Читать книгу Tamed By Her Army Doc's Touch - Lucy Ryder - Страница 8

IF DR. LILAH MEREDITH had known she’d be going swimming when she’d dressed earlier that evening, she probably would have chosen to wear something that didn’t look like it came from some designer lingerie’s “wild” collection.

But then again, she’d recently returned from the jungles of South America and had splurged on expensive underwear to celebrate her return to civilization. And if she was in an emotional place where only she got to see the scraps of silks and stretchy lace, then that was okay—she was having a break from men anyway.

But that was before her evening, which had started out normally enough for a bachelorette party, had rapidly descended into disaster. One minute she’d been surrounded by the debris left over from the gift-opening frenzy, a tipsy bride-to-be and a dozen giggling colleagues chanting, “Take it off, take it off!”, the next she’d been scrambling through the open window between two ornamental shrubs onto the restaurant’s upper deck.

She’d turned away from the embarrassing sight of a buff young guy stripping off his clothes to the bump-and-grind music blaring from the private room’s speakers just in time to see a dozen people leap from the party boat into the lake.

Flashing back to her senior year in high school when a group of pot-smoking students had set fire to a boat, Lilah’s heart stopped for a couple of beats.

Praying it was just another excuse for youthful high-jinks, she held her breath and waited for them to return to the boat. But the longer she watched the more uneasy she became, especially when it became apparent that someone was clearly in trouble.

With her heart surging into her throat, Lilah lurched to her feet and scrambled over the table to the window, knocking over half a bottle of Chianti and a jug of margaritas. Cutlery, glasses and flowers from the centerpiece went flying. There was a lot of high-pitched shrieking and Lilah had a brief glimpse of shocked expressions and open-mouthed gapes as she dived out the window.

Luke Sullivan folded his arms across his chest, tipped his chair back against the wooden railing and smiled as whoops and whistles of encouragement competed with the stripper music pumping from the system. Greg Turner, the man about to take the walk of insanity down the aisle, grinned goofily as Lindi—or was it Mindi?—ripped off her sparkly skin-tight blouse. She shimmied her balloon-shaped rack in the groom’s face while her twin rubbed her awesome curves against him.

It wasn’t that Luke had anything against stripper twins or lap dances—heck, he’d participated in enough as a wild student and then again in the army to appreciate the manly tradition. But at thirty-two, you’d think Greg would appreciate something a little less clichéd. Something like … poker night.

Yeah, Luke mused as the girl rolled her hips like a belly dancer. If he ever lost his mind long enough to get hitched—God forbid—he’d prefer poker night stag. Now, that was a civilized way to mourn the end of bachelorhood. If he were inclined to matrimony, that is, which he most definitely was not! He’d watched his parents’ marriages fall apart too many times not to want to put himself or any kid through that kind of hell.

Besides, poker night was a great way for a bunch of guys to kick back, puff on Cuban cigars, guzzle beer and nachos, and talk trash as they bet on a pair of kings. He had a sneaky feeling Greg’s wild younger brother had organized the strippers more for himself than the groom.

And while the twins were certainly impressively endowed, Luke thought with a yawn as his gaze slid to the people strolling along the boardwalk below, he preferred his women a little less surgically enhanced. And a lot more natural. Women were not meant to look like they carried alien pods on their chests. They were meant to be soft and curvy. Kind of like the woman dodging through the crowd, barely missing a collision with a couple of teens on skateboards. Her movements were urgent, as if she was either fleeing from someone or racing towards something.

Instantly alert, he pushed away from the wall and the chair legs hit the deck with a thud. He scanned the crowd for a knife-wielding pursuer but saw nothing suspicious and turned back in time to see her ditch her strappy sandals and hike the slinky dress up a pair of spectacular thighs, before taking off down the pier.

Grinning with masculine appreciation at the flash of long, smooth limbs, Luke rose and headed for the deck railing to get a better view. The woman slowed down enough to shout and wave her arms at the party cruise heading for open water. When no one responded, she shook her head and threw her arms up as if to say, “What now?”

Then, to his growing astonishment, she wriggled out of that short, snug dress—a sight way more erotic than the striptease going on behind him—and headed for the lake at a dead run.

Now, this, he thought as she launched herself off the pier, was way better than watching a couple of barely legal dancers prance around in strips of sparkly fabric. Her body entered the water with scarcely a splash, only to reappear seconds later as people began heading closer to watch the crazy woman take a swim in her underwear.

Just before the gathering crowd blocked his view, Luke saw her strike out, but not for the boat, as he’d expected. Instead, she headed away from it.

