The astringent bite of
rubbing alcohol reached Teagan’s nose as she tore into the packet in her hand,
and she measured the intricate black tattoo on Adrian’s right forearm with a
casual glance. Placing a line was more about feel than anything else, but it
didn’t make this a cozy jaunt down Main Street, either. Still, procedure was
procedure, and she wasn’t about to tell the docs in the emergency department
that she didn’t start an IV en route when she knew damn well they were
expecting her to do it. Explaining the shoulder thing was going to be bad enough.
Taking her eyes off a
guy like Adrian in the first place had been the highest order of stupid. She
wasn’t screwing up his care again.
“So how come you’re
sticking me, exactly?”
His much-softened tone
snagged her attention, and she adjusted hers to match. “Because you need
painkillers on board before we get to Riverside. The doctors there are going to
give you a pretty good workup. It’s not going to be fun.”
“I’m okay with the
pain,” he said, although the thin sheen of sweat on his brow coupled with his skin’s
growing pallor said otherwise.
Teagan shrugged. “You
need the IV regardless. Might as well let the meds take the edge off.” She sat
on the bench seat at Adrian’s side and flipped his right arm palm-side up,
running her fingers down the corded length from elbow to wrist in search of a
good spot.
“So what language is
this, anyway?” she asked, folding his hand into a fist before tracing the
thickly scrolled letters spanning his skin from wrist to elbow. Maybe if she
distracted him, he’d let her do her job without complaint.
“Italian.” He didn’t
elaborate, but he also didn’t balk as she ripped open the IV kit she’d pulled
from the med box.
“Oh. What does it mean?”
Teagan tapped the pad of one gloved finger against the vein now standing in
relief against his skin right above the words vivere senza rimpianti.
“You ask a lot of
questions, don’t you?”
The edgy little smile
that had caught her so off guard in the middle of the road was back in full
force, and it hadn’t lost an ounce of steam in its absence.
Teagan’s cheeks prickled
with the unfamiliar sensation of a blush. “Sorry. Little pinch here. Ready?”
He nodded, keeping his
smile locked in place. “Whenever you are, Red.”
Right. Because that
nickname hadn’t haunted her enough in the third grade. “Just hold still.”
She guided the IV into
place with a few deft movements despite the fact her pulse had just taken on
all the properties of a freight train. “I’m going to put some Fentanyl in here
to ease some of your pain. It works pretty quickly, so you should be able to
relax soon.”
“Whatever will get this
over with faster.” Adrian looked away, the smile slipping from his face as he
shifted his weight against the semi-reclined surface of the cot. It figured
he’d go and get all agreeable when they were halfway to the hospital, but
truly, Teagan knew better than to complain.
She drew two hundred
micrograms of Fentanyl into a syringe and worked it into the IV, doing a visual
sweep to make sure all systems were go. “I’m just going to recheck your vitals
here and see if we can manage some focus assessment before those pain meds get
in the way.”
“Focus assessment sounds
like something my high school guidance counselor tried once. Hate to break it
to you, but it didn’t work out so well then. Doubt you’ll have much luck with
it now.”
Teagan’s laugh popped
out before she could swallow it, and she palmed the penlight from her bag.
“Don’t worry, it’s not that tough. Look up for me.”
Adrian fastened her with
a dead-on stare, and whoa, there was a lot roiling around in those hazel eyes
of his. No matter how big and bad, most car accident victims experienced some
form of shock or another in the aftermath. Her social skills might not be
impeccable—or hell, even good—but it was time to keep this guy as calm as
possible.
“So, tell me,” she said,
slipping the pulse ox clip over his finger. “What do you do, Adrian?”
His forehead creased,
making his surprise a dead giveaway.
“I’m a chef.”
Looked like surprise was
catching. “And how long have you been a chef?”
“Since the day I was
born.”
The laughter pushing
past her lips caught her off guard for the second time in as many minutes.
“You’ve been busy, then. You must work at the place in the resort.” That tiny
tickle of recognition fanned over her again, but as soon as she flicked her
attention toward it, it was gone, like smoke in a stiff breeze.
“What makes you say
that?” He canted his head to the side, his shoulders seeming to loosen
slightly.
Teagan noted his current
vitals before continuing with the exam. “Because unless you count the bakery on
Main Street, there are only two other full-service places to eat in Pine
Mountain, and there isn’t a chef in either one.”
The thought of Lou, the
lanky guy who worked his magic at her father’s bar and grill, working up a
hoity-toity dish like on those reality shows was downright laughable. Not that
Adrian really fit that mold either, but still. He’d been the one to use the
c-word, not her.
As if he’d just climbed
into her head for an easy looksee, Adrian teased, “Careful making assumptions
over there. I ditched the tall white hat as soon as I graduated from culinary
school.”
She held up her hands,
busted. “Okay. But for the most part, we townies tend to just sling hash and be
done with it.” Teagan examined him carefully, and this time the vague recognition
darting around in her brain snagged and held. “The restaurant at the resort!
You were there last year, when we responded to that call for the other chef. A
woman.”
The tumblers and gears
of her memory locked into place over the image. They’d been first on scene, and
Evan had gone to secure the patient—a nasty facial trauma, if she remembered
right. Teagan had been too busy securing the rest of the scene, namely trying
to peel Adrian off of Jackson Carter, a local guy she’d known since middle school.
The fight had been
short-lived. And Adrian had been boiling-point furious.
