No Rules

by Starr Ambrose

  She found it easily. She raided the bathroom for towels, too, grabbing an armful of every size. When she got back he had removed the thobe that had served as a pressure bandage and was muttering curses as he lifted the undershirt over his head.

  “Stop being so macho, and let me help,” she ordered. She pulled the undershirt off, then laid it over the couch beneath him to protect the fabric from blood. “Now lie down and let me see that cut.”

  He grunted as he eased down. “What do you know about first aid?”

  “I know when to call a doctor,” she said, biting her lip as she looked at the gaping dark red line that trickled fresh blood. “Now would be a good time.”

  “Kyle’s a medic.” He dug his phone out of his pants pocket, grunting with pain as he moved.

  “Kyle’s not here.”

  “You are. I’m sure you can follow instructions.” He dialed. “You should probably wash your hands.”

  She stood for a moment, racked with different emotions and not sure which he would respond to: fury, fear, sympathy, or—it seemed worth repeating—fear. He had a way of dragging her into things until she was over her head. In fact, that’s all he’d ever done, taking her to Chicago, taking her to Egypt, taking her to Hakim’s where a stranger had stabbed him. Now he expected her to play doctor and fix him up.

  The presumption of it made her frustrated.

  The idea of being responsible for healing him scared her to death.

  The obvious pain he was in jerked her right back to sympathy, unable to bear the wincing she saw behind his rigid mask of manly fortitude. It didn’t fool her. He was pale and sweating, nearly in shock. It outweighed everything else.

  She dashed to the kitchen, ripping off her hijab and abaya, then running hot water and looking frantically through the open shelves as she soaped her hands. Their only containers consisted of two pans, one small and one large. She filled them both, added liquid soap to the small one, and carried them back to the living room.

  He was talking on the phone while leaning over, grimacing as he dug through the bag. She shoved him back, not gently since he tried to resist, and grabbed the bag from his hands. “That’s mine,” she told him. “Now lie still so I can see how bad this is.”

  He looked surprised, but obeyed. As he related the attack to Kyle, she soaked a washcloth in the soapy water and began cleaning away blood. They undoubtedly had a disinfectant in their first-aid kit, but she knew without asking that soap and water would be best for cleaning.

  Except…“Damn it. This is tap water. I didn’t boil it.”

  “Don’t worry, I doubt he sterilized the knife before he stabbed me. Here, I’m going to put Kyle on speaker.”

  He laid the phone on his chest and Kyle’s voice came through small but clear. “Describe the cut to me, Jess.”

  She stuffed towels beneath Donovan’s side to soak up the water as she washed. “It’s about six inches long. There’s a lot of blood.”

  “Is it still bleeding?”

  “Yes. Not much, though.” She sighed with relief, one fear eased.

  “Okay, look in the bag for latex gloves. Then I want you to pull the edge of the wound back gently and tell me how deep it is.”

  With gloved hands, she touched the edge of the cut gently, then pushed. Donovan hissed through clenched teeth. More blood ran out, and she pulled back, dabbing at it with a new washcloth. “I don’t want to hurt him.”

  Donovan’s steady gaze held hers. “I’m fine, just do it.”

  “Can you see yellow, fatty tissue below the skin?” Kyle asked.

  Ick. “Yes.”

  “Is it more than a quarter inch deep? A half inch? Look all along the cut.”

  Gritting her teeth, she gingerly parted the sides and touched the gaping center. Donovan’s jaw clenched and he looked at the ceiling, but said nothing.

  “Between a quarter and a half.”

  “Okay, that’s good. I don’t think we have any major damage, but we have to get the wound disinfected and closed. Look in the bag for a surgical mask—we don’t want you breathing all over the wound. Also Betadine, syringes, and meds. There should be a couple small bottles of antibiotic and something to anesthetize the area. Don’t worry about the gloves, you’ll put on new ones. Tell me when you find everything.”

  She dug around, then in frustration, dumped the contents onto a towel. “I have a syringe, antibiotic, and Betadine. No mask. No painkiller.” She met Donovan’s gaze, biting her lip. He said nothing. “Do we have whiskey, or something like that?”