Puzzled, he scanned the water, stilling as he caught sight of movement a couple of hundred yards out. The person’s flailing arms told him everything he needed to know.

Someone was in trouble.

Without further thought, he vaulted over the balcony and ignored the cries of surprise as he dropped to the boardwalk below. Wincing when pain shot through his recently healed thigh, he tucked in his body and rolled to his feet in one smooth move, before sprinting after her.

Barely a minute after the woman had entered the lake; Luke was stripping off his own clothes and taking a running dive off the pier. He knew just how cold the water was and braced for the instant brain freeze.

Despite his training, he tensed as his body hit the water. Jee-hose-phat. It was freezing. After fifteen years as far away from the Pacific North West as he could get, the waters of Lake McKenzie still felt colder than the North Atlantic in midwinter.

He surfaced and sucked warm air into his lungs before setting out, his powerful strokes quickly eating up the distance. He was still a good forty yards away when he saw the woman disappear beneath the surface. A girl flailed nearby, alternately sobbing and screaming, “Trent! Trent!” as she tried to stay afloat.

She must have spotted Luke because her litany changed to, “Help him, help him! I couldn’t hold on.” She coughed and wiped her face with a shaking hand. “He … he j-just slipped under and I c-can’t find him.”

“Stay here,” Luke ordered as he swam closer. “And calm down. Panicking won’t help.” He sucked in a quick breath and followed, his powerful kick immediately taking him several feet below the surface. As he descended, he searched for signs of the boy—and the woman.

Fortunately, light from the huge moon hanging over Lake McKenzie penetrated past the surface, eerily illuminating the cold, silent depths. Luke shuddered before he could help himself. He remembered quite vividly the summer his little brother had almost drowned in the lake and hoped, like that night twenty years ago, everyone walked away having learned a valuable lesson.

Luke looked for bubbles and when he caught sight of a silvery trail rising to the surface, he swam towards it just as a figure rose from the dark depths. It was the woman. She hadn’t seen him yet and when he reached out to get her attention she jerked violently and turned.

Her eyes went huge and her mouth opened, as though he’d startled her. A couple of large bubbles escaped and a flash of panic crossed her features. She flailed then began kicking vigorously for the surface.

Realizing she’d swallowed lake water, Luke followed, grabbing her arm and pulling her upwards as he shot past. The moment their heads broke the surface, she slapped at his hands and fought for breath. Feeling a little guilty for scaring her, he grabbed her shoulders and demanded, “Are you trying to kill yourself?”

She made a feeble attempt to pull away but Luke tightened his grip and ignored the furious accusation in her huge eyes. She glared at him between violent coughing spells and he got the impression she’d like to deck him but was too busy hacking up a lung.

Finally she pushed at his shoulders and croaked, “That distinction’s yours. Now let go.” She shoved him again, and when he reluctantly released her she sucked in a jerky breath and pushed her hair from her face. Realizing she was about to dive, he grabbed her arm and got a foot on his thigh for his trouble.

“Wait, dammit!” he ground out, against the zinging pain that made his teeth hurt. “You wait here.”

“No time,” she snapped. “He’s been under too long.” And with a final yank she slipped free and he was left watching as her bottom and long legs disappeared beneath the surface.

Cursing stubborn independent women, Luke inhaled deeply and followed her into the cold depths. He’d been about to suggest that he take his turn looking. Guess not.

For someone already half-frozen, she moved with surprising speed through the water and he watched with reluctant admiration as long pale legs disappeared into the darkness. Unused to letting someone else act in an emergency, Luke used his big arms and legs to his advantage.

Finally, when his lungs began to burn and the need for air was forcing him to consider surfacing, Luke spotted movement to his left. Turning, he caught sight of a mermaid rising from the darkened depths. In the shifting silvery light her long curvy body and cloud of pale hair floating behind her reminded him of mystical creatures luring mortals to their watery doom.

Only this naiad was struggling sluggishly to save one. Streaking towards her, he wrapped an arm around the boy’s chest, hooked his free hand beneath her armpit, and propelled them upwards with a few powerful kicks.

The instant they surfaced, her eyes met his in a long silent stare as she raggedly sucked in air. Before he could interpret her look or wonder at the weird flash of familiarity—or was it déjà vu?—she’d moved to support the exhausted girl. Luke was happy to let her go. He would rather take on a village of hostiles than deal with hysterical females.

He adjusted his hold on the boy and ordered, “Try to keep up,” over his shoulder before striking out for the shore a couple of hundred yards away.

