Instant Gratification (Wilder #2)(25)

“Come to me, or I’ll come to you.”

He liked the sound of that—her coming to him, on him, all over him, but he knew better. The woman was bloodthirsty. Plus he’d seen her steely, fierce determination up front and personal. Come to her? He’d love it, only it wasn’t going to happen. “Sure thing,” he said. “Two days.”

Or never.





Chapter 8




To Emma, Spencer was cute in a Clark Kent sort of way; dark hair, dark eyes, and a helpless smile made all the more disarming for the simple sexy dimple that went with it. He had a lean runner’s body that belied how much he ate, and a career in the surgical world that men twice his age would kill for.

But he had a fatal flaw. Emma called it Fickle-ality. He couldn’t settle, on anything.

Period.

Still, as a best friend, it worked, and while she ran the clinic that day, he happily occupied himself in the great outdoors; kayaking, hiking…

That night, not content with the stack of casseroles to choose from, he cooked. Emma sat on the small kitchen counter and watched him throw some ingredients into a pan, from which came forth the most mouth watering scent. “What is that?”

“Roasted tomato mozzarella and eggplant pasta.”

It never failed to amaze her—a professional water burner—that Spence was every bit as talented in the kitchen as he was in the operating room.

“Oh, Kate dumped me,” he said, topping off their glasses.

Ah. That explained why he was here early. He’d gotten bored. “Didn’t you date her only twice?” she asked. “That doesn’t count as a dumping.”

“Yes it does,” he said. “Which also qualifies me for make-up sex.”

“Kate’s in the Sierras?”

“I meant you.” He smiled, his dark eyes warm and affectionate. “I get another shot at you.”

Yeah, right. He wasn’t looking for another shot at her, he wasn’t looking for anything but fun and they both knew it. It was why they made such good friends, because they didn’t need anything from each other—perfect—as they didn’t have anything to give each other. It was a selfish relationship on both sides, and also the only lasting relationship in either of their lives.

He came close and ran a finger over her jaw, rimming her ear.

“Let me save you some time on the foreplay action. We’re not sleeping together, Spencer.”

He merely topped off her wine with a small smile, clearly confident he’d change her mind.

After dinner, she showed him to the tiny spare bedroom. Spence caught her hand there in the hallway and flashed her a quick grin. “So what size bed do you have in your room?”

With a laugh, she looked him in the eyes. His thick hair was as unruly as his heart, dipping low over his forehead. He wore designer threads, and managed to look like he’d just thrown them on. He was rich, incredibly talented with a scalpel, and fun.

If she’d taken him inside her heart, he’d have broken it in half a long time ago.

Which was okay. She didn’t have the urge to take him into her heart. She didn’t have the urge to take anyone in her heart. Her life was good as it was.

So good.

And she couldn’t wait to get back to it. “A queen-size bed.”

“Nice.”

“Perfect for one.”

“Or two.”

“Or one.”

“Aw, Em.” He stepped into her, pressing that runner’s body to hers as he slid a hand up her side, gently squeezing her waist. “It’s been awhile.”

“Yes, since you were dumped on your sorry ass by Margarita.”

“As I recall, you comforted me quite nicely.”

“You don’t need comforting, Spencer. Not tonight.”

“Sure I do.” Bending his head, he nuzzled her neck. “I’m in the big bad Sierras. I’m scared, Emma.”

She laughed and pushed him away. “Stop it. You don’t need me tonight. We both know it.”

He cocked his head, studying her in the dimly lit hallway. “Actually, I think that’s in reverse. You don’t need me.”

“Not in my bed, no.” She took his roaming hands in hers and then hugged him. “But I needed you here, and you came.”

With a sigh, he hugged her back. “I’ll always come for you, Emma. Always.”



The next day, Emma woke up to dark, wet skies, which fit her mood. She called to check on her dad, who was in the middle of fishing. She treated three thirteen-year-old boys, brought in by their scolding mothers. Seemed that the boys had been pretending to be the Wilder brothers, and had gone hiking in a gully near a river to catch crawdads, and instead had caught poison ivy.

One of the mothers paid with a chicken cheese casserole. Another paid with a check that couldn’t be cashed until the first of the month. The third had a credit card and enough gossip to leave Emma’s head spinning. She learned a whole host of things she didn’t care about, but the one bit of supposed news that stuck with her was that Big Foot had made another sighting—Big Foot?!—but everyone was pretty sure it was just Old Man Pete terrorizing the tourists again.

Good to know.

When the stupid cow bell jangled midday, a woman came in and shook off her wet, lightweight jacket. Emma recognized her as the woman she’d seen in the frozen aisle of the grocery store, the one who’d told Stone she hoped that Cam got dumped by his new fiancé. She wore black jeans and a black t-shirt, with a white and black checkered apron that said Wishful Delights. She was carrying a matching black and white bag that smelled like heaven as she limped to the front desk. “I hope to God you and your big city airs can handle a toe infection.”