Hot Bodies Boxed Set: The Complete Vital Signs Erotic Romance Trilogy

by Hughes, Jill Elaine

  Joanna knew that she deserved better than what she was getting from him. And Harlan knew it, too. But that didn’t mean he was ready to admit it. Especially to her. When it came to acknowledging what a callous, insensitive bastard he could be, Harlan still had a pretty big blind spot.

  On the surface, Harlan often seemed like a massive, powerful bully. But in reality, he was a tiny, frightened child hidden inside a grown man’s body. Picking fights and hurtling insults were merely a defense mechanism he used to keep people from seeing who and what he really was.

  Joanna had always seen right through that macho act of his—it was the main reason he’d fallen so hard for her. In return, Joanna had fallen in love with the man he truly was underneath all that thick armor. In fact, she’d helped tear that armor away, even melt it down a little.

  But Harlan’s suit of armor was back on tighter than ever, and Joanna’s patience was wearing thin. Harlan feared he was losing her. Hell, he knew he was losing her. But instead of opening up to her even more than he had during their courtship, he just barricaded himself further and further behind a wall of anger and hostility.

  It was a strategy doomed to fail, and he knew it. But when push came to shove, anger and hostility was all Dr. Harlan Wilkinson knew. It had served him in his life pretty well so far, after all. Except when it came to his wife.

  His wife was in the scrub room, now. He could hear the light touch of her footsteps on the linoleum. He knew the length of her stride, had memorized the soft sound of her steps as they padded along the floor. Even from forty feet away and through a thick metal-and-tile wall, he could just barely detect the light, smooth pattern of her breathing. He knew Joanna so intimately it frightened him, sometimes. Because whenever someone knows another person so deeply, so completely—it means at some point, you have to become vulnerable.

  Harlan Wilkinson didn’t like being vulnerable. Some days, he even thought he’d rather be alone than risk being vulnerable. Which was exactly why he was within a hair’s breadth of losing the one person he loved the most.

  Harlan heard Joanna’s familiar stride as she crossed the scrub room, approached the OR’s swinging double doors, and came inside. She didn’t notice him at first. Her first order of business was to inventory the waiting instrument trays and prepare the first set of sponges.

  Joanna was a first-rate surgical nurse, and even though she could probably do pre-op inventory in her sleep, she took the time to do it slowly and meticulously, a perfect textbook performance. Joanna hadn’t earned the title of lead surgical nurse just because she was Harlan Wilkinson’s wife. She’d earned it because she was the best surgical nurse in three states.

  It was yet another reason why Harlan adored her. As someone who’d always been the best at almost everything he did, Harlan had always demanded the best for himself in all things as well. And his wife was no exception. But now that he was struggling to keep her, his best was something Harlan wasn’t sure he was prepared to give.

  Joanna finished her inventory and made some notations on the OR computer terminal. She still hadn’t noticed him. Either that, or she was deliberately ignoring him.

  Dana Johnson, the new nurse-anesthetist, came in and began setting up her equipment—obviously still frightened of Harlan based on his earlier outbursts. Joanna took up her position at Harlan’s left, as was customary for the surgical nurse on a routine operating procedure. Two technicians scrubbed in and stood beside Joanna to assist her with the more complicated instruments. Nobody commented on the fact that Harlan had abandoned usual operating procedure by beating them into the OR first. Nobody said a word, in fact. The air hung heavy with something that felt a lot like fear. Primal fear.

  Harlan shuddered. Did everyone in this room really fear him? Including his wife? Was he really that much of a raging asshole these days?

  Yeah. Probably.

  Well, he couldn’t let himself get too worked up over that. Not right now. He had a patient to operate on first. Everything else could wait. There was only one problem.

  There was no patient.

  The OR staff stood at the ready. Seconds ticked by on the large industrial clock that hung on the OR wall, then minutes. But the patient still didn’t arrive. The operation was officially registered to begin at 3:45 pm; it was now 3:57, and there was still no patient.

  “All right folks,” Harlan said, trying to be as congenial as possible. “Anybody know where the patient is?”

