“Get her a blanket.”
“Very well, Mr. Danes.”
“I’m not Mr. Danes.”
“Oh.” The nurses’ green eyes lit up like she’d found a big present under the Christmas tree with her name on it. “I’m sorry.”
Her speculative perusal wouldn’t normally have bothered him. There was a time and place to flirt and this wasn’t one of them. “I’ll be back as soon as I’ve checked on the patient next door. The doctor should be ready for you in a few minutes.” She left with a flip of her ponytail and enough hip action to put a pole dancer to shame.
He slid the curtain closed and went back to Tilly.
This time she sat up straight. “Sorry about that.”
“I’ve been called worse things than Mr. Danes.”
“Probably by me.” She let out a sigh. Her face scrunched tight in a little grimace of pain. “Ouch, I hope the doctor gets here soon. I’d forgotten how much a bad cut can hurt. The funny part is, the knife was so sharp that I didn’t feel it at first.”
“I confess. Last year I burned myself on a skillet handle. Had it in a salamander, and the next thing I know, I’m reaching in for it with my bare hand. I had some moves that would’ve put Dancing with the Stars to shame.”
“Double ouch.”
“Yes, very much a double ouch. You’re not the only weenie in the kitchen, but I promise I’ll deny it if you rat me out.” He stared into her eyes. His thumb traced the delicate line of her cheeks, down to the edge of her bottom lip, and over its lush fullness. He leaned down, wanting to taste her again, to feel the heat blossom into a fire like it had a couple of nights ago.
A swish of the curtain covering the entrance to the exam room made them jerk apart before he could do more than feel her breath feather over his lips. The doctor came in, followed by the nurse.
“Hello, I’m Doctor Skellengard.” He glanced down at the chart in his hand. “Hmm, bad cut. Tilly Danes?” He looked up from his reading with surprise. “Not the Tilly Danes.”
Tilly nodded.
“You’re kidding, right?” The doctor took a really good look at her face. “Oh my God. It really is you.” He reached out to shake her hand, but stopped at the sight of the bandage over her palm. “Sorry about that.” The doctor pulled the now bloodied compress aside to inspect the wound. “I’m a big fan. DVR your show all the time.”
The nurse moved about the small cubicle in a well-practiced choreography. She pulled out a readied syringe and handed him a bottle of sterile saline wound wash.
“I’m flattered.” Tilly gasped as the doctor injected lidocaine around the edges of the wound. She buried her head into Jordan’s chest as she let out a small moan. Jordan tightened his hold on her shoulder. He glanced away from the doctor and down at Tilly. Her eyes were clamped shut, her teeth gritted.
“Oh, I hate shots. I really, really, really, really, really hate them.” Her words tumbled out in a fast chant. Tears flooded her cheeks. His heart flipped in his chest. That was the moment he knew he’d gone past pure lust to something deeper. How on earth had this happened? He didn’t even like the woman. Did he?
Another small catch of her breath made him want to tear the whole ER apart if it would make this go faster. Tilly let out a whimper the instant the doctor started to clean her hand.
“I already flushed the wound with running water.” Jordan had a hard time keeping every curse he knew behind his teeth. “Can you get on with this? She’s in pain.”
The doctor looked up from his work. “I still have to make sure the wound is clean.”
Intellectually, Jordan knew that, however, her tears turned his manhood to mush. All he wanted to do was to get her out of here and take care of her.
“Nurse, get me a suture kit. 2-0 silk.” He smiled at Tilly. “We’ll have you good as new in a few minutes.” He took the kit from the nurse and placed Tilly’s hand on a bedside tray to steady it. A few deft motions had the drape over her hand, along with a good dose of iodine solution.
The next few minutes were harder on Jordan than Tilly. She didn’t look while she got the stitches needed to close the wound. The local anesthetic had finally kicked in, but she kept her head burrowed into his chest. Her lips were clamped between her teeth to hold back her moans of fright.
“Oh, hell.” His arm pulled her closer still. “Go ahead. Cry.”
“Don’t wanna.” Her muffled words baffled him. She’d been leaking tears for the last half hour, and now she declined his generous offer.
