alwaysright | October 25, 2007

October 25, 2007

Foreman stepped out of Cuddy's office, closing the door softly behind him, and paused for a moment to look down at the floor, letting out a heavy sigh. Even if Cuddy didn't let it be generally known that she was rescuing from his own fuck-up, House would know just looking at him, and from there it was only a matter of time before the entire hospital knew his business. It wasn't much of an auspicious start for controlling House. Foreman didn't believe for a minute Cuddy's words when she'd still been trying to suck up to him that he was the only one on the team who House respected. Whether it was true or not, Foreman had missed his window of opportunity to actually squeeze something worthwhile out of Cuddy, and he was stuck with unenviable task of reining House in when House definitely didn't want it.

Foreman had had a shitty summer. No job, no relationship after he'd broken up with Wendy. He'd taken the opportunity of some time off to write articles and work on his contacts--he'd even gone to a conference in August, combining it with some long-overdue vacation--but mostly he'd been hitting the pavement, looking for the perfect job. Mercy had been it. He'd only been there a month, and he'd already felt so goddamn confident. This was his in. His chance to make his mark on the field. And he'd had an amazing catch with his lymphoma patient. One glance at her lactic acid level and he'd immediately felt like he'd been struck by lightning. He was so damn sure he was as good as House, able to synthesize the answer from one lab result. And he'd been right--but that wasn't good enough.

The weather outside tonight seemed to echo his feelings. Long, grumbling rolls of thunder accompanied the downpour. Foreman pulled on his overcoat and got his umbrella. On Monday morning he'd be back here, shoved into House's insane little game for hiring a team that Cuddy had explained to him, and he wouldn't want to be here, nor would he be wanted. Until then all he had to do was stew over the situation. Any distraction would be more than welcome, but Foreman couldn't think of much to fill his time with. He headed for the doors, but he didn't walk out right away. He waited just inside the doors, staring out at the weather as if he hoped for some break in the storm. Probably about as likely as a change in his own luck.

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As Eric rattled off the unlikely suspects, Amber was reminded of her experiences from the past few weeks, of people gathered in a room shooting out possible explanations and then being shot down. His process was so much like House's... but that couldn't be more than a coincidence. Amber knew everyone who worked with diagnostics at PPTH, and and Eric wasn't amongst them. Maybe he'd sat in on some of House's sessions and picked up a lesson or two. Yes, that must be it. Once he'd guessed, or once she told him, her work, she'd ask him if he had any gossip or tidbits on House that'd give her an advantage over the competition.

Amber's lips parted slightly as Eric touched the back of her hand, her wrist. Her fingers curled around his, stroking gently to explore his palm. His hand was about the size of hers, and even with the room's low luminosity, her pale skin contrasted strongly against his. They'd already had their hands around each other, during their handshake, and this was an entirely different affair. If he'd been firm there, here his gentleness prevailed, far more intimate. "I'm not giving you any more answers," Amber smiled, and squeezed his hand.

Amber frowned when the waiter interrupted them. Not only did he try to dump her in the worst spots, now he had no idea of timing? Was he trying to ruin her evening? Probably not, but it definitely smacked of incompetence. She read the label, Montepulciano d'Abruzzo, and her frown deepened. "Are you kidding me? What do you take me for, a tasteless hack? Come back when you've got something halfway decent."

Once the waiter was gone, Amber turned back to Eric. "I actually don't know much about wine," she confided. "But I don't trust him, he's done everything wrong so far. And I've found that I do get a better wine-- and service-- after I've busted their balls."

Foreman raised his eyebrows at Amber's abrupt switch in tone, the sharpness in her voice when she told off the waiter. He understood the man's sullen expression earlier when Foreman had asked him to point Amber out. Foreman was almost embarrassed, on Amber's behalf, for how harshly she sent the guy away. He hadn't seen the label on the wine, but he couldn't imagine that it was as awful as she made out. Foreman wasn't about to say anything to Amber about it, not when everything else had been going so well, and the waiter had picked a singularly inconvenient moment to interrupt. Foreman's discomfort lessened when Amber leaned in, as if he was her co-conspirator, her eyes sparkling as she explained her tactics. Foreman couldn't help a smirk of his own, and a short breath of laughter. Not at what she'd done, which didn't exactly sit well with him, but at her glee at explaining it. "You do that a lot? Ball-busting?" he said.

He didn't doubt that she did; it even helped with his guessing game, which still held his attention. Perfectionist. She'd want proof of the effect she'd had on her patients--demonstrable, observable proof that she was the best. He'd been thinking something prestigious, like cardiology, but this put a new spin on it. Not research, but something with very precise tests. "Radiology," he said. Something with imaging, anyway. Something where Amber could point to a scan and show exactly what had changed and how. But still something where she'd have a direct impact on patients. "Interventional radiology," he added, and sat back, feeling very satisfied with himself. Even if he was wrong, it was a guess he could back up, show how much he'd learned about her in a short time.

