flooded her, some she hadn’t even accessed until this moment with his tongue questing for entrance into her mouth. Gabby wanted to tease, wanted not to grant it, but she couldn’t do that to him. She didn’t have the ability, it seemed, to deny him.
“Baby,” he groaned at last, pulling back so that their gently panting breaths mingled. “This is the last place we should be doing this.”
The last place, and the last thing she should be doing. She licked her own lips to collect all she could of his deliciousness and let him go.
Coldness rushed in. Almost as icy, as all-consuming, as that empty numbness she’d felt back in March when everything had been snatched away from her. What was she thinking of doing? The impossibility of them couldn’t be more apparent, despite their raging chemistry. She had a scientific brain. She had to be more in control than this, chalk this up to what it was. Lust. Nothing more. She’d never been in lust before, but if this was what it was, then it sucked as much as unrequited love when the object of your lust was about to be out of your reach.
She still held the mirror handle clenched in a death grip. Turning her head away from him, though it pained her to do so, she lifted it so she could see her ink again.
And fought tears. One last beautiful thing, aside from her memories, to always keep him close to her no matter where she went or what she did or who she was with.
She was the phoenix, but he was the one who’d brought her back from the ashes.
Chapter Nine
Gabriella opened her eyes to blinding sunlight and the instant, undeniable knowledge that she was about to throw up.
Flinging back her covers, she bolted for her attached bathroom and barely made it.
Then, trembling and groaning, she splashed cold water on her face and lifted her head to be confronted with her ghastly reflection. “Jesus, what is this?” She was rarely sick, and the last time she’d had any kind of stomach virus… She actually couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a stomach virus.
As she dried her face and tried to decide if she even wanted to risk leaving the bathroom yet—her stomach still wasn’t happy—a disturbing thought occurred to her, but she slapped it away.
“No. Couldn’t be.”
Could she?
Her periods were usually all over the place, and she really couldn’t do the pill because it made her crazy. Mark hadn’t minded condoms while she tried to determine her best option for their marriage, but when that all fell apart, she hadn’t worried about it much anymore.
That she hadn’t had a period in—Jesus, since early June?—was weird, but it wasn’t really a stretch.
Her being pregnant, though, that was a stretch. They’d been careful. The odds of her being late and inexplicably sick for one morning were greater than the odds of condom failure. Certainly. So she wouldn’t worry. She went back to bed.
Except the same thing happened the next morning. And the next it almost happened—only she lay around and felt miserable all morning instead of actually throwing up.
She couldn’t be pregnant, she thought as she stared at the ceiling above her bed. She could not. Last week she’d gone to Dallas and found her place. At the end of the month—a couple of weeks away now—she planned to be living there, and there were a million things to do. A week into August, her second year of medical school would begin.
Holy. Shit.
“Can’t be,” she moaned, turning over and staring at her clock without seeing it. Her right breast pressed into her arm, and the pressure made her wince.
Aching boobs.
Gabriella Ross wasn’t one to panic in any situation. But she’d never been in this one before.
She fucking panicked.
She’d also never been very religious.
She fucking prayed.
What the hell was she going to do?
First off, she decided, she was going to allow herself ten minutes—okay, twenty—to panic, cry, pray, whatever she needed to do, and then she was going to force
“Baby,” he groaned at last, pulling back so that their gently panting breaths mingled. “This is the last place we should be doing this.”
The last place, and the last thing she should be doing. She licked her own lips to collect all she could of his deliciousness and let him go.
Coldness rushed in. Almost as icy, as all-consuming, as that empty numbness she’d felt back in March when everything had been snatched away from her. What was she thinking of doing? The impossibility of them couldn’t be more apparent, despite their raging chemistry. She had a scientific brain. She had to be more in control than this, chalk this up to what it was. Lust. Nothing more. She’d never been in lust before, but if this was what it was, then it sucked as much as unrequited love when the object of your lust was about to be out of your reach.
She still held the mirror handle clenched in a death grip. Turning her head away from him, though it pained her to do so, she lifted it so she could see her ink again.
And fought tears. One last beautiful thing, aside from her memories, to always keep him close to her no matter where she went or what she did or who she was with.
She was the phoenix, but he was the one who’d brought her back from the ashes.
Chapter Nine
Gabriella opened her eyes to blinding sunlight and the instant, undeniable knowledge that she was about to throw up.
Flinging back her covers, she bolted for her attached bathroom and barely made it.
Then, trembling and groaning, she splashed cold water on her face and lifted her head to be confronted with her ghastly reflection. “Jesus, what is this?” She was rarely sick, and the last time she’d had any kind of stomach virus… She actually couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a stomach virus.
As she dried her face and tried to decide if she even wanted to risk leaving the bathroom yet—her stomach still wasn’t happy—a disturbing thought occurred to her, but she slapped it away.
“No. Couldn’t be.”
Could she?
Her periods were usually all over the place, and she really couldn’t do the pill because it made her crazy. Mark hadn’t minded condoms while she tried to determine her best option for their marriage, but when that all fell apart, she hadn’t worried about it much anymore.
That she hadn’t had a period in—Jesus, since early June?—was weird, but it wasn’t really a stretch.
Her being pregnant, though, that was a stretch. They’d been careful. The odds of her being late and inexplicably sick for one morning were greater than the odds of condom failure. Certainly. So she wouldn’t worry. She went back to bed.
Except the same thing happened the next morning. And the next it almost happened—only she lay around and felt miserable all morning instead of actually throwing up.
She couldn’t be pregnant, she thought as she stared at the ceiling above her bed. She could not. Last week she’d gone to Dallas and found her place. At the end of the month—a couple of weeks away now—she planned to be living there, and there were a million things to do. A week into August, her second year of medical school would begin.
Holy. Shit.
“Can’t be,” she moaned, turning over and staring at her clock without seeing it. Her right breast pressed into her arm, and the pressure made her wince.
Aching boobs.
Gabriella Ross wasn’t one to panic in any situation. But she’d never been in this one before.
She fucking panicked.
She’d also never been very religious.
She fucking prayed.
What the hell was she going to do?
First off, she decided, she was going to allow herself ten minutes—okay, twenty—to panic, cry, pray, whatever she needed to do, and then she was going to force
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