“How many times do I have to tell you I’m sorry about how I acted at your place?” she asked.
“I don’t want an apology you don’t mean,” I said. “I gave my word that stays between us, and I kept my word, Dr. Peters.”
“What’s it going to take for you to call me Laura?” she asked.
“Not even an act of Congress or a still-smoking Eleventh Commandment on a fresh tablet of stone,” I returned.
In a vacuum, I’d have thrown her on the stretcher and done stuff worthy of a whole new volume of the Kama Sutra. But this wasn’t a vacuum, and this woman … she clouded my judgment with her utter beauty and sexiness. I hungered for her but despised the icy human being she was. One way or another, she set off my alarm bells and had all my red warning flags waving furiously in the breeze, signs I’d long since learned to heed. Besides, the soreness had risen to new heights, and I wasn’t in the mood to flirt, much less fuck.
I pushed past her and out of the exam room, got as far as the nurse station, when I lost consciousness, giving my head a hard thump on the desk’s edge as I hit the floor.
CHAPTER 9
Goddamn him! And right after I told him to stop and let me take a look. That man was going to drive me insane, but first, I needed to save his sorry ass life. I reached him first, but in an ER, it didn’t take much to draw a crowd. He was surrounded in seconds, but I didn’t care about the people around me. I ripped open that damp shirt and looked at the bandage.
It wasn’t bleeding. My mind went to trauma mode, thinking about the method of injury. A .22, he said. Hit him square in the chest, he said. Over the sternum, he said. Bastard said a lot of really scary shit.
My mind worked the differential of what had knocked him out as my fingers pressed against his neck searching for a pulse.
Bastard’s pulse raced beneath the pad of my finger. It was rapid and irregular, as was his breathing. Shit. The ragged pulls of his breath concerned me. I looked to our respiratory therapist. “Mark, he needs oxygen.”
Mark took off at a trot, as someone arrived with a stretcher. We loaded Keith up and took him to a bed. I grabbed my stethoscope from around my neck, put in the earpieces, and pressed the cold metal to his chest. I’d never been this close to him. Well, I had, but this seemed more intimate, in a not-wanting-to-be-here kind of way.
Trying to remain professional while staring at the broad expanse of his chest was a feat I simply wasn’t capable of, and now I had to touch him. My fingers fluttered over his skin, eager to feel him, but needing to respect him too. I’d been in a vulnerable position only a few weeks ago, and he’d treated me with more kindness than I deserved.
Nevertheless, I needed to examine his chest for injuries. Airway and breathing were under control. His pulse was a little stronger now. Nancy had a blood pressure cuff wrapped around his arm. I was looking for crunching around his ribs, something that would indicate that bullet had caused more trauma than his thick-assed skull wanted to admit. When he breathed, there weren’t any abnormal, or asymmetrical, movements of his chest. My immediate thought was he’d cracked a rib, punctured a lung, and I’d have to shove the second chest tube in for this shift. Breath sounds were present, and equal. He would be chest tube free.
Our team cut off his clothes, exposing more of his flesh to my eyes. The dips and valleys of his abs had me biting at my lower lip. My exam was more thorough than it needed to be, but I couldn’t help myself. I’d never be this close to him again, and just once, I wanted to know what he felt like.
“His blood pressure is a bit low,” Nancy said. “Want me to give a bolus?”
The picture wasn’t adding up. “Not yet. He needs to get to CT. I don’t see any blood on the back of his head, but he hit it pretty hard coming down. We’ll rule out any bleeds in there, and have them add on a cardiac CT too, while we’re at it.”
“Cardiac?”
“I’m worried about a cardiac contusion. If he has that we need to be light on the fluids.”
“How would that have happened?”
“Don’t ask.” Keith had kept my secrets. Now was my turn to repay the favor.
It seemed important to him to keep what happened quiet. I loved his compassion for kids; the kid who’d shot him, and poor Caleb who’d died. He might look tough on the exterior, but I’d seen glimpses of the man inside. I respected that, and it made it a little harder to hate him. I might even like him a little as a result.
