by Wild, Cassie
“Since you and Briar have gotten all friendly again, when do you think you’ll be able to get some information to pass onto the boss?” Jerrel asked.
I met his eyes as I took a sip of my Guinness. I licked a bit of foam from my upper lip and shrugged. “I already talked to Marcos about this, Jerrel.” I casually dropped the name in there, making it clear that Marcos wasn’t just talking to him, but to me as well. “He understands the situation better than you.”
“And just what situation is that?” Jerrel glared at me, his irritation obvious.
“You’re dealing with rich, greedy men who don’t share or trust easily.” I jerked up a shoulder. “Briar doesn’t know much of anything about her family’s business, so I have to work around her. I’ve gotten invited to the family home, and I’ve laid a foundation with her brothers. I think her dad even likes me. But if I rush this, it’s all over. They’ll be on to my ass before I even realize the game is up.” Cocking a brow at him, I added, “And then they’ll be even harder to get to because they’ll be watching for an attack to come from somewhere.”
He jabbed me in the chest. It was hard enough that if I hadn’t been waiting for it, it would have forced me back an inch or two. Holding my ground, I stared him down.
“You better be careful they don’t figure you out, then. And stop being so fucking lazy on the job. Get something soon, or I’ll be moving in to do the job.”
My blood started to pound hot and heavy, while the words over my dead body pulsed neon-bright inside my head.
I struggled to lash down my temper as he shoved off the counter, looking around.
Fuck. Don’t let him see Briar.
“Come on,” Jerrel said. “It’s getting too fuckin’ crowded in here. Can’t even hear myself think with all this bullshit.”
I was tempted to point out that coming here had been his brilliant idea, not mine. But that would be counterproductive because I wanted to get out of this place before he noticed Briar.
She glanced at us again, and I clenched my fist, hidden by the line of the bar as I asked, “Is there anything else we need to discuss, or are we done?”
“I guess we’re done. Just remember what I said.” His gaze skated up to mine as he tossed some bills down on the counter, just enough to cover his drink.
Cheap fuck.
I threw down enough to cover my drink, plus extra to cover the gratuity for both.
As we turned, I could see Briar feigning interest in her glass of wine. Good girl, I thought, although there was something in me that felt the sting at her rejection. It made sense in a way, and I knew that. Having Jerrel here with me had to be confusing, and I wasn’t so dense that I couldn’t feel how things between us were still off.
But the rebuff still stung.
We were almost to the doorway to the big room when Jerrel glanced back.
I silently swore.
His eyes widened.
Without thinking, I clamped a hand on his shoulder and basically muscled him forward through the crowd. He wasn’t stupid enough to pitch a fit in public, and I didn’t let up until we were outside.
Once I did, he spun around and glared at me. “You know who’s in there?”
“Yeah.” I kept my voice level, despite the way he got into my face.
“Did she see us?”
“No. But if you keep raising hell like this, she just might.” I glanced around, taking in the people walking by us, and more than a few gave us a lingering look before hurrying on by. “So will a lot of other people. That what you want?”
His face folded into a threatening snarl. But after a few more seconds, he gave a short nod. “Get the hell out of here before she leaves. The way my luck is going…shit.”
With that, he turned on his heel and strode away, head tucked against a blast of wind that came cutting down the street.
Twenty-Six
Briar
I hadn’t thought it was possible, but I was in the middle of the slowest, most boring shift I’d ever known. It was entirely possible that it was the slowest, deadest shift any ED worker had ever known—anywhere.
The most exciting case to come through the doors had been a three-year-old who’d shoved a marble up his nose, and both parents and the boy’s paternal grandmother were in attendance. Tempers got seriously heated, and at one point, we had to call security in after Grandma took a swing at the mom and told her she was the most incompetent parent imaginable and that no good mother would ever allow this to happen.
She ranted and railed about how the boy would have to have painful and extensive surgery to get the marble out and that she’d have the mom investigated by Child Protective Services, and then, she’d have the woman arrested.
The dad, the wimpiest piece of shit I’d ever encountered, just sat there with his head in his hands, as if he expected the hospital staff to solve it.
So I did.
I had the grandmother removed from the room, and as she screamed invectives at the security guards, I turned my attention to the wide-eyed little boy. In an overly nasal voice, he asked, “Is Mommy going to jail because of the marble?”
“No, sweetie.” I bent close to him and winked. “Can I tell you a secret?”
He nodded solemnly.
“You’re not the first boy who has stuck something up his nose that didn’t belong there.”
His big eyes widened even more. “I’m not?”
“No. You’re not.” I shook my head as I brushed my hand back over his mop of unruly curls. My phone vibrated in my pocket, but I ignored it, focused on the scared kid in front of me. “But let’s make something clear. What you did was dangerous. You can hurt yourself doing this. So, let’s not do it again. Okay?”
