Читать книгу After One Forbidden Night... - Amber Mckenzie - Страница 9

“DR. DARCY TO Trauma One. Dr. Darcy to Trauma One.”

As always her heart began to pound and her attention became focused only on the task ahead of her. Traumas were the scariest and most rewarding part of emergency medicine. By moving and thinking quickly you could become the difference between life and death, and chief emergency resident Chloe Darcy was always half terrified and half exhilarated by the challenge.

She ran to the trauma bay and arrived as the paramedics were wheeling a patient in on a gurney. She took in the unconscious pale thin girl as the paramedics gave their report.

“Twenty-two-year-old female found unconscious by her roommate with bilateral lacerations to the wrists. Estimated blood loss at the scene was minimum one and a half liters. No signs of other trauma or drugs at the scene. She left a note. Apparently heartbroken over a recent breakup. Valentine’s is the worst reminder.”

Foolish girl, Chloe thought to herself. What love or man could possibly be worth killing yourself for?

“What has she been given for resuscitation so far?” Chloe asked, focusing on the medical care of the young woman.

“Two liters of intravenous crystalloid and five hundred milliliters of colloid expander. Her pressure has improved marginally and the pressure dressings have stemmed some of the loss.”

“Thanks, we’ll take it from here.”

The trauma team was a well-oiled machine, with a nursing team and a respiratory therapist working with Chloe to stabilize the young woman. It took thirty minutes and a lot of blood products and fluid before her blood pressure started to improve and her pulse lowered. Chloe felt her own do the same. Once she was confident the resources were in place to deal with additional bleeding, Chloe unwrapped the first wrist pressure bandage.

The deep lacerations exposed multiple cut vessels, tendons and nerves. The girl had really meant it, and if hadn’t been for her roommate she would have succeeded.

“Page whoever is on call for Vascular and tell them we need them now.” Chloe didn’t have time to talk on the phone. The unwrapping of the wound had led to another half-liter blood loss and she had to focus on getting her as stable as possible prior to the operating room.

As Chloe stood above the girl, holding as tightly to the pressure bandage as she could, she felt a change in the room and calm passed over her. She looked up as Dr. Tate Reed entered. As always, her heart stopped momentarily as she took him in. His tall stature and muscular frame was surprisingly well defined beneath the hospital scrubs. His most striking features, his cool mineral-green eyes, were directed right at her.

She was surprised to see him. Normally she would have gotten the general surgery resident responsible for the vascular service, not the attending vascular surgeon. She swallowed and tried to focus on her responsibility and duty to her patient.

“What do you have, Chloe?” His voice was both confident and undemanding. He walked over to stand directly beside her while she continued to hold pressure on the volatile wound.

“Twenty-two-year-old female. Attempted suicide with bilateral wrist lacerations. Total blood loss estimated at two liters. Both cuts are deep and involve all the major vessels, nerves and tendons.”

She began to unwrap the wrist so he could examine the patient for himself, when his hand came down on her bare forearm.

“Don’t unwrap it, I trust you,” he confided.

He looked at her one more time before moving his hand and speaking to the room. “I’ll book her as level E0 emergency. Please have her ready for the operating room in the next ten minutes. I’ll need another five units of blood typed and crossed and sent directly to the operating room.”

With a final glance in her direction he left. She stood still, focused only on holding pressure for several moments before she regained her momentum. “Type and cross for the five units. She’ll need a Foley catheter to monitor urinary output and we need to notify the plastic surgeon on call that he will be needed after Dr. Reed finishes the vascular repair.”

As promised, the operating room was ready for her patient within ten minutes, and only as the young woman was being wheeled into the actual operating theater did Chloe let go her hold on the injured wrist.

When she returned to the emergency department she was grateful that there were only twenty minutes left of her shift and that she wasn’t obligated to start with any new patients. It hurt her to think about the girl. How bad did you have to feel before you would go to that length to escape? How much pain did you have to be in to make the idea of cutting yourself open feel better? The only comfort Chloe had was that the girl was with Tate now, and he would at least be able to make her physically better.