Before we could get him to the CT scanner, X-rays revealed no rib fractures, no air accumulating in his chest. His EKG was abnormal, but there was no sign of a heart attack. I called Karl Simmons, our cardiologist, to read the EKG and do an echocardiogram of Keith’s heart. We drew blood. I paced behind the CT tech, gnawing at what little nails I had left. As a surgeon, I kept them cut short.
In my line of work, I’d seen hundreds, if not thousands, of CTs, but I didn’t trust myself to read Keith’s. He’d gotten under my skin, which meant I’d lost perspective. There was nothing else for me to do. He wasn’t a trauma case, so I handed his care over to the attending ER doc.
The rest of my shift dragged on. Eventually, it came to a quiet end, and no further trauma calls came in. That was good, because my mind was focused elsewhere. I checked Keith’s chart. I’d been right. The bastard had a cardiac contusion. There’d been no way to hide the bullet wound. Everyone here had seen too many of those, but I kept the who and how to myself. What I did make certain of was cleaning it out. Had he really glopped on antibiotic ointment? He probably had. Good thing he hadn’t had Tom pee on it. I’d heard stories about military types using urine to clean contaminated wounds, and then duct tape, or crazy glue, to seal them. What was it with the male brain? Did they just make shit up?
I found out what room they’d put him in and headed up to check in on him. He thought he’d get back to work, but he’d bought himself a night of observation and monitoring, and could say goodbye to the rest of his weekend shift. I crept into his room, keeping the lights dim, and pulled up a chair beside his bed.
I didn’t immediately sit. Instead, I stood over him, watching the monitors, watching him breathe, watching how the thin sheet moulded to the contours of his body.
Reaching down, I gripped his hand. I took my seat, and I pressed my lips against his knuckles. “You arrogant bastard,” I said. “Next time, don’t be such an ass.”
His lids fluttered open, and he blinked up at me. “Now isn’t this a sight.”
With a hiss, I released his hand, mortified at him catching me being so inappropriate.
“I didn’t think you’d be the one to kiss me first,” he said.
CHAPTER 10
I have to say even that mild gesture of her kissing my knuckles was heartening. Even in this much pain, a surprising amount of pain, I felt my cock starting to stir. “What happened to me?” I asked, surprised at the events of the afternoon. Yeah, I was sore from the shooting, but I’d felt more soreness after a softball or touch football game, and certainly more when I’d been shot in the Middle East, earning a Purple Heart that day and a Silver Star two days later for saving the bacon of three Marines.
“You got shot, you asshole,” she answered.
“I already know I was shot,” I returned. “I was there and don’t have the Old Timer’s disease. For God’s sake, I plucked out the bullet, remember? Why did I keel over, Dr. Peters?”
“Laura,” she said. “Just … please call me Laura already, for God’s sake.”
“Laura, then,” I agreed with a studied casual air. I was glad it wasn’t anything critical, but if it opened up more of her humanity and gave me a chance at her, maybe it was worth being shot, I considered.
“The bullet … do you know how fucking lucky you are it wasn’t even a .22 Long Rifle that got you?” she said, looking angry. “You have a cardiac contusion. It would have been much different if the kid had a higher caliber pistol.”
“Do me a favor?” I asked.
“Depends on the favor,” s
he returned. I sensed no alphabet soup at all, and liked that.
“Find out how the kid is that shot me, please?” I asked. “I’m sure CPS has the case. The kid didn’t mean to shoot me or do harm. I mean, what kid that age is malicious, you know? I want to be sure she’s okay and this didn’t fuck her up, Dr. … uh … Laura.”
“I’ll see what I can learn,” Laura said. “The police chief and I are friends too. And if he’s difficult, the mayor and at least four of the city council owe me a favor or two.”
“Thank you,” I said. “What’s wrong? Your tone is odd, and you look like you’re torn between jumping in this bed or out of that window?” Long street experience had given me decent insight into people.
“Am I that transparent?” she asked, darting a fast glance at my bed, or maybe my middle.
“Maybe only to me,” I said truthfully. “Talk.”
