all right?"

"Everything's great." Wynter knew she was grinning like an idiot, but she couldn't stop.

"I wasn't asking about that, but I'm certainly glad to hear it," Mina said with arch playfulness. "Call me later when you get a break."

"I'm really okay. She's wonderful." Wynter clasped Mina's hand.

"You don't have to worry about me."

"You know I'd be doing the same thing if she were some stud muffin, so don't try to make more out of it than it is. Call me later."

Wynter nodded. "I will. Promise."

Smiling, Mina watched Wynter hurry away, thinking that there wasn't all that much difference between players of the male and female varieties--the game still seemed to be the same.

v "Hey," Wynter said, leaning down to kiss Pearce on the mouth.

"Time to wake up."

Pearce opened her eyes, blinked once, then caught Wynter around the waist and pulled her down onto the bed. "I'm awake."

Laughing, Wynter got a hand between them and pushed Pearce away. "I'm dressed, and you need a shower, and we have to be at the hospital in forty-five minutes."

"Where's Ronnie?"

"Next door having breakfast."

Pearce frowned. "How did I miss that?"

Wynter grinned and tapped Pearce's chin. "I guess someone did you in last night."

"Oh yeah?" Pearce growled and flipped Wynter over onto her back. Then she straddled her hips and pinned her wrists to the bed.

"Says who?"

Wynter looked up, stunned. It was the first time she'd seen Pearce nude in full light. Her hands and mouth and body knew the softness, the curves and planes, of Pearce's form. They were indelibly marked on her consciousness. But now she could see the delicate arch of her collarbones, the teasing sway of her breasts, and the tight inviting curve of her abdomen as it swept down to the bend in her thighs. Trembling, she touched the pale white line in the center of Pearce's lower lip. "It's a good thing I ran into you. Without this tiny scar, I'd worry that you weren't human. You're almost too beautiful to look at."

Shaking her head, Pearce leaned down and kissed Wynter on the mouth, then the angle of her jaw, then her neck. "Should I worry that your judgment seems to be impaired, considering that you're on call for my service today?"

"I should've kissed you four years ago."

Pearce released Wynter's hands and pulled her up until they sat facing one another, her hips between Wynter's spread legs, her knees bent over Wynter's thighs. She clasped her lightly around the waist.

"Why?"

"Because I wanted to. Because I wanted you."

"Did you ever think you were--"

"No," Wynter said with a sigh, resting her cheek on Pearce's shoulder, her hands on Pearce's thighs. "And I don't know why, except by the time I had a chance to think about the fact that my life wasn't going the way I wanted it to go, I was already married. And when I saw you that first time, Ronnie was coming."

"Just because you slept with me last night doesn't mean you're--"

"Don't." Wynter lifted her head. "Don't try to convince me that what I'm feeling is an accident."

Pearce swept her fingers through Wynter's hair, then lifted it as it flowed over the back of her hand and kissed Wynter's neck just above the angle of her shoulder. "I wasn't trying to. But it's a big change."

"Not a change. A discovery." Wynter clasped the back of Pearce's neck, pressing Pearce's mouth harder against her skin. "I love your mouth on me. I love your hands on me. I love your hands inside of me."

She moaned as Pearce's teeth closed on the muscle in her neck. "What do you think that says about me?" She squeezed Pearce's neck harder and whispered, "Suck me."

Gasping at the small point of pain, Wynter dropped her head back, urging Pearce on. "I love the way you get wet for me. I love how hard your nipples are when you're excited. I love feeling you come when I touch you. When I touch you." She moaned. "God, that feels so good."

Pearce pulled away, her chest heaving. "Fuck. You make me so crazy, I don't know what I'm doing half the time." Tenderly, she kissed the mark she had left. "Sorry."

"I'm just sorry we don't have time for more." Wynter kissed her hungrily, thrusting her tongue into Pearce's mouth, then pulling away just as abruptly. "I want you so much right now."

"We can't go back," Pearce said, running her thumb over Wynter's mouth. "And we can't make up for lost time overnight." She grinned.

"I'm not entirely certain I can even walk."

Wynter smiled, her lips full and flushed with arousal. "Good."

With a sudden powerful thrust of her hips, she dislodged Pearce, who landed on her back on the bed with a surprised grunt. "Go shower. If we're late for rounds, the senior resident will be pissed."

"Tease!" Pearce made a grab for her. "The senior resident's already pissed."

Laughing, Wynter rolled off the bed and danced out of reach.

"Then I guess it's a good thing you can't run."