by Madison Faye
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Chapter Two
Jack
My blood burns like fire in my veins, my jaw clenching tight as the growl rumbles deep in my chest.
Motherfucker.
This ain’t good, for a number of reasons. I guess the first one being that I’ve got two holes in my body that weren’t there when I woke up this morning. A couple more scars on the roadmap of my body—added to the rest of the collection from a lifetime of violence. The second one being the reason I’ve got these bullet holes in me.
Yeah, the mob doesn’t fuck around, especially when you tell Victor Lombardo you’re quitting without notice. You don’t spend your life killing for the mob and doing their dirty work and then just “quit,” or at least, you don’t do it easily, or with your head still attached by the time it’s over. And you definitely don’t do it the way I did, believe me.
I blink, and I grunt as the flashbacks begin to blaze through my head: the shouting, the escalation, the realization that I was not going to just walk out of that room. Victor’s guys are fast, but I’m faster, and by the time I went crashing through that second story plate-glass window onto the awning of the meat shop under it, six of Victor’s guys were lying dead on the floor.
I got out, but barely, and it’s not over by a fucking mile. I know by now, Victor’s guys have gotta be set up outside the airport, and definitely the train stations. They’re probably watching the local car rental spots too, and it’s a matter of time before his dragnet sweep of this city catches me up in it. It’s a matter of when, not if, of him and his men finding me here.
The handcuffs are a problem, but they’re not even third on the list of problems. I can pick these easy and get the fuck out of here right goddamn now. I can follow through with the plan, and get my shit, and get my ass to the airport. The forged passport cost me a small fortune, but it’s the only way I’m getting out of here. But, no, the handcuffs aren’t the problem.
A blood-thirsty mob boss looking for vengeance isn’t even my problem right now, nor are the wounds on my body. I’ve had worse, and wounds will heal. Victor can be outsmarted or shot down.
Nah, none of that shit is my biggest problem right now. Right now, my problem is her.
Aria.
I growl, my blood burning like diesel fuel through me as my pulse quickens. Waking up to her over me was like waking up to an angel. The last damn thing I remember is blood and pain and the sound of smashing metal. I’m bleeding out, and fading out, and as the darkness dims my vision, my last thought is just being so damn angry that I’m going to fade out like this, in a stupid fucking car crash, after a life of violence and gunfire.
But then I woke up to light, and goodness, and the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, dressed in white. At first, I thought I was fucking dead, and that beyond all odds, I was in heaven. But even after my head cleared and I realized I was still with the living I might as well have been.
Aria Linetti.
I close my eyes, my hands clenching the rails of my hospital bed with iron grips. I growl deeply, my mind replying the soft and yet sassy sound of her voice, and those perfect, soft, full lips. The long dark hair, the gorgeous baby blue eyes. The full swell of her breasts under that white coat, and the curve of hips that simply begged for my hands that not even hospital scrubs could hide.
And just like it did before, my cock throbs between my legs. I groan, feeling the blood pump into it, making it swell and making my balls tingle as they fill with cum.
…No woman ever, anywhere, in my entire thirty years on this earth, has made me feel like this. Not a single woman has knocked my legs out from under me like this and gotten me so fucking deep and hooked into her in seconds like Aria has.
And so that’s my problem. It’s not the mob, it’s not my wounds, and it’s not that I’m chained to this bed. It’s that there’s no goddamn way I’m leaving here without her. It’s that I’ve laid eyes on the one thing I want more than anything else in this world.
Doctor Aria Linetti is going to be mine.
She just doesn’t know it yet.
Chapter Three
Aria
My hands shake as I shove the coffee cup under the Keurig machine and jam the button on. Great, a trauma surgeon with shaky hands and shot nerves. Wonderful.
I swallow the hot coffee quickly when it’s done—too quickly, really, and I swear as the liquid burns my tongue a little. I whirl, pacing the lounge, my pulse racing as I try and replay what just happened.
