Читать книгу In His Corner - Vina Arno - Страница 6

He walked into the Emergency Department as if he owned it. Dr. Siena Carr was struck by his swagger—part gigolo and part caveman. Total alpha male. Even the automatic doors swooned at the sight of him, making a sighing sound as they closed behind.

She stood at the back of the receptionist’s counter, cradling the phone receiver between her ear and her shoulder, the ringing phone on the other end of the line forgotten as he approached.

His appearance screamed tough guy: torn jeans and faded hoodie, tall build—around six feet—broad shoulders, and cropped dark hair, like he had just gotten out of a military boot camp. Although he was clean-shaven, his lips were raw and swollen. And he had a bloody gauze bandage above his left eye.

Stitches. He had a nasty cut that would require stitching. His face was battered, and yet handsome, dangerously so. Like he was up to no good.

“I need a doctor,” he told Nancy, the ED clerk.

His voice was gruff, a tad loud, considering he was the only patient at the counter. At seven in the evening on Tuesday, the ED at the Golden State Medical Center was almost deserted. The peak hour on weekdays was around one in the afternoon. More than a dozen people had arrived at the same time that day, their complaints ranging from food poisoning to flu-like symptoms to kidney stones. Siena had been tied up until five. There was usually a lull in the evening before it got busy again late at night.

Nancy bolted up from her chair. She gave him a clipboard, a pen, and a form to fill out. He murmured a thank you and displayed his alpha-male strut once more as he proceeded to the waiting area.

The man must have come in by mistake. Golden State was a private hospital in the affluent neighborhood of Pacific Heights in San Francisco. Patients who were rushed here included yuppie women delivering premature babies, wealthy middle-aged men suffering from dehydration after running the San Francisco Marathon, and spoiled brats who were injured after crashing their parents’ Jaguars. A CAT scan cost more than nine thousand dollars. It was not the hospital for brawlers or the uninsured, which this guy could very well be, judging by his clothes and facial injuries.

Nancy turned to Siena, mouthing, “Oh, my God!”

Siena put the phone receiver down. Her mentor, Dr. Helen Liu, hadn’t answered her call. She approached the clerk. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, my God! That’s the Juggernaut!”

“The what?”

“The Juggernaut! He’s sooo cute.” Nancy, who was in her late forties, was behaving like a starstruck teenager.

“He looks like Scarface, not a juggernaut.”

“He’s more handsome in person than his pictures in Sports Illustrated.”

“Sports Illustrated? That guy?”

“Oh, Dr. Carr, really.” Nancy curled her lips into a frown. “The Juggernaut was all over the place last summer—Sports Illustrated, ESPN, CNN, all the newspapers. He was the first American boxer to win a gold medal at the Olympics in twelve years. He seriously kicked some butts in London. He’s famous for his brutal knockouts. That’s why he’s called the Juggernaut. He won the Global Amateur Boxing championship when he was just nineteen years old. Can you imagine that?”

No, Siena couldn’t. She was clueless about boxing or any kind of sport.

“After the Olympics, he began training full time because he’s turning pro. He has an upcoming fight in Las Vegas. A huge deal. We’re talking a one-million-dollar purse and full pay-per-view coverage—the whole nine yards. It’s all over the news. Didn’t you know that?”

Siena shook her head. Was she supposed to? As if reading her mind, Nancy continued, “The Juggernaut is our homegrown superstar. Everybody in San Francisco is rooting for him.”

Everybody but Siena. She was an East Coast transplant, who was still learning new things about her adopted city after six years of living there. “I didn’t know you were so interested in boxing.”

“Not so much boxing, but the Juggernaut, himself. Everybody in this town loves him, and I’m just like everybody.”

Siena glanced at her wristwatch and sighed. “Did he have to come here fifty minutes before my shift ends? He could have gone to San Francisco General.”

As an ED attending physician, a ten-hour shift was common. Between her job and her volunteer activities, she’d been working twelve hours every day the past week. She was exhausted.

“I think it’s a blessing in disguise that he came here,” said Nancy. “The Juggernaut is hot, and his Facebook relationship status shows he’s single. You know what I mean?” She flapped a hand to fan herself, emphasizing just how much he sizzled.

Siena arched an eyebrow. Was Nancy implying that Siena was on the prowl? Did Nancy know she was newly single? She let it slide. “I’m going to try Dr. Liu again. Ask a triage nurse to prep him. I’ll take a look at him in ten minutes.”

Nancy nodded, but her mind seemed to be on something else. She gave the doctor an admiring look. “You have the loveliest complexion, just like porcelain. You can get away without makeup. Lucky for you.”

It was enough to make Siena self-conscious. “Do I look too pale?” She was indoors most of the time, while the summer whizzed by. She ran her fingers through her hair. Her layers could use a trim, if only she had the time for a haircut.