“Yes, ma’am.” The solemn fervency in his voice might have made me smile if he wasn’t still so obviously scared.
I looked up and met the eyes of his mom. Behind her, the dad still sat on his ass, although he’d finally lifted his head out of his hands. Since he clearly didn’t plan on being any help, I ignored him and focused on her. I guessed her to be about my age. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said, giving me a grim smile. The smile softened as she shifted it to her son. “I just want this little knucklehead taken care of. Can we get that done?”
“Absolutely.” I looked down at my patient. “Are you the knucklehead in question?”
He giggled, making me think he was most definitely something of a knucklehead. Kids were the hard-headed sort. That was usually a good thing. The humor faded from his eyes, and he watched me seriously once more. “Is this gonna hurt?”
“It might be a little uncomfortable.” I ruffled his hair once more. “But something tells me it wasn’t all that fun putting it up there, and you did that just fine, didn’t you?”
I took time talking to him, trying to decide how he’d handle the procedure.
If it had been the dad, there was no doubt that I’d do something to make sure he was a little loopy for the procedure.
But once the grandma was out of the room and the kid had a chance to settle, he proved to be far more like his mom than either his dad or grandma.
After a few subtle signals to my nurse, I had my set-up ready.
It took far less time to actually retrieve the marble than it had to calm him down and explain to his mom what I planned to do.
He stiffened and made a few soft whimpers, but just as he started to show signs of real pain, I was done, and I dumped the rather slimy marble onto a metal tray.
“So. Is this going on the mantel for show and tell?” I asked his mom.
The dad, quiet until that moment, made a low noise and passed out.
* * *
While the nurse checked the dad’s blood pressure, I washed up before making a quick retreat.
I could still hear the grandma yelling from somewhere in the emergency room and decided both she and the son deserved each other—and neither of them deserved the mom or the cute little boy.
Love, I supposed, made no sense.
My phone buzzed again just as I pushed into the doctor’s lounge.
I pulled it out, expecting to find a message from one of my brother’s.
There were two messages. Both were from Cormac.
I clicked on the first and found myself smiling at the unexpected message.
I dreamed about you last night.
That was all it said.
The second message, the one I’d just received was a lot more…intense. My breath caught in my chest at the raw, yet subtle sensuality of it.
I was in my bed. Alone. Then…I wasn’t. You were there. I couldn’t see you, but I knew it was you. You had your hands on me, then your mouth. Briar, the things you can do to me with your hands…and your mouth. It’s the sweetest torture imaginable, do you know that?
My face heated, and I glanced around, hoping nobody else was in the lounge with me. It was mid-afternoon, getting closer to shift change, and to my relief, I was by myself. I sat down on a busted-up, broken-down armchair and licked my lips, trying to think of a reply.
He sent me another text before I had any success.
You’re there now, aren’t you, Briar? Reading this? I can tell. Is your heart racing? Is it racing as fast as mine is as I think about that dream?
I didn’t bother thinking through my reply this time. I just answered.
It’s racing, yes. You realize I’m at work, right? Are you trying to drive me crazy?
Barely a few seconds passed before he answered.
You’ve been driving me crazy from the first moment I laid eyes on you, so I figured it’s only fair. Tell me, Briar. Do you ever dream about me?
My breath stuttered out of me. I darted a look at the door. My Bluetooth earpiece was firmly in place, the noise of the ED coming through loud and clear. Nobody was looking for me, so I had a few minutes.
Still, this felt…odd. Reckless.
That didn’t stop me from answering.
Yes, I’ve dreamed about you.
His question had my face heating even more. I felt almost scalded now.
What kind of dreams? Will you tell me?
I licked my lips, my mouth suddenly far too dry. I hadn’t so much as gotten myself a cup of coffee and now I knew a caffeine fix was out of the question. I’d self-combust if I drank any coffee.
Plucking at the neckline of my scrub top, I tried to fan myself in hopes of cooling off. It was a wasted effort.
Are you ignoring me, Briar?
I groaned and rolled my eyes.
No, I’m not ignoring you. This just…it’s not the kind of conversation I usually have at work.
I got up, dropping my phone into my pocket as I walked over to the small kitchenette service. The next message came through as I got some ice water, but I waited until I’d downed half the glass and refilled it before pulling my phone back out.
How about I talk, then…and you listen?
Pressing my lips together, I leaned back against the counter and waited.
And kept waiting.
Are you listening?
I sent him back a simple emoticon—a big-eyed smiley-face.
A few seconds later, he sent the next text, and I thought my panties would simply melt right off me.
Where to start…how about I tell you about the dream I mentioned? I was on that couch in your living room. I like that couch. It’s better than just about any bed. In my dream, I was sleeping. Ever dream about being asleep? It was like that. And in my dream, I was alone at first. But then suddenly you were there. I could smell you, even feel your body pressed against mine. Your tits against my side, your thigh thrown over mine…I could even feel the heat of your pussy.
