Some Like It Hotter (Sweet Life in Seattle #3) (38 page)

She watches his face with his regular tense expression. He’s gentle, but it doesn’t change the fact that she’s in pain. “It hurts, but it kind of tingles too,” Lindsay tells him.

He’s still inspecting her finger. “I think you’ve cut into the nerve.”

“Is that bad?”

“You may find your sensation is different once it’s healed.” He looks at her. “It needs to be sutured.”

She doesn’t like the sound of that. “Sutured? What’s that? Will it hurt?”

“It’ll be fine,” he reassures her. “I’m talking about stitches. Just a few. It’s not a big deal.”

“Not to
you
maybe.”

He considers her. “The question is do you want to go to the ER and have them do it for you, or have me do it here?”

“Can you?” She studies him. “I’d rather not go to the ER.”

“Sure, it’s not a problem. I have my medical bag.” He wraps the towel around her finger and instructs her on how to hold it firmly but gently with her other hand. He also tells her not to look at it. “When was the last time you had a tetanus shot? Do you remember?”

She thinks back. “A couple years ago. I smashed my thumb while I was working at my studio.” She remembers how one of the other artists in her building took her to the emergency room. She didn’t faint, but there wasn’t as much blood either. “They gave me one at the hospital.”

“Are you allergic to any kind of medication?”

“No.”

He glances over toward the living room. “Let’s move you to the couch.”

“Are you sure I need stitches? I’d rather not. I mean, I’ve never had them before.”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Maybe you could just bandage it up. That’s probably good enough.”

“No, Lindsay. That’s not good enough.” Giovanni instructs her to wrap her arms around his neck, says he’s going to carry her.

“This is silly. I can walk. Seriously, you don’t have to carry me!”

But he’s already lifting her. She has to admit she’s sort of enjoying it, though she’d be enjoying it a lot more if she hadn’t filleted her finger.

He carries her over to the living room couch—a maroon sectional they pulled out of her storage unit last week. He places her down on it so she’s lying flat. She tries to tuck a pillow under her head, but he stops her.

“Just lie flat for a little longer.” He stares at her legs for a moment like he’s considering something but then seems to change his mind. “I’ll be right back. Let me get my bag.” He looks at her pointedly. “And don’t get up.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

She watches him turn the volume down on the music before he leaves the room.

Lindsay sighs and waits patiently, holding the towel with firm but gentle pressure just the way he showed her. Her finger not only hurts but is throbbing. “Porca Miseria,” she mutters.

When he returns, she suddenly remembers how she left the frying pan on the stove turned on. “Oh, shit!” She starts to sit up.

“Hey, lie down.” He comes over, carrying his bag and some clean towels. “What are you doing? Just take it easy.”

“I left the frying pan on.”

“Don’t worry, I already took care of it.”

“Oh? That’s good.” In truth, she did feel a little woozy when she tried to get up, though it’s mostly because she looked down and saw the blood from her finger soaked into the cotton.

He places a brown leather doctor’s bag on the floor. It’s beat up, and she recognizes it from when they flew into Seattle. He scoots the coffee table over, arranges some things, and then moves one of the sections from the couch close to her, so he’s sitting beside her.

“All right, let’s see that finger again.”

Lindsay gives him her left hand with the cut middle finger on it and tries not to look as he unwraps it. She hisses. Giovanni has set up some of the things he’ll need on the table, and soon she feels him gently cleaning her wound.

“It hurts,” she tells him. “It’s throbbing.”

“I know, baby. I’m sorry. I’m going to numb it for you in a second.”

“What?” Her eyes grow wide, staring at him. “Numb it for me how?”

“With lidocaine.”

“Like a
shot?
” She moans with outrage that this is happening to her. She kicks her legs around. “I don’t want a shot! I fucking
hate
shots.”

“You’re going to be fine, but you need to stay still. Would you like a comic book to look at?”

“How about some vodka? Do you have any vodka in that doctor’s bag of yours?”

He chuckles. “I can’t say that I do.”

She snorts. “Not much use then, is it?” Finally, she agrees to the comic book, and he hands her an issue of something called
Laser Man
. “What the hell is this? Don’t you have any
Thor
?”

“No, how about
Spiderman?”

“Forget it. Unless it’s
Thor
, I don’t give a shit.”

She whimpers and wails when he gives her the shot in her finger, letting loose with a stream of curse words. She then pouts as she tries to manage the stupid comic book with one hand, waiting for the numbing agent to kick in. They spend the next fifteen minutes with Giovanni tending to her wound, admonishing her to stay still. Despite her bad behavior, he’s gentle and patient with her—not that this stops her from complaining endlessly.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” she tells him. “I don’t want to end up with some kind of fucked-up mutant lizard finger.”

His eyes flash to hers, and they’re filled with humor. “Christ, Lindsay, I’m a plastic surgeon.”

“So what? You could still give me a fucked-up lizard finger! In fact, shouldn’t you have laid me down on the dining room table? Wouldn’t that be more like what you’re used to?”

He keeps his eyes focused on her hand. “What are you talking about?”

“Like for surgery! So you can stand next to me. For fuck’s sake, I shouldn’t have to tell you that!”

“I don’t necessarily stand when I’m in the OR. It depends on the procedure, but often I’m sitting.”

“You are?” Her brows shoot up with surprise. This was new information. She’s always imagined him standing next to a table with a bunch of bright lights shining from above.

He tilts his head as he examines her finger. There’s a gentle tugging sensation, but that’s all since it’s completely numb otherwise. “For the more delicate surgeries I perform, I’m always sitting,” he explains. “It’s easier to focus.”

Lindsay watches his handsome face as he tends to her wound. For the first time, what he actually does sinks in, and it takes her breath away. Giovanni repairs the faces of children. Of beautiful little babies. It’s incredible.

