Smooth Irish (Book 2 of the Weldon Series) by Jennifer Saints

opposite
from the underwear she’d worn last night. He grinned. Next time he
found Nan in a compromising position on the hood of his pickup, he
wouldn’t be so quick to rush her inside, even if it was storming.
There was something hot and elemental thinking about making love to
her in the rain. “You look better in a uniform than any nurse I’ve
ever seen.”
    She straightened then frowned.
“What are your comparisons? The nurse in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest ? I
think waking up this early in the morning has you
delusional.”
    He opened his mouth to tell her he’d seen plenty of
white uniforms, then shut it. That part of his life was over.
    “Well, thanks again. It was, um, good to see you.”
She seemed a little nervous as she turned to get into the car.
    “Yeah. Real good.” He caught her shoulder and turned
her back to him. “Not so fast, you have sugar on your mouth.”
    “I do?” She reached up to brush away the crumb, but
he captured her hand in his before she could wipe it away. He
leaned down and laid his lips over the spot and licked. Sweet
heaven.
    Nan stiffened slightly. “Jackson, we can’t.”
    “We can’t?” he whispered back and slid his mouth
more in line with hers. He waited a moment to see if she’d pull
away. When she didn’t, he ran his tongue across her bottom lip,
softly, slowly, coaxing.
    Her answer came in her sigh of surrender as her palm
flattened against his and their fingers intertwined. Her skin
heated and electrified his nerves, sending a shock straight to his
gut. Her lips parted, and he kissed her. Not hard, as the blood
racing through his veins urged, but tenderly, like the sun’s warmth
in the early morn. A deep moan worked its way up the back of his
throat as she sank into the kiss, wrapping her arms about his
neck.
    When he could no longer hold back his desire, he
gently set her back on her feet, drew a deep breath, and tucked her
head into the crook of his shoulder.
    After a moment he stepped back and cupped her chin
to brush his thumb across the last crumb of sugar clinging to her
mouth. Her lip trembled beneath his touch. “I meant what I said
last night. I want to make love to you. You and I would be
incredible.” He took her left hand and kissed her bare ring finger
to its tip. Then he nipped the sensitive pad with his teeth before
covering it completely with a soothing combination of his mouth and
lips. “We’re both free, consenting adults. We can, sugar. We
definitely can.”

CHAPTER SEVEN
     
    She could.
    She had to.
    Next time Nan saw Jackson, she’d tell him they
couldn’t start seeing each other again. No more hot buns in the
morning, no more kisses. Since he’d left her off at her car after a
sticky bun breakfast yesterday, he’d intruded into her every
thought like a movie star filling up the big screen. His voice, his
every movement and every word lay amplified in her memory.
    “Breathe,” Nan encouraged her patient.
    The young woman’s flushed face contorted with pain,
and she cried out. Up until this point she’d remained focused on
her determination for as “natural” a birth as possible. Now in the
Transition Stage, the woman wavered.
    “I can’t,” the woman moaned. “It hurts.”
    “I know, but you’re almost there. You can do this.”
Nan squeezed her patient’s hand, giving what support she could. The
father, who’d originally planned to be his wife’s birthing coach,
had been banished to the waiting room. The man fainted every time
his wife had a contraction. Nine times out of ten, it seemed to Nan
that when a woman needed a man the most during life’s trials, the
man let her down.
    “I’ll breathe with you, remember what they taught
you in Lamaze, focus and breathe. He, he, he, ho.” Nan guided her
patient in the short and long breath patterns until the woman’s
contraction eased. Then she bathed the woman’s flushed face with a
cool cloth and received a thankful smile before the woman shut her
eyes to rest a