Surge (St. Martin Family Saga: Emergency Responders) Book 3: St. Martin Family Saga: Emergency Responders (5 page)

Clara was seven when she’d offered him comfort the first time. How can a seven-year-old comfort a seventeen-year-old? It was difficult to explain, but her determined spirit at that young age had solidified in him that no matter what had happened this tiny child with the striking blue eyes believed in his future. Even when he’d bellowed at her to leave him be, sometimes directly in her face, she’d never given up. She’d been the only one he’d confided in about the death of his parents, and though she didn’t remember their talk all these years later, it was in that moment when those seven-year-old blue eyes pleaded with him that he’d been saved from self-destruction. For her, he’d give everything.

Walking to the linen closet he snatched an additional pillow for the cot. He hadn’t known eleven years ago they’d end up together. He just thought she’d always be special to him. How had it even happened? It was after her accident, she’d thought she was undesirable. He’d sought to reassure her any man would fall all over himself to be with her. Case in point: he had. Once their bodies connected in a kiss it had not been possible to stop. She was what had been missing from his life and she was the best thing about his existence. Since that moment, every breath he took, every muscle he flexed was for her.

He leaned against the door jam watching her closely. She had her foot up resting on the edge of the chair. She wrote on a note card crinkling her nose up as she sat back to read what she’d written. He chuckled and she lifted her head. Her blue eyes danced as they rendered him momentarily immobile.

As she walked toward him he closed the door. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. “How are you?”

“Better now.”

“What were you laughing at?”

“Your face as you read the notecard.”

“In class we had to watch a birthing video. It was horrific. Hope you weren’t planning on having children because I’m not going through that.”

His head went back to accommodate his abrupt release of air from the deep laughter elicited on her behalf. She was the only one who could extract such a reaction from him. “I think it’s time for a quiz. Take off your pants and go get under the covers.”

“Hmm, that’s very clinical talk doctor.”

“Panties too.” He gathered her notecards and joined her on the cot.

“Let’s see what we have here.” He lay above her, resting his weight along his side, and pulled the covers to their neck. “Labia majora.” His fingers traced down her thigh until he reached the juncture between her legs. “Labia majora would be here”—he lightly traced the outer flesh—“two cutaneous folds that extend from the mons pubis down to the perineum.” His fingers lightly grazed each anatomical point as he spoke.

He sat up to his knees. “Here, you hold these.” He passed her the note cards. “What’s next?”

Breathily she answered, “Clitoral glans.”

“Lucky you.” He smiled. “That would be here”—he pushed his finger down on the knot between her legs. “It’s no larger than a pea and is comparable to the male organ, the glans penis, although much more concentrated and therefore highly stimulable.” He massaged the area with light repetitive movements. “During arousal the clitoral glans engorges with blood and will either protrude past, or swell under the clitoral hood.”

She gasped, “What’s mine do?”

“You’re a tricky girl because you swell under the hood. Fortunately for you, I aced female anatomy. However, I need more information to make a thorough assessment.”

He blew raspberries on her bare cleft and she squealed while he delighted in her youthfulness. Under the covers he spread and adjusted her and took her clit between his lips, massaging and squeezing until her fingers curled into his hair and her legs pressed together, closing him in. He thought he might smother under the covers between her legs, but he couldn’t imagine a better way to die. When her ass lifted off the bed her breath was heavy and she writhed and squeaked out some semblance of his name. He felt her increased moisture and confirmed that her clit did in fact swell when she was aroused. Of course he’d already known that having committed every inch of her body to his memory.

Needing to be inside her he stood to his knees and pulled the string on his scrubs. He looked down at the contented look on her face while she smiled up at him and mouthed,
I love you
.

Beep, beep, beep
. That pager would be the actual death of him. It always seemed to sense when he was about to escape deep inside her body and would taunt him. His head went down to rest on her stomach while he pulled his pants up, tied them off, and willed his erection to stop raging. He sat, hanging his legs off the cot. “I gotta go.”

“I’ll be here, waiting for you.”

He kissed her and then exited the room to head to emergency.

Chapter 5

By Saturday Clara
was packed and waiting for Jackson to return from his shift at the hospital. Her back pocket buzzed. She pulled out her phone and saw a text from Clay.

Clara Bear, you want to ride with us?

Gotta go to the restaurant for a bit. I’ll catch a ride with Jackson.

Be safe. Love you.

Love you.

She hated lying to her brother, but if he were to find out about Jackson life as she knew it would crack open spilling its guts onto the pavement. She wasn’t quite ready for that to happen. Not having a family of his own, Jackson spent all holidays with the St. Martins. In addition, he’d attend events like engagements and birthdays, his own included. Dad had pseudo adopted him and he was considered one of the family. Since they were lovers she assumed others would think it weird that he was part of the family. However, since she’d first known him she’d considered him her one and only so to her it wasn’t weird at all.