  Donovan managed a tight smile. “Watched a lot of Westerns, did you?”

  “It wouldn’t have time to take effect,” Kyle said. “How about needles and sutures? There should be a box that says something like surgical-gut sutures, plus a curved needle, like a large hook.”

  She looked. “Got them both.”

  She knew where these instructions were going, but refused to think ahead. Kyle’s voice remained steady and matter of fact, guiding her through preparations so that she felt like his assistant, more of a nurse than a doctor. Kneeling at Donovan’s side, she cleaned the cut again then, following Kyle’s instructions, handed him several clean washcloths so he could blot excess blood as she worked.

  “All right,” Kyle said in his unflappable voice “Have you ever mended a tear in anything?”

  “My teddy bear.”

  “This is the same thing. Pinch the end of the wound together and take your first stitch. It’s like sticking a needle through an orange peel. You want to poke through the skin far enough away from the cut that it won’t pull loose.”

  She glanced at Donovan. He nodded. “Go ahead, Jess. I trust you.”

  “Oh, God,” she groaned. She wanted to throw the needle down and back into a corner, but she couldn’t. There was no one else there, and Donovan needed her. Praying her fingers wouldn’t tremble, she punched the curved needle into his skin.

  Donovan clenched his jaw and grunted as it slipped through. “Sorry,” she muttered, shaken at causing him more pain. Gingerly, she pulled it the rest of the way, shaking off a touch of nausea at the resistance of the suture passing through skin.

  Only slightly less hesitant, she repeated it on the other side of the wound, then brought the ends up and tied and cut them. She tried not to watch his face, but she couldn’t avoid seeing the rapid rise and fall of his chest and hear the panted breaths he took. Beads of sweat stood on his brow.

  “Kyle, he’s in pain.”

  “He’ll live,” Kyle answered. Curt, but not without sympathy. He was more used to accepting the rough patches of life than she was. They all were.

  “Jess.” Donovan’s words were short and interspersed with heavy breathing. “It’ll be better if you hurry.”

  It would be better if she could deaden his pain. Or distract him from it somehow. And her reluctance wasn’t helping him. She needed to think of Donovan, not her own squeamish discomfort.

  With sudden determination, she pulled off her gloves, then grabbed her T-shirt and whipped it over her head.

  “What-?” Donovan’s voice broke. “What the hell are you doing?”

  She glanced down at her bra’s lacy, demicup design—sexy, but nothing a low-cut evening gown wouldn’t show. Hardly enough to be a distraction. With a determined breath, she unhooked the bra and tossed it aside. Her nipples immediately puckered under his startled gaze.

  “Sweet Jesus.”

  She slipped on a new pair of gloves and met Donovan’s stare with a level gaze. “Focus on me, not the pain.”

  “Believe me, I am.”

  “What’s going on?” Kyle asked, his voice edged with worry.

  “Nothing,” she told him. “Just making the patient comfortable.”

  Without another word, she took a deep breath and a second stitch, this time without flinching. And a third. As she went on, she got faster, forgetting about Donovan’s intense stare and concentrating on pulling the stitches together without puckering the skin. His b
reathing didn’t slow, but it didn’t get worse, and he remained silent until she sat back on her heels with a sigh.

  “Done. Thirty-four stitches. I hope that’s enough.”

  “Is his stuffing coming out?”

  “What?”

  Kyle chuckled. “Is the wound bleeding?”

  “No, I don’t think so.” Amazing.

  “Then congratulations, you’re done. Grab some gauze and tape a nice fat pad of it over the cut. Then shoot him up with the antibiotic.”

  “Got it.” She reached for the gauze, tape, and scissors. She almost hated to cover it up. The neat line of stitches looked professional, at least after the first few uneven ones. Far better than Pookie Bear’s had looked. She smiled, impressed with what she’d done. Despite all her fear and uncertainty, when forced to act, she’d done a good job.

  “Donovan, you still with us?” Kyle asked.

