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Sunlight pours through the window, the brightness stirring Mel from sleep and inviting the insistent press of a headache against her temples. Squinting cautiously against the onslaught of light, Mel takes in the blurry, unfamiliar room, thankful she at least remembered to take out her contacts before bed.
Where the hell is she?
And just how much did she have to drink last night?
She remembers the group (namely, one Trinity Santos) insisting she come out for their last night in Vegas. And because she no longer had the excuse of the emergency medicine conference to keep her in her hotel room, she had agreed.
Her attempt to recall the actions of past-Mel is abandoned the moment she registers the fact she isn’t alone in bed. There’s a warmth pressed against her back and a weight around her waist. An arm, she realises belatedly, sluggish mind desperately in need of coffee and a shower. Carefully, she lifts the sheet to inspect the intruder in bed with her, the hand splayed possessively on her stomach. A gentle sigh of relief escapes her at the sight.
It's just Dr Langdon, she thinks, eyes slipping closed once more, content to fall back asleep in his embrace. They fly open not a second later because Dr Frank Langdon? What the fuck?
This must be some kind of hangover-induced delirium.
As far as Mel is concerned, any kind of romance with Dr Langdon is wishful thinking. Sure, she’s had a crush on him since the first day they met, but she’s always been careful to hide it.
She’s not in bed with her favourite doctor, she reasons. She’s in a coma because the only excuse for this extremely realistic hallucination is severe head trauma.
Mel’s self-diagnosis vanishes from the realm of possibility at the soft, sleepy sigh behind her. A contented hum, soft lips pressing against the curve of her shoulder, the arm around her tightening for a moment before the body behind her stills.
Mel could be wrong.
The man behind her could be a complete stranger.
(Mel is far too familiar with Dr Langdon’s hands to delude herself into thinking this is anyone else.)
The worst part about all this is the wedding ring on his finger that hasn’t been there in months, metal hard against her skin, a stark reminder that no matter what occurred last night, he will never be hers. Her crush is a silly, unrequited thing.
So how the hell had they ended up in bed together?
Especially if, without Mel even realising it, he had reconciled with his ex-wife. Heart clenching painfully at the thought, a tear slips from the corner of her eye, soaking into the softness of the feather pillow beneath her. Mel forces herself not to think about the fact Dr Langdon will never see her as anything more than a colleague.
(What Mel hasn’t noticed is that this wedding ring is different.)
Trying to keep her breathing steady, Mel feigns sleep, praying that Dr Langdon can’t feel her heart racing wildly in her chest.
The bed shifts and she pictures him propping himself up on an elbow, frowning down at her, entirely confused as to her presence in his bed. His hand moves from her stomach to her waist, lingering a little too long before slipping away entirely. Mel tells herself it’s because he doesn’t want to disturb her and not because he couldn’t quite bring himself to stop touching her.
It takes everything in her not to flinch at his next hesitant touch, a lock of hair brushed delicately behind her ear, no doubt confirming that it is his number one resident in bed with him.
The tiniest part of her she’s unwilling to acknowledge wishes she could start every day like this, waking up in the arms of the man she cares about most. Cold air floods the space between them and Mel shivers, viciously reminded that lazing in bed with Dr Langdon is only a fantasy. One he is rightfully unwilling to indulge in.
If Mel were brave enough to turn around, she would find Langdon sitting on the edge of the bed, unable to resist stealing another look at her over his shoulder, gaze drifting in wonder between her and the wedding band resting snugly on his finger.
She’s almost fallen back to sleep when the bed dips as he finally stands. He fumbles with something on the bedside table, the room soon filled with the soft whir of the gauzy curtains closing as he pulls the sheet over her once more.
The moment the bathroom door shuts behind him, Mel sits up, head spinning at the sudden movement, assessing the aches in her body which she determines can only have come from several rounds of deliciously depraved sex. She runs a hand through her hair, taking in the state of the room, decorated haphazardly with their clothes, wincing as the strands catch on something. Mel lowers her hand, expecting to find a chipped nail rather than the wedding ring on her finger.
A golden band to match the one on Dr Langdon’s own ring finger.
“Holy shit,” she whispers.
Mel has absolutely no recollection of marrying Dr Langdon, but somewhere between celebrating Whitaker’s surprising win at the casino and now, she’s acquired a husband.
