by Ashley Logan
"She threatens to steal your son?"
Hanging her head again, Stace nods. "She believes she has grounds based on my 'reckless and wild behavior' before I came back under her strict supervision."
"That's bullshit."
"I know, but I can't exactly risk her running wild with the idea of me exposing my son to a doctor-thumping, property-damaging, muscle-man with a history of mental instability before I get out from under her roof," she says, not sugar-coating any of it.
I stop my preparations to move closer to her, pulling myself back against the pillows instead.
"I only damage my own property."
That gets a small smile. "I don't think that's entirely true," she says, hopping off the bed and rolling my dinner back in front of me. Sighing, I glance under the heat cover.
"Throwing inedible hospital food on the floor shouldn't count. And that was years ago. I'm better now."
"Yeah," she agrees, reaching out to brush a curl back from my forehead. "You're pretty good."
Seizing her hand, I bring it to my lips. "I liked your lips on me."
Blushing, she smiles. "Liar. You loved it."
"I did. I confess. I want to do it again at the earliest possible moment. Are you telling me I have to wait a few months? Or are you telling me to dream on?"
Her eyes lower to my lips and she wets her own. "Months seems a long time," she whispers, before closing her eyes and shaking her head. "That's stupid. I lived twenty-four years before kissing you. We shouldn't... I can't let Mom find out..." She shakes her head again.
"We could sneak around," I suggest, pulling her in nice and close by the hand I still have a hold of. "You always did love sneaking around. No-one has to know. Not even Ry, if you think he'll give you away. It'd be inappropriate for him to be around for this anyway," I add, flicking the tip of my tongue over her lips before trailing kisses down her neck.
"I want to..." she whispers on a soft moan.
"Do you ever get to do what you want?" I ask into her beautiful skin as I kiss it again and again; breathing her in and loving it. "You make me feel light-headed."
"It's probably just your blood pressure," she says as her body pulls reluctantly away and she takes my pulse.
I watch her fingers caress my wrist in a very non-professional manner. "I can already tell you it's thumping, Stace."
"Mine too," she whispers. "I've missed that feeling."
"I've never had this feeling," I admit.
"Really?" she asks, clearly not believing me. "Weren't you engaged to be married?"
"Yeah." If I'd known it could feel like this, there's no way I would've settled for what me and Mandy had.
"You never... Mandy didn't make your..."
I shake my head. "Not like this. Why do you even remember her name?"
Blushing again, Stacey clears her throat. "Definitely not because I had a crush on you."
"You had a crush on me?"
"Maybe," she says, suddenly coy. "Although, the sight of her fucking my boyfriend in the supply room might have been what secured her in my memory bank."
A surprised gasp escapes me and I cover my mouth, feeling like an old lady hearing the latest church gossip. I'd had no idea of Mandy's indiscretions and I take a second to process the information. It rings true with what I recall of the situation at the time. Lowering my hand again, I try to regain any scraps of dignity I might have lost with my reaction.
"You had a boyfriend and you still had a crush on me?" I ask with the hint of a teasing smile.
Her genuine smile is a great reward. "More so after you thumped his skull," she says with a sparkle in her eyes.
"Gross. Sodermann was your boyfriend? He's like, twice my age."
"I have daddy issues. And he was really more of an occasional, spur-of-the-moment hook up in the back supply room when the ward was quiet. Let's call it a lapse in judgment. I was testing the freedoms of being beyond my mother's control and sampled a series of shitty men including that boredom-induced relationship. Non-exclusive, boredom-induced relationship," I correct myself.
"He's Ry's father, huh?"
Stunned by my inference, Stace folds her arms over her chest and turns side-on to me. "Actually Ry's birth certificate say unknown."
"Why?"
"Because Ry's dad can't leave him if he doesn't have one. Because it's better to paint myself as a promiscuous whore than it is to give that creep any power over my life or Ry's. Paternity doubts offer me safety."
What? I hardly know what to react to first.
"Safety from what exactly?"
Stacey's shoulders rise and fall with the weight of her tale. "Mom's not the only one who threatens me with my past behavior," she says quietly.