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “We’ll be back in a couple hours. I’ll check you then.”

  “Okay.”

  “By the way, I hate to add more bad news, but we didn’t find anything useful.”

  “Okay.”

  “I mean, the island can’t be the right place.”

  “I understand.”

  “Which means we’re shit out of luck unless Mitch finds something.”

  “Right.”

  “Really, I don’t know where else to look.”

  “That’s too bad. I do.”

  “What?”

  The odd conversation finally registered. Jess stopped admiring her handiwork and looked up.

  “See ya later.” Donovan tossed the phone off his chest and grunted painfully as he propped himself up on one elbow. “Hey. I like your bedside manner, Doc.”

  His quirky smile finally did it, reminding her that she was still topless. “Oh.” She blushed and crossed her hands over her breasts, instantly annoyed at herself for doing so, but unable to muster the same confidence she’d had when she’d stripped her clothes off. “This is not me.”

  “Oh, I think it is.”

  “No, I mean I don’t do stuff like this. I was, uh, living in the moment.”

  “Uh-huh. I’m still in the moment. And may I say, incredibly appreciative.” He tugged her forward and took her mouth in a deep kiss.

  “Mmm,” she hummed, intending it to be a protest. But it turned into pleasure under the delicious feel of his lips on hers, and the even better feel of her breasts flattened against his bare chest. In an instant, heat flashed through her, pebbling her nipples and settling between her thighs with a yearning ache. It happened so quickly her mind spun, aware she shouldn’t be lying across him but unwilling to pull away from something that felt so good. Besides, his hand had moved to the back of her head, holding her in place as he plundered her mouth, and his other hand had slipped between them, caressing her breast and flooding her body with more luscious heat. The kind of heat that made her squirm all over and want to take the rest of her clothes off. To press her naked body against his and imagine that with this man, sex might be everything it was supposed to be. Even injured, Donovan got to her like no one else ever had.

  He was injured. This couldn’t be good for him.

  “Stop.” She pushed away, then hastily jerked her hands off his chest. “We can’t do this. You’re hurt.”

  His finger threaded into her hair possessively, even as he winced in pain. “I’m feeling much better, Doc.”

  This time she shoved harder, jumping to her feet. “You’ll reopen your wound.” Snatching her T-shirt off the floor, she clutched it to her chest, hiding what he kept staring at.

  “God, you’re gorgeous. Come back here.”

  His husky voice sent more hot ripples of excitement through her, dampening her panties. She wanted him. And he obviously wanted her. Desire warred with common sense, telling her the patient said he felt better and he should know, so why was she worried if he wasn’t? He wouldn’t even have to move. She’d done a good job of stitching him up and stopping the bleeding. Her gaze strayed to the clean white bandage at his side for proof.

  A small circle of blood colored one end of the bandage. “You’re still bleeding.”

  He glanced down. “It’s nothing. Come here.”

  With a huff, she turned away from him, fumbling her way into the bra and T-shirt.

  He chuckled. “Did you just turn your back to get dressed?”

  “Shut up.” She tugged her shirt down and turned around, glaring at him.

  “How are you going to take care of me from way over there?”

  “You’re fine,” she reminded him. If she truly believed it, she’d be all over him, testing whether he really could break through the inhibitions that had frustrated her for so long. But not at the risk of injuring him further, and not before Kyle checked him out.

  Unfortunately, he had a point about taking care of him. He still needed help. “You lost a lot of blood. You need fluids.”

  She got a bottle of water from the refrigerator. He sighed in defeat as he accepted it, opening it and guzzling half. She cleaned up as he finished it, repacking the first-aid kit.

  He lay back down. “Since I can’t have the best possible medicine, which would be you, can you find any aspirin in there?”

  “There’s nothing. I have Motrin in my suitcase. Want one?”

  “Two or three sounds better.”

  So it did still hurt. She brought two pills, offering them with a sympathetic smile. The circle of blood hadn’t gotten much bigger so she didn’t offer to check it. The less she touched him right now the better. His eyes still watched her with fevered intent, even if his body wouldn’t let him follow up on it. Well, part of his body. Another part was evident beneath his pants, still ready for action.