“I said porcelain, not pale. I’m complimenting you. You look gorgeous. Those beauty spots look precious. Like Marilyn Monroe, you know. Mark my word—the Juggernaut will go gaga over you.” She pinched Siena’s arm in a playful manner.

Nancy’s effort at matchmaker was not only inappropriate, but unappreciated. Siena didn’t know how to say it without sounding rude. She was fond of Nancy, so she bit her tongue.

“I’m teasing, Dr. Carr.”

“I can see that.”

She made the phone call, finally getting hold of her mentor. They agreed to meet for coffee the next day, to talk about Siena’s interest in a research job in New York.

She strode inside the emergency room, just as the nurse, Jonah, was leaving. He handed her the patient’s clipboard. “I cleaned up his cut and administered local anesthesia. He got injured while sparring about forty-five minutes ago. He’s all yours, Dr. Carr.” Jonah winked, which gave Siena pause. Did everyone at the hospital think she was looking for a boyfriend?

Jonah’s reaction reinforced the nagging feeling that everyone knew about her breakup. It was impossible to hide it since Dr. Michael Feldman also worked at the same hospital. How irritating that people were gossiping about her love life. She went straight to the sink, her back to the patient. She dropped the clipboard on the counter and washed her hands. When she turned around, she gasped. “What are you doing?”

The Juggernaut was undressing. Before she could say another word, he was naked. A glorious sight that sent her heart racing and her face burning. Did he know that he looked like a sculpture by Michelangelo? Except for the tattoo on his right shoulder, this man was David incarnate.

She looked away abruptly, grabbing the clipboard. She didn’t even know his name! She looked at his paperwork. Tommy Raines. “Mr. Raines, please put on your clothes.”

She continued scanning his form. Occupation: boxer. Age: twenty-two. Weight: 160 pounds. Height: six feet. Blood type: O positive. No pre-existing health conditions. His temperature and blood pressure were normal. Reason for ER visit: a cut sustained from sparring.

She faced him. Thank God, he was clothed again.

“Sorry about that,” he said. “I thought you’re supposed to check me out.”

Did he just say check him out? “Mr. Raines, this is an ER, not a bar. I don’t check out patients. Do you mean to say check up?”

He smiled. “Yeah, check up.”

“I’m going to take care of your cut, but I’m not doing a checkup. If you need one, you should go to your primary care doctor.”

“I don’t like doctors. I avoid hospitals and clinics as much as possible, but my cut kept bleeding even after I showered. So here I am.”

Doctors were, indeed, the last resort for macho guys who thought they were invincible. She didn’t need a vote of confidence, but a dose of tact would have been nice.

“Please sit down.” She pointed at the bed.

She crossed the room to pick up a pair of latex gloves from a cabinet. She drew a deep breath as she put them on. It was unnerving. First, Nancy and Jonah both insinuated that she was hunting for a boyfriend. Only five weeks after her breakup, she was as vulnerable as a gaping wound. Their teasing didn’t help. Second, this Juggernaut man had stripped in front of her, jarring her composure.

No matter. She turned around to face him. “Well, let’s have a look at you.”

“You’re too young to be a doctor.” He was sitting on the bed, his feet swinging.

“Excuse me?”

“How old are you?” He was appraising her from head to toe.

Her face bloomed with heat as her blood pressure rose. How rude! “Mr. Raines, I graduated summa cum laude from Princeton University with a bachelor’s degree in biology. I graduated cum laude from UC San Francisco School of Medicine. I completed two years of residency training in emergency medicine at San Francisco General Hospital. I assure you I’m a bona fide, board-certified MD, and I’m more than qualified to treat you.”

“So, how old are you?” His eyes were wide, curious, and childlike.

“I just turned twenty-six. If you have a problem with that, then you can wait for Dr. Rowland. He’s about fifty years old. His shift begins at eight o’clock.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you. In fact, I’m very impressed. I’ve never met a doctor as young and beautiful as you are.”

“Oh.” She drew back. Talk about overreacting.

It was standard operating procedure for the attending physician to question the patient. She should ask him how he got the cut, but the prospect of engaging him in a conversation was agitating. She picked up the clipboard again and stared at it. Nothing came to mind. Not one question. It was as if she’d walked into the wrong job. No one had ever made her this uncomfortable and uncertain in her own ER before. So, never mind that. The information in the form was good enough.

She examined his face. Focus, she told herself. His eyes were hazel, boring into her. His breath was warm and rhythmic. He smelled as if he was fresh from the shower—a faint citrusy soap smell, no cologne. Given the hospital’s overpowering disinfectant odor, it was a pleasure to sniff him.

Up close, his cut was neat, a straight line on his left eyebrow. It wasn’t bad, as far as wounds go. She proceeded to examine his mouth. He had the most voluptuous lips. If he were a woman, he could give Angelina Jolie a run for her money. His lower lip was swollen, but not busted.