Chloe finished her charting and paperwork and then went upstairs to the operating room waiting area to wait for news. The only part of emergency medicine she struggled with was the lack of continuity. She would often see patients, diagnose them, arrange for their care, but rarely learned about outcomes—and it bothered her. It was like starting a book but never finishing it, and she never felt able to accept the not knowing. Some of her evaluations had cited this as a criticism. The amount of extra time and effort she spent following up on patients was not insignificant, but it was always her own time, so those who did not like it just had to deal with it—it was who she was.

It was eleven in the evening before Tate emerged into the main operating corridor. “Why am I not surprised to see you?” he commented as he came to sit on the chair next to her, pulling the scrub cap from his head and running his fingers through his short-cropped dark blond hair. There was no censure in his voice, and he looked tired but not displeased at the sight of her.

“How is she?” Chloe asked, focusing on the reason she was there—for the girl, not for Tate.

“Stable. She was well-resuscitated prior to arrival, which helped. They were all clean cuts, which made the re-anastomosis easier. Plastics is with her now. They will be there for a couple of hours, then time will tell how much function she gets back in her hands.”

“Damn,” she said aloud, unable to comprehend how this girl was going to cope both physically and emotionally when she awoke.

“Any idea why she did it?” Tate asked, once again demonstrating the compassion that set him apart from many of his surgical colleagues.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Chloe responded, unable to keep the sarcasm and scorn out of her voice.

“Ah,” Tate replied, obviously oblivious to the holiday. “I didn’t get you anything.”

The comment surprised her, but when she looked back at Tate his signature sarcastic humor glinted in the smile on his face. He had a slight curl in his lip, fitting against the sharp angle of his jaw and the clean lines of his face. She couldn’t help but smile back at him.

“I’d settle for a glass of wine,” she responded, and smiled until the expression on his face changed.

His smile had vanished and he was staring at her, but what he was seeing or thinking she had no idea. She didn’t know what to say or do to break the silence, so instead she said nothing.

“Done.”

She felt her eyes widen with surprise and remained lost for words.

“But it will have to be at my place. I didn’t bring street clothes to change into and I’d rather not go out in scrubs.”

She took in everything about him. He was certain in his offer, and for that reason alone she agreed.

She watched as he opened the solid metal door to his penthouse loft. She had never been inside Tate’s loft before, but wasn’t surprised that the interior matched the man. There was a wall of floor-to-ceiling glass that overlooked the Charles River. In true loft style there were no partitions, with the living room flowing into the dining room and kitchen. She turned and felt her heart race and warmth pass through her when she spotted the bedroom area, which featured a king-size bed raised up on a two-step platform with an exposed stone wall as the background.

There was nothing cold about the industrial style— nothing cold at all as she admired the double-sided glass fireplace that centered the room.

Tate walked past her, his arm brushing against hers. She felt a tremor of heat pass through her and touched the area, expecting her arm to be warm. He made his way to the fridge and opened a bottle of white wine, pouring her a single glass and grabbing a beer for himself. He’d remembered what she liked and she felt the same warmth his touch had inspired run through her again.

“Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back.”

He gestured to the slate-gray couch that paralleled the fireplace and she did as she was told. He emerged from the closed bathroom moments later, dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved red shirt that clung to his skin, defining the muscles beneath. His feet were bare, and if she had ever doubted the magnitude of his sexuality she didn’t now.

She looked at her reflection in the glass of the fireplace and for the first time in years felt dull in comparison. Her barely controllable red hair, long legs and unconcealed curves and rich emerald-green eyes typically made her stand out—but not next to Tate.

He joined her on the couch and she took a sip of the cool dry wine to calm herself. “So why is it that the most beautiful and sought-after woman in the hospital is alone on Valentine’s Day?”

Beautiful? Did he really think she was the most beautiful woman in the hospital? Sought-after? Did that mean he believed the rumors that she’d used her beauty to get ahead of her peers? Looking into the cool green of his eyes, she saw no malice in the comment but she wasn’t prepared to answer truthfully none the less. She was alone on Valentine’s Day because the only man she was attracted to and had had feelings for in the past three years was sitting beside her and up until a few months ago had been taken by her best friend.

“I could ask you the same thing,” she replied, trying to keep their conversation light and her feelings hidden. Tate was off-limits. He had been as Kate’s boyfriend and he still was as Kate’s ex.

