Radclyffe - Turn Back Time

Pearce opened her eyes, which were hazy and unfocused. After a few seconds, she smiled. Wynter bent over her, her eyes soft with welcome. It was a wonderful way to wake up. "All done?"

"Yes," Wynter said softly, resisting the urge to brush the damp strands of hair off her cheek. When Pearce sidled over to make room, Wynter sat next to her without thinking, their hips lightly touching. "It went great. Thanks for letting me do it."

"No problem." Pearce stretched lazily, her hips coming off the sofa as she raised her arms over her head and rolled her shoulders.

Her scrub shirt had come untucked while she slept and rode up now to expose an expanse of smooth, tanned belly surrounding a tight, shallow navel.

Wynter tracked the path of fabric over flesh and was struck by the unexpected beauty of muscles playing beneath soft skin. She saw bodies every day of her life, clothed and unclothed, in every stage of health and disease, but she couldn't remember ever seeing anything quite so lovely.

Pearce followed Wynter's gaze, and the muscles in her belly twitched as if stroked. In an instant, she was aroused. She searched Wynter's eyes, wondering if she knew what her glance had stirred, hoping that her own hunger did not show. Her voice was hoarse when she said, "I should probably get home."

Abruptly, Wynter stood, backing away as she spoke. "Yes.

Everything is quiet here, I take it?"

"As the grave." Pearce swung her legs to the floor and rose.

Wynter was already feeding coins into the soda machine with her back turned. "You should get some dinner. You can't afford to lose any more weight."

Wynter turned, her expression questioning. "What do you mean?"

"You look thinner than I remember you. Surgery residencies will either pork you up or cause malnutrition."

"Oh, you mean when we first met?" When Pearce nodded, Wynter smiled. "This is my baseline. I was pregnant then."

Pearce grew suddenly very still. "You've got kids?"

"One. A little girl. She's three."

"Jesus," Pearce whispered. She's straight and she has a kid. Oh, man. You need to stay far, far away from this one.

Busy opening her soda, Wynter didn't see the shock on Pearce's face. "So, can I buy you dinner?"

"No, thanks," Pearce said hastily. She gestured toward the wall clock. "It's late. See you tomorrow."

Hurt by the sudden shift in mood, Wynter watched her hurry away, certain she would never figure Pearce out. And just as certain that she didn't care.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

"Okay, let's take it from the top," Pearce said, as she did every morning at 5:30 a.m.

"1211, Myzorsky, three days post fem-pop bypass," Wynter began, as she had every day for the last month except for the Saturday and Sunday, a week apart, when she had not been on call. She could barely remember a time when she had not been a resident at University Hospital. Spending twelve to twenty-four hours a day immersed in what amounted to a self-contained society with its own particular rules and regulations had inculcated her quickly to the habits and expectations of her fellow residents, the nursing staff, and her attendings. She had a good sense of what everyone wanted--everyone, that was, except Pearce. She studied her senior resident as the other residents began their run-down of the patients assigned to them.

Pearce had dark half-moons smudging each lower lid, as if the delicate, pale skin had been pinched by brutal fingers. Shadows danced in her even darker eyes, whispering of thoughts Wynter could only guess at and tried not to. Since the night she had awakened Pearce in the surgeons' lounge, they'd had no interaction that hadn't been strictly clinically related. Pearce was a fair and highly competent acting chief, and Wynter appreciated how much teaching Pearce provided everyone on the service, including her. But there had been no more offers of dinner, no detours to Pearce's secret hideaways, and no stolen moments to exchange a personal word between cases. As the days passed, Wynter found it more and more difficult to believe that they had shared such an easy connection over dinner the night she had arrived and impossible to accept that there had once been a connection so immediate they had almost kissed. Clearly, whatever had drawn them together in that singular sliver of long-ago time had disappeared with the years. Even as she accepted what she could not deny, this new distance between them made her edgy and short-tempered, which was wholly unlike her.

"Does that meet your approval, Dr. Thompson?" Pearce asked dryly, wondering where Wynter had drifted off to. Her blue eyes were stormy and distant.

"What?" Wynter jumped, aware that she had not been listening.

"Sorry?"

"I just said you can take Liu through the hernia this afternoon.

Marksburg is a hands-off attending and will probably only stick her head in now and then. Of course, if you're too busy--"

"No! Of course not. That sounds great." She purposely slid her eyes away from Pearce, who was staring at her so intently she feared her thoughts might be visible. She gave the first-year resident, who looked both excited and frightened, an encouraging nod. "That will be fine. Make sure you review the patient's chart before you come to the OR."

"Oh, I will," Liu said. "For sure."

Wynter hid her smile, remembering those first few times she had been given responsibility for performing an operation. It had taken her several years to appreciate that she was not really operating at all, but following the subtle directions of those more experienced as they led her by the hand through the procedure, guiding her movements with small verbal and physical cues. The experienced surgeon could perform most of the operation without her even noticing, so that when it was over, she felt as if she had done the procedure. Eventually, she realized that had she been left to her own devices, she would have foundered in the middle of the case with no idea what to do. But a good teacher left her feeling accomplished rather than lost and inadequate. That caliber of instruction was a balancing act that only the very best could perform.

Pearce was that kind of mentor. It was just one of the many things that Wynter admired about the difficult but irrefutably talented chief resident.

Pearce wondered at the small frown line that creased the smooth skin between Wynter's brows. Obviously, something was bothering her.

And that bothered Pearce. That was foolish, and she knew it. Whatever was going on in Wynter's life was no concern of hers as long as it didn't affect her work. She reminded herself of that at least once daily. In recent weeks, Pearce had been very careful not to infringe on personal territory. The day Wynter had arrived she'd been so surprised to see her that she had behaved completely unlike herself. She still felt mildly embarrassed to think that she had taken Wynter to the old residents' lounge, as if she were a kid showing off her favorite rock collection to an adult she wanted to impress.

"Everybody knows what to do." Impatient with her own wandering thoughts, Pearce collected her paperwork and stood. "So let's get to work."

Pearce detoured to the cafeteria counter for a cup of coffee that she didn't really want so that Wynter and the other residents could get ahead of her as they dispersed for work rounds. As she held down the lever to refill her cup from the stainless steel urn, she felt a not-so subtle brush of fingers over her ass. She didn't have to look to know who it was.

"Not here," she murmured.

"Where have you been?" Andrea said in a low throaty voice. She moved closer and skimmed her hand inside Pearce's lab coat, playing her nails up and down Pearce's thigh.

Pearce took a sharp breath and drew back. "Busy."

"So busy you don't get horny anymore?"