Rocked

Anger surges into my chest, hot and volatile. Scorching everything, making smoke come out of my ears.

If only it wasn’t chasing a tidal wave of lust so thick I almost drowned.

His mouth. Hard. Searing. Demanding.

The way he kissed me...

No man has ever turned me inside out with a single thrust of his tongue.

God. What just happened?

I don’t know whether I’m more aroused or angry.

What. Damn. Nerve. I swear.

But while my brain is saying ‘Whoa, hot shot,’ things down below in my scrub pants are warm and squishy and pulsing. If my V had its way, I’d be climbing onboard for a ride.

Right on top of the hospital bed.

The counter behind me is my savior because, otherwise, my trembling legs wouldn’t hold me up. And that would be the ultimate embarrassment in front of him. That would be the icing on an already brutal day.

The blue-eyed devil just looks at me, hunger plainly visible on his handsome face.

My voice is stupidly shaky, high, and far too loud. “I’m calling security. And I’m having you arrested.”

He reclines back on the hospital bed and crosses his black boots at the ankles. Folds his tattoo covered hands behind his head. Comfy, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world.

As if he didn’t just assault me and I didn’t tell him I’m having him arrested.

As if kissing a strange woman out of the freaking blue is an everyday thing for him.

That smile says it all. He’s trouble.

Capital T and all.

The thing that mothers warn daughters about.

“You okay there, Doc? I can kiss you again if it helps. Because I sure as hell loved it. Tasting you again would be the best fucking thing that’s happened to me in a long, long time.”

I’m yelling, even though I never yell. “Stop it!”

“Gage!” A big, deep, male voice splits the air like a gunshot. My heart leaps against my sternum.

As if I wasn’t dying already, now this.

Filling the doorway is a block of a man with murder on his face, in a perfectly fitted black dress shirt. The veins on his neck are bulging like grapevines.

And my patient is in the crosshairs of his angry eyes.

The maniac on the stretcher, AKA Gage, lets out a heaving sigh. “Party’s over.”

I storm past the new guy and out into the E.R. bay. “I’m pressing charges.” With a vicious grab, I snatch the nearest phone off the wall hanger. I jab the zero button for the operator.

My hands are shaking. I’m a total mess inside. What a day. It’s gotta be a full moon. The E.R. has been full of crazies.

“And I thought this day couldn’t get any worse. A man pinching my butt, then a baby vomiting on my shoes, and a woman put a curse on me for taking away the pencil she stuck through her hand. And that was all before lunch.” I realize I’m talking aloud to myself. Arghh. It’s official. I’m going nuts. I've been here almost nineteen hours with little to no break and the day is still long ahead. Now this…

I’ve dealt with patients who cross the line before, but never have I been turned on by it.

And that makes me livid. The nerve of him…

I ought to stitch his mouth closed instead of his eyebrow.

From behind me, that same deep male voice says, “Ma’am. Please put the phone down.”

The operator answers, “County Memorial switchboard, how can I help you?”

“Security...”

Suddenly, the gigantic man from the doorway is next to me. I jump.

He reaches out slowly and presses the receiver cradle down, ending the call. His voice is baritone. Even. Perfectly calm. “Please, give me a minute to talk this out.”

I start to stutter out a yell. Someone’s bound to hear me. I’m in the middle of a bustling Emergency Room. “Securi—”

Big guy slowly presses a finger to his lips. “Sh… It’s okay. I am security.”

My fingers clench the phone receiver so hard the plastic creaks. “You… you are?”

He nods slowly, his golden brown eyes holding my gaze. Almost as if he’s flipped a switch, the furious flames in my chest start to ease.

I’m looking into a set of eyes that are the complete opposite from the patient’s. Gage’s eyes are wild and heated, this man’s eyes are steady and sure. Almost mesmerizing. He’s breathtaking in a hardened soldier kind of way.

The man’s eyes drift over my face before he glances around the hallways as if he’s looking for a threat. “I’m the head of his personal security detail. I’m sorry if he stepped over the line.”

I swallow. Try to get some extra air into my tight lungs. My body is still vibrating with some kind of weird energy. “Personal security?”

My eyes won’t budge from his mouth as he says, “Bodyguard.”

God. I’m tired. I must be toast. The word bodyguard never had an effect on me before. But coming from this man, it’s like a balm to my nervous system. I shake my head. “Bodyguard.”

My mouth still feels awkwardly tingly thanks to the brutal kiss. Pressing my lips together, I try to forget it. “I’m the one that needs the bodyguard.”

The arc of his dark eyebrows drops. “I won’t let him touch you again. You have my word.”

Why do I get the feeling the man’s word is something that would hold true to his dying breath?

I glance past the massive shoulder of the bodyguard toward the room where his client is lying on the bed. Gage is watching the whole exchange with humor in his eyes.

All the fight has gone out of my voice. “I should press charges.”

“As you could, but I’d ask that you’d accept my apology. Gage is obviously intoxicated and not making the best choices right now.”

It’s true. “The man smells like he took a bath in tequila. He needs stitches and a head C.T.”

The bodyguard steps back, crosses his massive arms, tips a chin at Gage. “You’re the doctor. Do your thing.”

I shove my hair back. Half of it’s now loose from the clip I had it in. I wrangle my long waves into a fresh ponytail. “I should walk away. But the E.R. is slammed. I’ll treat him if you promise nothing else will happen.”

When I raise my eyes to his again, they hold mine. A current of something I can’t describe passes between us when he says, “You’re safe with me.”

The intent in his words sends a shiver down my spine. I draw in a quick breath. What’s up with me tonight? I can’t get a grip on myself.

“I’ve got time for the stitches before the C.T. tech can get him in.”

“Thank you,” the man says in that deep, quiet, disarming voice of his.

I brush past him, ignoring the wave of heat that his mountain-size body puts off. Gage watches me too intently as I walk back into the room. Heat burns at my chest and my cheeks. I pray my nipples aren’t showing through my scrub top.

It’s got to be all the testosterone oozing off of these two. It’s the only explanation for the weird sensations going on in my reproductive organs.

Gage is smiling when I glance at him again. “Since when do neurologists give stitches?”

I reach for the overturned stool, but the bodyguard beats me to it. He sets it by the bed, right where I would need it for sewing up the madman’s eyebrow.

“Thank you. Neurologists give stitches when the E.R. is down by two doctors. I’m just trying to do what I can so I can go home after a helluva shift. Now, close your eyes and don’t move. This is going to hurt.”

Gage flashes that pearly grin of his. “You have no idea how much.”