SCORE: Hell’s Seven MC Biker Romance
Page 2
Despite being a licensed doctor for nearly a decade and having seen several naked bodies, the thought of seeing his caused her heart to flutter. She cleared her throat and moved closer, crouching down in front of him.
“Mind if I check you over for injuries?” she asked, her fingers already itching to touch him. She berated herself internally; this was no time to act—or think—unprofessionally. The man was silent, but he nodded, giving her the permission she needed to finally place her hands on his body.
His shoulders were as strong and broad as they looked from afar. Lauren ran her hands over them, applying light pressure. “Let me know if anything aches,” she said, softly, checking his rotator cuffs. The man gave a curt nod and she watched his face for any sign of a grimace, but he betrayed nothing. Not until her hands had moved down to his chest, moving gently over his ribcage.
When she pressed against his stomach, he hissed and recoiled, his arms curling around his midsection. Lauren nodded. Broken ribs; at least two. Her hands returned to his body, sliding down until she reached his legs, trying to force back the flush that she knew was appearing on her cheeks. She ran her hands over one thigh, skating around his knee, which she could feel was just slightly swollen—though he refused to react this time, when she pressed on it to make sure that there was no dislocation of the joint or rip in the tendons holding it together—and then down to his ankle, encased in a leather biker boot, which probably saved him from breaking both the foot and ankle.
His other leg was almost identical, but there was less swelling in the knee.
“You might have a few broken ribs,” she informed him, “and your knee is swelling up a bit, but you seem fine otherwise.” She stood and offered her hand. “Can you stand?”
Ignoring the offered hand, the man attempted to shove himself up with his hands behind his back, but all it seemed to get him was another sharp pain in the side and a twisted wrist, which was a bit bruised. Lauren sighed and rolled her eyes, offering her hand more insistently this time.
“Swallow your pride, will ya?” she huffed. “I’m a doctor; it’s okay to ask for help from a doctor, don’t you think?”
The man sighed, but reached up, wrapping his large fingers (again, Lauren had to fight her natural reaction to shudder as heat pooled low in her belly) around hers, allowing her to help him to his feet. Even holding one knee gingerly and hunched over slightly with the pain of his injured ribs, the man loomed over her, tall and muscular and so handsome it should have been illegal. Lauren almost forgot to breathe as she stared up at him, and it was all she could do to keep her mouth from gaping open.
“You gonna tell me your name or…?” the man started, suddenly gazing down at her. And damn it if his look wasn’t just as alluring as the rest of him.
Lauren squared her shoulders even as she still held his hand (or, rather, he still held hers, as it was his fingers wrapped around her much smaller ones). “You first,” she said, putting as much authority in the words as possible. He still had that look on his face—the kind that might have infuriated her on any other man, but only lit a fire deep in her belly now.
“Marc,” he said, shaking her hand. “Marc Kelly. Now yours?”
“Lauren Stanton,” she replied. “M.D.”
“Impressive,” he said. “Surgeon.”
“No.” She pulled her hand out of his grip. “Lift your shirt?”
His thick eyebrows reached for his hairline. “Excuse me?” he wondered.
“I just have to check on your ribs,” she said. “If they’re broken, we should get you to a hospital right away.”
“Y’all have a hospital in this podunk town?” Marc snorted, but he lifted his shirt, anyway. Lauren couldn’t help the brief press of her lips as she took in the dragon tattoos that covered his muscular chest. The bruising wasn’t as bad as she’d thought it would be and thankfully it looked as if there was no internal bleeding, but it hadn’t been that long since the accident. The Harley’s engine was still revving in the background. She ignored it as she looked toward the sky and pressed her hand to the bruises, hearing him hiss, but feeling no evidence of broken bones. If anything, they were just badly bruised.
It was nothing to be too concerned about, so long as he didn’t do any strenuous activity for a couple of days.
