Rapid Pulse: A Limited Edition Spicy Romance Collection

by Gina Kincade

  “So,” she asked, careful to keep her tone light and even. “What did you do to your hand?”

  “I cut it,” he stated flatly.

  Kate resisted rolling her eyes—barely. “Yes, Mr. Anderson,” she drawled once more in the same tone of voice as Smith from the Matrix movie. If he could be an ass, so could she. “I can see that. How did the injury occur?” she asked studying the exposed cut.

  The torn, jagged edges of the laceration ran across his palm horizontally. Blood seeped from the middle of the gash and dripped onto the sodden towel. Kate grasped a pink plastic basin, several 4 x 4 gauze pads, and hibiclens scrub off the side table. After adding a bit of warm water mixed with the antiseptic skin cleanser to the tub, she held his injured palm over the basin. Next, she ripped open the sterile packaging of gauze and used the pads to soak up some of the blood in order to study the injury better.

  “I was opening a can of soup,” he finally answered in clipped tones. “The lid sliced my hand open.”

  “Not much of a cook?” she teased.

  He said nothing. His icy glare bored into Kate. Why on earth was she goading him? Was it his cold demeanor? The way she could feel his hard stare intently watching every move she made? Kate didn’t know what had gotten into her, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. Something about the man just made her want to push all his buttons and see how far she could push him.

  “This may sting a bit,” she said as she added his hand to the antiseptic skin wash. He hissed when the open wound hit the sudsy pink liquid, but said nothing.

  Mr. Personality had incredible hands, she thought while she worked. Long, tapered fingers, neat trim nails, palms free of callouses. Large hands, too. Hands that could probably bring a woman to her knees and keep her begging for more. The more she thought about what it would feel like to have those hands on her body tugging at the stiff peaks of her breasts and stroking the flat planes of her abdomen; then lower...lower to the apex between her thighs...

  Her stomach fluttered as heat surged deep within her core. Her panties dampened. Dayyumm!! The man was potent. Sulky and petulant though he was. She stole a quick glance at his unshaven face through her lashes. He had a strong jaw with angular cheekbones that made a girl wish he’d bury his face between the valley of her breasts and rub that five o’clock shadow all over her skin, marking her as his. And let’s not pass up on the straight patrician nose and dark brows over those arctic cold blue eyes. Everything about him screamed off limits. An audible sigh left her parted lips. It’s really too bad he isn’t a Matrix fan.

  “Is your tetanus shot up to date?” she asked briskly, returning to the business at hand and trying to ignore how much his hands had turned her on.

  His only answer was a curt shake of his head.

  “Leave your injured hand in the antiseptic wash,” she said stripping off her soiled gloves. Kate aimed for the wastebasket across the room and made a fake hook shot, making a basket. “And she scores,” Kate said with a chuckle. She turned back to Mr. Anderson in time to catch the disapproving frown on his face. “Not a basketball fan, either?” she asked.

  Another quick shake of his head.

  “Well, you’re definitely a man of few words,” she said in an overly-cheerful tone. “Lucky for you, I talk a lot and will probably talk enough for the both of us,” she said and gave him what she thought of as one of her sunniest smiles. He said nothing. Just stared at her with those chilly dark-blue eyes.

  Turning back to the keyboard, she fired off a series of rapid questions to finish off the interview. “Allergic to any medications? Take any prescription medications? Any past medical history the doctor should be aware of?”

  He either shook his head or gave short one or two word answers. He was on an antidepressant and an anti-anxiety med, but overall no serious health conditions.

  Kate stood. “Well, Mr. Anderson, that concludes your time with me. I’ll take you back to a procedure room so that one of our docs can stitch you up. Please keep your hand in the basin and follow me.” Without waiting to see if he followed, she led the way to exam room marked P1 and gestured to the gurney. “You can lay down here,” she said moving to the top of the ER mattress and lifting the head of the bed to a sitting position so that he could be comfortable in a semi-sitting position.

  She helped him get settled onto the thin mattress, then moved the bedside table next to him so that he could rest the pink bucket with his injured hand in it, hoping the placement wouldn’t be too awkward for him.