He leaned down until his lips caressed the top of her auburn curls. “I don’t usually give women permission to cry in front of me. This is a special dispensation.”
“When did you become Pope?” she grumbled under her breath.
He smiled. His girl had turned a corner and was well on the way back to her old self. “Oh, about the same time the country unanimously elected me ruler of the free world. POTUS and Pope all rolled into one extraordinary man.”
“Bullshit.” Her watery chuckle delighted him.
“Why, Tilly Danes!” He put on an execrable Southern accent. “I do declare. That is not a word a woman of the south would utter.”
“Bullshit.” She tilted her head and looked up at him with brimming blue eyes. “I guess you don’t know much about Southern women. We can usually out-cuss, out-drink, and out-shoot most men, especially Yankees.” She hissed as the doctor made another stitch. She leaned into Jordan harder than before.
“Does it hurt?” His idiot quotient went up about two notches the moment the words came out of his mouth. Of course it hurt. “Maybe you need another local.”
The doctor stopped mid-stitch. “Do you feel any pain?”
“No, it’s just the tuggin’ and pullin’.” Tilly let out a long, shaky sigh. “I can’t feel it, but I still know what’s goin’ on.”
The doctor resumed his work. She settled against Jordan’s chest again, her eyes squeezed tight. He breathed in the strawberry and herbal scent of her shampoo as a wave of protectiveness washed over him. The force of it left him a bit breathless and with a deep ache inside his chest. It felt strange and right at the same time.
“There, all done.” The doctor put the needle down on the tray. “I’ll prescribe an antibiotic and a tetanus booster. Oh, and maybe a painkiller to take the edge off. After tonight, you can use over the counter stuff if you’re still having some discomfort. Nurse, you can finish up here.” He stood and held out his hand, this time aiming for her good one. “Again, I can’t tell you how thrilled I am to meet you. I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances, but I can’t wait to tell my wife.”
“Thank you. Have your nurse give me a mailing address. I’ll send you an autographed copy of my latest cookbook.”
“Nurse Johnson will see to that, won’t you?”
“Absolutely.” She opened a small tube of ointment and smeared it over the stitches with a cotton swab. “I’ll give her your info as soon as I finish bandaging these stitches.”
“This is great.” He walked out of the examination room shaking his head. “I can’t believe I actually met Tilly Danes.”
It occurred to Jordan, for the first time, that the good doctor hadn’t mentioned him at all. He was Jordan Kelly, celebrity chef, which was a hell of a lot bigger deal, in his estimation, than either being President of the United States or the Pope. “What am I, chopped liver?”
The nurse finished with a sterile pad against the palm of Tilly’s hand and wove the gauze around it in quick efficient moves. “You’re Jordan Kelly, aren’t you? I recognized you, but I didn’t want to interrupt the doctor.” She taped down the edges of the gauze and smiled at him. “I’ll send some instructions along with you, but keep the stitches dry and change the bandage every day. Now, I’ll go get those meds the doctor ordered. By the way, Mr. Kelly, I bought your last cookbook. It’s a little over my head, but I really liked the picture on the back flap. I’ll bet you know how to heat up a kitchen.” The nurse left with an extra wiggle in
her hips. Her signals were lighthouse bright. Unaccustomed embarrassment tightened his chest. Heat crawled up his neck and into his ears until he was sure they glowed red.
“See.” Tilly let out a small snort of laughter. “I think someone wants to play doctor. Dollars to doughnuts she’ll slip you her phone number.” She glanced up at him with eyes circled with fatigue. “I’m sorry you had to put up with me and my…” She lifted her hand a few inches off her lap. “Mishaps.”
“Tilly, I—” He didn’t get to finish telling her he wouldn’t be anywhere else but here. The blond nurse breezed into the room with a bright smile and held up two syringes.
Tilly blanched.
“Now, Ms. Danes, just hike down those jeans a tad.” She gave him a sidelong glance under her lashes.
He ignored the nurse and took hold of Tilly’s good hand. “Matilda, do you want me to leave or stay? I won’t look—promise.”
“Stay.” Her eyes grew huge in her pixie face at the sight of the first syringe being prepped. “I’d strip naked if it meant I didn’t have to have my backside used for darts.”