"What?" Pulling myself back up to sitting, I stabilize myself to lean to the side so that I can see her face. "Sodermann's threatened to take your son from you?"
Keeping her eyes on the floor, she nods.
"Huh." Leaning back against the pillows, I try to puzzle that out.
"No offense - because Ry is great, and cute and all that, but why the fuck would Sodermann want your son?"
"He doesn't want Ry," she says turning to me. "He wants me. At his beck and call. For all sorts of frisky business. Apparently I have... skills he finds desirable."
"No doubt," I reply, immediately wondering at these skills and if she'll apply them to me. "That is a very distracting statement in itself. You clearly have many gifts. But what the hell is he trying to pull? He's trying to blackmail you with your son in order to sleep with you? Does he seek you out?"
"Mostly, he just tries it on if we happen upon each other. He's not stalking me or anything, if that's what you mean."
My brows shadow my face as they pull down, and I nod. "I don't think that makes it any less of a problem. You want me to have a word?"
Launching off the bed, she turns on me. "Don't you dare! That's not why I told you! Do you have any idea of the trouble you'd cause me by getting involved? Have you heard nothing I've said?"
Raising my palms, I keep my eyes on hers. "I've heard every damn word and I want to make it better! Tell me how I can help."
"By not going anywhere near Sodermann. Or my mother!" she adds, glaring at me.
I glare right back.
"What's wrong with your car?"
Behind her glasses, her eyes soften in surprise. "What?"
"Your car. You said you were saving to fix it."
"I am. It's going to cost me almost as much as a new car."
"Well what shape is your old car in? Is it worth just getting a new car?"
"I love my car. We've been through a lot together and it's perfectly good apart from the... catalyst conversion thing," she says defensively.
"Catalytic converter," I correct her. "Are you sure? That wouldn't be a problem unless something else malfunctioned. Was it a faulty spark plug?"
"I don't know!" she says looking flustered.
"Well were you keeping up with the maintenance?" I ask, before swiping the air dismissively. "It doesn't matter. I'll take a look at it for you. Free of charge so you can use your savings on more important stuff like escaping your mom sooner."
"You can't. It's parked outside her house. She'll take one look at me drooling over you and I'll be plastered with accusations of prostituting myself for transportation."
I blink at her. "Drooling?"
"Oh like you can't tell that I'd straddle you in a second if I didn't have to be so fucking responsible."
I swallow hard.
"I'm willing to provide a payment plan," I croak, doing a lousy job of ignoring my indecent thoughts. I lay my hands in my lap in an attempt to conceal my... growing interest.
"What?" she laughs. "I fire up your engine and you'll fire up mine? I think that would prove my mother right. Should I be feeling insulted right now?"
I shake my head. "I meant I'll get Shermansky to whip up some official looking invoices to placate your mom and I'll buy a PAID stamp to acknowledge p
ayment on your fake receipt when I'm done. But I'm open to negotiating those services to include anything to do with you straddling any part of my body."
"Any part?" Trying not to laugh, she pokes a thumb at my skewered leg. "Even this thing?"
I crack a smile. "Whatever turns you on, Stace."
Stepping closer with caution, she comes to stand at my side. "Turning me on is something that's important to you?"
"More important every second. I love seeing you smile." Taking her hand, I run my big thumb over her dainty knuckles. "I want to make you happy. Now. I don't want to wait months, Stace."
"Me either," she says, swaying slightly as her fingers weave between mine.
"I could probably wait until your next meal break though, if you wanted to swing by and let me kiss you some more."
"Oh fuck!" Dropping my hand, she checks her fob watch and jumps into action. Rushing for the door, she stops, spins, and comes crashing back into my lips.
"I'm not agreeing to anything but coming back to see you soon."
"I can live with that," I reply with a smile as she pants lightly into my face. "Now get back to work before your boss falls out of love with you. Man, I hope your boss is a chick," I add, frowning.
"Who Fred?" she asks, grinning at my scowl. "Yeah, she's pretty awesome. I'll see you later?"