  “Doctor Ravuri will be with you in a few minutes,” she said and turned to leave when his free hand snaked out and grabbed her arm, halting her. Those long, tapered fingers wrapped around her bare flesh. Heat flared from the strength emanating from him and she could feel the sizzle straight down to her toes, among other places. If she didn’t get a handle on her libido, and soon, she’d need to change her underwear.

  “Stay,” he commanded.

  Brow lifted, Kate glanced pointedly at his firm grip then back at the hard planes of his face. “Mr. Anderson?” she inquired.

  His fingers loosened, but he didn’t let go of her arm. He looked like he was about to freak out, Kate mused, studying the tight lines around his mouth, the beads of sweat along the full upper lip, and the clear panic she saw in those blue eyes. She thought back to his list of meds he took at home and wondered if he was about to have a full blown panic attack.

  “I’m...umm...I’m, ah, not good with hospitals,” he said in a strangled voice. “Please,” he said. “Stay. Your chatter, ah, helps. It distracts me from...”

  His words trailed off and a heavy silence hung between them. Kate wasn’t afraid. She’d been grabbed many times in different patient situations and she knew he meant her no harm. Something had happened to him, she realized. Something bad. Tenderness welled up in her chest and she smiled.

  “Sure,” she said softly. “I’ll stay. Just let me get someone to cover the triage desk for a little while. Okay?”

  With a reluctant nod, he let go of her arm and she left the room. Once all of the arrangements were made, she gathered the necessary supplies needed to stitch up the laceration on his hand, told Dr. Ravuri everything was ready for him in P1, and returned to Mr. Anderson’s side.

  Kate donned a fresh pair of latex free gloves. Taking his hand out of the antiseptic wash, she wrapped it in a clean towel. “Hold up your arm for a sec,” she instructed as she laid down a chux pad onto the bedside table with the absorbent side facing upward and gently placed his injured palm face-up on top of it. Next, she arranged the 4.0 Nylon curved needle, a sterile suture kit, a bottle of Lidocaine to numb the area, gauze, and tape neatly alongside his arm.

  While she worked, she talked about inconsequential things and asking him questions in an attempt to draw him out and distract him. Sometimes he’d nod his head or give a brisk shake in answer, but most of the time he remained silent, watching her with those intense blue eyes.

  When Dr. Ravuri came in, he introduced himself and explained the procedure. Kate stepped to the other side of the gurney, giving the old doc room to work. She grasped Mr. Anderson’s uninjured hand, lacing her fingers with his. His startled expression tugged at her heart. Didn’t the man have any compassion in his life? No one who cared for him? For the zillionth time, she wondered why he was so afraid of hospitals and gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

  “Dr. Ravuri is a Stitch Master, Grant,” she said while Dr. Ravuri drew up the Lidocaine into a syringe and prepared to inject the local anesthetic into the area in and around the laceration. “Not that you probably care if there’s a scar on your hand. I mean, it’s not like having a laceration to your face or some other visible area, but by the time everything is all healed, you won’t even know you’d had an injury there.”

  The tiny 27-gauge needle pierced Grant’s skin and his fingers tightened on hers. “It’s okay,” she soothed. “Just a few bee-type stings and then you won’t feel a thing. It probably burns like a mother right now, but
that will fade quickly.”

  Dr. Ravuri glanced at her. “Like a mother?” he repeated in heavily accented English, a perplexed expression on his face. “Is that another one of your strange American translations?”

  Kate chuckled, noting that Grant’s tense shoulders relaxed a fraction. “It’s American slang, Dr. R. I’ll explain the meaning to you later. Right now might not be the best time.”

  “I’m not sure I want to know,” Dr. Ravuri said in a dubious tone and turned his attention back to Grant’s injured hand.