A husband with whom she is just a little bit (read: incredibly) in love with. One she believes will never see her in a romantic light.
Every smile, every touch, every inside joke—Mel has dismissed all their interactions as casual or entirely accidental, refusing to hope he might have feelings for her. Even the time he kissed her after finding out they set a new hospital record for STEMI door-to-balloon time. He’d been so happy he would have kissed anyone the moment he found out; Mel is certain of it. She just happened to be there (all the way across the ER) at the time.
Deciding she needs to do something other than sit in his bed naked, Mel squints about the room, searching for her underwear which are nowhere in sight.
A vague memory of the night before dazzles into existence at the forefront of her mind.
The zip of her dress sliding down, kisses pressed along her spine, Dr Langdon on his knees behind her, the glittering lights of the strip on display as he mouthed at her cunt through her underwear before removing them entirely.
“Oh my God,” she breathes. If she peels back the curtain, will the evidence of their passion be smudged in the shape of her hands against the glass?
Mel slips from the bed, making for Langdon’s crumpled shirt on her way to the window. She can’t hear him in the bathroom, but she figures he’s probably having some kind of crisis, not dissimilar to her own. Or worse, is waiting for her to leave before coming out. Either way, he probably doesn’t want to find her standing naked in the middle of his hotel room.
The fabric of his shirt is soft against her skin, and she greedily dips her nose to the collar, inhaling the lingering scent of his aftershave. Her fingers tremble on the buttons, and she only manages three of them before a soft click breaks her concentration and the bathroom door opens.
Mel turns, swallowing at the sight of Dr Langdon walking towards her, clad in nothing more than his boxers, a bashful grin at the corner of his mouth.
“Hey,” he says softly.
“Hi.” She can’t help smiling back at him even though her nerves are shot. Out of habit, she reaches up to adjust her glasses that aren’t there and ends up tucking her hair behind her ear instead, an echo of his earlier caress.
“Nice shirt.”
He reaches out, knuckles brushing against her thigh, to tug at the hem. The movement causes the poorly buttoned shirt to slip from her shoulder, a hint of her breast exposed to his gaze. Mel feels her cheeks heat at the sight of him, mouth ajar, tongue pressed against his lower lip for the briefest of moments before his brain seems to catch up and he takes a step back.
“Sorry, I couldn’t find my—”
“No, it’s fine. You look—” he cuts himself off, clearing his throat before saying, “You look good.”
Unable to hold his piercing blue gaze, Mel finds herself staring at her underwear flung onto the back of a chair. She forces herself to look back at Dr Langdon before he follows her line of sight.
“Some night, huh?” Her devastatingly attractive husband reaches up to run a hand through his hair and Mel does not stare at the flex of his muscles whilst trying to remember the feel of them beneath her palms.
“I, uh, don’t actually remember anything,” she lies, the words spilling from her mouth in a panic, because the more she thinks about last night, the more the memories solidify in her mind. Flashes of his mouth against her skin, her hands in his hair, his own guiding her leg around his waist. She gives her head a little shake to dispel the thoughts.
“Oh. Right. Okay.” He frowns at her, head tilted as though he’s not sure she’s telling the whole truth. “No, me neither.”
“Oh,” she says lamely, the word as stained with disappointment as it was when it fell from his mouth seconds ago. Before he can say anything else, she blurts out, “I’m going to take a shower.”
At a pace faster than strictly necessary, she walks towards the recently vacated bathroom, shuts the door, and immediately berates herself for not picking up her dress from the floor on the way. It will be far too embarrassing if she goes back out there now when she’s all but fled his presence.
Through the door, she hears a very muffled, “Idiot.”
You and me both, she thinks, helping herself to his mouthwash, desperate to rid her mouth of the taste of last night and the memory of kisses she’ll never know again.
Mouth minty fresh, she stares at her reflection, the remnants of glittery eyeshadow still clinging to her eyelashes. Even though she looks much as she always does, it feels as though every molecule of her being has been transformed overnight, a stranger looking back at her. A woman married in a quickie Vegas wedding to a husband that doesn’t even want her. He’s probably out there right now looking up how to divorce her before they’re even on the plane home.
Mel blinks back her tears, swipes the remnants of mascara from beneath her eyes, and turns on the shower, fingers at the buttons of Langdon’s shirt.