"Fuck yes, Stacey Lane." I raise my hand in farewell and she disappears out the door, leaving me to fall back against my pillows and relive the last half hour of my suddenly fantastic life.
CHAPTER FOUR
STACE
Marty leans into Rochelle as I approach the nurses' station, but I hear him despite his low voice. "Good Lord. She's grinning like a fool. You think she had time to fuck him and eat her dinner?"
Rochelle smacks him in the arm and returns her investigative gaze to me. "Hmm. You're crass Martin, but you may have a point."
Leaving him at the desk, she prances over and swings an arm around my shoulders. "How was he? Is this discussion going to be X-rated?" she asks, her eyes growing wide as she whispers, "Should we go in the back office?"
Shrugging her off with a laugh, I shake my head and sigh. "Not required, and no time. I've got a date with a trachy and a suction tube."
"Sounds kinky," Marty remarks, as he walks past with a medication chart.
Shaking off the involuntary shudder, I sigh at him. "Gross."
"A bit of throaty phlegm for adventurous lubrication?" he adds with a grin as I cringe.
"You are so freakin' gross, Marty. No wonder the coffee fairy runs a mile every time you open your mouth."
Pausing outside his patient's room, Marty pulls a face as his cheeks begin to color. "Not every time," he says with a wink before disappearing inside.
Turning back to Rochelle, I laugh as I shake my head. "I don't even want to know what he's implying. How are my guys?"
"Two and three are okay for now. Room 1 had an explosion and a bed change - you're welcome, and you owe me. Room four is definitely getting noisy, so definitely go suction her out like you planned and then you can help me roll Room 6. Yes?"
"Affirmative. See ya soon."
By the time we're rolling the unconscious Ms. Hawthorne with all of her tubes and wires, thoughts of Brad have flown out of my head, replaced by the practical tasks of keeping post-surgery head trauma patients alive, nourished and bedsore free.
"So, you going to tell us anymore about this guy? Or do we need to sneak over on our breaks to check him out?"
Pausing a moment, I look at Ms. Hawthorne to ensure she won't suddenly wake up and be horridly offended by our unprofessional behavior. She shows no sign of presence at all, aside from the rise and fall of her steady breath and the beeping of her cardiac monitor.
"He's a vet."
Rochelle nods. "So he likes animals. That's a positive personality trait. That earns him one point."
I shake my head. "I mean a veteran. He was in Afghanistan. I met him when I worked at the Rehab Center - before I was a nurse."
"Army?"
I nod.
"And injured..." Her eyes narrow at me. "Issues?"
My lips press together and I nod again.
"Minus one point per issue. How much crazy he got going on?"
"A bit."
"Mmhm." Readjusting Ms. Hawthorne's sheets, Rochelle turns to the machines and records the vital signs. "Any bonus soldier shit?" she asks, shining her torch in her patient's eyes and then writing down her observations. "He a hero?"
"Definitely."
"Loud about it?"
"Never speaks of it."
"Hmm," she says as she empties the catheter bag into a measuring jug. "Good looking?"
"Dreamy," I answer with a sigh. "Deep blue eyes, great hair, fucking fantastic arms, hard chest, strong jaw, chin dimple."
"He's got a chin-ass? What else is wrong with him?"
"Careful, 'Chelles. My son has one. Chin dimples are delicious!"
"Whatever. Feed me the negatives before your rose colored glasses get all steamed up."
Frowning, I look over my shoulder at Rochelle's other patient.
"She's sedated. Speak freely."
Chewing the inside of my cheek, I fidget with the pen in my pocket. "History of depression. And aggression -reactionary. Largely related to his injuries and their impact on his life. His fiancée left him because he wasn't ever going to walk again."
Rochelle stops and looks at me. "Bitch."
"I know."
"His dick work?"
Feeling my cheeks flare, I busy myself washing my hands. "Seemed to be working just fine when we were kissing earlier."
"Oh-ho-ho. So that was what the smile was about," she deduces.
"Part of it," I agree. "He's also a total smartass, but actually very sweet and decent. And he's both a mechanic and an artist," I add with yet another dreamy sigh. "He painted that stormy ocean scene on the wall outside the ward."