They needed to hurry. One glimpse of the kid’s face told him Trent had suffered a head injury and was unresponsive. He only hoped the cold had slowed his vitals and they could revive him without permanent brain damage. The kid had been under at least ten minutes. Maybe longer.

He spotted a rubber dinghy speeding towards them and soon hands were reaching down to pull Trent aboard. Luke was relieved to let them. The faster they began CPR and got the kid warmed up, the better.

He helped the coed aboard before placing both hands beneath the woman’s scantily clad bottom and shoving her upwards. Finally, he hauled himself over the side just as the twin engines rumbled.

By the time they pulled up to the marina wharf a crowd had gathered. Several men rushed forward to lift their patient off the dinghy and Luke moved to help secure the boat.

The woman, looking cold but spectacular in a slinky leopard-print bra and teeny matching boy shorts, pushed past him and scrambled onto the pier, her low, smooth voice saying, “Stand back, I’m a doctor.” She dropped to her knees and put her ear to the boy’s chest before gently prising open his eyelids. Luke moved closer, urging the crowd back.

“Give us some room, folks,” he said. “Anyone call 911?”

“On their way,” someone replied, and shoved his clothing at him.

“Uh, thanks,” Luke said absently, his attention already on the expert way the woman was performing CPR. He knelt down and faced her across the boy’s prone body.

“Can you do mouth-to-mouth?” she asked, counting the compressions she executed.

“Hell no, lady,” he said with a snort, and placed his hands over hers. “I’ll do compressions. You breathe.”

She slid her hands away and sat back, shoving ropes of sopping hair off her face. “Fine,” she snapped, her expression annoyed. “But keep up a steady rhythm and stop when I tell you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, his gaze dropping to her wide, lush mouth. “You just give that boy the kiss of life.”

Lilah didn’t know how long they worked on the unconscious student but she was grateful for the huge guy’s assistance. He seemed to know what he was doing, like he’d done it before. She watched him correctly place his big hands and perform the exact number of compressions before pausing so she could inflate the boy’s lungs.

The muscles in her arms and legs burned, quivering from the cold as much as from physical exertion. She was clearly out of shape. What made it worse was that the guy didn’t even look fazed or out of breath. As though he regularly went swimming in freezing water to save drowning victims.

Maybe he did, she mused, absently noting wide, muscular shoulders, zero body fat and the impressive bulge of biceps as he crouched over her patient. But then again, it might have something to do with all that testosterone pumping off his big, hard body like a nuclear reactor. She could literally feel his heat reaching across the boy’s body and wished she could borrow some of it.

He flashed her a concerned look, and Lilah knew what he was thinking. It didn’t look good. She felt for a pulse just beneath their patient’s jaw and thought she felt a tiny flutter. But when she moved her fingers slightly there was nothing.

She frowned and put her ear at his mouth. “I think I felt something,” she murmured, searching for a pulse again.

“Keep breathing,” the big guy ordered sharply, without breaking rhythm. “And don’t stop until his pulse is steady and strong.” Of course Lilah wasn’t about to give up. She hadn’t spent long minutes submerged in a cold, dark nightmare, thinking she was going to join Trent in a watery grave, to give up now.

They again fell into a grim, silent rhythm until she finally felt the tiniest muscle contraction beneath her hand. She reared back just as Trent’s body jerked once, twice and then water began spewing from his lungs in huge spasmodic bursts. Applause and cheering broke the tense silence as she and her companion exchanged a brief glance of shared relief. Trent might not be out of the woods yet, but he was back.

Sucking in a deep breath, Lilah felt her body sag. Thank God, she thought as the boy coughed and wheezed. That breathing—ragged and painful as it appeared—was the most beautiful sound in the world … as was the distant wail of sirens.

Pushing back the kid’s wet hair to check his head wound, Lilah was unaware she was shaking until a large warm hand encased her trembling fingers. Instant heat and electricity shot up her arm, making her skin buzz. Startled, her gaze flew up and she got caught in eyes as deep and green and calm as the lake waters in summer.

Crinkles appeared at the corners and Lilah’s heart gave a slow lazy tumble in her chest that she quickly blamed on the recent crisis.

“You did great,” he said in a rough, dark bedroom voice. His darkened gaze dropped briefly to her mouth before lifting once more to lock with hers. His mouth kicked up at one corner. “It was obviously the kiss that did it. He’s a lucky guy.”

Feeling her face heat, Lilah slid her hand from his and focused her attention on examining the boy. “You just didn’t want people to know you kissed a guy,” she snorted softly and reached for a black T-shirt nearby, pressing it to the bleeding head wound. His deep chuckle vibrated the space between them and made her breath catch in her chest. Or maybe that was just because she was finally coming down off the adrenalin high.