“What’s it like?” she asks, overwhelmed with awe. “To do what you do.”

“I love my work. It’s a privilege, and one I never take for granted.”

“What if you make a mistake, though? Does that ever happen?”

He shakes his head. “No.” She feels mild pressure on her finger. “There’s no room for mistakes in my life.”

“How’s that possible? It sounds too stressful.”

He shrugs. “I’m used to it. That’s why I don’t like surprises. I prefer to have a plan before I begin anything.”

She wonders where she fits into all this. Their relationship was hardly planned. She suspects it’s been as much of a surprise for him as it has been for her.

“I guess that explains why you’re such a control freak,” she mutters.

“Probably.”

“You can’t control everything though.”

“No,” he agrees, then glances up at her with a wry smile. “You certainly can’t.”

She wants to ask him more questions but doesn’t get the chance.

“Okay, I’m finished here,” he says in an officious tone. She feels light pressure again and can tell he’s wiping her finger with something. “I don’t have a splint with me, but I’ll grab one for you at the hospital tomorrow. Try not to bend the finger. And don’t get it wet.”

“Can I see?” Lindsay looks over at her hand.

“I haven’t bandaged it yet.”

“It’s okay. I think I can handle it, as long as it’s not bleeding.”

He lets her take her hand back, and she examines the perfect row of small stitches he’s put in for her. Four in all. “I guess it’s all right. Though it does look mutant.”

“Here.” He holds his hand out for hers. “Let me bandage it for you.”

She sighs and doesn’t say anything more as he finishes up. She knows she’s acting horribly.

Later, when he’s all done with her and has cleaned up, he comes back over to where she’s still lying on the couch with a pillow tucked under both her head and hand. She scoots back to make room for him so he can sit next to her.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” she says, feeling embarrassed about how awful she’s been behaving. “I didn’t exactly make it easy for you.”

Giovanni reaches down and strokes her hair with affection. “What an unpleasant patient you are.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“
Exceptionally
unpleasant, even.”

“I try to be exceptional in everything I do.”

He chuckles and lets his hand slip beneath her hair, so he’s rubbing the back of her neck. It feels so good, her eyes drift shut.

“It’s okay, I’m a terrible patient too,” he admits.

“Are you?” She opens her eyes.

He gives her a pointed look. “What do
you
think?”

She laughs. “I think you’re probably worse than I am.”

Giovanni fries up the burgers and assembles them following Lindsay’s instructions. He’s never been much of a cook but has always wanted to learn. With the exception of the most rudimentary dishes, he’s never really had much opportunity.

Maybe that will change now
.

Moving into this house with the knowledge that he’ll be staying put in one place for a while has been a revelation for him. He didn’t realize just how ready he was to stop living like a ‘vagabond,’ as Lindsay so aptly put it.

And, of course, she’s been the biggest revelation of all. He never thought he’d get to this point with a woman. Deep down, he worried Olivia had destroyed something within him, something fundamental.

But it turns out that isn’t true.

For the first time in a long time, he’s seeing possibilities for his future. In fact, his life has become all about possibilities.

They decide to eat dinner on the large couch in the living room. Lindsay has her plate balanced on her lap with a pillow. Her brown eyes wander over and catch hold of his. They do this a lot, and every time he can’t stop himself from grinning like an idiot.

“Would you mind adding more pepper to my salad, please?” she asks.

“Sure.” He reaches for the mill and grinds more for her since she can’t do it with her injured hand. The pepper mill is a black king of spades and has a matching queen for salt. They’re hand-carved by an artist she knows. It’s just one of the many little touches she’s added that’s been turning this into a home. She recently put a doormat out front that says, ‘Actually, there is a doctor in the house,’ and he laughed with approval when he saw it. He’s probably laughed more with her than he has with anyone his entire life.

“Thank you, Olaf.” She bats her lashes at him and then prongs some lettuce with her fork.

He enjoys watching her eat. Lindsay is a sensualist, and he takes pleasure in all the little things that seem to delight her.

Of course, she can be headstrong at times too. Temperamental, even. She always speaks her mind—occasionally to a fault. She’s not a planner like he is and seems allergic to even the idea of a schedule. She’s bold—especially in bed, not that he’s complaining about that.

Most of all, though, Lindsay has become the sun, bright and lovely, bringing him out from the shadows, from that steel prison where he’s been living far too long. Every day he’s more grateful than the one before that she’s come into his life.

Thank God.

He only wishes now he’d seen it when they first met years ago, but he remembers how even then there was a spark of something between them.

I just wasn’t ready for her yet.

Despite her sometimes irreverent exterior, he’s noticed something else about her. She’s soft-hearted beneath that outer toughness. Kind and surprisingly thoughtful. She tries to hide it, and he suspects she worries it makes her appear weak, though nothing could be further from the truth.

He can’t believe he ever thought she was anything like Olivia. From the outside, Olivia was also beautiful and passionate, but inside she was cold and ultimately self-serving.
Just the opposite of Lindsay.
If only he’d understood that sooner, but then he was too young to really see it.

More and more, he’s grown to love Lindsay’s unusual slant on the world. She doesn’t see things in black or white, or even in shades of gray. She sees them in color. Vivid color. Just like the walls she’s painted and the flowers she’s planted around the house.

“How’s your finger?” he asks. “Do you want something for the pain?”

She shrugs. “It’s okay.” And then she gives him a wicked grin. “I know something that might help me later though.”

“Sexual healing?”

“With strawberries and whipped cream, if you please.”

Giovanni chuckles a little, puts his empty plate on the coffee table, and shifts position so he can lie back on the couch and be closer to her.