She started packing a bag for Jackson. For two years they’d been intimate and their relationship had created an interesting situation when they visited her childhood home. They’d cut eyes to one another from across the room and sneak in and out of bedrooms. She giggled at the memory of almost getting caught. Secretly she wished they would be discovered so she wouldn’t have to lie to her family any longer.

They’d coordinated gifts for her father’s birthday. She’d ordered monogrammed golf balls and Jackson had purchased a Honma nine iron to replace the one that Chloe almost beat Cal in the head with when she’d found out he’d bet his friends that he could score with her in Vegas. As she smirked at the memory her phone rang from the top of the dresser.

Jackson’s face filled the screen. “Hey, Cracker Jack.”

“I love to hear your voice. Can’t wait to spend the weekend with you. I’m pulling in to the complex as we speak. Got you something special.”

“You spoil me.”

“Always. Come out to the car before it melts all over me.”

She hung up and made her way to the front door. Spotting his old Civic she walked up to the car. He stepped out looking gloriously disheveled with his day of stubble and his short hair out of place. He bent to take her lips before handing her a chocolate dipped cone. Her favorite. “Thank you for the cone.”

“You’re welcome. I wish I could buy you so much more. One day.”

“But I like dipped cones.”

His intense eyes leveled at her. “It’s so easy to please you.”

She put her arm around him. “I love you Jackson. I would rather be monetarily poor with you and rich in life.”

He chuckled. “Then I think your wish has come true.”

“Wanna bite?”

His head came down and he took a bite that demolished half the top.

“Hey!” He pulled her in close and kissed her lips. When she opened her mouth he shared his prize with her. The chocolate had already started to melt and she moaned from the delightful sensation.

They waved to Mr. Porter as he parked in his stall and unloaded his groceries. He was in his fifties and worked as an electrician. As Clara licked her ice cream cone she recalled the day he’d helped them put in a ceiling fan, patiently relating to Jackson the wiring process. They’d offered to pay him, but Mr. Porter had said he’d only accept payment in the form of homemade chocolate chip cookies. Clara made him three dozen and continued to keep him stocked with homemade sweets.

Jackson placed a kiss on her lips. “Let’s get loaded up and then I’ll need to shower. Any chance you’ll join me?”

“Love to.”

“We’ll need to take your car. I don’t have much faith mine will make it. I need to get that oil leak checked out.” Of course he didn’t have the money to pay a mechanic, nor did he have the time to take a look at it himself. At least they had her car.

Once the stuff was loaded, they went into the bedroom and she undressed him while the shower water warmed. When he was naked she swatted his perky butt and he climbed into the shower, she followed behind. He was slim but had defined muscles from jogging and riding that damn bicycle to work—over the bridge. It was dangerous and she always worried so he hadn’t done it as much as he used to, but with his car on the brink of breaking down he’d recently taken to riding it more than ever.

She sighed as the hot water pelted around them. He loved for her to lather her hands and massage away the workday. She started at the back of his neck, moving down to his shoulders and then the muscles of his upper back. She loved his butt and could hardly wait to massage further south. It was the same thing every time. She’d start on her massage and by the time she ended up at his butt he’d turn, just as he was doing now, and offer her a teasing, naughty smirk.

He lifted her and she wrapped her legs around his waist while he rested her back against the tile in their small bathtub shower. She liked the size because there was barely enough room to accommodate them both and they had to remain close. In their passion neither of them could speak, but their communication was strong. His eyes tightened and pleaded for her acceptance, which she gave by roughly pulling him toward her. She groaned her impatience and he slowly entered her. Whenever they made love it was like it was their last time. Or their first time. She didn’t know, but she felt the intensity and his pinpoint focus. It was like he was deliberately trying to make their connection last as long as he could. She also wanted to be connected to him for all of eternity and even beyond, so she didn’t mind that he would get frenzied, but then slow to an almost stop just before she was about to experience bliss. He’d always come back around and work her up again. He kissed her, the shower water mixing with their saliva. His tongue slid down her chin and neck to her breast until he was at her nipple. He loitered, tracing the pebble with his tongue while his pace was steady but slow. She raked her nails across his back and his gaze caught hers.

“I love you,” she whispered.

A half cry, half gasp escaped his lips. “Three little words. Not enough.” His pace increased until he was assaulting her and the skin at her back stung from being pulled by the tiles. “You save me from darkness Clara. You’re everything.”

She didn’t want him to be even on the precipice of plummeting into the depths of the darkness he spoke about. “Jackson, I hope you’re happy because you make me happier than I’ve ever been or could imagine being.”

“Bug, I’m flipping rapturous. With your love I could hold up the world.”

They held on to each other with hard unrelenting grips as they came together, like they always did, intense and cleansing, whole and complete.

≈

Driving to the estate with her hand entwined in his, listening to her emo music, was the epitome of happiness. What she’d given him in the shower was the closest to heaven he knew he’d ever get. Fine with him. Paradise couldn’t get any better than Clara naked, sudsy, and writhing under his touch.