Yeah, so, that was not good. None of that was good. In fact, everything that just happened is arguable grounds for him to file a complaint to the hospital and get me on some serious probation. Probably, at least. I’ve never looked too hard at the regulations on doctor-patient sexual harassment because, you know, I’ve never been fucking crazy enough to kiss one of my patients.
Or ogle his cock. Or lust after him. Or stare at him with my heart racing imagining him pinning me across that hospital bed and having his freaking way with me.
Fucking hell.
I squeeze my eyes shut, sucking in breaths of air. This is ridiculous. I need to shake this absurdity out of my head, transfer off of this rotation, get Jack a new freaking doctor, and hope to everything holy that he forgets about all of this with his next dose of pain meds.
I frown, chewing on my lip. He did kiss me, right? I’m not rewriting history to make myself feel better, am I? It’s not that I let my roaring desires for this ridiculously hot man blend with my complete lack of sex life and mix into some sort of super-crazy psychosis, right? But no. I close my eyes and think back, and he definitely kissed me. We’ll forget the part where I kissed him back, eagerly.
I storm over to my locker and grab some clean clothes before slipping behind the curtain across the designated changing corner of the break room. I slip off my scrubs and pull on my skirt and blouse for my rounds, pulling my coat back on before stepping back out.
No, he kissed me, so that lets me off the hook, right? We can chalk that up to his medications or being loopy after surgery. I’m sure the next time I walk in there, he’ll either be asleep, or he’ll be awkwardly apologizing, to which I can put on my doctor smile again and assure him that it’s perfectly natural to be out of sorts after anesthesia.
Yeah, it’s perfectly normal for your monster cock to swell into a huge erection, and for you to growl dirty things into your attending doctor’s ear, and then to kiss her, after life-threatening surgery.
Yeah, right.
I slug back the rest of my coffee, steeling myself to head back out to the rest of my rounds, when the door to the lounge swings open, and Courtney, the on-duty internist, waltzes in, her blonde hair piled high in her customary bun.
“Have you seen the guy in room twelve?”
I groan. Yes. Yes, I have. In fact, I was just kissing him about ten minutes ago.
“Uh, yeah, I was the surgeon.”
She whistles and fans herself. “I mean, hello, right?”
I blush. “Courtney!”
“What!” she laughs. “You heard about the debate team down in the ER intake lobby who all ate the same e-coli infected pizza from that sketchy place by the university, right?” She blanches. “Girl, I’ve been dealing with shit—literal shit—down there all night.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Jesus, no. That’s pretty bad.”
“Yeah! Yeah, it is! So, let me eye-fuck your patient a little without judgement, okay? I deserve this.”
I laugh. “Alright, alright. No judgment.”
You know, glass houses and all. I decide it’s probably a good idea to not mention that the gorgeous patient handcuffed to the bed also has a porn star cock.
“Was he handcuffed, by the way?”
“Hmmm?” I blink, blushing as I pull myself out of my reverie.
“The hottie in room twelve. He’s handcuffed to the bed.”
“Oh, yeah,” I murmur distractedly. “Yeah, he’s apparently a person of
interest. The cops are going to talk to him about some stuff when he’s more awake.”
She arches her brows. “Jesus.”
“Yeah.”
“Alright, well, I need to get back—”
“Hey, do you want him?” I blurt out.
She frowns. “Pardon?”
“I mean on your rounds. I’m beat, and I’ve got a ton of other people to check in on right now. I dunno, just, if you want to scoop him up into your own rotations, he’s all yours.”
She peers at me curiously. “What’s the catch?”
I laugh. “No catch.”
I just can’t go back in that room after I fucking kissed him.
Courtney arches a brow skeptically. “Really.”
“Honestly, yes, I just have a really full plate as is, and—”
“Doctor Linetti?”
Caleb, one of the nurses on duty, pokes his head in the room.
“Sorry to interrupt, but your gunshot patient needs you.”
I swallow and swivel my eyes back to Courtney.
“He’s actually Doctor Santos’s patient now.”
Courtney smirks and wags her brows at me, but Caleb clears his throat.
