by Lucy Ryder
Hannah’s eyes widened, she looked intrigued. “Has that ever happened?”
“No.” Yeesh. “I don’t fight over women. It’s juvenile.” Not to mention stupidly dangerous.
She stuck her tongue in her cheek. “R-i-i-ight,” she said, like he was acting so mature.
“Yeah, short stuff. Just remember I know a hundred different ways to kill a man—or a kid sister—that’ll look like they died of natural causes. Besides, I’m not interested in some fancy Boston debutante playing wilderness doctor.”
Hannah looked disgusted and sent him a yeah, right look as she gave his shoulder a patronizing pat. She muttered something that sounded like, “Keep telling yourself that, you poor clueless moron,” which he took exception to. But when he demanded she repeat it, she smirked and said, “I’ve got this, big guy. You go off and crawl into your man cave with your denials and delusions. I’m sure the Navy shrinks will be interested to hear you’ve finally gone over the edge.”
Sam snarled something nasty about Navy shrinks, before turning on his heel and heading down the passage towards the back exit. He yanked open the door and slammed it on the sound of her laughter.
Hannah was wrong, he told himself, firing up the engine and shoving the vehicle into first gear. He didn’t care if his brother had a “thing” for the fancy doctor. He’d be gone soon and didn’t do relationships that lasted more than a week, tops. He was never around long enough for more. And if the voice in his head told him he was deluding himself, he ignored it since it sounded a lot like his sister. He was just tired.
Yeah, he thought with a snort of disgust. He was tired all right. Tired of sitting on his ass, waiting for his CO to call. And he was damn sick and tired of trying to convince people he was fine.
*
Sam had every intention of heading for the Crash Landing, a rough bar on the other side of town that catered to truckers, loggers and general badasses, but found himself pulling into the hospital parking lot instead.
When he realized where he was, he swore and scowled at the light spilling from the small ER, worried that maybe he was as crazy as everyone claimed. Only a crazy man would be sitting outside a hospital, staring at the glowing emergency sign and thinking of a woman whose bedside manner rivaled that of a BUD/S training instructor.
He was also a doctor, for goodness’ sake. He could remove his own damn stitches. Nevertheless, he found himself killing the engine and climbing from the cab.
So he was here. Might as well get them removed. They were starting to itch like crazy anyway.
Sam entered the building, surprised to find the reception deserted. He headed for the emergency treatment rooms but found them empty as well. A little alarmed, he retraced his steps just as a door opened somewhere behind him and before he could turn, a voice called out.
“Be right with you… Oh, Samuel, what a surprise,” Fran Gilbert, a friend of his mother’s, said when she saw him. “Is there a problem?” She was pushing a medicine trolley and looked a little preoccupied. Sam held up his bandaged hand and watched her face clear. “Cassidy will handle that, dear. I’m doing the rounds.”
“Busy?”
“Just the usual. In addition to the usual, a dozen preschoolers with high fevers came in earlier. We’re waiting for spots to appear but in the meantime we’ve got our hands full with cranky little people demanding attention every second. Through that door,” she said, gesturing behind him. “I made her take a break. Who knows what will happen during the night with a bunch of miserable little people.” And then she was gone.
Sam stared after her for a moment, wondering if his mouth was hanging open. He hadn’t had an opportunity to utter so much as a grunt. Shaking his head, he turned and headed for the privacy door she’d indicated. He pushed it open and immediately heard talking.
So much for resting up for a rough night, he thought darkly. Ignoring the fact that she was free to entertain whomever she pleased, he let the door shut silently behind him and headed down the corridor. What he found wiped all dark thoughts from his head.
Shoving a shoulder against the doorframe, Sam folded his arms across his chest and let his eyes take a slow journey up long denim-clad legs perched halfway up a ladder. Doc Boston was alone and muttering to herself about something that sounded like bedpans and floor polish as she consulted the clipboard in her hand.
She turned a page to skim it from top to bottom and then back again, before huffing out a breath and turning another page, oblivious to his presence.