  No one responded. But Joanna shifted back and forth on her feet, and one of the nursing technicians snickered.

  Harlan bit back a curse. “Is there something going on here that you aren’t telling me?”

  Joanna turned to face him. She stared deep into his eyes with nary a flinch. Clearly, she’d known he was the attending surgeon on duty from the moment she walked into the room, and it hadn’t fazed her one bit. She even could have taken that opportunity to continue their argument from this morning, but being the first-rate professional that Joanna was, she didn’t.

  “Ahem. Har—I mean, Dr. Wilkinson, the patient isn’t here yet because you forgot to sign the surgeon’s intake form as required by North Carolina state law.”

  Now Harlan cursed for real. “Fuck,” he muttered, trying hard not to be too loud about it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

  He’d been so preoccupied with his marital problems that he’d forgotten to do the one thing he never forgot to do—sign back in as attending surgeon on duty, assuming all duties and responsibilities thereof. He’d dropped the ball before he’d even got a chance to pick up a scalpel. And now he was holding up the show.

  “Excuse me, ladies,” he said, and stomped out of the OR, cursing the whole way.

  Goddamn it. So much for taking control of the situation. He’d lost control before the situation had even started. And now since he’d forgotten to sign in, he’d have to leave the scrub wing, de-robe and de-mask so he could go back to the administrative office and sign in as attending surgeon on duty, then he’d have to re-scrub and re-gown before going back into the OR. The whole process was going to take at least half an hour. And meanwhile, Joanna and the rest of the surgical team would just be standing around in the OR twiddling their thumbs, wasting valuable time—which gave Joanna plenty more reason to be angry with him.

  The situation had gone from bad to worse, and it was all Harlan’s fault. As usual.

  He trudged back into the scrub room, where the scrub nurse was waiting for him with open arms to remove his sterile gown and mask. Harlan couldn’t help but notice that she was stifling a grin. Just like the waiting surgical team back in the OR, she seemed to enjoy the fact that he’d screwed up royally. Had she known about his gaffe the whole time? If so, why didn’t she bother to tell him before he finished scrubbing? Was she enjoying a good laugh at his expense, just like everybody else?

  Yep, she sure was. It was all the petite scrub nurse could do to keep from cracking up on the spot.

  Harlan dropped his sterile gown and booties into the waiting hamper and stomped out of the scrub room, swearing all the way. Now he wasn’t even trying to keep his voice down. He was shouting obscenities to whomever and whatever might be in earshot.

  Things weren’t exactly going the way he planned.

  He took care of the necessary paperwork, pretending to be oblivious to all the chuckles and smirks he encountered in the administrative offices. There seemed to be no shortage of people at Covington Community Hospital who enjoyed seeing Dr. Harlan Wilkinson make a public ass of himself. What exactly did that say about his reputation? Nothing good, that was for damn sure. Was he really so despised by everyone?

  Yes, he was.

  And the saddest part of all was, nobody despised Dr. Harlan Wilkinson more than he despised himself.

  Joanna stood beside the instrument table, bored silly. Harlan had been gone for almost forty minutes. She was counting the blue porcelain tiles on the wall across from her to keep her mind occupied. Joanna knew that as the ranking member of staff in t
he OR as long as Harlan was gone, nobody else would dare say a word as long as she stayed silent. And that was fine by her. Because Joanna was afraid if she opened her mouth, she’d start to cry.

  Her marriage to Harlan wasn’t even six months old, and it was already falling apart. She knew it, Harlan knew it—hell, practically everyone in Statesville knew it. She could hardly show her face in public anymore without being a total laughingstock. Everyone in town had thought she was crazy to marry Harlan after only knowing him a few months. She’d done it anyway. But now she wondered if maybe everyone had been right all along.

  Everyone in the OR stood on pins and needles as they waited for Dr. Wilkinson to return. The patient was lying on a gurney in pre-op, groggy from pre-anesthesia drugs but still awake enough to wonder what the holdup was. Every second that ticked by was wasted time. And since this hospital billed OR time by fifteen-minute intervals, chances were good the patient’s HMO would pitch a fit when it got the bill and saw that a routine gallbladder operation took almost an hour longer than normal for no reason other than an administrative oversight.

