by V. R. Marks
She felt the smile tilt her lips and reached her hand out in the direction of his voice. When his rough palm met hers, she felt the tension across her shoulders ease. "Doc said he didn't have to shave that much."
"Huh."
"What?"
"You didn't trust me that easily."
"You didn't mention a medical degree. And your bedside manner is lousy." She gulped. This wasn't the time to be thinking of Rick or beds. Or maybe it was. Her vivid memory of him at the hotel, sitting on the bed in only that towel…
"A little pressure, Ms. Livingston."
The doctor's voice was a welcome distraction, though she couldn't say the same for the stitches.
"Hey," Rick said, the smile clear in his voice, "At least we don't have to worry about a potential death by countertop now."
"You're not funny," she said, trying not to laugh. "I get a little woozy at the sight of my own blood," she explained for the doc.
"Common condition."
Grateful he made quick work of the process; she was surprised when he ordered them to switch places.
"Rick?" She clutched his hand. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing serious."
He sounded like he meant it, but she knew he would downplay any injury. Sitting up, it was a struggle to get her bearings. She was grateful for the help as Rick and the doctor guided her from the exam table to a chair. The chair gave her body some context for her surroundings, but she let go of Rick's hand reluctantly.
"Hold this for me, please?" She heard the sound of a zipper – his jacket – and accepted the warm, worn leather, her fingers exploring it for any clue to his injury. "Were you shot?"
"The jacket took the worst of it."
And he'd ignored his own problem to take care of her because she'd been picky and wanted a better view. Like that turned out so well. "Doc, what's wrong? How bad is it really?"
"Just a flesh wound I believe. Off with your shirt."
Another image flashed through her mind, this one of Rick's muscled chest dusted with hair still damp from his shower. The memory was almost as good as the real thing. Who was she kidding? She wanted her eyesight back. She wanted to see for herself how bad this 'flesh wound' really was. "Does he need stitches?"
"Nah."
"That's my decision young man," the doctor corrected.
"Call me Rick." He hissed a low breath. "A little warning next time."
"Just the antiseptic. Doesn't bother most people."
Rick gave a disbelieving grunt.
"Can you tell me how Ms. Livingston was injured? She doesn't seem to remember it all."
"And you need to know what not to talk about."
"Something like that."
"There was some trouble on the road. Let's call it an excessive act of road rage."
"Involving live ammunition?"
"Yes." She heard Rick sigh. "Ms. Livingston was on the floor of our car, tucked under the dash. I was preoccupied so I can't be sure when she left the vehicle, but I'm glad she did as it exploded toward the end of the conflict."
Rick sounded so clinical, as if he'd read a news brief rather than survived a gun fight against three assailants.
"And the flesh wound here?"
"Turned my back at the wrong moment."
My fault. Rick wouldn't be in this situation, wouldn't be injured, if not for her troubles. An apology on her lips, the doctor interrupted her.
"That's good news. A little pressure, Mr. Dreyer."
"He needs stitches too?" The guilt had her chewing a thumbnail, something she hadn't done in ages.
"Not yet. Just cleaning things out."
Why did that sound worse? She slumped back in the chair, feeling adrift and detached from Rick, the doctor, the whole world. Of course she'd taken her eyesight for granted. The simple acts of walking over to hold Rick's hand and see his injury for herself were impossible. How strange to understand why she felt so vulnerable and have no viable solution but 'time'.
"Is there a store nearby where I can pick up supplies and clean clothes before we head out?"
"I have scrubs here you can borrow."
"All due respect, Doc –"
"Neither of you is going anywhere tonight. Ms. Livingston needs to be under observation for the concussion as well as the blindness."
"Are you sure it's temporary?" Nicole asked.
"As sure as I can be with the tools available here. But it would be foolish to go haring off in case your condition requires more extensive treatment."
Rick cleared his throat. "I understand. But –"
Doc cut him off again. "Ms. Livingston must stay at least for tonight. You can go and do as you please."
Nicole pressed her lips shut. There was no point in protesting. She hated being so out of control, so utterly useless. As if she hadn't been enough of a burden for him already.
"Then we'll need a room upstairs."
"You can have one. There's a perfectly good observation room down here for Ms. Livingston."
"We stay together."
His words, the sheer certainty of the statement, sent a tremor through her system. She felt Rick's gaze on her as he thought it through. Blind, the stairs would be a hazard for her if they were found. Of course blind meant she would hamper any escape if they had to run.
Blind also meant she couldn't help Rick look for the arsonist's signature in all those photos. Good grief she couldn't get out of this room or change clothes without help. Blind meant she couldn't identify Clifton in a court room or a line up.
Her rabbiting thoughts skidded to a stop. Did that mean she was off the hook if her vision didn't return? It was the first happy thought she'd had since waking up 'in the dark'.
She'd planned to run, had meticulously prepared an escape route, but the end result had been elusive. The new life she'd envisioned had varied from beach side cottage to mountain hideaway.
The only consistency had been her camera.
Rick's masculine, woodsy scent – laced with antiseptic – wafted over her, and she felt his presence just before his big palms landed on her knees again. He squeezed gently, bringing a half smile to her lips.