“I’m sorry, Doctor Linetti, but he’s very insistent on it being you.”
“Caleb, like I said—”
“Very insistent,” Caleb growls, and I suddenly see the strain and bottled anger on the normally extremely easy-going nurse’s face.
Shit.
I sigh. “Okay, okay fine. I’m coming.” I glance at Courtney. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” she mopes. “I’ll just go back to the debate team. Twelve years of higher education to clean up shit. Super.”
I laugh and give her a sympathetic look before I follow Caleb out of the lounge.
Back to him.
Back to temptation.
Back to the man who makes me forget every rule I have.
Chapter Four
Jack
“Okay, Mr. Corbin, is it?”
I frown and glance up to see an all-America, corn-fed-looking blonde motherfucker smiling away at me.
“What.”
“Mr. Corbin, I’m Caleb, your attending nurse. How’re we feeling?”
“We’re feeling like I just got shot, twice,” I grunt.
Caleb laughs. “Well, feeling it is a good thing, if you get what I’m saying. We’ve had gun victims in here who can’t feel anything afterwards, and that’s a whole other sto—”
“What can I do for you, Caleb.”
He smiles. “Well, I’m actually here for your post-op follow-up. Get some vitals, check those bandages—”
“Ar—” I frown. “Doctor Linetti already checked my wounds.”
Caleb looks surprised. “Oh? Well, no harm in checking them again. Also, I’m going to give you a quick sponge bath and get you into a gown to make you more comfortable.”
I frown. “No, you’re not.”
He smiles. “Mr. Corbin, I think you’ll be much more comfortable—”
“I’m plenty comfortable considering I just got shot, twice,” I growl. “I don’t need a gown.”
“Mr. Corbin, you’re not wearing anything.”
“Fine, then how about some scrubs or something.”
Caleb chuckles. “Okay, Mr. Corbin, let’s just get this done, okay? We’ll start with the sponge—”
“Yeah, not happening.”
He sighs. “Mr. Corbin, this is standard post-op procedure. You need to be sure you’re clean after the wounds you’ve sustained and the surgery you’ve just gone through.”
“Then leave it, I’ll wash myself.”
“Mr. Corbin—”
“You’re not touching me with a fucking soapy sponge, blondie.”
Caleb smiles that smile that really says, “I want to tell you to fuck yourself but I’m going to smile instead.”
“Mr. Corbin, I’m a nurse. I’m a professional. If this is about my being a guy, believe me, I get no pleasure in this. Not that it matters in the damn slightest, but I’m married, to a woman, if that eases your—”
I snort. “Caleb, I don’t give a shit who you like to fuck. This isn’t about you being gay or straight, no one touches me. Not when I’m chained to a fucking bed.”
Caleb groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Mr. Corbin,” he growls, clearly at the end of his patience. I do have that gift with people.
“Mr. Corbin, this is happening. It’s hospital protocol. If you’re that hung up about me—”
“Buddy, no one is touching me,” I growl. “End of fucking discussion.”
He scowls at me, I scowl right back at him in this standoff, before suddenly, I open my mouth.
“Doctor Linetti.”
He frowns. “Excuse me?”
“Doctor Linetti can do it.”
“Mr. Corbin, doctors don’t—”
“It’s her or nothing.”
His jaw clenches and he folds his arms over his chest. But finally, he sighs. “I’ll get the doctor,” he snarls.
“Thanks, blondie,” I mutter as he walks out.
I smirk as I turn to glance out the window. The van that was parked out there when I first woke up is still there. It could be anything, and I could just be being paranoid, but the passenger side window is cracked, and I can see cigarette smoke curling out of it. I snort.
Amateurs. They sent amateurs. A pro would just lay low and wait. The rookies are the ones who are losing their minds by hour three of a stakeout, hence the chain-smoking out the window. It’s a dead giveaway, and I’m almost insulted that Victor didn’t send pros to keep an eye on me. But it lets me know that he knows I’m here.
…My timeline is shrinking, fast.
“Mr. Corbin.”