“You have got to be kidding,” she muttered with a sound of disgust. “Who puts bedpans with surgical scrubs? This system sucks.” She froze as though she’d said something indecent then shook her head with a laugh. “Yes, Cassidy, you can use the word ‘sucks’ without the world imploding.” She exhaled as she studied the clipboard, her breath disturbing silvery blonde curls near her face. “Besides, if someone can walk around with a T-shirt saying ‘Eat the Worm’ or ‘Loggers do it with big poles’ in public, you can certainly say ‘sucks’ in private without it being followed by lightning bolts.”
Sam grinned. “You sure about that, Doc?” he drawled, making her shriek and jump about a mile into the air. She grabbed for the shelf with one hand and the ladder with the other. The clipboard and pen went flying, her boot slipped and with a panicked shriek she went flying as well.
Without thinking, Sam leapt towards her. She landed against his chest with a thud, knocking the breath from them both. He staggered back against the wall and wrapped one arm securely around her back. The other he clamped around her thighs.
Planting his feet wide to accommodate his curvy armful, he grinned into shocked green eyes, conscious of lush pink lips forming a perfectly round O—which for some reason made him think of hot, wet kisses in the dark—an inch from his.
“I… You… Oh…God,” she wheezed out, fisting her hand in his T-shirt and sounding about as coherent as Cindy Dawson in the third-grade spelling bee when Frankie Ferguson had let go with a loud burp right there on stage.
She sucked in a shaky breath and uttered one word. “You!” Making him wonder if she was relieved to see him or cursing him. He suspected the latter.
“Expecting someone else?” The idea did not appeal.
“I…uh… You…” She shut her mouth with an audible snap and swiped her tongue across her lips. Then, realizing how provocative her action might appear—especially as his gaze had dropped to her mouth—she rolled her eyes and shoved against his chest. “Put me down.”
“‘I…uh… You’?” Sam lifted his brow, ignoring her order. “You’ve developed a stutter since I last saw you?”
“Dammit, you scared the hell out of me,” she snapped, and shoved at his shoulders again.
Both brows hiked up his forehead. “Hell?” He was enjoying the feel of her in his arms and the light fruity scent of her hair. He was enjoying seeing her flustered when she was normally so poised. “Doc, Doc, Doc,” he tutted, shaking his head. “First ‘suck’ and now ‘Dammit’ and ‘Hell’? What’s next? The b word?”
Cassidy froze and stared open-mouthed for a couple of beats before a faint flush rose up her neck into her cheeks. “You heard all that?” And when his eyes crinkled and his mouth lifted at one corner, she groaned.
“Oh, God, just shoot me.”
Sam laughed. “I only shoot bad guys,” he assured her, slipping his arm out from under her shapely bottom to let her slide down the length of his body while he enjoyed the friction of soft curves against hard angles. Her face flamed when she felt a certain hard angle and he bit back a groan, suddenly realizing why he’d come.
He wasn’t cool with his brother putting the moves on her and he sure as hell didn’t like the idea of Buddy or Jake dropping their shorts in her presence either.
Ignoring what that might mean, Sam inhaled the flowery, fresh scent of her hair and enjoyed the soft press of full breasts against his chest. Suddenly nothing mattered but putting his mouth on hers again and finding out if
she tasted as good as he remembered.
As if sensing his intent, she made a sound of protest and scrambled out of reach, her eyes huge and dark with suspicion and…was that arousal?
“What are you doing here, Major?” she demanded a little breathlessly. For a long moment he watched from beneath heavy lids before taking a step towards her, enjoying the flash of annoyance that replaced the mild panic when she found herself backed against the wall.
Blocking her escape with a palm to the wall, he tunneled his free hand beneath the soft, fragrant cloud surrounding her flushed face. He wrapped his fingers around the back of her neck and gently pressed his thumb into the soft hollow at the base of her throat. The rapid flutter beneath his touch had him lifting her face to his.
The scent of peaches drifted to him and his gut clenched. Damn, he thought, she makes me hungry. Dropping his gaze to her mouth, he feathered a knuckle across her jaw to the corner of her lips and when her breath hitched in her throat, his blood went hot.