“You can put your shirt down,” she instructed, trying not to let her own disappointment show as he followed her orders. “Your ribs look…” amazing, fantastic, mouthwatering, “fine. There’s some pretty nasty bruising on your chest, but otherwise you’re okay.”
“You mean except for my knee?”
“Your knee is also pretty banged up,” Lauren admitted. “But I think it just needs some ice and rest to bring down the swelling. If you want, I can give you a ride to Joe’s Auto Shop; it should still be open for another hour or so. He can fix up your bike and give you a ride to wherever you’re staying for the night.”
“I haven’t quite figured that out yet,” Marc informed her. “I’ve been riding around looking for a hotel or an inn for the last half hour.”
“Oh, well, you won’t find either in Slightuckett,” Lauren said, walking over to his bike, which was leaking oil. She found the keys and pulled them out, stopping the engine completely. It puttered to a stop and went still. The silence surrounded them, leaving only the sound of waves and the ocean breeze in the distance. “No Bed & Breakfast, either.”
“Guess I need to figure out something else.” Marc Kelly said, frowning down at her.
“There’s a city nearby that I can drive you to. Your bike probably won’t be ready to ride until tomorrow, anyway. There are a few hotels scattered near the beach.”
“I don’t do cities,” Marc replied, in a firm, gruff tone of voice. “I’m tryin’ to stay more, uh, local.”
Lauren furrowed her brow in suspicion. “Are you on the run from the cops or something? Because, you know, the whole ‘doctor/patient confidentiality’ thing doesn’t extend to criminal activity. And there’s a police station right down the street.” She reached into her right pocket, clutching the pepper spray in case he tried something. Instead, Marc shook his head.
“All my warrants have been cleared,” he said, firmly. “I haven’t seen the inside of a jail cell in years. Besides, those were all minor offences; never longer than a year.”
“That is really not a comforting thought,” Lauren admitted. “But fine. Let’s say I believe you. What are you really running from, if not the law?”
“A few old friends of mine,” he said limping toward her house.
For a tense moment, Lauren was certain that he was going to attempt a break-in, but all he did was plop himself down on the top step, extending his leg and holding his ribs. His motorcycle remained in the street, just slightly off to the side. “We had a bit of a disagreement over a certain…female.” He stared off in the distance. “She couldn’t resist getting a piece of this.” He ran one of his hands down his body, coming to rest on a very suggestive place on his person. It took everything in her for Lauren not to follow the line of his fingers, keeping her eyes on his face as she painted on a bored expression.
“Why would they care who you slept with?” Lauren asked, moving to the sidewalk, but no further. Emma moved with her, staying obediently at her side. “Was she married to one of your ‘friends’ or something?”
“Close,” Marc said. “She was the daughter of one of my friends.” He answered without hesitation, as if the memory of her face was flashing behind his eyes. “Veronica was her name. She was quite the sight.” He made a motion with his hands, like outlining her figure. “Wide hips, thick thighs, big…” he motioned to his chest, giving Lauren the gist of it. His eyes quickly raked up and down Lauren’s body and, suddenly, she felt as if she were under a microscope—but not unpleasantly so.
It was a strange feeling; to feel a man’s eyes on her body like that and actually like it for the first time in years.
Still, she tried to act unaffected by his gaze.
“Emma?” Marc looked down at the dog at Lauren’s heel. “What kind of name is that for a dog?”
“A fine one,” Lauren defended. “Besides, I didn’t name her; she’s a rescue. Emma, come!”
The retriever trotted after Lauren and kept her body between her master’s and this strange man’s the entire way, even as they ascended the steps to the front door. Lauren’s hand continued to clutch the pepper spray, even though she knew the chances of Marc overpowering her with his injuries were significantly less than if he were in perfect health and mobility. But she wasn’t about to let her guard down around a stranger.
Never again.