  Not only were Harlan and Joanna’s marital problems causing a lot of headaches, they were costing a lot of people a lot of money, too. Something had to give, and Joanna knew it.

  But she was at a total loss as to how she might put an end to this whole mess. The hospital was short-staffed and underfunded, so there was no end in sight when it came to their grueling schedules. And Harlan wasn’t exactly the type who would go to marriage counseling. He was way too macho for that. The man had a hard enough time admitting he’d made a simple paperwork mistake, so delving deep into his personal foibles and relationship demons with a total stranger was out of the question. Harlan would probably rather jump naked off the Empire State Building than see a therapist. He didn’t even like going in for his annual physical. Doctors always made the worst patients.

  Joanna knew that realistically, there was probably no salvaging her relationship with Harlan at this point. Maybe it was just better to quit while she was still ahead. Her marriage was less than a year old, which meant she could probably just get it annulled and avoid a long divorce battle. She wouldn’t seek out any of Harlan’s money or assets, either—she’d just cut her losses, turn tail, and run. Maybe start over in the big city, like her old colleague Shirley Daniels had done. Maybe—

  “All right folks, I’m back.” Harlan’s voice boomed against the OR tile, jerking Joanna out of her reverie. “Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”

  He took his place beside Joanna, but he didn’t meet her eyes. Her stomach did a little flip-flop, just like it always did whenever she was in her husband’s presence. Even when they were at each other’s throats, the physical attraction between Joanna and Harlan was electric, totally undeniable. Her body was always drawn to his like a magnet, irrespective of where they were or what they were doing. It was why they’d fucked each others’ brains out in an elevator within minutes of meeting. It was why that even with as much as she hated him right now, she would like nothing more than to lie right down on the operating table, spread her legs, and have him fuck her senseless right in front of the entire OR team, patient or no patient, operation or no operation.

  Yes, Joanna and Harlan had great sexual chemistry, all right. But there was a lot more to a good marriage than just sex. And these days, they didn’t even have sex—which basically meant they had no relationship at all. Life had a tendency to get in the way of everything else—their sex lives most of all. And they were left with pretty much zilch.

  Two orderlies arrived, pushing the semiconscious patient on a gurney. They lifted the middle-aged woman up onto the operating table, set her down. Without being told, Dana fitted the patient with an anesthesia mask and began hooking up her IVs. Joanna watched silently, making notations on the computer terminal that stood just to the left of the operating table, making sure that every step of standard OR procedure was followed to the letter. Harlan watched too, though he still made a point not to look Joanna in the eye. Which made Joanna uncomfortable—and not just because he was her husband. It was essential for the lead surgical nurse to maintain eye contact with the surgeon at all times for safety reasons. Part of Joanna’s job was to make sure the surgeon was alert, focused, and grabbing the right instruments at the right times. Joanna knew that Harlan was tired and distracted, so that meant she had to be doubly alert. If Harlan wouldn’t look her in the eye, it could mean the patient was at risk.

  And if that was the case, Joanna just might have to take matters into her own hands.

  Harlan stood beside the operating table, his gloved hands joined behind his back. He watched as the patient slowly lost consciousness, and waited for Dana to give her signal that it was safe to begin to operate. The patient’s vital signs slowly moved into the accepted range, and her breathing began to even out as the anesthesia took hold. Dana gave Harlan a single nod as a signal that it was safe to begin.

  “Sterilize,” Harlan said gruffly. He didn’t turn his head towards Joanna or anyone else. He kept his eyes on the patient.

  “Sterilize,” Joanna repeated, then signaled to her two assistants, who lifted the folds of the patient’s paper gown to expose her abdomen. One of the assistants began dousing the patient’s skin with Betadine, while the other stood by with sterile gauze and a paper incision guard.

  Once the task was complete, Joanna turned to Harlan, making a point to stare him down hard. “Patient is sterile, Doctor. Are you ready for scalpel?”