The bathroom door opens suddenly and Mel jumps, whirling to face Dr Langdon who looks like he’s just run a mile. Hair in disarray, panting slightly as he scans the bathroom for her with wide, panicked eyes, instant relief flooding his face the moment they land on her.
“What—"
“Mel,” he says breathlessly, “I do remember. And even if you don’t—”
“I do—”
“I remember every touch, every kiss, the way it felt to finally be inside you. I never want to forget.”
“Oh,” she says, unable to form a coherent thought beyond he remembers he remembers he remembers, the world spinning around her in its own state of alcohol-induced euphoria, images of their night together spilling into her mind from the overflowing cup of memory.
“Mel,” he says, closing the distance between them until there is only the glass of the shower behind her. Nowhere to run. “I’m in love with you.”
I’m in love with you.
The world stops, her heart squeezing in her chest at the words. She must have heard him incorrectly. He doesn’t love her. He doesn’t even like her like that. Mel gives her thigh a subtle pinch just in case she is, in fact, imagining things. She’s the one who’s had a crush on him since the very beginning. Frank Langdon loving her should be impossible but here he is saying things like—
“I’ve been in love with you, I think, since that very first day we worked together.”
“You have?” she whispers, smile lighting up her entire face, straining towards him on invisible string.
“Yeah.” He reaches up to cradle her face, gently brushing away the joyful tear slipping down her cheek. “Nobody has ever made me feel the way you do, Mel. I don’t want to pretend this never happened between us.”
A shaky breath escapes her, and his expression wavers the tiniest amount. She reaches up to grip his wrists, afraid if he pulls away now, she might lose him forever.
“I can’t pretend either,” she whispers, eyes searching his own. And then, very quietly she says, “I want you.”
Langdon smiles so brilliantly she’s powerless not to mirror his expression.
And then he kisses her.
All the emotion he’s never allowed himself to express until now threatens to overwhelm her. Mel is lost to the soft press of his mouth against hers, desire licking up her spine as he traces his tongue against her lower lip, slips it into her mouth when she gasps at the hand trailing from her neck to the buttons of his shirt.
He manoeuvres her under the spray of the shower before he’s even finished unbuttoning the shirt, chuckling at her noise of surprise.
Impatiently, she rids herself of his shirt, the wet fabric flung out onto the bathroom floor. Guides a wandering hand to the curve of her breast, moaning softly when he lowers his head, mouth hot against her skin. For so long, she’s been forced to resist the urge to run her fingers through his hair, but now there is nothing to stop her from carding them through the rapidly dampening strands, holding him to her breast.
Heat spreads from the curl of his tongue around the soft bud of her nipple, the flame of his mouth burning across her skin, tiny red burns scattered over her chest, teeth grazing the column of her throat as he searches for the kindling of her mouth once more.
“Off,” she urges, tugging at the waistband of his boxers, desperate to feel him against her without any barriers. Mel doesn’t bother pretending not to look at him the moment he’s naked before her and he grins when he catches her staring.
“I feel like I should say something clever,” he says.
“Do you ever?”
She’s certain he kisses her just to shut her up. She also knows he’s unable to think about anything other than her body against his because the only thing she can focus on is his touch. His hands everywhere, roaming over the slickness of her skin as though he can’t decide where he wants to touch her the most now that he can. Her hips, her thighs, her breasts, her ass. She never wants him to stop.
He crowds her against the shower wall, the cool tiles sending a shiver up her spine, his fingers sliding between her legs where she wants them most.
“You’re so wet for me,” he murmurs, tilting his head to watch himself trace a path with the tip of a finger from her cunt to her clit before pressing two inside her. “Fuck.”
“Dr Langdon,” she gasps.
“Mel,” he says with an amused huff and a distracting curl of his fingers, dropping a gentle kiss against her shoulder. “I’m literally inside you. You can call me Frank.”
“Oh, okay.”
He presses a flurry of kisses from her shoulder to her mouth, distracting her from feeling even a hint of embarrassment, the sound of her giggles echoing around the bathroom until they fade into soft moans. His fingers curve against the tenderest part of her, thumb circling her clit with dizzying pressure.
“Frank.”
His name was always meant to be spoken this way, she thinks. With the breathless yearning that comes from wanting, from needing everything a person can give with a single caress.
“That’s it, baby.”