“Jesus, even with a fresh hole in you, you’re an arrogant ass,” she said.
“I regret that you see me so,” I said. “Never mind. When do I get out of here and back to work?”
“I’m here as your friend, not your attending physician,” Laura said. “I barely treated you down in the ER. Conflict of interest. Your attending is Dr. Karl Simmons, a cardiologist. But if I had to guess, tomorrow or the day after.”
“As to the rest?” I pressed.
“The rest?” she asked.
I smirked, then patted my bed and pointed at the window, my gestures clear as I waggled my brows a bit.
“Jesus Christ,” she moaned. “Goddammit, yes, I have … I guess you’d call it a schoolgirl crush … on you, you asshole.”
“So when do we marry?” I returned with a grin.
“Goddammit … never fucking mind,” Laura returned. “Fuck off, Keith.”
“Laura, do you think you’re the only one who feels something here?” I shot back.
“Do you have to mock it?” she demanded.
“Look, the other night, when I took you home, you showed me your humanity,” I told her. “That appealed to me. You kissing my hand today appealed to me. Both told me you’re really human and not the Ice Mistress of the ER. I’d say you appeal to me and that would be true, but you have mirrors at home and a closet full of Size-2 attire, so you already know you’re a Victoria’s Secret model.” Just then, the penny dropped for me, and suddenly I felt like an ass as a deep awareness fell over me as red flags returned in my mind, this time bearing memory.
I’d taken leave here while still in the Navy. Jesus H. Christ, I’m surprised she didn’t throw kitchen knives at me, I thought, understanding ancient memory. Young and dumb, I went into a strip club. A lean beauty on stage indeed slithered like a snake, with moves right out of a wet dream. She appealed so much that I even spent money I couldn’t afford on a lap dance, so intense that I came in my shorts while she writhed all over me. That beautiful woman was Laura Peters, 21 years old just like I was.
“Jesus fuck,” I breathed.
“What?” she asked.
“Skirtless Pub, 20 years ago,” I said, still stunned.
“Holy Christ, what the fuck?” Laura demanded.
“I’m sorry about teasing you at my place,” I said. “I think my subconscious was trying to tell me we met back then. Jesus, I even bought a lap dance.”
“Oh, God,” she moaned, looking horrified.
“Same gentleman rules apply,” I said. “That’s all your business and not mine, and I’m close-mouthed.”
“Thank you for that. I know it’s a cliche to cover bullshit, but I really was paying my way through college. My parents were poor as dirt. But I had a fire in my belly.”
“That’s why I went in the Navy. I had the grades for college, but when my dad died, so did that dream. I wanted to be a doctor. He made the money to have sent me to college. But his heart attack ended that. There was enough insurance to pay his funeral off, and my mother was able to refinance the house to lower the payments, or would’ve faced foreclosure. She’s retiring next year.
“Anyway,” I continued. “I tried to go for the student loans but disqualified due to my father’s income. Fucking bureaucrats didn’t care that there was no more income. It was like talking to a brick fucking wall. He’d made too much money before he died. So Penn State was out and I was wild enough for the state pen but smart enough to know that wasn’t a good idea for me. Hello US Navy. The bad thing about being deployed was that I got shot and Iraq is a miserable fucking place. Thinking on it, I don’t know why anyone would fight to have that dustbowl. The good thing is there was nowhere to spend my pay while I was in-country. So I came out with a boatload of money and the GI Bill, and I worked that system. I went to college and lived like an inmate otherwise, but got my degree. In many ways, the GI Bill is a good thing, but in many more it’s a sick fuckin’ joke, so no way could medical school happen. I thought to work for a year or two and save up money to attend medical school, but that couldn’t happen. Besides, I’d have been graduating medical school at 30 or 31, and not really starting my life until about 36 years old. I wanted to start living on my terms and nobody else’s. And now here I am.” I snorted, regretting that long-ago decision in a big way, but now, at my age, I could afford it but was unwilling to invest ten years in it.