Foreman left his hands on the table. Touching her, even as softly as he'd been tracing the lines on her palm, had proven to him that there was a spark there, something very physical, worth pursuing. That would happen in its own time, though. They still had the evening ahead of them. He turned his head when the music changed. The new song was slower, still wordless but more sensuous. There was a dancefloor behind him, with a few couples swaying together. Foreman turned back to Amber. "Would you like to dance?"

"Only when there are balls that need busting." Amber paused for a moment, considering. "Which is pretty often, actually." House's, for starters, and, oh, how she'd love to bust them. But his were off limits; the best she could hope for was to kiss his ass. She shook her head to free herself of the mental image. She had to stop thinking of work!

Amber's eyebrows shot up. "Well. Your reward will have to be very special, won't it." She'd have slept with him even if he'd had to guess at every specialty in the book... well, no, probably not, that'd get boring and she'd have ditched him. Still, Eric could've made several wrong guesses, and she'd still have slept with him. He got it right on his first try, and that certainly deserved its reward, even if she hadn't already promised one. Amber was a woman of her word (when she wasn't lying to suit her own purposes, that was).

She'd have to figure out what it was Eric most wanted, and from all their interactions so far, she suspected it'd be compatible with her own tastes. His invitation for a dance would be a perfect way to find out. She rose wordlessly, her body already singing in anticipation of moving in tandem with another person. She led Eric by the hand to the dance floor; there, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her hips swaying to the melody.

Eric looked better still up close. Smelled good, too. The edges of her mouth curved upwards; she hadn't felt this alive and free since who knew when.

Foreman's satisfaction increased about ten-fold with Amber's surprised, pleased expression. He'd been right. He nearly wanted to crow about it, but a wide smile would do. Didn't want to make it seem like he was startled when he got the right answer. He felt a surge of pride in himself, and a warm sense of expectation when she repeated her promise. He had a feeling whatever the reward was, she wouldn't be missing out, either. The possibilities were beginning to make their way through his mind and the images were more than pleasant. Foreman had enough self-control that he wouldn't embarrass himself on the dancefloor, but the anticipation felt good, his heart beating a bit faster, and he was very aware of Amber's hand pulling him out to the center of the floor. Her hands slipped up his arms around his shoulders easily, and Foreman let his hands fall to her hips, letting his palms smooth over her blouse to the small of her back before he started moving with her.

He fell into her rhythm easily. Even though he was the one supposedly leading--at least keeping her from bumping into the other dancers--Foreman didn't mind going at Amber's pace, and getting as close as she showed she wanted. Other than as obstacles, he didn't feel like there was anyone else on the dancefloor. He was too busy watching her, the small changes in her expression, the exact shade of her eyes. She was graceful, not stabbing his feet with her heels, but at this point Foreman hadn't expected any differently. He rubbed his thumb against her back and eased his hold on her just a bit lower, to the curve of her hips, and pulled her forward. Her perfume, or her shampoo, was lightly spicy, and Foreman breathed in the scent, glad that it wasn't overwhelmingly floral. She felt good against him, her movements teasing enough to keep the light hint of arousal at the front of his mind, but mostly, it was easy to concentrate on the music and dance.

Foreman had left any thought of work behind when he'd agreed to come here, but now that they were dancing, he felt the weight of all his mistakes easing off his shoulders. They weren't gone, not by a long shot, but he found that at this moment, he didn't care about them at all.

If Amber were a cat, she'd be purring. As it was, she smiled lazily, warm and content and fluid. This was nice. This was more than nice. Eric's changes in expression were fascinating to watch: he seemed to relax, the tension in his face and shoulder muscles easing away, while he simultaneously became more alert. He was admiring her as if he didn't care about anything else in the world.

Amber let her hands stray, exploring the curves of his shoulders. She could feel the strength of his back and upper arms; he must work out, she thought. It did fit his profile of striving for perfection in every way. She could sympathize with that inclination.

Eric ceded to Amber's impulses in dancing, which suited her fine. She, in turn, followed the flow of the music, matching its rhythm as best she could. She might not be the best dancer, but she allowed herself to move naturally, and that counted for a lot. Eric, too, was natural, not forcing anything. They completed lopsided circles, caring not at all about direction.

Though they held each other, there were still a few centimeters between them. Amber imagined being closer to him, body against body. She long for that. She wanted to feel the pulse of his heart against her breast and have her ear tickled by his breath. She wanted to kiss him. God, how she wanted to kiss those pronounced lips and, through lidded eyes, watch his every reaction. She bet he'd be a good kisser, not shoving his tongue down her throat the moment she approached. He'd take it slow, letting the pleasure build up.