“The good news, Mr. Raines, is that you only need stitches here.” She touched his left eyebrow lightly. “The location is good. This spot is not as sensitive as the skin around the eyes. I promise you I won’t leave any scar.”

“Tommy.”

His unexpected response forced her to look him in the eye. “Excuse me?”

“Please call me Tommy.”

“Tommy.”

“That’s better.”

Their eyes locked for just a moment, but her heart pounded. She stepped backward. Why was she nervous? It was a simple procedure she’d done many times. She brushed the feeling aside.

“Before I do the stitches…are you hurting anywhere else?”

He patted the left side of his rib cage.

“Please take off your shirt so I can take a look.”

He pulled his white T-shirt off and let it fall on the floor. He remained perched on the bed.

It was impossible not to gawk at the rippling abs, the taut biceps, and yes, the tattoo. There was no denying his virile beauty, his luminous youth. No wonder Nancy was overawed by him. It was easy to feel that way.

“I’m Catholic. That’s the Virgin Mary on my shoulder in case you’re wondering. I got the tattoo when my mom was very sick.”

“I see.” She cleared her throat. She almost blurted out that she was Catholic, too, but she shared only necessary information with patients. It was best to simply listen.

The Virgin Mary’s face was small against his wide shoulder, her hair and veil flowing gracefully on his well-sculpted upper arm. Although the tattoo was that of a woman, the black ink gave it a masculine effect.

“Some people get down on their knees to pray. Me—I got a tattoo.”

She acknowledged him with a nod. He stated it as fact, but there was sadness in his voice. She examined his bruised ribs, pushing her right palm against them. “Does this hurt?”

“A little.”

“Did you hear a popping noise? Do you feel like something’s moving?”

“No.”

There was discoloration on his skin, a patch of red that was beginning to turn blue. No swelling at least. She pushed harder on various spots. He didn’t flinch. His body was rock hard. “No fractures, just bruises.” She took a hospital gown from the counter and gave it to him. “Please put this on.”

He acquiesced.

“Okay, I’m going to stitch you up. Are you ready?”

“My life is in your hands.” He gave her an irresistible smile.

She stood before him. Their faces were so close to each other he could probably hear the hammering of her heart. She touched his wound to make sure the anesthesia was working. “Does this feel numb?”

“Yeah.”

He trained his eyes on her like a laser beam. Between his gaze and her galloping heart, how was she supposed to do her work? She tilted her head away from him. “Can you close your eyes, please?”

He smiled, then obeyed.

Fifteen minutes later, it was over. She examined the stitches, marveling at his face—high cheek bones, aquiline nose, beautiful lips that needed healing. No man as attractive as he had ever walked into her ER before. It was reason enough to make any woman, doctor or not, excited. Who was the Juggernaut? What was he all about?

“You can open your eyes now.”

When he did, she stepped back, unable to stand his gaze. “You have seven stitches. They have to be removed in five days. Come back here on Sunday.”

“I have to come back here?” He hopped off the bed, removed the hospital gown, and put on his shirt.

“You don’t have to, but your ER fee covers the removal of the stitches. If you go somewhere else, you’ll be paying for a service you’ve already paid for. It’s up to you.”

He nodded. “Will you be here on Sunday?”

“No. But another doctor will take care of you.”

He seemed disappointed, but he thanked her for the stitches.

She went to the sink to wash her hands, relieved the procedure was over. She turned around. “Put ice on your bruises. Take ibuprofen if your forehead hurts.”

He leaned against the bed, his gaze fastened on hers. “What does S stand for?”

“Excuse me?” The man liked to say things out of the blue.

He pointed at the left side of her scrub blouse.

She glanced down at the embroidery that read S. Carr, MD. “It stands for Siena, with one n. I was named after a small city in Italy.”

“Are you Italian?”

“No. But my parents love Italy. I’m very fond of it as well.” That was an understatement. She was bound to Italy spiritually. Every visit there was so exhilarating that it touched her soul.

“Siena.” His voice sounded like a caress; his stare was like a kiss.

Warmth spread across her face. “No sparring for at least two weeks, okay?”

“Two weeks?” He poked out his bottom lip. He looked like a boy.

Boyish face and sturdy physique. The combination was giving her palpitations. Good looks alone had never impressed her. This man had something else altogether—presence, disarming directness, power. If she stayed another second, she was in danger of proving Nancy and Jonah right. She must leave. Pronto.

“Good luck.” She turned on her heels.

“Siena!”

She stopped, glancing over her shoulder.

“Siena with one n. I like that very much.”

The words Excuse me? were on the tip of her tongue, but she caught herself. “Thank you.”

Determined not to give herself away, she left calmly, though her heart was far from serene.