  With quick meticulous movements, the curved needle threaded with nylon pierced the skin on either side of the laceration as one might do with a needle and thread through fabric, closing the ragged edges by drawing the gaping skin tight in a neat little line. While he worked, she continued to explain what Dr. Ravuri was doing with each stage of the procedure even though the doctor stated everything himself. Sometimes it was difficult for people to understand his thick accent. Lord knew it had taken Kate several months of working with the man to gain an ear for his accent. Words and phrases were often lost in translation as so often told her.

  Soon, there was a row of neat stitches lining the palm of Grant’s hand and Dr. Ravuri stepped back and admired his work. “You can dress this now, Kate. I’ll go get his discharge instructions ready. I’ve disposed of all of the sharps.”

  “Oakey doke,” she replied and eased her gloved hand from Grant’s firm grip. “See?” she said to Grant. “That wasn’t too bad.”

  She opened a pack of triple antibiotic ointment and slathered some across the lac before covering his injury with fresh sterile gauze and secured the edges with tape. “You’ll want to keep this covered for at least twenty-four hours. After that, if the wound is not draining, you can leave it open to air. Cleanse it daily with antibacterial soap and warm water; and again if the site should get soiled. Follow up with your primary care doctor to have the stitches removed in seven to ten days. Watch for signs of infections like redness, fever, swelling, or pus like drainage. If any of those occur come back to the ER. Do you have any questions, Mr. Anderson?”

  He glanced at her and gave another shake of his head. Had she imagined it or was his gaze a bit warmer? Must be her wayward imagination. He hadn’t even managed a simple thank you. She sighed.

  “Jasmine will be in with your discharge papers for you to sign and show you where to check out.”

  What had she really expected? A smooth conversationalist the mysterious Mr. Anderson was not. She didn’t really understand why she had stayed and held his hand. It wasn’t like Jasmine or one of the other nurses wouldn’t have done the same thing. Everyone she worked with gave excellent and compassionate care. What had compelled her to do so? Was it because he seemed lost and just a bit lonely?

  Kate was a sucker for lost souls, she mused. Well, hopefully she made him feel comforted while he was here, but there were several dozen more people who needed her attention. With a firm mental shake, she placed the tragic Mr. Anderson out of her mind and headed for the triage desk.

  Chapter Three

  Tossing the last of the trash into the bin, Kate drew the plastic handles tight and pulled the now full bag out of the canister. Satisfaction filled her. She loved a clean apartment. More importantly, she loved the renewed freshness when the task was done. The time had come to add new life to her surroundings. Lately, her job in the emergency room had consisted of all work and no play. Not that she was complaining. Her choice of career definitely fed the adrenaline junky that lived deep within her heart and soul, but she wanted to change things up a bit. A lot of her friends had been base-jumping from the Burro Creek Bridge off of Highway 93. Totally badass and right up Kate’s fun meter.

  Well, okay. My Oh Shit meter! She snickered. Jumping would be exciting to be sure, and once she got over the initial Holy Mother of God, what the hell am I doing scream of terror mixed with delight, she knew she’d enjoy the surrounding desert vista views.

  Sad that free falling from some three hundred eighty-eight feet from an old bridge seemed appealing to her. Kate wasn’t a fool. Logically, she knew her thrill seeking behavior stemmed from a lifetime of existing as the outsider in her family. Her parents and younger brother lived in the Midwest. When she’d left home for college, she’d flipped a coin to decide which direction to head off to. Heads would be East and tails would be West. The quarter had landed on tails and she’d applied for colleges in California, Arizona, and Oregon. Finally, she’d settled on Arizona, attracted to the sleek desert vistas and the promise of sunshine year round.

  Away from the constant disapproval of her family, Kate had thrived, getting her nursing degree from Arizona State University and an internship in the emergency room of Phoenix General Hospital. She rarely spoke to her parents. Mostly, she received the obligatory holiday and birthday cards; sometimes a text message from her brother. She told herself that was how she preferred things. It certainly beat having to put up with the constant barrage of criticism. No matter what achievements Kate hurdled over, nothing was ever good enough. Not graduating with a bachelor’s degree with Magna cum laude, buying this condominium at age 25, volunteering her time to the children’s center on her days off, and definitely not traveling all over the world. Her parents had dumped major recriminations on her head whenever she took a trip somewhere that wasn’t back home. Why the hell would she go home? She shook her head. No sane person would intentionally put himself in line for that kind of emotional abuse.