She could kiss him. She could pull him in til there was no space between them, and encourage him to touch her in all the ways that was decent-- and some indecent-- in a public forum. She could drag him to the closest semi-private space and see how far he'd be willing to "go." That last one was especially tempting. Just the thought of it-- Amber thrummed with want.

But more than immediate gratification, she wanted to make this last. They could spend all night together. Why rush it? There was a special pleasure in creating anticipation, let them build up their desire till they were fit to burst. Eric wanted her now, and that was nice. But she wanted him overcome with passion; how would he be then? As for herself, even impatient the way she was, she'd learned from experience how much more intense sex could be if she made herself wait.

Yes, let them take their time. Still. Amber couldn't resist trying to drive him a little crazy. She massaged the top of his spine with her fingertips and rotated her hips sensually. She knew he'd feel that with the hand he'd placed there. Amber turned her head so that she could whisper into his ear in the same way he had with her earlier. She teased: "Did you know, I'd do you right now? Right here."

Foreman relaxed even further as Amber smoothed her fingers over his suit coat, rubbing the muscles in his shoulders gently through the fabric. Her smile was playful, lazily satisfied, and Foreman saw her gaze dart down to his lips before she met his eyes again. Hers were a deeper blue, now, and she was studying him with an intensity he nearly recognized. Part of it was desire--Foreman was certain he wasn't mistaking that, and he was feeling it more himself as time went on--but part of it was...speculation, too, as though she was calculating exactly what her next move would be, what his might be. Foreman was just as eager to find out. A few teasing touches--her fingers against his lip, his brushing over her palm--were only the start. Amber was close enough that Foreman could feel the warmth of her breath against his cheek. In fact, he could feel the heat of her body all the way down, even though they weren't quite pressed together. After the cool damp outside, Foreman could feel himself growing warmer. As Amber squeezed his shoulders, her hands moving above the collar of his dress-shirt to touch the bare skin of his neck, Foreman couldn't help but dip his head closer to her, encouraging the massage.

His eyes widened slightly at Amber's words. They were cheek to cheek, and he didn't know if she'd caught his expression, but she couldn't help but notice the way he'd instinctively tightened his fingers on her hips. Her voice lilted teasingly, but after everything she'd said so far tonight, Foreman had no doubt that she was serious. "I wouldn't," he murmured back. Everything she did, everything she said, only reinforced his feeling of complete satisfaction with himself. He tipped his chin back just enough to meet her eyes from under half-lowered eyelashes. "Right here? That waiter might interrupt. I wouldn't have time to do everything to you that I want," he said, the words barely more than a whisper, and as sincere as he could make them. He leaned in, hesitating the barest second before kissing her, his lips only a breath away from hers. His heart was definitely pounding now, and he drew her flush against him. They'd stopped moving, but Foreman swayed against her body lightly. He could feel the heat in his groin building, probably not enough for her to feel yet, but if they kept rocking against each other, exactly how interested he was would be harder to hide. "I think we both want this to last."

At that "wouldn't," Amber's heart skipped a beat. Rejection. She'd assumed too much and blown her chance. In that split-second she believed she'd messed it up, her mind supplied: it's okay, there are other people here, all of them dreaming of someone like you. You can make up for it. Though that was what ran through her head, she was still overheated with hurt and embarrassment.

But Eric's hold on hers hip clenched, as if he wanted to take her up on that offer. She flushed again, this time with arousal. She laughed, partially from relief but mostly because it was funny, when Eric mentioned the waiter interrupting them. "I'd make him regret it, if he did," she promised, ablaze again with confidence. She shouldn't have let herself be so disappointed with a mere rejection.

He tried to kiss her, and as much as she wanted to give in, Amber didn't allow for more than a simple brush of their lips. She wanted to draw this out; make him desperate. It was harder to resist rocking against him, molding herself against him and finding their perfect fit. For a few intoxicating moments Amber couldn't keep herself from indulging both him and her, growing wetter with each slide against Eric. There was building up excitement, and then there was pointless frustration. She was reaching the latter.

Amber pecked him on the cheek before pulling her body away, her hands gliding down from his shoulders to hold his hands. "Then we'll make it last. C'mon, there's a good bottle of wine waiting for us, let's drink and tell stories we never would sober."

That first kiss, as light and fleeting as it had been, didn't disappoint. Amber was just as careful as he was, not immediately diving in to something involved. Foreman let his hands slide lower, into the more dangerous territory between her hips and her ass. He didn't think it would break the mood. Amber was already pressing her hips forward in small, frustrating circles. Foreman's breathing speeded up, enough that she might notice, so he forced himself to keep his breaths as even as possible, and leaned closer to press his nose into her hair. If she had this kind of effect when they were only dancing together, he could imagine that she'd be able to drive him completely crazy once they'd reached the privacy of her apartment. Christ, it had been a long time. Months. And everything was different, sharper, more intense with another person. Usually, for a first time, Foreman liked to take his time, make sure they were both comfortable. He thought he might have already passed that point with Amber--she was too sure of herself; she'd probably like to take control and set the pace herself, and Foreman knew he wouldn't mind.