“You think I’m beautiful?” He smiled, a teasing glint in his eye.

“I think you’re sought-after,” she answered, envisioning the trail of nurses who seemed to materialize around him.

“Not by everyone.” His tone had changed and his eyes had darkened almost imperceptibly. She knew he was thinking of her best friend Kate, his ex-girlfriend—the one that had got away.

Regret and frustration coursed through her. She hadn’t meant to bring up Kate, but truthfully she was always there between them. She had met Tate when he and Kate had started dating, and had been horrified when she’d realized her feelings for him went beyond friendship. It had been like a cruel torture. The closer he had become with Kate, the more she had gotten to know him, the more her feelings had grown, and the more unattainable he had become.

Kate and Tate’s breakup had been bittersweet. She no longer had to conceal her feelings but she had also lost her connection to the man she was falling for.

Chloe felt as if she was burning up and moved to take off the black sweater wrap that she had layered over a long-bodied tank top. The long-sleeved tailed garment had been wrapped around her tightly against the winter cold and she felt flustered in her attempt to disentangle herself from it. Strong hands covered hers, stilling her actions, before he moved on to untying the knot in the tails, his hands sure and steady as he opened the garment and slipped it from her shoulders. In doing so the tips of his fingers brushed against her bare skin, the action causing shockwaves to course down her body. She shuddered in response.

“I thought you were too warm—are you cold?” Tate asked.

No trace of his self-defeat was left, and Chloe felt as if she had one hundred percent of his attention.

“No.”

He rested his hands back on her bare arms, as if to check her temperature himself, and once again she trembled in response.

“You did it again.” He was analyzing her, trying to make sense of her reactions.

“I know.” What else could she say? She might not be able to control her body’s reactions to him, but at least she could control her words.

His hands moved up her body, his fingers pressing into the muscles of her neck while his thumbs brushed against her cheeks. Cool mineral-green eyes stared at her hard before his lips parted. “Why are you here, Chloe?”

She closed her eyes and savored the feeling, waiting for their connection to break. She didn’t want to answer the question, but she had no choice.

“Because you asked me.” She opened her eyes to find Tate’s entire attention focused on her, and she felt naked underneath his intense gaze. The only part of her body he touched was her neck and her face, but it was as though she could feel him all over, with every part of her body yearning to be touched by him.

“Why?” he asked, not pulling her toward him but not releasing her from his hold.

There were so many reasons that she couldn’t describe them, and she wasn’t sure he would understand.

She wet her lips that suddenly seemed as dry as the desert and dared to match his gaze. “Does it matter?”

The look in his eyes changed slightly, and there was a barely perceptible turn of his head. “Not tonight.”

Her lips parted in response, but before the words came out his mouth came down on hers. His lips were hard against hers and he used them to tug and draw her lower lip to him. As she moaned he moved inside her, his tongue exploring and tasting what she offered. Never had she been kissed like this, and she felt helpless to hold back—not that she wanted to.

She turned her body towards him and wrapped her arms around him, her fingers moving through his hair and pressing into his scalp. He kissed her harder, deeper, his fingers tangling in her hair, while his other hand trailed the length of her back. She arched in response to his touch, pressing herself against him and increasing their contact.

As suddenly as the kiss had started Tate broke away from her and stood from the couch. The hand he extended toward her quickly pacified her sense of loss. Without words, she placed her hand in his and let him pull her from the couch. She trailed him as he led her to the bedroom platform. At the edge of the bed she watched him pull off the shirt that she’d thought left little to the imagination—until she saw him in the flesh. Every muscle was perfect and defined. She reached out and let her fingers softly move over the strong breadth of his shoulders, his chest, and then along his washboard abdomen until they ended at the top of his belt and jeans.

He started in the same place, his hands moving around her waist as his fingers grabbed enough fabric to pull the tank top from her body. She had never felt self-conscious about her body, but at that moment she felt very aware of the state of her own arousal. Tate’s hand encircled her waist again, but this time over the bare skin he had exposed. She shuddered at the heat she felt coming from his touch and felt him pull her to him in response.