“As enticing as that proposition might be, I think the antibiotic and tetanus shots are necessary.”
She nodded and began to undo her pants, but stopped with a perplexed look on her face.
“What’s wrong?” He didn’t like the way her bottom lip trembled.
She raised her bandaged right hand. “I can’t unbutton and unzip my jeans.”
His mouth went dry at the prospect of helping her to half undress. “I’ll do it.”
She nodded, scooted off the gurney, and held out her arms to give him access to her waistband. “Don’t ever tell anyone that you got me out of my pants.”
“I won’t tell a soul.” It surprised him to find his hand trembled as he fumbled around with the top button of the waistband. “Are you doing okay?” He unzipped her jeans. The sight of expensive lace sent a lance of arousal straight through his chest and downward until he was close to disgracing himself on the spot.
“Yes. My knees are a bit wobbly, but other than that, I’m fine.”
“Right or left hip?” The nurse waved the needle from one side to the other.
“Oh, left, I guess.” Tilly stayed his hand as he reached down to lower her jeans. “I got this part.” She reached behind with her left hand and pushed them down over the creamy expanse of ivory skin. “Is this far enough?”
“Perfect,” both he and the nurse piped up at the same time.
Tilly didn’t have time to register his faux pas. The nurse struck with the speed and accuracy of a viper.
“Ouch.” The squeal pinched at him.
“That’s one,” the nurse chirped.
He reached and grabbed her hand just as the second syringe struck home. She winced and caught her bottom lip between her teeth.
“There, all done.” The nurse threw the empty syringes in the red biohazard container and stripped off her gloves.
Tilly pulled up her panties and jeans with a minimum of fuss, but he still had to button her up again. This time, his hands were steadier. That didn’t keep his libido from riding him hard when he was done.
“I’ll go get that instruction sheet and a wheelchair. Don’t worry, Ms. Danes, it won’t be long before you can leave.”
“Finally.” Tilly sagged against the gurney. He pulled her into his arms for fear she would fall. “I guess the knees are still misbehavin’.”
“When we get back to the hotel, you’re going straight to your room and take it easy for a while.” He allowed himself the luxury of running his hand over her back, up and down to her waist, while she settled against his chest. “No more playing junior detective.”
Her head popped up and she struggled to pull away. “Tyler!”
The name alone dumped a big bucket of buzzkill on his libido. “What about him?”
“We were supposed to meet at the hotel lobby at—what time is it?” She glanced around the room until her eyes locked on the clock. “Oh sweet Harry’s hatband, he’ll think I stood him up. I was so lookin’ forward to going to the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art.”
“I’ll take you tomorrow if you really want to go.” He smiled. It was a smooth move if there ever was one. He was back in the groove and maybe, with any luck, he’d slide into home once her hand healed.
“It was a date.”
“So go out on a date with me.” He preempted her move toward her purse, which sat on a chair against the wall. He lifted her up and set her back on the gurney. “I can steer you through a maze of mummies and Roman statues with missing body parts just as well as Jericho.”
“Hand me my cell phone.” She held out her injured hand and immediately replaced it with her left. “I have to call him.”
“No. You need to rest. Your body has been through a lot. Loss of blood, shock, surgery.”
“I cut my hand, not tore my arm from the socket.” She used his “raise the eyebrow” move and wiggled her fingers. “Give.”
Reluctantly, he plopped her humongous handbag, which sported enough bling to blind the unwary, by her side. Her left hand slipped into the bowels of the bag and came out with her phone. With a few practiced strokes of her thumb she hit speed dial.
“Hello, Tyler.” She turned her head away from Jordan to give herself a bit of privacy. He could do the right thing and step out of the room, but he wasn’t about to give his rival an edge. Instead, he leisurely walked around and inspected the different notices on the wall. He made a point to appear to be giving her space without being out of earshot. It was tacky, rude, and defied most social mores. He didn’t care. She belonged to him.