  Their kiss had reopened a door, and she knew that this time he wouldn’t slam it closed. Nor did she want him to. She wouldn’t let it get in the way of the mission and knew without question that Donovan wouldn’t either, but acting on their impulses had become inevitable.

  She’d never felt as alive as she was in his arms. The strong sense of danger about him that should have scared her into running the other way had sparked an attraction she couldn’t explain. Somehow she knew she was safe with him. There was control behind everything he did, a sense of danger held in check. That was power, a sexy kind she’d had no experience with in her safe, sheltered life.

  It was time to change that.

  …

  In the stifling heat of the afternoon, with ebbing adrenaline turning into sheer exhaustion, sleep overcame the dull throb in his side. Donovan awoke to a hand caressing his forehead and he reached up to clasp the delicate fingers in his own before opening his eyes. He found himself holding hands with a smiling Avery.

  “No fever,” she reported. “Good reflexes.”

  He pulled his hand back as Kyle knelt and, without asking, pulled off the gauze dressing. “Good job,” he approved as Donovan gritted his teeth and said nothing. Kyle probed lightly around the wound, then more firmly all around his abdomen. “Seems normal, no internal bleeding. How’s it feel?”

  “It’s okay,” he said, sticking to the man code of what didn’t make you cry was merely a scratch. It wasn’t exactly a lie. The knife wound felt exactly as it should, like a painful assault to his body that had missed vital organs and would heal without complications.

  Jess apparently didn’t believe him. “It bled a lot,” she told Kyle anxiously.

  “Not too much, or he’d be more pale and weak. He’ll be fine. You did a nice job.”

  Avery peered over his shoulder as she peeled off her hijab and abaya, stripping down to jean shorts and a T-shirt that read Property of the U.S. Army. She seconded Kyle’s opinion as he set about applying a new dressing.

  Jess wrung her hands. “How badly does this set us back?”

  Kyle laughed. “Not at all. In fact, it helps us. Here, I picked this up for you on the way back,” he said, handing Donovan a couple pills as he got to his f
eet. “One now, one before bed. Give it half an hour to kick in and you’ll be good to go, cowboy.”

  “Thanks.” He took his time sitting up, felt a hot pain lance his side, and figured that was enough exertion for now. He’d have to move around soon, though, to ensure his muscles didn’t tighten up and make him stiff.

  He wasn’t sure if Jess’s anxious look was because he sat up, or because of what Kyle had said. “How can it possibly help us that someone stabbed Tyler?” she asked.

  He noted her use of his first name with a pleasure he couldn’t deny. Her feelings for him had shifted, becoming more personal. So had his; a surge of possessiveness hit him like an electric shock. It was enough to make him mentally pull back, to reassess what he’d thought was simple, healthy lust.

  What was he thinking? Lust didn’t involve possession; it was hit and run, the no-strings type of encounter that fit well with his life. Possessiveness implied a relationship, a permanence that was poison for a man in his profession. Wally had taught him that. A man who lived as he did, flying off to different countries on covert missions, risking his life, had no right to include a woman in that life. Especially not the daughter Wally had lost due to those exact same choices.

  It was a good thing she’d used his first name like that, making him realize his feelings were getting out of hand. No doubt gratitude played some part in his feelings. She’d stepped far outside the boundaries of her normal life when she whipped her top off and stitched his cut. Anyone would be appreciative. And that was all he had a right to feel.

  He could start making that clear by giving her a logical answer to her impassioned question about how stabbing him was helpful.

  “The attack tells us they know we’re here,” he explained. “And they’re worried. They must have been watching for us, and knew Hakim was Wally’s friend. Once we showed up, they watched for their best chance and went for you. If they’re that worried about stopping you, it’s more confirmation of what we already knew, that your information could bring them down. We just need to figure out what it means.”

  Her mouth opened in surprise. “Stopping me?” He could almost see her replaying the attack in her mind as she stared at him. “That’s why you shoved me aside. He was trying to get me, not you.”