Thresh: Alpha One Security: Book 2 (2 page)

BOOK: Thresh: Alpha One Security: Book 2
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I glanced up at him, not sure of his meaning. “Excuse me?”
 

He reached down with his good hand—which was black-red with caked blood—and squeezed my bicep. “You got some guns under that lab coat.”
 

I flushed, but worked hard to keep my tone neutral, even a little sharp. “Hands off, Atlas.”
 

He chuckled. “Atlas?”
 

“You’re big enough that you could probably carry the weight of the world on those shoulders so, yes. Atlas.”
 

“He’s from mythology or some shit, yeah?”

“Or some shit, yes. Greek mythology, to be specific.” I couldn’t help but laugh. “A Titan, son of Æther and Gaia, if you listen to Hyginus. God of the moon, in some cases, and generally known as the Titan tasked with holding up the sky.”
 

I felt his gaze on me. “No shit? And if you don’t listen to Hyginus?”

“Some scholars say his father was the Titan Iapetus, and his mother was Asia, the Oceanid. Some say Clymene. Opinions vary. I like to go with Æther and Gaia. Makes the most sense to me.”
 

We were in the triage area, now, and I was desperately looking for a bed to deposit Thresh onto. I couldn’t prop him much longer and I don’t think he was faking the weakness—he’d clearly lost a hell of a lot of blood. There was one bed, sitting in the hallway, freshly remade. I angled him toward it, backed him up to it, and he collapsed gratefully onto it, releasing his arm from around my shoulders. I felt light, free, as if I could float away, now that his weight wasn’t bearing down on me. I rolled my shoulders, straightened my back.

And I didn’t miss the way his gaze focused like lasers on my chest as I stretched. Not like you could see much, since I was wearing a sports bra as well as a tight camisole under my button-down. I liked to keep my girls well contained while I worked, as I didn’t appreciate the attention I received if I revealed too much cleavage. I actually dressed conservatively since I wanted to be respected for my talent, skill, and worth ethic as a doctor, not because of my DD-cup breasts.
 

But still, he looked.

I made sure he caught my gaze, made sure he knew that I’d caught him staring. He just smirked, quirked an eyebrow, not looking apologetic whatsoever.

Nor did he look as faint as he’d acted just a moment ago.
 

But he was still rather pale, and it was clear he’d lost a lot of blood, and he had to be in an enormous amount of pain.
 

I nudged his uninjured shoulder. “Lie down.”
 

He moved to comply, but slowly, stiffly. As if he wasn’t used to lying down, as if it hurt to do so. He lay on his back, looking uncomfortable, and unsure. “How’s that?”

“It’s just a bed, Thresh. Try to relax.”
 

“You try to relax with a shattered ulna.” He rolled his injured shoulder, hissing. “Or a couple of rounds in your shoulder.”
 

As gently as I could, I pried his arm away from his body; he’d been keeping it clutched close for so long, it was probably cramped in that position. And yes, he was right in his assessment: his ulna was in pretty bad shape, although I wouldn’t classify it as shattered. More like a severe fracture. I peered at his shoulder, noting two entry wounds in the meat of his shoulder and pectoral muscle.
 

“Can you rock to the side for me? I need to look for exit wounds.” I tugged at him, indicating the way I wanted him to move.

He remained motionless. “No point, Doc. There aren’t any exit wounds, ’cause the rounds are still in there. This ain’t my first rodeo. I know when it’s a through-and-through, and when they’re lodged in there.”
 

I sighed. “Well, how about since I’m the doctor I’d like to see for myself so, again, please—let me have a look.” And, as I suspected, there were two clean exit wounds. So much for his medical expertise. “I don’t know if you’re going to be happy or sad about this but, the fact is, you have two clean exit wounds.”

“Hmmph,” was all he said.

I unlocked the wheels to the gurney. “Let’s find you to a room so I can get to work. I have other rounds to make, you know.”
 

“I know I could use some fuckin’ pain killers. You got any Tylenol in that sexy lab coat of yours?”

I stared at him, a blank expression on my face. “Doctors don’t keep medication in their lab coats, Thresh.” I couldn’t stop my eyebrows from scrunching down. “And what do you mean by
sexy
lab coat?”
 

“What? Nobody’s ever told you you’re sexy in that lab coat?”