“I had no intention of coming here,” he accused in a voice rough and deep with need. “But you…make me crazy. I couldn’t stay away.”
With a sharply indrawn breath Cassidy fisted her hands in his shirt as though she couldn’t make up her mind whether to push him away or pull him close. Sam took advantage of her indecision to open his mouth over hers in a soft kiss that stole her breath and sent his head reeling.
“Samuel,” she protested tightly against his mouth.
With a deep “Hmm?” he slid his tongue along her lower lip before dipping inside where she was warm and delicious. He hummed again, this time with growing need.
God, he thought, he hadn’t exaggerated the memory of her taste, or the feel of her mouth moving beneath his.
“S-Samuel,” she stuttered, “this…this is a bad idea.” You’re telling me. But she didn’t pull away, which told Sam he wasn’t the only crazy person here. In fact, she tilted her head to give him better access and her breath hitched in her throat.
It was the sign he’d unconsciously been waiting for.
“I like the way you say my name,” he growled against her lips, before rocking his mouth over hers, his control rapidly slipping. “I like the way your breath hitches in your throat when you’re aroused.” He pressed his hips against hers. “It makes me…hard.”
“I’m not!” she protested. “I…don’t…” Then flattened her palm over his heart, drew in a shaky breath and tried again. “You’re not.” But her words emerged on a moan when she felt exactly how hard he was, ruining her denial.
“I beg to differ,” he drawled, and chuckled when she blushed and huffed out an embarrassed giggle.
“No, I’m s-serious,” she stuttered, squirming away, only to find herself backed into a corner. Huffing with annoyance, she narrowed her eyes, stuck out her chin and clenched her hands as though she was contemplating taking a swing at him.
He smiled. He wouldn’t mind letting her try.
“Look,” she said, shoving the hair off her forehead, “I have bigger problems than your…um, ego, okay?”
Sam folded his arms and propped a shoulder against the wall, taking in the tousled, appealingly flustered picture she made. She looked about sixteen, and there was absolutely nothing cool or distant about Dr. Mahoney from Boston now.
His brow rose. “Yeah, like?” He grinned into her flushed face. “Like why bedpans are listed with surgical scrubs?”
CHAPTER SIX
CASSIDY LAUGHED. “DON’T be ridiculous,” she said, rolling her eyes. Her voice had emerged all breathy and excited, like she was a teenager again, for heaven’s sake. She’d been muttering about bedpans, of all things, while trying not to think about a certain Navy SEAL. Then suddenly there he was—looking like hot sin, bad attitude and way better than she remembered. And if, when she’d been pressed up against all that hard heat, she’d been tempted to get reacquainted with that awesome body, she wasn’t about to admit it out loud. She’d been a little startled, that’s all. She was over her attraction to him. Well, mostly.
Looking into his darkly handsome face, Cassidy admitted to herself that he was a very dangerous man. He made her forget about good sense, heartbreak and painful lessons. He made her yearn to toss good sense out with her inhibitions. Fortunately she’d come to her senses in time.
Nibbling nervously on her bottom lip, she kept a wary eye on him and focused on getting her heart rate down from stroke level, only to have it kicking into high gear again when he pushed away from the doorframe.
“Look, Major,” she said quickly, throwing up a hand when he moved closer and looked like he wanted to nibble on her lip too. “I’m…busy.” His chest connected with her out-flung palm and didn’t stop. “Really busy.” She squeaked and retreated, annoyed that just a minute in his presence and she was acting all girly and flustered. “Stop. Dammit, I don’t have time for your…um…warped idea of…of foreplay. Samuel, stop!”
A dark brow hiked into his hairline and his mouth curled up at one corner. Great, now he was laughing at her. She huffed out a breath. Could this get any more embarrassing?
“Foreplay?”
Ignoring his question and figuring it was rhetorical anyway, Cassidy scuttled sideways and headed for the door, turning when she reached the relative safety of the hallway. Ready to make a run for it if he made any sudden moves.
