There’s about thirty yards between me and my hot paramedic, a distance that lessens with every footstep as he walks down the center of the service lane. He has a curious way of walking – part swagger, his shoulders leaning into his stride, arms held out from his muscular torso to make way for his holster. He’s a cowboy who has just slid down from his horse, and I should be in a voluminous dress like some old Western movie star, not in a hospital gown over black lingerie.
I wait until he’s right up against me, matching my stripper-heeled height and then some.
“I thought you weren’t coming back.”
“Sh.” He presses a finger to my lips.
On impulse, I slide forward my tongue. I can taste his salt.
Holding my gaze, he takes his hand away, lets it fall to mine. He takes hold of my fingers, st