He nodded when Amber agreed with him, and he kept hold of her hand as they went back to the table, letting her go only when they sat down. This time, the waiter was much more prompt. Maybe Amber had been right to snap at him, after all. He uncorked the bottle for them and poured an inch into each of their glasses. Foreman tasted it and nodded. It was good, full-bodied, and he set his glass down again to let the waiter fill it. It probably wasn't the best idea to start telling stories--he hadn't had much for supper, and sharing a bottle of wine would be enough to make him feel content with the whole damn world. After the day he'd had, he was looking forward to it. "Most embarrassing moment in med school," he suggested, once the waiter was gone. He'd probably offer to tell his own, too, but the trade would probably be worth it. "Or should I leave that until after the wine?"

Amber let herself ponder as she sipped wine, the liquid going down warm and smooth. Eric was right, he should've left that question for later. Her worst moment in medical school was nearly failing biochem; one point less on that final and she'd have to the class. It still bothered her, years later, how close she came to flunking. She wasn't going to tell him about that.

"Knocked over a container of formaldehyde," Amber said. "And it wasn't like spilling a glass of milk, where you can say whoops and wipe it away without anyone noticing! We had to evacuate the lab and everything. The professor was pissed, but everyone else was glad because it meant we got to leave early. We all had a test the next day, we needed to study!" It was a true story, too. Though Amber had been horrified at the time, unlike with her near-failed class, this incident had become more amusing over the years, and she recounted the event with animation.

"What about you?" Amber normally couldn't care less about her one-night stands. She didn't need to know someone's sob stories to fuck them right. But Eric knew more about her than she did about him; they needed to regain balance. And she wanted to know about this man that could give her own self-confidence a run for its money. It wasn't everyday she met someone that could affect her this much. "What do you do?" She didn't want to guess the way he had, she'd rather learn more about him by hearing him describe his work. "Any big dreams?" From what she knew of him so far, he was aiming himself for the absolute best. She let herself fantasize for a moment of being by his side when he became a Dean of Medicine; she herself would already be one, of course. She grinned at the foolishness of her fantasy. Still, who said it couldn't come true? She extended her hand to the center of the table, wordlessly suggesting he cover it with his.

Foreman glanced at Amber's face, making sure that she was amused by her own story, before he allowed himself to laugh. "Sure it wasn't on purpose? Sounds like the perfect opportunity." He grinned to show he was teasing, before taking another drink of wine. He doubted she'd manufacture an accident that would benefit the whole class, so the story was probably genuine.

He had his own humiliating stories, but Amber moved on before he could pick one--a less damaging one--to tell. She couldn't know that her questions hit him right where he was most sensitive, especially tonight. "Neurology," he said. Everything before the last four months was more than worth boasting about, but if he talked about working for House, Amber would probably ask him more about it, or share her own horror stories--it was rare that anyone in the hospital escaped some sort of backlash from House, even if it was just a brief encounter. If she was in Radiology, then she'd have her day disrupted more than most, simply because House believed that when he needed imaging equipment, the rest of the hospital should be honoured to get in line behind him. "I want to do more research, more writing," he said. When he'd signed on at Mercy, Schaffer had hinted that there might be opportunities in the future to work on major trials. Even if the opportunity had vanished, it still counted as a dream. "I've published a few things. Actually induced hypothermic cardiac arrest in a nine-year-old to find a clot in her amygdala." If Amber tracked down the article--and Foreman was sure she could, and probably would--then she'd know he'd worked for House. But by then, either they'd have had their night and moved on, or else they'd know each other better, maybe enough that Foreman wouldn't mind telling her what he was really doing at Princeton-Plainsboro, supervising House and all his deluded fellowship candidates.

To distract himself, he took her hand again, slipping his fingers under hers and rubbing the back of her knuckles. He could feel the wine warming him. That, or Amber's closeness. Enough that he didn't mind being a bit more honest than he usually was on a first date--not that he ever lied, but it just made sense to show only his good side when making an impression. "I was having a hell of a night," he said. "Lucky you needed an umbrella."

His laughter made her feel closer to him, as if he were sharing in her exploits all these years later. Amber's grin widened. "Now that you mention it, maybe it was a Freudian 'slip.'"