I smile at the sound of her voice, and I turn my gaze from the window to let my eyes slide over her. Fuck, she’s even more beautiful the second time seeing her. And she’s changed, too. She’s in a skirt now that lets me get an eyeful of those sexy fucking legs, and a blouse that actually hugs her curves a little more than scrubs did. I drink in the way she moves across the floor—sensuality mixed with the power-stride of a woman who know what she wants and isn’t afraid to take charge. My pulse quickens and my jaw tightens.
Fuck, do I want her.
My lips remember the taste of her the second I see her again, and my hands ache to hold her tight. My cock swells under the sheets, like it can smell her, and knows that she’s mine to take.
“Doctor Linetti,” I smile.
“I don’t appreciate patients giving my nurses shit, Mr. Corbin.”
“I wasn’t, I was just stating—”
“Caleb has a job to do, Mr. Corbin. As do I,” she adds sharply. “And I don’t give sponge baths,” she murmurs.
I smile hungrily.
“Oh, I was seeing if you needed one, doc.”
Her cheeks flush pink, and she rolls her eyes. It occurs to me that this is the kind of woman who simply hasn’t been told enough, or at all, how fucking gorgeous she is. Reading people is what I do—well, aside from killing them—and the look on her face at my words says it all. Somehow, by some massive cosmic fuckup, no man, or not enough men, have told this woman how stunning she is, because I don’t think she actually knows it, and that’s a fucking crime.
“Come here,” I growl.
Her brows shoot up, and her teeth rake over her bottom lip.
“Mr. Corbin—”
“Come here,” I growl, coaxing her over with a curl of my fingers. I can see the war going on behind her eyes—that she doesn’t want to “give in,” that she’s a woman in the medical world who’s probably put up with a whole fucking lot of men telling her what to do.
But then there’s the other half—the primal, instinctual part. The part of her that wants me to tell her what to do. The part of her that wants to give in and come to me right there. “Let’s get something straight, Mr. Corbin,” she says quietly. “What happened earlier…”
I sit up in the bed with a grunt, and she frowns.
“Lie back! You’ll pull a stitch.”
I shrug. “I think I need medical assistance to lie back down. Don’t want to hurt myself.”
Her lips purse, but I can see the spark in her eyes, and I grin. She moves towards me, her lips pursed, and I can see the way she swallows thickly as her face burns hot.
“What happened earlier, doc,” I growl as she moves to the edge of the bed. I reach out with my uncuffed hand, and she gasps as I slide it over her waist and around to the small of her back.
“No,” she whispers with zero force behind it. “No, Mr. Cor—”
“Jack,” I grunt. “Just call me Jack, Aria.”
“That can’t—this is not happening again,” she breathes.
“Yeah,” I grunt, my hand feeling the muscles of her back coil through her blouse and white coat. I pull her towards me, and she gasps as she comes willingly, moving closer until she’s pressed tight to the edge of the bed, looking into my eyes with me sitting up. Fire blazes between us, and I know this is more than just desire. This is more than me having not touched a woman in close to two years.
This is an unstoppable force. This is magnetism. This is gravity, slamming us together. And I know right here, without a doubt, that my plans have changed, irrevocably. Because now, my plans involve her, or they don’t happen at all. I look into her eyes, and I know this only ends one way.
… With her in my arms, mine.
“Yeah, beautiful,” I growl fiercely. “It can. And I know you want it to.”
I move in, my lips crush to hers, and she moans into the kiss as she sinks into me. I groan, my one hand tight against her back, gripping her possessively. She opens her mouth for my tongue, panting into my mouth as I groan, the fire blazing though me. My hand slides over her curvy hip, pushing down one thigh and making her breath catch as she kisses me.
I push my hand down to her knee, and then slowly, it starts to move back up, this time under her skirt. Aria stiffens, but when she whimpers into my mouth, I know how bad she wants this. I know she knows how bad this is, too—she gets how wrong this is, but she can’t say no, same as me. I groan into her lips and slide my hand higher, teasing over her bare inner thigh as she gasps and whimpers into my lips.