“Definitely not cold,” she heard him whisper as his warm breath surged against her neck. His lips followed as he found her weakness, each kiss and taste stoking the fires within her. She dug her fingers into his sides and pulled him back to her and was rewarded by the hard ridge that pressed into her.

He released his hold on her as he stepped back, just far enough to remove his jeans. He held her eyes as he did the same with hers, until she was standing before him in her blue lace bra and underwear. He didn’t close the distance between them and she watched his eyes trail up and down her body. It was excruciating anticipation, and she didn’t know how to express what she wanted, so she echoed his earlier action and held out her hand.

He didn’t take it. Instead her palm made contact with his bare chest as he reached behind her and unfastened her strapless bra. Her swollen breasts spilled out as the garment fell to the floor. She felt his fingertips brush against the sides of her breasts, then her waist, until they reached her hips and the small strings of her underwear before they too were tugged from her body. He didn’t leave her naked alone, stripping himself of his last remaining article of clothing with no modesty until he stood equally naked before her.

She gasped as he lifted her up and toward him. She held on tightly, wrapping her legs around him as he held her effortlessly. She felt cool sheets touch her back as she felt the pressure and heat of Tate come down on top of her. His mouth returned to hers with the increased passion that being completely skin to skin ignited. His hand moved, sweeping the side of her breast before he finally cupped her in his hands. She moaned at the experience and her reaction was met by his lips, which closed over the opposite nipple.

She spread her legs wide beneath him—a silent plea for what she really wanted.

She watched as he reached over to the nightstand and withdrew a small foil packet. She thought she could see his hands shaking as he unrolled the condom down his impressive length. She reached out to steady his hands and in response to her gentle touch he entwined her fingers in his, moving her hand and arm over her head, pressing her into the pillow above.

He once again settled between her legs and in one precision movement filled her. The spasm of her muscles around him echoed in the grip he reinforced on her hand.

She cried out with a pleasure she had never experienced before. She wasn’t a virgin, but nothing had ever felt like this before. She wrapped her legs around him, anchoring him to her as he moved within her, pushing her further and further into ecstasy with each thrust. She didn’t get a break as each movement in and out of her triggered every nerve in her body to fire, until she felt she was on the verge of shattering from within. Without warning she was past the point of no return and she cried out, clutching him to her as her muscles contracted reflexively around him. One more stroke and Tate was with her, his own convulsions joining hers.

He collapsed against her and she could feel the dampness of his skin and the warmth of his breath against her neck. She couldn’t resist the feel of him, satiated and relaxed against her, and gently ran her fingertips of her free hand up and down his back. It was an act of intimacy beyond the passion they had just shared.

She lost track of time, savoring the feeling of closeness, of Tate inside her, until he lifted himself away. He was staring down at her, levered above her, still deep inside her. He was looking at her for answers, for an explanation of how they’d got to where they were and what to do next. She had none.

His hand brushed her hair away from her face. “I can’t talk about this right now,” he said, and she heard enough regret to break her heart.

“Okay,” she replied, lost for any other words. He withdrew from her body and left to go to the only closed room in the loft—the bathroom.

She sat upright and covered herself with one of the oversized pillows. She wanted to move—needed to move, needed to gather her clothes and what was left of her heart and dignity and get the hell out of there. But she couldn’t move. Every muscle in her body was paralyzed by the surrealism of what had just happened. Tate—she’d had sex with Tate. But it hadn’t just been sex. It had been the most cataclysmic physical and emotional experience of her life and in that moment she realized she loved him. And he regretted it. Did she? She had vowed never to act on her feelings, but now that she had how could she dream of taking it back?

The sound of the door opening brought her attention back to reality. Tate strode naked to the platform, with no embarrassment or attempt to hide his nudity. He was spectacular. She had never appreciated the draw of the naked male form until now. She was sure in the knowledge that the sight of him and the memory of how he’d felt inside her would be forever burned into her body, mind and soul.

He turned down the covers on his side of the bed and gestured for her to get in. It was an offer she shouldn’t accept, but it was too hard to say no. As she crawled beneath the sheets he walked to the other side of the bed and did the same. He turned off the lights from a master panel on the nightstand, leaving only the amber glow of the fire and the reflection of the city’s lights through the windows. She lay there still, not knowing what to say or do, until she felt his strong arm snake around her and pull her against him.