“So what are you doing here, Major?” Besides making my knees wobble and my pulse race.
He turned, his gaze leisurely moving over her face until his hooded glance met hers, and add making her head spin to his sins. After a long moment, during which Cassidy thought she’d hyperventilate, he finally held up his bandaged hand.
“Oh.” Her breath whooshed out and a small frown wrinkled her brow. For heaven’s sake, she wasn’t disappointed that he hadn’t come to push her up against any walls. In fact, she was relieved. She was really very busy and didn’t have time for games.
“Why didn’t you just say so?” she gritted through clenched teeth, before spinning on her heel to head down the corridor at a sharp clip. She led the way through Reception and into the suture room, reaching for a lab coat on a nearby hook, figuring she needed the added protection against that penetrating gaze if she wanted to appear professional. Heck, if she wanted to think.
She fumbled for a button and was horrified to find that her hands were trembling too much to perform a task she’d mastered at five. Biting back a growl of disgust, Cassidy huffed out a breath, smoothed out her expression and turned to find him leaning against the bed, watching her thoughtfully as he slowly unwound the bandage covering his hand.
Crossing her arms beneath her breasts, she made herself focus on medical issues and not on how good he looked. “Frankly, I’m surprised to see you,” she remarked, as coolly as if her pulse wasn’t skipping all over the place like she was on an adrenaline rush. “I expected you to just rip them out with your teeth.”
His raised brow suggested she was missing a few IQ points. “And what?” he demanded. “Use them as lethal spitballs?”
Her lips curled without her permission. “You’re exaggerating.”
Sam snorted. “Have you ever had nylon thread holding your flesh together?”
“No,” she said, taking his hand and feeling the jolt clear to her elbow. Whoa. Not this again. Firming her lips, she resolutely ignored the sensation of his warm calloused skin against hers by inspecting the healing wound. After a few moments she reached for needle scissors and gently lifted each suture before snipping and tugging it free. “As a rule I avoid bar fights,” she continued, looking up briefly to find his mouth tilted in an ironic half-smile.
Her chest went tight. Yikes. The man was living, breathing sin. And she had a dangerous urge to…well, lick him up one side and down the other. She frowned at her unprofessional thoughts. “And throwing myself out of moving aircraft.”
The chuckle vibrating deep in his chest filled the small room and created an odd sensation in her belly. “You don’t know
what you’re missing.”
“Yes, I do,” she corrected mildly, as she wiped disinfectant along the tender scar before spraying the area with a thin layer of synthetic skin. “I’m missing broken bones and you’re clearly missing your mind.” She covered his hand with a waterproof adhesive dressing. “Be careful with that for another few days and keep it clean and dry.”
He caught her wrist before she could turn away and her startled gaze rose to his.
“Don’t you want to know what it’s like…hurtling towards earth at a hundred feet per second?” he murmured deeply, softly.
Cassidy swallowed hard at the expression in his gold eyes. Holy cow. “No, I…” If it’s anything like I’m currently feeling…terrifying.
Without waiting for her brain to clear, Sam reeled her in until the warm male scent of him enveloped her and her common sense scattered, along with her reasons for keeping him at arm’s length. In fact, she suddenly couldn’t recall why she’d thought this was a bad idea. Without the slightest effort on his part he was rendering her speechless.
“Major…” She thought maybe a token protest was necessary, even though she couldn’t remember what she should be protesting against.
“It’s like that moment during sex,” he rasped, closing the gap to her mouth as she watched, frozen with fascination, “when you realize…” his lips brushed hers and he flattened her captive hand against his chest “…there’s no going back.”
“Major…” she croaked again, terrified that he would feel the way she trembled. His mouth smiled against hers, as though he knew what he was doing to her. His tongue emerged to sweep across the seam of her mouth. His heart pounded like a jackhammer beneath her palm. Or was that hers? “And then, like a heated rush…” he murmured silkily, sending blood thundering in her ears. A breathy whimper escaped and before she could stop it her palm slid up his warm chest to his neck. “It hits you…wham!”
