The Darkest Sunrise (The Darkest Sunrise #1)

Circling my arms around his neck, I kissed the side of his face and whispered, “Baby.”

“They’re taking him as a patient,” he stated, his voice breaking as he tucked his face in my neck.

I swirled my fingers in the short hair at the nape of his neck. “Laughlin is going be his primary, but Whitehall is going to be writing the orders remotely.”

His shoulders gave the softest of shakes. “They’re gonna treat my boy, Charlotte.”

My heart splintered as I clung to him tighter. “They are. And they’re amazing doctors.”

“Jesus,” he cursed, his shaking fingers biting into the back of my head. “I can’t repay you for this.”

I kissed his face again. “You make the world stop, Porter. This was the least I could do.”

He shifted his body, bringing himself closer, but he never looked up. “Are you done getting your head straight?”

“No,” I admitted.

He nodded. “You ready to let me help you do that yet?”

I closed my eyes and breathed, “Porter. I don’t—”

His deep and masculine voice became desperate. “Let me in, Charlotte. We’ll take it slow and start in the dark if that’s what you need. But I want you in the light, sweetheart. Whatever it takes to get you there, I’ll do it. I just need you to let me in so I can try.” His head popped up, and his eyes blazed with emotion, but it was his lips, not his words, that translated it.

A shiver ran down my spine as he kissed me with earth-shaking reverence.

“I missed you,” I confessed against his lips.

“We don’t have to miss each other. Just let me in,” he pleaded before another kiss.

My lungs constricted and my heart swelled. He had a point. We could take it slow. I’d been sitting still as the world had spun around me for ten years. There was no rule stating that we had to jump in feet first. Maybe a quiet stroll, where we both eased into the light, was exactly what we needed.

And this was Porter. I wouldn’t mind the extra time spent growing things with him because he’d be there with me every agonizing baby step along the way.

I was still clinging to his neck when I felt the first of my fingers slip off that cliff.

And it was only that split second of realization that made me say, “Okay, baby.”

All at once, he pulled away from my mouth and set me on my feet. The tip of his finger traced my hairline as he tucked a tendril of hair behind my ear, and then he rested his forehead against mine. “Tonight. I’m coming over to your place. It’s going to be late and I can’t stay long, but I’m not waiting a single night longer to start this with you.”

I nipped at his bottom lip. “I’ll text you the address.”

He smiled a classic Porter Reese heart-stopper, pecked me on the forehead, and released me.

And then he immediately took my hand and intertwined our fingers.

His warmth flooded my system, and I giggled as he guided me to the door.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, his hand poised on the knob.

I lifted our braided fingers in the air. “It’s just you really have a thing for holding hands.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Does that bother you?”

“No. Not at all. I mean, it kinda freaked me out at first, but I like it now. It’s you.”

He smirked and tugged on our joined hands, forcing me against his chest as he held them behind his back. Tipping his head down, he brushed his lips with mine. “You’re hard to read, Charlotte. But your hands always tell me the truth.” His voice got low and husky. “You grip me tight when you’re nervous or anxious. You squeeze me soft when you’re being sweet. And you pull it away when you’re trying to hide.” He nuzzled his face with mine and breathed, “Tonight, we’ll figure out what your hands do when I’m making you come.”

“Jesus, Porter,” I exhaled and gripped his hand tight.

He moved our linked hands from behind his back and lifted them in the air, pointedly tipping his chin at my death grip. “I’m going to assume that’s what they do when you’re turned on.”

I laughed and shook my head. “Courtesy FYI: It’s still not attractive when you’re arrogant.”

He grinned, well…arrogantly. “I see you’re still lying to yourself.”

I rolled my eyes, but I was helpless to stop the laugh that erupted from my mouth.

His smile grew as he pulled the door open and stepped into the hall. With his heated gaze anchored on mine, he stretched his arm long and held on to me until the distance between us forced him to let go.

So. Fucking. Porter.

I moved to the doorway and propped my shoulder on the jamb to enjoy the show of him walking away.

And then my heart stilled when I saw Rita standing at the nurses’ desk, Hannah on her left, Travis on her right, her apology-filled gaze locked on me.

I sucked in a sharp breath as I watched Porter hurry to them. He hooked them both around their necks before hugging them to his thighs, saying, “All right, pipsqueaks. Let’s get out of here.”

Instinct told me to turn away. But I stared, unable to stop myself.

Hannah giggled at her father, while Travis fought a smile and spun out of Porter’s hold.

“Dad, stop,” he complained. Suddenly, his dark eyes landed on mine and my whole body jerked at having been caught.

“Hi,” he said, lifting his hand for a finger wave.

My stomach rolled, but I somehow managed to return the gesture.

Porter’s gaze snapped to mine, concern so heavy in his eyes that I felt the weight of it sweep over me.

“Trav, lead the way out,” he ordered, and the kids took off, but Porter came straight to me.

“I’m okay,” I assured, forcing a smile, before he could get a word out.

He cupped my jaw, his thumb gliding across my curved lips as he scolded, “Rule number three, sweetheart.”

No faking it.

I covered my hand with his and turned into it so I could kiss his palm. “Rule number two, Porter.”

No judgments.

He sighed and dropped his hand. Bending forward to touch his lips to my hair, he murmured, “Tonight.”

My stomach fluttered as I nodded and whispered, “I’ll leave the light off for you.”

With one last smile and a wink, he took off, his long legs stretching to catch up with his kids.

And then he was gone.

Until tonight.




“Come on, Charlotte,” Porter growled into my ear.

My hands were pinned over my head, our fingers laced together, and my legs were wide as he drove into me, hard and fast.

“I’m close, baby,” I panted.

Porter hadn’t even said hello when he’d arrived at my apartment that night. That is unless you counted him stripping my bra off (again, over my head) and latching his hungry mouth over my nipple. In which case, it was quite possibly the best hello anyone had ever given me.

His talented fingers had been in my panties before I’d managed to get his shirt off.