I stiffened. “No. Not that I can remember.”
 

“Then whoever you’ve been hangin’ around with needs to get their eyes checked. That shit is
sexy
.” He lifted up on his good elbow, a sly expression on his face. “You ever walk around wearing just that lab coat? Maybe some black knee socks and a pair of high heels? Get that thick fuckin’ hair of yours out of that stupid bun, let it loose around your shoulders. Fuck, man.” He slumped back down. “Shit…I popped a semi just thinkin’ about it.”
 

We turned a corner, and I pushed the elevator call button.
 

I flushed again, and then my eyes, of their own traitorous accord, slid down, down, down. Damn it, damn it, damn it. Do
not
check out his package, Lola.
 

I checked out his package; that big bulge was a
semi
?
 

I went a little faint.

And then I got angry, both with him for making me look at his crotch and think about how huge his dick must be, and at myself for being so weak and easily manipulated.
 

I was not going down
this
road again.

“No,” I snapped. “I’ve never done…what you said. It’s stupid.”
 

“You should. You could give a man a heart attack, if you did that. Real spank bank material, right there.”
 

“Spank bank?” I felt my cheeks going even more flame-red than they already were—not that he would be able to tell, not with my Samoan skin tone, but
I
knew I was blushing, and that only pissed me off even more. “Jesus, you’re a real pig, aren’t you?”
 

“More of a bear than a pig, I’d say.”

I ran my gaze over his body, unwillingly—God, he was massive. Very much like a bear. Kodiak, maybe, or a polar bear, what with his blond hair and pale eyes.
 

And shit, shit,
shit
, he caught me checking him out. But he didn’t say anything, just smirked and covered his eyes with his good arm as the elevator doors opened.
 

“I don’t even own any knee socks,” I said, and I wasn’t sure why I said that, or where that admission came from.

The doors closed, and Thresh spoke without looking at me. “You should get a pair. Nice, thick, muscular legs like I picture you having under those damn baggy-ass pants of yours? They’d look fuckin’ bangin’, Doc.
Bangin’
. Pair it with a short skirt and some heels? Man, I’d be done. Stick a fork in me, done like dinner.”
 

“Stop talking to me like that,” I said, and I admit I fairly snarled.

“What? Can’t a man appreciate a beautiful woman?”
 

I hated the curling warmth in my heart, the way part of me wanted to sit up and beg for more of the way he was talking about me. “No. I’m a doctor and you’re my patient. Plus, you’re objectifying me, and I don’t appreciate it.”
 

His voice was sharp, now. “Hey. I don’t care for that statement. I ain’t objectifying shit. I flew here from fuckin’ Nevada, Doc, just to have you, specifically, look at my little booboos. Because I respect your
skill
as a doctor.”
 

“Thank you.”

“And because you’re fuckin’ hot as hell.”
 

I sighed. “You’re incorrigible.”
 

“A woman can be both beautiful
and
successful based on her skills and education, and I’m perfectly capable of recognizing that. Don’t be so fuckin’ uptight.”
 

“I am
not
uptight,” I snapped. I hated being called that, with a passion. “I’m
reserved
, and
private
. I am
not
uptight.”

He chuckled. “All right, all right. Calm your tits.”
 

“Excuse me?” I snarled.

The elevator doors opened, but I didn’t move. I was so irritated. “
Calm
…my
tits
?” I got in his face. “If you want me to see to your wounds then I suggest you keep a civil and respectful tongue in your head. Do…you…
fucking
…understand me?”
 

His eyebrows lifted, and I think he fought a grin. “Yes, ma’am. Read you loud and clear.”
 

“And I wouldn’t classify your injuries as ‘little booboos.’”
 

He waved his hand dismissively. “Bah. I’ve had worse and kept fighting.”
 

I didn’t want to think about that statement too closely. Or, at least, that’s what I tried to tell myself. I couldn’t help wondering, though, what it was he did. An army guy, or someone from the armed forces, would be seen to at a military base, not at a civilian hospital. So what was he doing here?
 

The idea that he’d come to Jackson Memorial from Nevada just to see me made my head spin, made me woozy and faint and made certain things ache and throb that had no business aching or throbbing—and I wasn’t talking about my yoo-hoo. My heart had been closed down and shut off for a long, long time, and for good reason. Without even trying, Thresh had pried open and breathed life into some long-dormant part of me I had kept firmly closed and shut off.
 