“I can’t imagine him liking it any more than I would.” He was silent a moment before his large hand reached out to squeeze her shoulder. “Seriously, they’re lucky you saw them.”

Lilah stilled beneath his disturbing touch and his words. “Someone else would have helped.” She looked up briefly as he rose. “You did.”

“Couldn’t let you have all the fun,” he said, and something heavy dropped around her shoulders. Lilah was instantly enveloped in the warm, clean smell of virile man.

Without lifting her head, she snuggled into the garment and checked her patient’s pupil reaction. “Do you know where you are?” she asked.

Trent opened his mouth and “Wha-a-at?” emerged on a ragged breath, as though his throat had been scraped raw.

“Stay still a moment,” she said, gently soothing him when he made to sit up. “The paramedics are on their way.”

He frowned and blinked. “Paramedics?” he rasped, his bewildered gaze clinging to hers, as though he was afraid she would vanish if he blinked.

“Do you know where you are?” she asked, just as someone cried, “Trent?” and the next thing the young coed was dropping down beside him. He turned to blink up at her for a couple of beats and Lilah held her breath. He croaked, “Tiff?” and the girl fell against him, laughing and crying.

Lilah exhaled with noisy relief. If he remembered his girlfriend’s name, his head injury wasn’t too serious. She heard someone say the paramedics had arrived and rose to give the lovebirds a few moments of privacy. Within minutes Trent was being hooked up to a portable IV and loaded onto a stretcher.

“Is this really necessary?” he demanded weakly, as Lilah rattled off instructions to the ambulance crew.

“Yes,” she said, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. “But it should only be overnight. Depending on that head wound and the results of the CT scan.”

“My head hurts.” He frowned. “What happened?”

“You don’t remember?” the big guy asked, as he appeared beside them.

Trent thought for a minute. “No. The last thing I remember was dancing with Tiff and then … and then people around us were jumping into the lake.”

The rest of his answer was drowned out by the arrival of a group of tipsy women noisily pushing through the crowd. Before Lilah could question Trent further she was being enthusiastically hugged by her friends and peppered with demands about what had happened.

“You were with us one minute, the next you were flying out the window,” Angie, a colleague from ER, laughed as she squeezed Lilah. “Heck, if we’d known you were planning a public striptease of your own, we’d have been there to cheer you on instead of that sleazy toy boy.”

“And thank God you’re wearing your good underwear,” Jenna Richards, obstetrician and bride-to-be, added. “Imagine if you’d been prancing around in laundry-day undies?”

“Oh, horror,” Angie gasped, and everyone laughed, clearly still buzzed from the evening’s festivities.

Lilah pushed a hank of wet hair from her forehead and shoved first one arm then the other through the bomber jacket’s sleeves. Now that the emergency was over, she was very conscious of the fact that she was practically naked beneath the butter-soft leather.

A cool breeze brushed her bare legs, raising an army of goose bumps and she burrowed deeper into the voluminous folds. She was freezing.

“Let’s go,” she said, pushing her way through the group, suddenly eager to get somewhere private—and maybe order a couple of brandies. For medicinal purposes, of course.

Sensing no one was following her, Lilah looked over her shoulder and found thirteen pairs of eyes studying her with an array of expressions varying from curiosity to narrow-eyed speculation.

“What?”

“Do you two know each other?” Jenna demanded, craning her neck to look through the crowd of bystanders.

Lilah frowned. “Who? Trent?”

There was general confusion but it was Angie who demanded, “Trent? Who’s Trent?”

“The boy I—”

“We’re talking about Lucky Luke,” Jenna interrupted, gesturing wildly to the people crowding around the big guy whose gaze was locked on Lilah. Her breath caught beneath that intense gaze but she must have looked baffled because Jenna’s mouth dropped open to a chorus of gasps.

“You don’t know?” She looked shocked.

“Know what?”

“And the lucky girl just happened to see Dr. Hunk of the Decade in his skivvies,” another voice drawled. “Did you know his father’s a cyber-tech billionaire?”

Lilah followed the direction of the woman’s predatory look. “Dr who?”

“Sullivan,” Jenna prodded. “You know? The assistant director of medicine Sullivan?”

It was Lilah’s turn to look shocked. “But … but … I thought the ADM was a … woman?”

“Honey,” Angie said, her face lighting up with a wicked grin, “Harriet Sullivan is a woman. You just got an up-close-and-personal view of her nephew, Dr. Tall, Dark and Buff, practically in the … well, the buff.”