Chapter Nine
Jordan’s intense inspection of the notice concerning insurance policies didn’t fool her one bit. He was eavesdropping. She’d walk out of the room if she had the confidence that her legs would hold her up. The painkiller had kicked in with a vengeance, leaving her a bit woozy. Make that a lot woozy.
“Hey, Tyler, it’s Tilly.” Suddenly, the sound of their names together tickled her funny bone. She found it difficult to hold back the gurgle of laughter. “Tilly and Tyler, Tyler and Tilly.” Her singsong cadence picked up speed. “Tilly and Tyler.”
Jordan shot her a quelling look.
Screw him. She gave him a quick once over. On second thought, screwing him might not be so bad, if he lost the attitude. No man that pretty should be so sexy and mean at the same time. Funny, sexy, and mean. His eyebrow went up. She lifted hers in defiance.
Back attcha, buddy.
What was she doing?
Oh yes, she was talking to Tyler. Tyler and Tilly. Tilly and Tyler. Yup, she was talking to a very sexy cop while another sexy man was giving her the evil eye. Did life get any better? It would if she hadn’t cut her palm to hell and back. Porky was a greasy pig. Greasy, greasy pig. Had she said that out loud?
“Are you okay?” Worry threaded through Tyler’s voice.
“Of course not.” She looked around the room as it tilted to one side. “I tried to kill Porky, but that’s okay, he was already dead.”
“Porky?” His clipped comment was all cop. “Porky who?”
“The Pig. Porky the Pig.” She let out an exasperated sigh. “Sheesh, Tyler, you and I are goin’ to have to have a long talk about the cultural significance of Looney Tunes.” She waved her injured hand around in the air for emphasis. She got a deep, aching throb for her efforts. “Don’t worry, it wasn’t that Porky.”
“Are you drunk?”
“No.” She shook her head. That turned out to be a wrong move on her part. Her stomach did a violent flip-flop. Her breakfast edged closer to her throat. “Look, I’m in the ER at…” She glanced over at Jordan, who leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face. “Where are we?”
“St. Luke’s on the Plaza,” Jordan supplied.
“St. Luke’s on the Plaza.”
“Oh my God, what happened? Do you need me there?”
“Nah, I’m good. Good, good, good, good, good.” She heaved a little drowsy sigh. “It’s Porky’s fault. Okay, and mine. I wasn’t payin’ attention. Jordan told me so. He’s right, he’s always right. Right, right, right, right, right.” The ache in her hand reminded her once again that she couldn’t gesture with it. How on earth could she talk if she couldn’t use her hands? Maybe Jordan knew the answer to that question as well.
“What was Jordan right about?”
“I wouldn’t have cut my hand if I’d been more careful, but it’s okay. I found the murder weapon.”
“What!” He sounded horrified and excited at the same time. Too bad she had to bust that little bubble of his. That’s what she wanted, bubble stuff and a wand to make happy little bubbles in the air. She’d make lots of pretty bubbles for Tyler.
She shook her head. Little stars danced in front of her eyes. Her queasy stomach lurched until she was afraid she blow like a gastric Mt. St. Helen’s in front of Jordan. She’d be damned if she’d puke in front of a Yankee. A Yankee from New York by way of Jersey.
“No, not the murder weapon. What kind of murder weapon. Ten-inch chef’s knife.” She heaved a sigh. “Now I can’t blow bubbles for you. Got something to tell you. Really important, but I can’t think right now.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Stupid me, and I really wanted to go to the museum with you. I like mummies and Roman statues with missin’ body parts.” She cast Jordan an evil glare. “Even if some people think it’s a stupid idea for a date.” She sighed again. It became harder to concentrate as each second inched by. The world became warm and fuzzy. “I need to stop off at a dollar store and get bubble stuff. Surely they’ve got a dollar store in Kansas City. Oh, we were talkin’ about the murder weapon. Why do they knock off all the noses and winkies on statues? Gotta be careful around knives, you know.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come to the hospital?”
Jordan marched over and jerked the phone out her hand. “Jericho, this is Kelly. She cut the crap out of her hand. I found her stabbing a dead pig this morning. She thinks she’s Nancy Drew and Jessica Fletcher all rolled up into one.”
Recipe for Love (Entangled Select Suspense) Page 11