When we got to a room and I cut his T-shirt off, I could see that he hadn’t been lying: his body was a maze of scars, old and new, thin lines and puckered bullet wounds and jagged gashes.
 

Jesus, what had this man been through in his life to accumulate such extensive scarring?
 

I met his eyes, and for a moment his expression was full of world-weariness, followed by a hardness, a cold, calculating cunning that terrified me to my core, but it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, buried and layered under a scrim of warmth and humor.
 

I put my emotions away, shoving them deep down in the place where I knew they were protected.

I called for help. We gave him some local anesthetics, and I went to work on his arm, first. I cleaned the wound, set the bone, checked for muscle damage, stitched it closed and wrapped it. He wouldn’t need plates or screws, thankfully, as it was a fairly clean break and the bullet wounds were through-and-through, with clean entrance and exit wounds.
 

Before I sent the nurses away I had them give him a tetanus shot as well as a bunch of antibiotics and painkillers. I watched him for a moment, sitting on the foot of his bed. He was awake, but out of it and fading fast.

He was staring at me. Woozy. Tired.
 

“Rest, Thresh.” I hated how tender my voice sounded.
 

He was a pig. A bastard. The biggest, roughest, toughest man I’d ever encountered. Huge, hard, and beyond bad.
 

But the really bad news, the worst news, was that he was the kind of man I’d spent my entire life avoiding.
 

And very successfully, I might add…up until now.

Why did I feel so…

Drawn to him?
 

I shot to my feet, bustled out of his room without a backward glance, tugging on the ends of my stethoscope, unreasonably angry.

I heard a chuckle behind me.
 

Damn that man. Damn him to hell.

2: IN DENIAL

I didn’t get a chance to check on Thresh again that entire shift. I was kept busy with patient after patient up in the ICU, until finally my shift was over and I was so exhausted I couldn’t think. I was so tired I could barely keep putting one foot in front of the other. I got my stuff out of my locker, said goodbye to the nurses on the night shift and then walked over to catch the Metrorail home. When it let me off at my stop I trudged my ass the four blocks home to my third-floor condo.
 

My home. My sanctuary. My escape from everyone and everything.

The second I was through the door I tossed my pager onto the kitchen counter, kicked off my shoes, and shrugged out of my scrubs. By the time I was in my bedroom, I was naked. By the time my head hit the pillow, I was asleep.
 

I didn’t have a dreamless sleep, though. I dreamed of a pale giant with a mohawk and ice-blue eyes and hands so big he could span my waist—and I’m not a dainty girl. I dreamed about the way he looked at me. I dreamed I was standing in the dark, and he flicked on a light, and then suddenly I realized I was naked, except for my lab coat, with my stethoscope around my neck, and a pair of white knee-high socks. He reached for me, in the dream, and I let him. In the dream, I wore my lab coat, the socks, and nothing else…and felt no embarrassment.
 

Which was how I knew it was a dream.
 

I don’t have body-image issues—I just…don’t feel comfortable putting myself out there like that. And with damn good reason.
 

When I woke up, I was out of sorts. I was angry at Thresh for invading my dreams, and…if I didn’t know any better, I’d say I was horny. But that couldn’t be possible—that part of myself had shut down long ago.
 

I shoved it all away, the anger, Thresh…and the empty, hungry-but-not-for-food, wanting
something
, fragile, delicate, internal throbbing. Whatever that stupid feeling was, I shoved it down deep and locked the trapdoor on it, where I kept all the feelings I didn’t know how to deal with, or even want to deal with.
 

Which was most of them.
 

I rummaged through my pajama drawer, pulled out my favorite T-shirt, my dad’s old Florida State University shirt, several sizes too big for me, older than me, soft as silk, with tiny pinprick holes here and there. It hung just long enough to cover my ass, with the maroon fabric just barely stretching around my tits, which, left unconfined and unsupported, were big enough that they strained the ancient cotton nearly to breaking point. There were actually holes right over my nipples where the fabric was starting to give out, so my nipples played peek-a-boo. Or, more apropos, peek-a-boob.
 

BOOK: Thresh: Alpha One Security: Book 2
8.58Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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