“Go to sleep,” he whispered, his lips only inches from her ear and the length of his naked body pressed against her back and bottom.

Impossible was the last thing she thought, before she closed her eyes and her mind gave way to the complete physical and emotional exhaustion of her body.

Tate woke from a deep sleep and felt his body stir and harden. He wasn’t alone—could feel himself pressing against soft skin and tight curves. He opened his eyes to the early-morning light and saw it: red. Red hair covered the pillow that lay beside him. Red hair that was unmistakable.

Chloe. As he acknowledged her identity in his head a replay of last night’s events rolled through his mind. He could see her tremble with his touch, her nipples pressing against the thin fabric of her tank top, the way she’d let him undress her and then reached out for him. And there was the way she’d felt, tight and uncontrolled beneath him so that he had barely managed to hold on for her release.

It was painful to think about it as he felt himself engorge further, pressing deeper into her tight, rounded bottom. He wanted to kiss her neck, caress her breast and slip back inside her—in part for release, and in part to prove to himself that they hadn’t been as explosive together as he remembered. But the cold light of day streaming in from the floor-to-ceiling windows stopped him.

How had he let this happen—and why? He hadn’t just taken any ordinary woman to bed, he had taken Chloe. Chloe—the beautiful, smart, no-nonsense, caring woman he had known for years. It wasn’t as if he had just realized Chloe’s beauty. He had always felt an attraction to her. But by the time they had met he had already started pursuing Kate, and he’d classified his feelings for Chloe as those of a normal red-blooded male. What had happened last night? Damned if he knew. All he knew was that the attraction he had suppressed for years had boiled over—with considerable consequences.

He ran his fingers through the tumble of red hair adorning his pillow. This was going to end badly. He wasn’t naïve about the nature of the medical profession. Women still had to work harder to prove their equality, especially in fields dominated by men. Women like Chloe—though he couldn’t think of any woman like Chloe—had it the hardest. Looking at her, no one would imagine that she could be as smart and gifted as she was beautiful. Worse, few believed that her success was due to hard work alone.

He had heard the rumors about her and resented them. Unfortunately coming to her defense would only fuel the fire. Personally, Tate could care less what people thought or said about his personal life. He made his own decisions—for himself and no one else. But as a woman and as a resident Chloe didn’t have that luxury.

The rumors would be vicious. The effect on her career would be unpredictable. And for what? What did he have to offer her? He had tried to settle down for a life of commitment and had it thrown back in his face. He wasn’t prepared to go down that road again, but he also wasn’t prepared to hurt Chloe just to satisfy a need in him he hadn’t known existed until last night. He had crossed a line last night that he’d had no business crossing and hated himself for it.

He needed to end this before it started—or went any further.

Chloe stirred, her eyes opening to unfamiliar surroundings as she took in the flood of natural light and the expanse of the room around her. She blinked and the scenery remained unchanged. She looked down, acknowledging her nudity before confirming to herself that last night had not been a dream. She was in Tate’s loft and they had made love.

Slowly she turned towards the other side of the bed—only to find disappointment at its emptiness. The feeling did not last long as her eyes caught sight of him sitting across the room in the kitchen, staring back at her. He appeared to have showered and was already fully dressed in black pants and a crisp navy blue button-down shirt with a pewter tie at the collar. An uneasy feeling came over her.

“Good morning.” She waded into conversation cautiously.

“Last night was a mistake.”

His words broke through her and her perfect dream instantaneously changed into a nightmare. He remained across the room, still making no effort to close the distance between them.

“I think it would be best if we forget it ever happened and moved on with our separate lives. Take your time this morning. I have to go to work, but the door will lock behind you.”

She didn’t have time to argue with him. She didn’t even have time to respond. She just watched dumbstruck as Tate walked out, pulling the door shut behind him and signaling the end to their conversation. How could he just walk away? Easily, she thought. He didn’t have feelings for her. A physical attraction, yes, but not the same depth of emotion she felt for him or he had felt for Kate.

She remembered him after their breakup—how angry he had been, how devastated. She was a simple night’s mistake compared to Kate, whose loss had almost destroyed him.