  “Scalpel,” Harlan grunted, still not meeting Joanna’s eyes. He jerked his open right hand in her direction, an unspoken command for her to hand it to him. But Joanna didn’t move.

  “Scalpel, dammit!” Harlan seethed.

  Joanna held her ground. “I’m sorry, Doctor, but safety regulations require that the surgeon make eye contact with the surgical nurse whenever sharps are passed.”

  Harlan jerked his hand right into Joanna’s face. “Just give me the damn scalpel, Joanna.”

  “No.”

  “Joanna—“

  “Dr. Wilkinson, if you want a sharp passed to you, then please make eye contact. If you refuse to do that, then I’m afraid it is my duty as lead surgical nurse to invoke a Code 11.”

  Code 11. Harlan sucked in his breath. A Code 11 was a recommendation from the lead surgical nurse that a surgeon be forcibly removed for patient safety reasons. A Code 11 had only been invoked at Covington Community Hospital once in its history—when the operating surgeon had insisted upon continuing an operation despite being in the middle of a heart attack. A Code 11 was never invoked lightly, because it not only disrupted the balance of power in the OR—always tipped heavily in favor of the surgeon—it also often irreparably damaged the surgeon’s reputation. Was Joanna really willing to take such a bold step?

  Yep, she sure as hell was.

  Joanna’s eyes bore into Harlan like knives. She wasn’t going to take no for an answer, whether he liked it or not.

  Against his will, Harlan’s eyes locked with Joanna’s. Her gaze was so intense, it practically burned him. He’d almost forgotten what Joanna’s eyes looked like. He’d forgotten how they could see right through him, tear through all his layers of armor and leave him exposed. Joanna’s eyes were truly the windows to her soul—all the hurt and anger and feelings of betrayal that Joanna had built up inside herself over the past three months hurtled themselves deep into Harlan’s psyche. He felt like his own soul was being ripped wide open and tossed onto the floor.

  Suddenly he understood why he’d worked so hard to avoid eye contact with his wife. The woman still had the power to reduce him to a frightened quivering mass with just one glance. And now that their eyes had finally locked, Harlan knew he’d never be able to look away. He was powerless under her spell.

  “Scalpel please, Joanna,” he said, softening his tone. His eyes were locked on hers.

  “Scalpel, doctor,” she replied softly, and placed it in his hand.

 
The whole OR breathed a huge sigh of relief as the tension that had choked the air slowly began to melt away. The operation proceeded as usual. Within less than an hour, the sleeping patient was minus a gall bladder, stitched up and sent to Recovery. Once Joanna had restored order, everything had gone smoothly, textbook even. It was a testament to the power she still had over her husband. Maybe there was hope for their marriage after all.

  Or maybe not.

  Once the patient was safely in Recovery, Joanna instructed her two technicians to begin post-op procedures so the cleaning staff could come in to sterilize and prep the room for the next operation. Joanna and Harlan were scheduled to do yet another surgery in the same OR in less than an hour, so they were already pressed for time. She’d have just enough time to shower, re-scrub, and re-gown before she was due back to assist Harlan on a standard bunion removal. The surgeries at Covington Community Hospital these days weren’t exotic or exciting, but that didn’t make them any less important. Every patient deserved the best she and Harlan and the rest of the staff could give, no matter how common or inconsequential the ailment. And to have her marital problems spilling over into the OR was unacceptable.

  Harlan was about to get a piece of her mind.

  She found him in postop, pulling off his soiled scrubs. “I need to see you, Harlan,” she snapped. “Privately. Now.”

  Harlan avoided her gaze. Or at least, he tried to. Try as he might, he just couldn’t hide from those amber eyes of hers. “We don’t have time, Joanna. We’ve only got half an hour to scrub up and prep for the next patient.”

  “Five minutes.”

  Harlan tossed his soiled scrubs into the hamper. Now he was wearing nothing but his boxer shorts. “Joanna, can’t this wait? I need to take a shower again. So do you. We don’t have time for personal stuff right now. The patients are lined up like an assembly line today. We’ve got two more procedures to complete before six o’clock.”

  “This isn’t personal, Harlan. This is professional.”