  Kate hummed and left her condo with trash bag in hand, noticing her sexy new neighbor's door across the hall from her own stood half open. She'd seen glimpses of him unloading boxes through the window earlier, and had shamelessly gaped. Silently sending the Dating God prayers of thanks, Kate had gotten her binoculars out and examined every inch of what must be at least six-foot two or three frame of muscled USDA PRIME. It was only then Kate realized what a long drought she’d been in.

  I need to add getting laid to my naughty list of fun. Her thoughts strayed to the sexy Mr. Anderson for the hundredth time over the last two weeks. What was wrong with her that she was obsessed with a dark brooding man who’d barely spoken to her?

  She shook her head and firmly put the cranky man out of her mind, instead choosing to go back to that moment in time when her sexy new neighbor had showed up this morning. Her lips curved at her own dramatic reaction to the guy.

  Oh. My. God! He’d been absolute perfection!

  Fanning herself with one hand, and still holding the binoculars with the other, she'd ogled that perfect specimen in her line of sight. Snug black T-shirt covered a broad, well-defined chest. He'd stacked a box on top of another and lifted both easily, biceps flexing. Her mouth had gone dry. She’d angled the peepers to take in the rest of the yummy view. Black jeans clung to powerful thighs and a firm ass. A soft moan escaped from her parted lips. Black was now her new favorite color.

  Through the clear glass of the binoculars, she’d checked his left hand for a wedding ring and it had been blessedly void of anything shiny. Not that that meant anything in this day and age. Some people were married and never wore any signs of the vows they’d taken.

  But a girl could hope, couldn’t she?

  The object of her fascination had looked up then and caught her—binoculars and all. Never one to be shy about her overt nosy nature, she'd smiled and waved. He hadn’t returned her hello. Instead, a frown curved his full lips. An old denim baseball cap slung low on his head but she’d been able to make out chestnut hair curling from heat and sweat. Kate wished she'd been able to see what color his eyes were before she'd been detected and closed her curtain.

  There was an air of familiarity about him. Almost as if she’d seen that man somewhere before. Imagining their first meeting because Kate definitely had plans to borrow a cup of sugar, eggs... Hell, his whole entire refrigerator if it got her in the door. The conversation in her head went something like I’ve seen you somewhere. Have we met before? Or maybe, You look familiar... Ka
te wrinkled her nose. How very cliché! She shrugged and let the puzzle go or it would drive her nuts trying to piece everything together.

  Now, standing before his open door, she set the trash bag down in the hall, pure curiosity lured her through the entrance. There was no way she was going to miss an opportunity to introduce herself to Mr. Sexy you can have my number any day of the week who’d taken up residence in the only other condominium on the third floor of the old historic warehouse building in which she lived.

  "Hello? Anybody home?" Kate called out.

  Silence greeted her. Her gaze swept the expansive space, which was the opposite floor plan as her own. All the boxes he'd brought upstairs to the third floor apartment were randomly stacked along one wall. A sleek black leather couch and glass coffee table with chrome legs had been pushed off to the other side of the room by the large window, leaving the center of the room free and clear. It was almost as if he hadn’t quite decided where he’d want the pieces positioned. Sunlight streamed in, highlighting the extensive stereo system that took up the opposite wall of the living room, complete with an eighty-inch big screen TV. This guy was serious about his entertainment or he was compensating for something, but after seeing the television’s owner, she certainly didn’t think the man had ever had to compensate for a single thing in his life.

  Curious about his musical tastes, Kate walked over and turned the power button on. The seductive beat of the Tango poured through the speakers.

  God, when was the last time I'd had the opportunity burn up the dance floor and put those salsa dancing lessons to use?

  The erotic lure of the Latin beat pulsed through her veins and she tapped the floor with a sandled foot. She glanced around the room looking for something when her gaze touched upon a pencil that lay on the coffee table next to a few scattered nails and a hammer.