I was shocked. I never told my tale, but I figured I accidentally knew too much of hers and fair was fair, right? Wrong, I knew. I admitted to myself that I liked her, I had feelings for her that I hid behind a mask of anger and annoyance. I told her about me to draw her closer. I wanted her to know some of my tale. Sharing that knowledge, part of my tale, was exciting and terrifying at the same time.
CHAPTER 11
Shit, shit, shit. That word seemed to repeat itself a lot in my head when I was around Keith. Now, he knew two damaging things about me. Not only did he know I couldn’t hold my liquor, but we’d basically already fucked when I gave him that lap dance. It might have been twenty years in the past, but twenty lifetimes ago would have been far too recent.
I was soooo fuuucked!
He kept looking at me with those damn eyes of his, sucking me in even further. There had been a gentleness there as he shared those pieces of his life with me. His words touched me deeply and had me seeing him in a new light. Keith lived life with passion, but that was nothing like what simmered deep within his gaze. I sensed a hunger and rawness. Something wicked and dark sat there, sizing me up, and measuring my every breath. He made me feel stripped bare. Not naked, but stripped of the protective layers I’d built to keep people out. Before him, I became vulnerable and raw.
I didn’t like that one bit. He didn’t deserve to know me. Not like that.
If he only knew everything about me. I nearly laughed. If he knew what drove me, it would send him screaming to the hills.
I’d made good money as a stripper, but that only brought in the dollar bills. I raked those in, stuffing my g-string, but the money which offset my bills? That came from what I did off-stage, in twenties, fifties, and hundreds. I was well paid for my lap dance skills. And he knew exactly how good I’d been. Shit, that was a level of intimacy I didn’t want with a man I could barely stand. Except, I knew what I wanted from Keith. Dark desires brewed in my heart and my mind, needs I could never voice. I hated that about myself.
The men I’d danced for weren’t allowed to touch me, but I sure as hell touched them. That strip club was topless, but my g-string left little to the imagination. If Keith had been there, and by the fire smoldering in his eyes, and the impressive bulge growing beneath his sheet, he remembered every naked inch of my body and likely every bump and grind of that dance.
I was dying to know if he’d been the twenty, fifty, or hundred kind of man. How much had I rocked his world? My ego would get the better of me if I let it. No way in hell would I ever ask that question. If he’d given me a twenty, I’d hate him and feel bad about myself. If he’d given me a hundred, I’d want to curl in on myself and never show my face to him again.
What the
hell was going through his mind, because mine was all messed up?
Back then, I became another person when I stepped foot in that club. My mind blanked and I allowed something deeper and darker out to play. He probably thought I was a whore from the way I’d danced. Wouldn’t he be surprised? I never went on a single date during my college years. It was the library or work for me.
There was no way to deny what had happened. I’d fucked him through his clothes, and I wasn’t even going to try to convince myself he hadn’t had one hell of a time either. I had lots of repeat customers for a reason.
Shit. Shit. Shit. There wasn’t a word for the depths of the mortification rushing through me.
I wasn’t that desperate girl anymore. I had a career. A reputation. There was so much to lose, and Keith held my fate in his hands. Gentleman? He was for now, but what would push him over the edge? He didn’t like me. I didn’t trust him. He was only saying that because...shit. I always knew my past would catch up to me. Never did I think I would be in a position to lose everything.
I glanced out the window, thinking maybe a good swift plunge might be better than staying in this room. Instead, I faced my fear head on.
“Look, I really appreciate you taking care of me the other night, but that’s nothing like…” I rubbed the back of my neck. “Look, that was a chapter in my life. I’ve left it behind.”
Except, I still had a stripper pole at home. It was the best medicine for destressing from life. Not to mention, it kept my body toned. He didn’t need to know that. And he sure as hell didn’t need to know the fantasies raging in my head.
In college, I’d danced for a room full of men. In my fantasies, I’d only ever danced for one man. He’d been nameless and faceless for nearly two decades. One man. One man who took me, broke me, and gathered all the pieces of me at the end. One man who owned my mind, body, and soul. One man whose features had slowly begun to reveal themselves over the past few weeks.
Off Duty Page 5