I had this really vague idea about waking up.
But then you…
The message stopped.
I groaned. It was terribly loud in the quiet lounge, and I jerked my head up, sneaking a look around, hoping that nobody had come in while I was distracted. I’d lucked out—so far.
A vibration in my hand had me looking back down.
You want to know what you were doing to me in my dream, baby?
My fingers all but shook as I typed.
YES!!!!
The little dots popped up at the bottom of my screen, showing that he was working on his response.
My Bluetooth sounded in my ear, and I cursed viciously under my breath as my name went across the network.
The little dots continued to flash across the screen as I furiously texted him.
I’ve been paged. I have to go. FYI, I know you’re torturing me on purpose.
* * *
To my count, over the next hour as I dealt with a four-year-old with a fracture of the right distal radius, my phone vibrated another six times. Because of her age, I paged the on-call pediatric orthopedic and thought I might have a few minutes to duck back into the lounge—or even the damn bathroom—and read the next, but the chaos that had been absent from the ED all day suddenly hit with a vengeance.
The reports came in bits and pieces, mostly from witnesses-turned-victims.
A case of road-rage gone bad when a guy in a Mustang got pissed because the person in front of him wasn’t driving at what the hot-shot determined was fast enough. The vehicle in front of him had been a full-sized SUV—and the vehicle in front of the SUV had been a smaller, economy car. The worst of it all had been the vehicle in front of the economy car—a motorcycle.
The Mustang’s driver zipped into the next lane, right behind a semi truck. The witnesses coherent enough to talk, including the SUV driver, said the Mustang hadn’t had adequate enough clearance, but the driver tried to force his way in between him and the young woman driving the small economy car, which sent the car careening into the concrete barrier out of control, then it went flying forward.
The Mustang also clipped the semi and the SUV. The semi didn’t realize anything was going on until he saw the motorcyclist swerve to avoid debris flying at him from the economy car.
The motorcyclist likely lost control while trying to avoid crashing but had ended up penned between the barrier and the economy car, sustaining extensive crush injuries.
He and the girl in the economy car were on the receiving end of the worst of it, extensive internal bleeding along with head trauma and other injuries.
I was working with Wo on the man who’d been driving the Mustang, and he wouldn’t shut up.
We’d been working on him for two hours, ordering various tests, tending to the smaller injuries, including a number of lacerations that had been cleaned and closed. Throughout the entire ordeal, he cried, cursed, and screamed about his damn car and the drivers of the semi and the SUV.
He kept insisting on seeing his lawyer and the cops. I didn’t bother telling him that he would be seeing the cops. The boys in blue had already made that clear. He alternated between cursing those drivers, us, his lawyers, and the city for their crappy roads, but mostly focused on us and the drivers. Us because we kept telling him he had to wait for stronger pain meds until neuro cleared him. The other poor drivers received his wrath because, well, I guess they didn’t roll out the red carpet when his Mustang appeared on the road.
When the neurologist cleared him, I didn’t know who was happier…Wo, me, or the nurses.
I lost track of how many times Cormac texted me, but I did keep an eye on the clock, and by my count, I was four hours over my normal time, but with the current workload, I wasn’t going to bother leaving until everything was settled.
Once I was able to escape, wearing a clean but wrinkled pair of scrubs, I slumped down in my car with a bottle of water and my phone in hand.
I hadn’t looked at it since I’d been summoned from the lounge, and now, with my brain half in a daze, I wasn’t even sure I’d be able to manage the complicated matter of processing words. But I couldn’t resist clicking on the little message bubble.
My breath lodged in my throat almost immediately.
Oh, yes. I could process wo
rds.
Your mouth…my cock.
My tongue…your pussy…
I scrolled all the way back to where the oldest message was and started back where I’d left off.
My heart was racing before I read even half of it.
You were trying to wake me up. Using nothing but that sexy mouth of yours. You stroked your tongue up and down my dick, tasting me and moaning like you couldn’t get enough.
When I finally did wake up, I had my hands fisted in your hair, and I could tell by looking in your eyes that you liked that. So I started to fuck your mouth. But just when I was ready to come, you made me stop, and you stood up.
You told me there was something else you wanted me to fuck.
A new message.
I know you had to go back to work, but I think I’ll just keep on talking. Hope this ain’t too dirty for you, doc. If it is, you can blame my dreams. It was my subconscious doing it, not me.
You told me, sweet as you please, that you wanted me to fuck your ass.
I whimpered and scrolled up.
I guess maybe I should be honest. Ever since you told me, in a prim little voice no less, that you knew what anal play was…well, I’ve had an obsession with the idea of anal play myself. Particularly when it comes to you. I want to sink my cock into that hot, tight arse of yours and feel you tighten and tense around me, feel you shake and moan as you try to decide whether you like it or not…then feel you soften around me as you realize that you not only like it…you fuckin can’t get enough—