Lauren slipped inside after Emma and shut the door after her, sliding the chain into its slot, just in case the biker got any funny ideas. She made her way into the kitchen next, refilling Emma’s food and water bowls and setting them on the floor, before grabbing an ice pack from the freezer and wrapping it in a paper towel.
On her way out, she grabbed her car keys and gave Emma a pat on the head. “Go eat,” she ordered, and the dog was all too happy to follow that command, happily attacking her food bowls with puppylike gusto.
Lauren slipped back outside, leaving all the lights on to keep up the façade that she was still home, and flipped the switch on her porch light, before hopping down the steps and offering her hand, once again, to Marc Kelly. He took it and allowed her to pull him up before he let go and limped in the direction of her Jeep in the driveway.
The Jeep was old and beat up, but it was as reliable a car as Lauren had ever had. And she’d gotten it cheap, from a friend; there’d been only 40,000 miles on it and the engine was in near-perfect condition. She’d driven it from New York to Rhode Island in the dead heat of summer without breaking down once. And, in the tiny town of Slightuckett, she didn’t have much need to drive it, anyway, so it stayed in good condition.
She used the remote to unlock the car and opened the passenger-side door for Marc.
“Thanks, but I’m fully capable of opening a car door,” he said, as he took hold of the door and motioned for her to go around to the other side oft he jeep. Climbing in and stretching out his legs, sighing in relief as he relaxed into the leather seat. “Nice interior.”
Lauren rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help the way her lips curled up in an amused grin as she left him to shut the door and ran around to the driver’s side. She climbed into the seat and clipped on her seatbelt, glancing sideways at her passenger and pausing just before she pressed the key into the ignition.
She cleared her throat and Marc turned to her with a raised brow. “What?” he asked, at her expectant look. She glanced down pointedly, then back up at him and his other brow raised. “Really?” he said, evenly looking into her eyes, one eyebrow raised.
Lauren furrowed her brow in confusion for half a second, before her face suddenly flamed up and she shook her head, frantically. “What? No!” she exclaimed. “I meant...ugh! Seatbelt!” she exclaimed. “Put your seatbelt on!”
“What are you, a cop?” Marc huffed. Even in the darkness of the car as day turned to dusk, she could see a mischievous twinkle in his ice blue eyes.
“No,” she retorted. “But I am a doctor. I trained as a trauma surgeon for five years; saw plenty of car accidents in that time. Most of them were caused by idiots who couldn’t bother to strap themselves in.”
There was a moment of silence as Marc clicked his seatbelt on.
“I thought you said you weren’t a surgeon.”
Lauren paused, her hand on the key, which she’d inserted into the ignition. She hadn’t meant to reveal that much. She never revealed that much to anybody; not if she could help it. She took a deep breath and swallowed down the fear.
“I’m not,” she said, as the engine roared to life and she backed out of her driveway, not saying another word on the subject. When she saw Marc’s mouth open in her peripheral vision, she reached for the radio, turning it on and turning up the volume to drown out his voice as she made her way to Joe’s Auto.
Thankfully, he seemed to get the message. The rest of the ride was punctuated only by the voices of pop singers on her radio.
Chapter Two
Joe had his head tucked under the hood of an old Cadillac when Lauren’s Jeep pulled into the garage. He glanced up and gave her a wide grin as she hopped out of the car. “Dr. Stanton!” he greeted, opening his arms like an old friend. He limped toward her, slower without his cane. “How are ya, Doc?”
“I’m well, thank you,” Lauren replied, accepting his hug. She didn’t often allow men this close to her, but Joe had never been a threat to her. He was shorter than she was, and bulky, built like a grandfather, with gray hair and a big white caterpillar of a mustache on his upper lip. From far away, he looked like the kind of man that you didn’t want to mess with (up close, too, if you didn’t know him), but he was a big softy. He reminded her of her father.
“Always so formal,” Joe chuckled, pulling a handkerchief out of the front pocket of his jeans and wiping his hands. “Guess that’s what a doctor’s s’posed to be, huh?” He laughed again, deep and booming, before coughing a bit into the cotton cloth and shaking his head.