“She’s my boss,” Adrian
said, dispelling only a touch of the mystery running through her head. “You
remember that?”
“Small town. And you
have a memorable right hook.”
His eyes flared, in way
more panic than irritation. “It wasn’t like that, exactly.” A pause, and it
looked like hers weren’t the only gears sliding into place. “Wait, that was you
who jumped in the middle of things.”
Teagan nodded, sliding
down the bench toward his feet and laying the flat of her hand against the
bottom of one monstrous boot. “Securing the scene to administer care is part of
the job. Press forward as far as you can.”
He did, and when she
prompted, he gave a quick repeat on the other side. “You could get hurt like
that, being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Said the guy on the
gurney,” she said, unable to bite back a wry smile. “How’s your arm feeling?”
Now that she’d had more time for a more focused exam, it was clear the broken
arm was likely the only injury he’d sustained, and even that looked pretty
straightforward. Lucky bastard.
“Pretty good.” He closed
his eyes for a fraction too long to be a blink, and that, coupled with his
answer, signaled the Fentanyl was starting to kick in nice and hard.
“Good. We should be at
the hospital in another seven minutes, give or take. You can close your eyes if
you want.”
Another blink, this one
shuttering his eyes just enough to be sexy as hell. “That might not . . . be
the best idea.”
Concern splashed through
Teagan’s chest, and she leaned forward from her perch on the bench seat at his
side. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”
“Relax.” A lazy smile
joined his bedroom eyes, sending an entirely different sensation through her
chest. “I’m not going to code on you or anything. It’s just, ah, easier to
forget about the pain if I’m distracted, that’s all.”
Oh, buddy. If you only
knew. “Okay, but consider yourself forewarned. I’m not sure I’m the best person
for the job.” Teagan bit her lip over a pause. “Polite conversation isn’t
exactly my forte.”
“Polite conversation is
for amateurs,” he said. “Tell me something important.”
A streak of shock popped
through her veins. “You want me to tell you something personal?” That Fentanyl
must be knocking him sideways if he thought she was going to spill her soul.
“Yeah,” Adrian said on
nothing more than a rumble. “Personal. What’s your favorite ice-cream flavor?”
More laughter escaped in
an unexpected burst, but at least it was a painless question. Poor guy probably
was a little loopy from the meds. “Umm, wow. Coffee, I guess.”
“I could see that.” His
voice was slow, and it dashed all the way down her spine, lingering only when
it reached the lowest point between her hips. Desperate for something clinical
to keep her busy, Teagan snatched a few packets of alcohol wipes. She tore one
open and leaned in, dabbing methodically at a scrape above Adrian’s eye.
“Ah.” She shook her
head, giving the cut a closer look.
“You’ve got a pretty
nasty lac here. It’s small, but looks kind of deep. I hate to tell you, but
you’re probably going to have to lose this piercing to have it stitched up.”
“Great,” he said,
although the sarcasm didn’t quite stick. “You can go ahead and take it out, I
guess.”
Teagan made quick work
of removing the stainless steel barbell, sliding it into a plastic bag before
giving voice to the question in her head. “So how about you?”
“How about me what?” He
angled the side of his face so it fit tight into the curve of her hand, and she
scooped in a shallow breath at the increased contact.
“What’s your favorite
flavor of ice cream?” she murmured, surprised to find herself actually wanting
to know. His eyes went from warm hazel to smoky quartz in the time it took her
to exhale, and he dipped his gaze to her mouth.
“Strawberry.”
“And what’s so great
about strawberries?” Oh hell. Was that her voice, all breathy and ridiculous?
“They’re perfect.” He
curled the fingers of his uninjured hand around hers, pulling her in and
reducing the space between them to a mere sliver. With his stare resting right
on her lips, he said, “And red.”
Before the word even
sank in, Adrian lifted his mouth to hers in a slow stroke. His lips were the
exact opposite of the rest of him, soft and accommodating, and Teagan gasped
against them. He tasted like cinnamon, spicy and dangerous, and he tightened
beneath her like he had every intention of parting her mouth with his own and
discovering all of her. Her brain screamed that she should pull back, give him
what-for, do something other than just sit there and let him kiss her, but all
her good intentions fell prey to one simple fact.
She didn’t want him to
stop.
But then, just as
quickly as he’d closed the space between them, Adrian pulled away, and the
resulting rush of cool air brought Teagan back to earth with a hasty snap.
“Sorry. I . . .” Adrian
trailed off, eyes at half-mast. “I’m so tired.”
“Close your eyes.” Thank
God she’d at least faked her way back to her normal speaking voice. The sound
of it steadied her ever further. “We’ll be at Riverside in a couple of
minutes.”
As if on cue, Evan
leaned back and aimed his voice into the narrow pass-through, one eye still on
the road as he hollered an ETA of ninety seconds. Teagan shucked her gloves and
swept up the debris in the rig, double-checking Adrian’s vitals even though her
own probably looked like a skyline shot of Mount Everest. His eyes were closed,
his chest rising and falling in smooth rhythm. She’d given him enough Fentanyl
to knock out a basketball team, so it really wasn’t a shock that he’d gotten a
little goofy. He probably wouldn’t even remember kissing her when his eyes
opened up again.
The smartest thing she
could do was forget it, too.
___FIRE ME UP by Kimberly Kincaid
***click cover for purchasing information
