Stripped - By Brenda Rothert Page 0,18

a minute.

“You’ll need to fill this out,” she droned, passing Abby a clipboard.

“I’m here to see Dr. Reneau,” Abby said.

“You get whichever doctor you get, but you need to fill this out first,” the woman said, looking annoyed.

“It’s a personal call. Can you please page him?” Abby said. She got a brief glare in response before the receptionist paged Chris.

Abby shuffled uncertainly. She was wondering if she should sit down and wait when Chris sailed through the double doors to the ER.

“Hey,” he said, grinning. “I’m finishing something up, come on back.”

Abby followed him to a row of chairs near the large desk area for the staff.

“I’ll just be a bit,” he said. When he walked behind the desk and sat down at a computer, he put on a pair of dark reading glasses, and Abby stared at him. Between the gold, messy hair, the matching stubble, the bulge of his arms from beneath his short-sleeved scrubs and now the glasses, she couldn’t look away. She imagined him sitting at her kitchen table, reading the paper in those glasses, and drinking coffee.

As the fantasy continued, his shirt disappeared, and he gave her a lusty, knowing grin as his eyes met hers. He sat the imaginary paper aside. It was about to get good, really good, when a voice next to her pulled Abby from her daydream.

“You looked lost in thought,” a man said. There was swagger in his smile, and Abby returned it politely. “May I?”

She nodded absently at the empty chair next to her.

“So, you come here often?” he grinned.

“Uh…”

“Hey, medic,” Chris called from the desk. “Beat it, she’s here to see me.”

Abby saw from the logo on his t-shirt that he was a paramedic. He raised his hands in mock defeat as he left. Chris finished his work and took off the glasses. Abby was a little disappointed to see them go.

“Hi,” he said, laying a hand on her back as he led her down the hallway. When he held open the door to the familiar sleeping room, Abby’s pulse quickened.

He flipped on the dim light again, and Abby’s eyes went to his lips as he approached her. She thought of their evening out, and how she had thought – hoped even – that he was about to kiss her as they stood on her front porch.

“I think I owe you a massage this time,” she said softly.

“No, I’m giving you one. Lay down on your stomach.”

Abby complied, eager to feel his hands on her again. She reached back to move her hair, but Chris’ hand stopped hers.

“Let me,” he said. He gathered her hair into his hands and piled it over one of her shoulders on the bed. Abby felt a tingle of anticipation as she waited. All night, she had been telling men to take their hands off her, but she wanted Chris’ to roam her entire body.

His touch was light and warm as he slid his hands under the back of her shirt. Abby sighed happily as he massaged her upper back, moving deftly up to her neck and shoulders. Her tension slid away as he worked, replaced by arousal.

She reached back and grabbed her t-shirt, pulling it over her head to allow him easier access. Chris inhaled sharply, his hands pausing against her.

“Is that okay?” she asked, confused. Wearing a bra with no shirt was second nature to Abby.

“Yes,” he said in a low voice, his hands wandering from her neck into her hair. She felt fatigue setting in as his fingertips massaged her scalp.

“I don’t want to fall asleep…” she murmured, drifting into restful unawareness.

“Abby?” Chris said softly, crouching next to the bed.

“Hmm? Oh, no, did I fall asleep?” she cried, sitting up quickly. Chris’ eyes widened as he looked at her, wearing only her bra and jeans.

“You can sleep here. I have to go back to work, but I can lock the room and come get you when I’m off,” he said.

“No, I have to go. How long did I sleep?”

“About 30 minutes.”

Abby sighed with exasperation.

“I can’t believe I spent the whole time sleeping,” she said, pulling her t-shirt back over her head.

“It was nice. Only minimal snoring,” Chris said, grinning as he wrapped his stethoscope back around his neck. “Hey, I keep meaning to tell you I’m going to Vegas tomorrow. It’s just Saturday and Sunday. I meet some friends from college there once a year for a weekend.”

“Have a good time,” Abby said, sliding her coat on.

“I’ll just play poker