"We'll get through it."
"Right," she whispered.
"I'm going to check the accommodations and then I'll help you change."
She could only nod. His hands covered hers where she gripped his jacket.
"You'll be okay?"
"Of course." She listened as he and the doctor left the exam room. Waiting a few seconds more to be sure she was alone, she lifted the jacket to her face and inhaled deeply.
Other odors – gasoline, the sharp tang of gun powder, and the copper of blood – altered it slightly, but overall the jacket smelled of Rick. It brought her more comfort than it should, but she refused to deny herself the small pleasure.
She lowered the jacket at the first sound of footsteps in the hall. Rick's boots she was sure.
"Nicole?"
Turning toward his voice, she smiled. "Is the perimeter secure?"
"Only one comedian per relationship," he said. "Isn't that the rule?"
Relationship? Butterflies whirled in a happy circle in her belly at the thought. "Hmm." She did her best to match his light tone. He probably didn't mean it quite the way her vulnerable, clingy heart wanted him to mean it. "Someone must have torn that page out of my rulebook."
His warm hands covered hers where they rested on his jacket. "Think you can stand up?"
"Of course." She pushed to her feet, but went too far and he caught her, steadied her until she had her balance.
"I could carry you."
That sounded delightful. "I'm fine." He maintained contact as he moved to her side. The support was welcome since her knees wanted to buckle. "Feels like the room is spinning."
"Bet it does. I promise not to let it get away." He tucked her hand around his arm. The heat of his skin and the strong muscles under her fingers made her breath catch, but his voice was all business. "We're going forward
about three paces and then we'll turn right into the hallway."
"Got it." She shuffled her feet, wondering if she was really leaning to the right or if it only felt that way.
"Want Doc to find a wheelchair?"
"No." She could manage this with a little dignity.
"Then relax. I won't let you fall."
She knew he wouldn't, but her head and disjointed senses didn't want to cooperate. It was a relief when he paused.
"We're at the door. I haven't counted this off yet, so try to walk normally until I say stop."
He walked forward slowly and as her senses settled, she couldn't help but notice the way they moved together. Her long legs were a close match to his natural stride. Stopping on his command, she felt the air change as he guided her through the doorway.
"Is it sunny in here?"
"Can you see something already?"
"No, but it feels warmer if that makes sense."
"You're right. There's a big window and lots of afternoon light coming through."
She laughed. "Oscar would be thrilled. He loved to bask in the afternoons."
"Is that the iguana?"
"Yeah, sorry. Just had a mental image."
"No problem." She heard the door close. "I, ah, can help you change or grab Doc before he heads out."
"Out?"
"Hospital rounds he said."
"You can help if you don't mind the hassle." A little surge of anticipation pulsed through her bloodstream. "It's nothing you haven't seen already." A study in casual, that was her. Not.
"All right."
She tugged at the jeans, hearing the series of soft pops as the button fly fell open, hesitating when Rick cleared his throat. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." His hands gripped her upper arms. "Just back up a step. There. Feel the bed behind you?"
She nodded, her mouth dry as she pushed the jeans over her hips. Being blind, relying on her other senses only elevated her desire, giving her an acute awareness of every action and reaction inside and outside her body.
This wasn't the time to be focused on her attraction to him, but she couldn't shut off her feelings and she was afraid to try and ignore her other senses.
"I've seen this before." He must have knelt in front of her as his voice sounded from a lower point. "The blindness I mean," he added in a rush.
Her curiosity piqued, she asked him about it as he peeled off her socks and guided her feet into the scrub pants. "What happened?"
"Not much different from what happened to you. A hard impact to the back of the head and basically the brain goes on the defensive."
"I guess that makes sense."
"When it happened to Bart, I got stuck hauling his enormous backside out of the action." He paused when she laughed. "You shouldn't worry. I've seen plenty of concussions too, which is why Doc left you in my capable hands."
The image that evoked, of her body hot and pliant under his touch, made her glad for the support of the bed. "Thanks."
"How are you feeling? Queasy or weak?"
She felt ridiculously weak, but it had nothing to do with her concussion. "I'm okay." Reaching back, she explored the stitches on her scalp. "How many did he put in?"
"Seven by my count."
"How many did he put in you? And where?"
"Upper shoulder. No stitches. Doc just cleaned it out and bandaged it up. The jacket took most of the damage."
She pushed her hair behind her ears. "I must be a mess."
"Not so bad."
She snorted and heard his low chuckle in reply. "Clean scrubs and a nap will make you feel better. I've got the top ready for you."
Her fingers toyed with the hem of the shirt. "I'm really supposed to take a nap?" That effort was doomed. Her thoughts were consumed with Rick, her working senses overwhelmed by his presence. The longer they were close like this, the easier it was to forget the inconvenience of her injuries.
"It's standard procedure," he said, taking the t-shirt she held out. "You've been through a rough, umm, couple of, ah, days."
Oddly, despite the recent chaos – or maybe because of it – she didn't feel remotely embarrassed standing in front of him in her bra and baggy scrubs. When he put the clean top in her hands, she caught his fingers. Slowly, listening for any kind of reaction, she slid her palm upward over his strong forearm to caress his muscled biceps.