Neurology, Eric said. A difficult field, one to be proud of. It certainly explained his confidence! He could feel like he was above not only people in general, but most doctors as well. But it was strange. Eric didn't seem pleased. His expression became clouded for the first time since she'd met him, and he stated his specialty quickly, like he wanted it to be over and done with so that they could move on to lighter subjects. Did he have a reason to feel bad about his work?

What he told her next contradicted that thought. If he was successfully carrying out unheard of procedures and following his dream of publishing, he should be beaming and regaling her with all the details. This simply wasn't adding up. Amber probed: "Neurology research? I bet you've got stories to tell! I can't believe anyone let you induce cardiac arrest in a nine-year-old!"

And it was a pity. Research didn't interest her so much, she wanted to be on the field, figuring things out no one else did. That's why she was working with House. Neurology didn't do her much good, either. Still. She was here for a fling, and if he ended up as nothing more to her than someone to get consults from, she still came out winning. And the worth of a night of fantastic, unforgettable sex was not a value to be scoffed at!

Amber interlaced her fingers with his, playing lightly. Her own night hadn't been so bad, before walking out; the peony lying near their hands was a reminder of her victory. But she had needed refueling after the mind games of House's contest, and this outing was invigorating her. Eric's words made her glow all the more. "I think the luck was all mine."

As quickly as he could, Foreman tried to dismiss the break in his mood. Tonight was about not thinking about work. About his problems. He shouldn't have been surprised that Amber would ask about the case. It was no wonder he'd had interest pretty much the moment he submitted it for peer review. Foreman felt a grin break through before he could stop it. Recently his luck hadn't been the best, but that case had been fantastic. "I couldn't even believe it when I saw it. We reperfused the circuit, and I saw it. The outline of the clot." He shook his head. He'd never believed it could work, and he'd barely been able to call out when the MRI had shown it--barely a blip, gone almost before it registered. Still, he didn't want to get into a huge discussion of it. He'd never be able to keep House's name out of it, then. A week of job-hunting had told him that the man's name alone was enough to put most people off. They'd look at Foreman with expressions ranging from distaste to outright wondering if he was crazy. Not the discussion he wanted to have. Especially not when Amber kept returning his volleys, her voice nearly husky as she flirted back.

Foreman quirked his eyebrows at her. He'd mostly finished his glass of wine. The conversation wasn't lagging, and if it weren't for his own stupid circumstances, he wouldn't mind trading stories all night. They could drain the bottle, play the get-to-know-you game, but he thought Amber hardly needed the pretense. Not when ten minutes ago on the dancefloor she'd told him the direction her thoughts were heading. "I think it's still raining," he said, letting his voice deepen suggestively. "Can I walk you to your car, Dr. Volakis?"

Eric spoke of the procedure with awe, and it wasn't because of himself, Amber thought. It was as if he knew spotting the clot had been a fluke. His amazement was at the medicine and science; he loved his job not just for the glory but also the intricacies of the human body.

Amber respected that. She understood the appeal of titles, but working a job because you wanted to, that was admirable. Eric went up in her esteem.

Amber had begun to float with the wine when Eric suggested they leave. She didn't want to go. They had almost a whole bottle left and she'd gotten only a glimpse of him and his contradictions. If she'd been teasing him on the dance floor, he was teasing her now, giving a taste of his personality and then fleeing before her curiosity was sated. She was looking forward to what they'd do, when they reached her place; her abdomen clenched with excitement at the thought of it. But there wouldn't be much conversation besides a few key phrases, and who said they'd ever talk after tonight?

She squeezed his hand. "We've still got all this wine, let's stay a bit longer. And I want to know more about you."

Foreman sighed when Amber turned down his suggestion, although he kept it discreet, and covered it by returning her squeeze. It wasn't that he wasn't interested in learning more about her, simply that he wasn't sure he was ready for her to know more about him yet. "Now that's just mean," he said. "I didn't know 'on the dancefloor' was my only choice." He shook his head and grinned, drawing back just long enough to fill his glass and to top hers up as well, before he skimmed his fingertips over her hand again. "What did you want to know? Family, schools? Old girlfriends?" He thought he could handle most questions along those lines, as long as she didn't probe too deeply. He was opening himself up for more interrogation later and he knew it, and it made him just slightly uncomfortable. He could feel himself falling back into his usual stories for a first date--not the whole truth, and brief enough in some areas to discourage Amber from asking more. He wouldn't talk about Marcus, and some relationships he'd mention without details. He wasn't interested in revisiting the closed chapters of his life, or letting anyone know about the life he'd led before he'd gotten his head screwed on straight in his sophomore year in high school.