"He did?" she asks, stopping her tasks to watch me again. "The one that looks like it'll suck you in and sweep you out to sea?"
"Mmhm."
"Oh shit. You're going to get sucked in and swept away by this guy, aren't you?" she says, looking toward the door when a call bell goes off. She points a finger at me as if telling me to stay put. "We're not done here, Missy. You don't date anyone in the whole time I've known you and now you're walking around all starry-eyed and loved up. It's dangerous and you need supervision. Wait till Marty hears this shit."
"Like he'd care! He'll just be like... how will it work? You on top every time?"
Laughing, Rochelle shakes her head and leaves to attend her other patient.
Making sure Ms. Hawthorne looks comfortable, I smooth a persistent wrinkle from her bed to keep it from damaging her tender skin.
"He's actually great company, even when he's sad and angry," I whisper to her unconscious form. "And I wish he'd been able to see me through his pain all those years ago, but then I wouldn't have Ry. Or maybe I'd have had a Ry with Brad. A different Ry." Frowning at the thought, I shake my head and sweep Ms. Hawthorne's hair from her face as I adjust her oxygen. "I don't want a different Ry."
Another call bell goes off down my end of the corridor and I back away from Ms. Hawthorne, getting my Bradley Jenkins daydreams under control so I can get back to work. Explosive diarrhea and sexy fantasies do not mix well.
BRAD GREETS ME WITH a sexy, dimpled grin when I cruise into his room after knocking. "Hey."
"Hey," I reply, flopping into his wheelchair and rolling over to prop my aching legs up on his bed. The damn concrete floors kill my shins by the end of a shift on my feet. I need better shoes.
His eyes travel over me with concern. "You look shattered," he concludes.
"Mm."
"Too tired to talk, huh?"
Closing my eyes. I nod once and lean my head back to rest on his chair.
"Go home to bed," he says, as if I hadn't even thought of it.
"Can't."
"You could climb into
mine," he suggests in a deeply suggestive tone. The sheets swish against him as he starts organizing his lower limbs.
"Mm. Love to. Can't. Waiting on my ride. Marty has a nightly routine. Astri delivers coffee to the night shift, so he'll spend a good while trying to convince her to go out with him until she smiles and shakes her head, then he'll come get me. Clockwork."
The bed squeaks softly as he shifts himself in it, but my eyes don't open until I feel his strong hands clamp onto my leg. I sit up in a hurry - at least I try to, but holding one of my legs in place with one hand, he pulls off my shoe with the other.
"What are you doing? I just worked a twelve hour shift. My feet will stink!"
Pinning my leg in place, he peels off my sock.
"You just worked a twelve hour shift," he repeats, but changes his intonation to turn it into a reason that he should do whatever it is he's doing. "And I'm not scared of toe jams," he adds as he wiggles each of my toes before proceeding to rub my foot and then my leg with gloriously firm strokes.
Groaning, I melt back into his chair.
Ohmigod. Can you orgasm from a foot rub?
My insides clench at the thought and his hands work magic on my aching flesh.
"You're really fucking good at that," I utter blissfully as a horrible thought hits me. Ripping my leg out of his grasp, I push my scrubs back down.
His hands still hanging mid-air, Brad awaits an explanation for my behavior.
Cheeks flaming, I avert my eyes. "I haven't shaved my legs in about a week! I must look like a fucking Sasquatch and feel like a porcupine," I whine.
"Give me back your fucking leg. I was so wrapped up watching the pleasure on your beautiful face I didn't even notice. Now I want to see how hairy the elusive Sasquatch is rumored to be." He makes a grab for my leg, and I jerk it away, laughing.
"Gimme your leg!"
"No! You're going to look at it!"
"Of course I am. You've made me curious now."
His face is so fucking radiant when he smiles. He's all dimples and white teeth - naturally straight, not braces straight, so his mouth has character. I don't think I've ever thought about anyone else's mouth as having character. I run my tongue over my own teeth, wishing I had half the brilliance of his smile.