His breath hitched and she felt him tremble. She dared to hope he wasn't as clinical and all-business as he let on. The top drifted to the floor, forgotten, as both of her hands were occupied with mapping his arms. Unless he'd changed, the t-shirt he wore was black and tucked into the faded denim of his jeans. Using his shoulders as a reference point, she took a tiny step closer.
On a sigh, his hands landed softly on her hips, his thumbs teasing her exposed skin. She leaned closer until she could feel the heat of his body as her own, feel his ragged breath against her cheek.
"Nicole."
Unwilling to analyze what else she heard in his voice, she focused on the desire that matched her own. "Kiss me, Rick. Please?"
"Did Doc give you something?"
"Nothing too strong." Smiling, she tipped her face up, hoping she didn't look like an idiot, and laced her fingers loosely behind his neck. She wanted to get closer, but his hands held firm. She wondered if he realized how his thumbs were caressing and teasing her. Could he see how even that small contact melted her?
"Kiss me like you did for the camera at the airport." She needed to know that hadn't all been an act.
"Later. You're hurt and need some rest."
"Not feeling anything but you right now."
He groaned. "This is the adrenaline."
"No," She shook her head slowly. As long as his thumbs kept stroking her, she knew she had a chance to take what she wanted in this moment. He could leave, Clifton could catch her. This opportunity might be her last. "This is all me, wanting you." She moistened her lips with her tongue. "Don't you want me?"
His mouth crushed hers in a searing kiss and his big hands slid over her hips, pulling her close enough to feel the real answer to her question straining against his fly.
She gasped, delighted to discover his desperation equaled hers. The kiss at the airport had been cautious compared to this. It was heady, exhilarating. He lit a fire through her system as he stroked the shell of her ear and pressed kisses along her neck. She rolled her hips, needing more.
He bent her back and drew her bra straps off her shoulders with his teeth, making her laugh even as he closed his mouth over one aching nipple.
Her head spun as he turned suddenly to sit on the edge of the bed. She let him guide her until she straddled his lap. Tracing his face with her fingertips, she moaned as he suckled her finger into the heat of his mouth. Reaching down, she tugged his shirt free, pushing it up and over his head.
The warm skin and rough hair were a shock to her sensitized palms. It seemed every nerve in her body was tuned to him. She let her memory fill in the details of his broad chest that her damaged vision couldn't provide.
Yet.
He stroked her back, making her arch and giving him easy access to her breasts. His hands and mouth were cruising across her skin. Though they were touching, her lack of sight kept her on edge, never quite knowing what to expect.
More thrilling than it should be, she reveled in it, learning to judge his movements with her other senses. The way his muscles braced when he shifted, the sound of his breath, the feel of it on her skin. If they didn't slow down, she'd climax before they were even undressed.
She dipped her head, following her hands to the rough stubble of his jaw, and seized his mouth with another hungry kiss. Reluctantly, she broke away and slid off his lap. Her knees felt like jelly as she slowly undid the tie of the scrubs and pushed them down.
She was too edgy to trust her instincts. It felt like he was watching intently, but she couldn't be sure she just didn't want him to be watching her.
"You're beautiful."
>
The admiration, his deep voice rough with desire, sent a bolt of heat straight to her core. She heard his boots fall with a thud, then a zipper and the rustle of denim.
"Come here."
She knew he was giving her the choice to continue or retreat. Noble of him, but she'd started this and she wasn't about to back down now.
Stretching out her arms, she tried not to think about tripping and landing in a heap on the floor. She couldn't be more than a step away. His warm hand caught hers and she gained confidence as he drew her close beside him. She heard the springs squeak and felt the mattress give under their combined weight as he wrapped her in his arms.
She melted against him as he kissed her, slower now. They seemed to be of one mind, lingering over every touch, drawing out every moment of pleasure.
His muscled body was a treat for her senses and she reveled in the exploration of hot skin, rippling muscles, and hard angles of his body. She wanted him with something she'd never felt for any other man. There was an ache, a deep longing she knew only he could answer.
Mindful of his shoulder, she pushed him back into the bed and took what she wanted, what she needed as she took him deep into her body.
His hands hot on her thighs, she found the rhythm that quickly launched them both over the glittering edge of passion. As she floated back down to reality within the warmth of his strong embrace she thought she'd never been so content.
Chapter 10
Rick stared up at the ceiling while Nicole dozed on his chest. His breath shaky, his legs tangled with hers, he closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable guilt.
Sex hadn't been comfortable since he'd lost his wife. Well, to be fair, the discomfort was always after and it always rode in on the memory of his father-in-law's self-righteous voice. Still, it happened and in this instance he was more than due.
He should have been stronger than the persistent lust that had been haunting him since he'd started tailing Nicole. Should have given her enough space to let the adrenaline bleed off in a less intimate manner. Hell, he should have done a lot of things differently, but it was too late now.
He stroked Nicole's hand where it lay over his heart, waiting for the inevitable. If he had to go through it, he willed the guilty moment to hurry up and be done already so he could move on.