“I need you,” she whines, trailing her hand over his chest and down his abdomen, muscles tensed in anticipation, before stroking the hardness of his cock. A strained little noise escapes him at the touch, one she wants to hear again and again.
He pulls his fingers from her, leaving her on the edge of pleasure, but instead of giving her what she wants, he moves to sit on the shower bench and hauls her onto his lap.
Mel has never been fearless enough to take what she wants when it comes to Frank Langdon. But now she takes him in hand and sinks down onto his cock, a hint of pride surging through her when he grips her hips tightly, barely able to hold himself together at the feel of her.
“Fuck, Mel,” he groans.
She feels so full, barely breathing as he presses inside her, the two of them clinging to each other, ever aware of the slim bands of metal against their skin, the promise of their love.
Mel doesn’t think about the hard stone beneath her knees, nor the chill every time she moves out of reach of the hot water. Only thinks about how held she feels in his arms, the way their bodies move together so perfectly it feels like they’ve always been made for each other.
“Mel, I’m gonna—”
“Please, please, please,” she begs, head tilted back, arching towards him as his hand slips between her thighs.
His breath hitches, and she forces herself to meet his gaze, eyelashes fluttering as he spills inside her with a moan that has arousal curling low in her belly.
Mel is no stranger to pleasure, and yet she has never felt it so intensely as the moment she comes, eyes closed, his name little more than a sigh slipping from her mouth, entirely unaware of Frank’s awed expression.
She kisses him afterwards, soft and slow.
“I love you,” she whispers when he finds her left hand and brings it to his mouth, pressing a lingering kiss to her ring. Part of Mel wishes they could stay like this forever, the more reasonable part of her wants a proper shower. “Frank?”
“Mmm?” he hums, too busy attempting to kiss every freckle on her face.
“I did come in here for a shower.”
“Fine.” He sighs dramatically, clinging to her a moment longer before he reluctantly allows her to stand. “If we hurry, we might make it to breakfast before we have to leave.”
Frank’s idea of hurrying is insisting on running his hands all over her soap-slick skin because now that he can touch her, he apparently never wants to stop.
They do not, in fact, make it to breakfast.
They barely make it down to the lobby in time to catch their taxi. Frank kisses her silly in the elevator and Mel stumbles out, unsure how to act around their waiting colleagues sprawled out on the lounges in various hungover states.
“What is with you two?” Trinity asks, eyes narrowed with suspicion, gaze flicking between them as they awkwardly sit as far apart from each other as possible on the only available lounge, just in case their coworkers suddenly realise they’re husband and wife.
“Nothing,” they snap and the group exchange dubious glances.
“Hey, Frank,” Cassie says, leaning over with a shit-stirring gleam in her eye. “Did you and Abby get back together?”
“What?” Mel watches him frown before they follow Cassie’s gaze down to his left ring finger. She subtly tucks her own left hand beneath her thigh. Frank sneaks a glance towards Mel before he replies, “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“No? Anything you want to share with us?”
“Like what?”
“Less talk, more sleep,” Samira groans from the chair beside Mel, arm flung across her eyes in what is no doubt an attempt to ignore a suspiciously smug Dr Abbot than anything else.
Before Cassie can say another word and expose their marriage to everyone, Frank stands abruptly. “Taxi’s here. Come on, Mel.”
His hand is warm on her lower back as he guides her out of the lobby and Mel can’t stop herself from smiling up at him, scarcely able to believe that he loves her.
“What?” he asks, noticing her staring. “You okay?”
I love you, she thinks as he grins down at her. “I’m okay.”
They’re in such a hurry to leave they both miss Whitaker asking, “Do you think they remember we were at their wedding?”
“Nope,” Trinity says, amused expression turning to one of disgust as she watches Langdon’s hand slip down to Mel’s ass when he leans in to whisper in her ear. “Do you think they had sex?”
“Definitely,” comes everyone’s resounding reply.
They certainly don’t miss the wedding photographs someone has taken the liberty of printing out and sticking all over their lockers once they go back to work. Everyone who attended the Vegas conference posing drunkenly for the camera as Frank dips Mel in a kiss, as they exchange vows with dreamy smiles, as Frank stares adoringly at her.
Mel watches Frank surreptitiously take down the photo of the two of them grinning at each other like lunatics, stick it inside his locker, and when he turns to her with that same smile, wonders how she could have been so oblivious to the fact he’s madly in love with her for so long.