"Since I'm doing so well at guessing, I'm going to say you are an only child," he said, lifting an eyebrow as he considered her. He wouldn't ask for an itemized list of every man she'd ever dated, although she might take the hint since he'd suggested the topic, but he was beginning to wonder where he fit in. Foreman didn't think he counted as a simple pick-up, if she wanted to talk with him longer. But he also couldn't quite believe that Amber wanted something committed and monogamous from him. Casual would be fine, if that's what she was aiming for; if at least one area of Foreman's life was working out, he could stand a lot of humiliation from House without letting it affect him.

Amber didn't miss Eric's sigh. Why was he so reluctant to talk? There was a trend here, with him stating his specialty so briefly and him suggesting they leave before the conversation got too deep. Was something bothering him?

She almost laughed when Eric overfilled their glasses. Maybe he was just rushing out of horniness! Very flattering. She herself was feeling that pressure: she was still wet from their dancing and she was showing no signs of getting any dryer. She drank more wine, more light-headed than ever.

She wrinkled her nose at his suggested conversation topics. "Oh, god no, I don't want to talk about your old girlfriends. Or about your schools, my family, or our favorite colors. This isn't a job interview, Eric." She raised his hand and held it to her face so that his palm and fingers cupped her face. So warm. "We're here to have fun, right? Tell me something good that's happened to you recently. Besides having an umbrella in the right place and time."

Amber lifted his hand to her face, and for a moment that was what Foreman concentrated on--that, and the way she'd said his name. So much more intimate than usual. But at the same time, he could hear the echo in his mind, the way she'd said job interview. He stroked his thumb over her cheekbone and then let his hand drop, staring into his wine glass, at the burgundy glints of light reflected from the lamps onto the table. God, he'd had such a shitty week, and he didn't want to talk about it. Didn't want to have to present himself to one more person as having taken on House's brilliance without letting House's rogue doctor unpredictability touch him. For three years he'd had the run of the hospital; every no was a yes because House was so goddamn brilliant and could get around Cuddy no matter how much protocol she tried to tie him up with. How was he supposed to forget that and practice medicine like a mortal again? He'd taken one fucking chance, and he'd been right, and the whole world, all his ambitions, had been ripped away like a carpet yanked out from under his feet. He shook his head. Being honest with Amber would probably drive her off. Ruin the one good thing that had happened recently. But Foreman didn't see any way around it, not if she was going to keep pushing in the same direction. He almost wanted to be standoffish, to ask her to just let him alone, but that would break off all the good feelings that had been growing between them tonight. Maybe it shouldn't matter. One quick fling more or less didn't really matter. He was stuck in this city, with this job, whether he wanted to be or not. A night with Amber could be good, even amazing, but it wouldn't fix anything. He'd been stupid to think he could forget about his life by going out with her, especially when she worked at the hospital.

"The crappy night I was having?" he said, mostly to the table. "It was more like a crappy week." He looked up at her, shaking his head. Christ, he felt like an idiot for feeling so damn sorry for himself, and in front of Amber. He wouldn't be surprised if she accused him of breaking the mood and telling him thanks but no thanks, a drink was all she'd ever really wanted. Teasing about rewards and doing him on the dancefloor wouldn't mean much if he was going to dump his emotional crap on her after they'd only known each other a few hours. "Not much good has happened recently. I just got stuck with--" He still didn't want to mention House. As if Foreman couldn't stand up to a supervisor, or do whatever job he had with any grace. "A job I'm not looking forward to. And I don't have the opportunities I'd like to get out of it."

Foreman looked away from her, towards the door, half-plotting his escape. He should probably get up and leave; at least then she wouldn't have the opportunity to pity him or let him down gently. "Sorry," he said. "Not what you wanted to hear, I know."

Amber listened with concentrated attention. She understood now. There were no contradictions here, Eric was simply embarrassed by his own fall in luck. She wondered what the job he'd taken on, and why. Was it because of an administrative shuffling at Princeton-Plainsboro? Judging from the extent of his ambition and confidence today, she imagined that any kind of step down would be a blow to him. Perhaps he was taking this new, unwanted job harder than most would.

When his hand fell away, she felt a coolness on her cheek at once. She wasn't going to stand for that. Amber took his hand again, gently, and held it to her mouth. She pressed her lips to the center of his palm, holding it there for one heartbeat, one. She slowly went down, butterfly-kissing her way to his wrist. "I'm-- also going through a rough time. I have a job right now, but I have no idea how long it'll last, I could get fired tomorrow! It's actually, it's fun, and I'm doing things I dreamed of-- but I need tonight, too." She kissed his wrist again.

The last thing Foreman wanted or needed was reassurance. He knew he was good, that he was worthy of every chance he'd had at Mercy and all through his career. This was a problem, a set-back, but he wasn't going to let it define him or his life. He'd find a way to make the most of it. Too often, though, the women he'd dated had been too sympathetic, too cloying in their attempts to comfort him. Foreman didn't want to hear that from Amber. He hadn't wanted to talk about it at all with her. He could tell from her attitude that she didn't accept no for an answer, didn't let anything stop her, and he didn't want to seem as weak as that in her eyes. He'd hung on for three years with House on the determination to learn as much as he could and then get out. He had a hell of a lot of strength, and he didn't need anyone else to tell him so.