“You feeling okay?” Lauren asked, completely forgetting why she was there for a second. She reached for his wrist and felt for his pulse. “How’s your breathing?”
“Better than it has been in a long time,” Joe retorted. “Thanks to you, Doc. I’m doing just fine. See?” He showed her the inside of the handkerchief. “No blood this time.”
“That’s good,” Lauren said, sighing in relief. “But it’s hardly because of me.”
“Are you kidding?” Joe huffed. “You’re the one that noticed how irregular my breathing was. You’re the one that nagged me to go to the clinic because I was too stubborn to drive all the way to the damn hospital. You are the one that called my wife and made sure that I was following up with my chemo after my diagnosis.”
“I’m also the one that cost you the leg,” Lauren sighed, looking down at the prosthetic on his right side.
“Eh,” Joe brushed off. “No leg is worth my life. My wife thanks you, my kids thank you, and my grandson thanks you.”
“Mara had the baby? Already?”
“A full month early,” Joe confirmed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his wallet. He slipped out a picture of a tiny blue bundle with a face and tiny, chubby hands. There was a tuft of blonde hair sticking out from under his cap. “But he’s doing well. They’re calling him Jojo.” He smiled at that thought. “He’s something else, ain’t he?”
“He really is,” Lauren agreed.
“I hate to break up this Liftetime Movie moment,” a voice behind Lauren said, grunting as his heavy steps brought him closer, “but do you think we could get a tow truck or something? Before somebody damages my Harley further or steals my shit from the saddlebag?”
“Who the hell are you?” Joe asked, his face turning sour at the newcomer.
“Joe,” Lauren sighed, handing him back the photo of his grandson, “this is Marc Kelly. He’s an…acquaintance of mine.” At Joe’s distrusting look, she leaned in, whispering, “His motorcycle died in front of my house. I really need you to send a tow.”
“I don’t blame you,” Joe whispered back. “I’d get sick of looking at that mug real quick if I were you, too.”
Marc impatiantly rolled his eyes. “Can we get a move on?”
“What’s your rush?” Lauren retorted, leading him back to the Jeep as Joe dropped the Caddy hood and reached for his cane, limping out the garage door. “You don’t have anywhere to go, anyway.”
“I’ve slept on the street before,” Marc huffed. “No reason I can’t do it again.”
“You shouldn’t be sleeping on t
he street,” Lauren said. “Not with your injuries.”
“Not like I have many options.” He said, waving his hand at the surroundings. “Unless, you’re offering to let me crash at your place, Doc.”
Lauren felt her face flush and her mouth went dry, leaving her incapable of responding to his suggestive comment.
As Marc reached over to buckle his seat belt, she felt his hand brush hers next to the gear shift and she shivered as a spark ran up her arm, burning her from the inside out.
Lauren cleared her throat, ripping her hand away and placing it down on the wheel as casually as possible. “You can sleep on the couch,” she said, her voice firm. She patted herself on the back for that; there was no quiver to be heard of.
“If you say so, Dr. Stanton.” She couldn’t help but shiver at the husky sound of his voice and without warning, the thought of his mouth on her body came to mind. Thankfully, the logical voice in the back of her mind reminded her that she was driving and that this man was a near-stranger to her. Inviting him to stay at her house overnight was already pushing it.
“I sleep with a gun,” she warned, almost as casually as if she were talking about the weather, as she turned the corner. She could see Joe’s tow truck in the rearview mirror. She knew he was watching over her, in case this Marc Kelly got any funny ideas. She didn’t know if that made her feel more safe or disappointed. She might not have minded Marc’s hands on her, if the feeling he invoked with a simple brush of fingers was anything to go by.
Though, her taste in men hadn’t always been the best, so she supposed having somebody like Joe watching over her was best. She hadn’t had anybody watching over her the last time and look what had happened then.