Making the turn that placed the car on the estate made his skin prickle. He sensed the end of their utopian cocoon and the beginning of despair. He pulled up under a pecan tree. The scariest thing of all was he knew she felt it too. Her eyes turned down and her wringing hands communicated trouble. Given her sixth sense, he was not surprised when he exited the car and Mr. St. Martin rode up on a horse.

“This is my boy Jackson. He’s in his final year of residency at Baton Rouge General. Jackson, I want you to meet Warren Granger. His daughter, Lexi, is inside; I’ll introduce you to her later. Told him you’d wine and dine her for the weekend. She’s got her masters in nursing. She’s twenty-seven years old. Do I smell a love connection?”

“You always did enjoy playing matchmaker,” Warren said, and then extended his hand toward Jackson. He took Warren’s cold, lifeless grip into his, not liking the way he sized him up like a bull at auction. “Baton Rouge General. Impressive.” Jackson nodded.

“We’ll just let you get unloaded and then I’ll do the introductions.” Laughing, Mr. St. Martin strode away alongside his business partner.

Jackson turned and looked across the hood of the car to see Clara, frozen in place, grief etched on her face.

“Bug, it changes nothing. I’ll get out of it. No one can compare to you.” He walked over to her and took her earlobe between his fingers. She didn’t respond, but looked to the ground. “Bug?”

Her held breath pushed from her lungs in a painful sounding gasp. “But she’s … she’s in medicine and she’s your age. Lexi’s perfect for you.”

She used to ask why he wanted her, a dumb sixteen-year-old girl. It had taken him a year of uttering reassuring words in her ear for her to start believing him. He’d finally told her she was everything good and pure he’d ever known. In comparison he was dust, a black hole. She’d stopped asking after he’d shared those words.

“No.” He shook his head. “Bug, I’ve found my perfection already.” He took her hands in his. “Hey, look at me.” Her pained eyes burned him. “All that I am, all that I’ll ever be is wrapped up in you. You alone make me who I am.”

Her smile broke. “That sounded like emo lyrics. I thought you hated emo.”

“I could never hate something you love.” He kissed her nose. “Your expressive powder-blue eyes follow me in my sleep. You’re all over my dreams. I could never exist apart from you.”

Others started to arrive so they broke apart and he removed their bags from the car.

“What’s this bag with wine and cheese in the backseat?”

“Give it to me.”

“You want to explain why you have a bottle of wine given that you’re under age?”

“Oh pipe down with the underage speech. I’d not intended for you to see it until tonight. It’s from Moretti’s—an expiring Manchego cheese and a bottle of petite Syrah that Lucian said would pair nicely.”

“Mmm.” He licked his lips and brushed them together.

“And guess what? It’s a Viejo, aged one year.”

He smiled widely. “Are we sharing this lone bottle and
my
Manchego with the rest of your family?”

Her eyes sparkled. “I sure didn’t have that in mind when I packed it. Thought you could sneak into my room later tonight, like you did last time.”

“You should be a party planner. You’d earn millions.” They kissed behind the privacy of the car door.

Inside he greeted most of her brothers and went upstairs to stow the luggage just to get away from the leering eyes and snide comments about the Granger girl. Truthfully, it was hard for him to watch all of her brothers happily married and making googoo eyes at their wives. It made him yearn for the day they’d be accepted as a couple. His gut seized when he realized they probably never would be.

He dropped her bags on the bed in the room that had served her during her childhood years. As he looked around the room with its handwritten passages and colorful Chinese lanterns, he thought the décor was whimsically original and thoughtful just like her.

In the hall he ran into her mother. “Mrs. St. Martin.”

“Jackson, honey, you look tired.” She placed his jaw in her palms and kissed his cheeks. “You don’t come around enough. How’s your residency going?”

He loved this warm woman who was the only semblance of a mother he had. Her sincerity with him, despite the fact that she had seven other children, always boosted his spirits. He liked that she made his time special. “The hours are long.”

“I just read about the huge accident on I-10. They took a lot of the victims to Baton Rouge General. Guess you saw them both going and coming didn’t you?”

“Yes ma’am.” He felt his eyes go unfocused at the graphic memories.

She clasped his hand in hers. “Will you have coffee with me in the morning? Just you and me.”

“I’d love to.”

“Great. I’d like to catch up with my favorite son.”

He smiled, knowing she said that to each of her children.

“Hope you plan on staying the night.”

“Yeah, we thought we’d stay through Monday.”

Her brow furrowed and it was then that he realized he’d referred to Clara and himself as a we.

“I mean Clara and me, she rode with me.”

She smiled at him, squeezing his forearm. “I’m so grateful she has you to look after her. I don’t worry so much about her alone in that big city.”

He couldn’t say anything at her overt display of trust in him, but his insides burned with the lie.