Amber took his hand, and Foreman let out a breath, relaxing despite himself. She didn't dwell on what he'd said, or press for more details. He really would have told her he wasn't willing to go into it if she had. He could feel her breath against his palm, and the soft touch of her lips. She kissed his pulse point, and Foreman wondered if she could feel how fast his heart was beating. Even the lightest breath revived the excitement from the dancefloor. What she said--Foreman was less sure of how he felt about that. He knew it had been chance that brought them together, but he guessed from what she said that if she hadn't picked him up, then it would have been someone else. Nothing really special or remarkable about him other than the fact that he'd been there when she was looking. Still, had he felt any different? He'd taken advantage of Amber coming on to him to forget his own problems. He'd wanted to use her as an escape, a distraction. He had no right to be bitter simply because she saw him the same way. Foreman cupped Amber's cheek again, feeling the smooth curve, feeling warmer this time, less like pulling away. "I'm pretty sure I can help you relax," he said. It was a terrible line, but he was confident they'd be good together, the more they exchanged these small touches, getting bolder with each one. A single kiss while they'd been dancing was only enough to sharpen his desire.

From her years as a doctor, Amber learned how to count a pulse with the lightest of touches. Quickly, too. So Eric's rapid heartbeat didn't escape her attention, nor the way it sped up up as she laid her kisses against his wrist. She couldn't help but smile; she loved the effect she was having on him.

Now that her curiosity about Eric had been sated, she felt no more need to stay here and chat. She was ready to move on. "You know what, forget the wine, let's take this to my place." She kissed the bump on his hand formed by his first metacarpal, letting her teeth graze against his skin for a second. Not hard, just enough for him to feel it. That should give him an idea of the "relaxation" in store for him.

Even as her own heartbeat quickened with the thought of what was to come, the back of Amber's mind was already tackling practical matters. She looked for their waiter, certain that just one look from her would bring him running to their table. "We'll split the bill-- and don't try to argue! If you want to be a gentleman, save it for bed."

Foreman was almost ready to laugh at Amber's quick change, her sudden desire to get out and go back to her place, but before he could, he caught his breath instead at the slight scrape of her teeth. He was getting more interested with every second that passed. They weren't talking about his job anymore, and Amber was still kissing his hand. The coy look in her eyes and the sight of her lips against his skin were inspiring, to say the least. Foreman fought off the image of her kissing her way down his stomach the same way, keeping eye contact while she gauged exactly what effect she was having on him. Getting damn pleased about it, too.

"You want me to be a gentleman in bed?" Foreman asked, teasing her with a disbelieving eyebrow. The way she'd dragged her teeth against his skin suggested otherwise. "That's not nearly as interesting as I was planning." When the waiter showed up, Foreman pulled his hand away from Amber and brusquely asked for the bill, not wanting to make the contact he and Amber had been enjoying anything like the man's business. The waiter had apparently anticipated the request, because he dropped the cheque on the table and left quickly. Foreman pulled his wallet out of the inner pocket of his suit coat, and left enough for his half of the wine and a very minimal tip.

Foreman stood up and put on his jacket, before pulling hers off the same coat tree and holding it for her. Another chance to get close to her, to touch her. He was getting far too involved for a simple evening, but he was almost beginning to think there might be more here than he'd first imagined.

Amber lit up to see how Eric's eyes narrowed as she lightly bit him. Good, he'd be in for something more than vanilla. She could play with him... and he with her. They could be rough. Her mind flashed with the image of them naked and slicked with sweat, up against a wall. She wouldn't even be touching the ground, her back against the rigid surface and her legs and arms wrapped around him, as he fucked her. Fucked her hard as he could, without mercy. From the strength she'd noticed in his shoulders, she knew he could.

They needed to get out of here as soon as possible.

"I said if you want to be a gentleman," Amber said. "But if you want to score big with me, well, don't." She made a show of grinning and biting her lower lip, both to emphasize her point and to make clear that the last thing he should do was treat her like a dainty flower. Though from his own hints, she wasn't worried he would.

Amber was disappointed when Foreman pulled his hand from her face yet again. She knew it wasn't because of herself or her words; it couldn't be, not from the way he'd been growing more and more coiled with the sexual tension he couldn't properly release here. It had to be because of the waiter, and that was a pity. Amber wanted to be seen, by any and everyone, with this gorgeous man; she wanted her happiness and pleasure to be witnessed by all, even by this surly waiter.

Amber paid for her half of the wine and no tip. The waiter's work had been satisfactory once she'd made it clear she wouldn't accept shoddy service, but if he wanted his tip, he should've treated her right from the very beginning. He should be glad she wasn't going to report him to the management!

She picked her peony and let Eric help her slip on her coat. They touched lightly as she slid her arm through one sleeve and then the other; once she was dressed, she leaned her back against his chest and turned her head towards his, her lips parted slightly.

Foreman returned Amber's smile, focusing for a moment on the press of her teeth against her lower lip. Jesus, he was going to embarrass himself like a teenager if they kept this up. Foreman was almost glad that he'd have the drive to her place, on his own, to cool down and get his control back. Not that he'd need it once they were inside her apartment door. This whole evening had been foreplay, and Foreman was ready to get to the main event.

Once he'd helped her slip her arms into her coat, he drew his hands down her sides to her hips, as if they were dancing again, this time with her back pressed to his chest. He resisted the urge to pull her ass against him--but Christ, she was the perfect height for it, and Foreman couldn't help squeezing tighter as she turned slightly to look at him over her shoulder. Her mouth looked so damn inviting. Foreman barely thought before leaning in to kiss her. He wasn't about to let her pull away too fast this time. On the dancefloor, the first kiss, she'd ended it after barely a breath. This time Foreman pressed his lips against hers firmly, letting his tongue flick out to trace her mouth, tasting her lipstick, inviting her to let him in. He'd forgotten the waiter and anyone else who might be watching. All the night's anticipation felt concentrated in the kiss, until that was all he could think about, his body filling with smug pleasure. Foreman slid his hand around to Amber's stomach, pressing her back against him gently.

Amber leaned into Eric, her shoulders rising and her back curving against his front. It was like being wrapped in him, both physically and in her senses. He was all around her and she could smell only his light scent of aftershave; see only his dark eyes and round cheeks; taste only his lips and mouth. Without realizing it, Amber let her hips follow Eric's indication, her ass molding against him.

She would've smirked to feel his burgeoning hardness, but she was too busy gasping lightly, opening her mouth further to take in his tongue. And it wasn't as if she were in a position of superiority, her own underwear slippery with wetness. She closed her eyes, overcome with sensation.

Amber vaguely wondered why Eric was now willing to make out with her in front of everyone, when before he'd been shy about it. Had he forgotten they were still in public? Amber hadn't. She imagined who might be watching them, jealous and turned on by their joint hotness. She moaned and kissed all the more fiercely.

Foreman hummed in satisfaction when Amber kissed him back. He wanted to take his time, explore her mouth, but she was already kissing him harder than he'd expected. Foreman tightened his arms around her, unable to resist, even though the angle was awkward. He could practically feel the eyes on them, whether anyone was actually watching or not, but he'd started this, and he was hardly going to back down. He'd rather do this where they had more privacy and more time--where he could let his palm, spread flat over Amber's stomach, slide down between her legs and find out if she was reacting anything like he was.

Not here, though. Foreman heard Amber's moan, and damn, he wanted to hear it more--pull sounds and reactions out of her, see just how wild he could drive her. He was sure she'd be more than satisfied, and the ideas of what he'd do, how he'd make her writhe for him, filled his mind. Foreman had to stop this before they really were fulfilling Amber's promise to have sex on the dancefloor. He dragged his mouth away from hers and kissed his way up her neck, bringing up one hand to brush her hair back from her throat. Sucking lightly towards her ear, catching her earlobe in his teeth, to show he was more than fine with returning the nip she'd given him earlier. "We should go," he whispered, before stepping back. He closed his overcoat--Amber would probably laugh at him, knowing why. He took his umbrella and started for the door slowly, waiting to walk with her. He'd need to follow her once they were on the road, and he was too eager to wait any longer than necessary.

The kisses along her neck were nice, but it was when he lightly bit her earlobe that she shuddered with pleasure. She curved towards that touch in a physical invitation for more, and was frustrated with his simple reminder that they had to go. She couldn't argue the point, though. Public displays of horniness were grand and all, but they were limited here; they couldn't strip and try out the pornographic acrobatics she had flashing through her mind.

Amber was reminded that Eric could get away with even less than she could when he hastily covered himself up. She didn't hold back a laugh, her cheeks dimpling. It was funny and, more importantly, she loved how much it said about the effect she was having on him. He didn't seem angry or embarrassed, though: the word "smoldering" came to mind, probably thanks to all those romance novels she devoured as a teen.

She grabbed her own umbrella and tucked it into her coat's pocket. "I want you next to me." With her peony-less hand, she slipped an arm around his waist. Even above his many layers of clothes, she could feel the solidness of his frame. Oh, she couldn't wait to see all of him the bared. She pulled him in closer; maybe she could make him have even more to hide before they reached their respective cars.

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