He was the opposite of every man she’d ever had an interest in.
So why was she drawn to him so completely right from the first moment she’d clapped eyes on him? It was so totally unfair. And unprofessional. And unlike her. A whole range of ‘uns’ that she couldn’t think of now. Not when she had to go and touch him again and deal with his injured hand.
Stupid bloody idiotic man racing to her rescue. Who told him she needed rescuing? She should be angry with him, except, she wasn’t. There’d been a part of her that had thrilled to the fact he’d done it. For her. So out of character for someone who was always in control. So bloody hot.
‘Damn it, Prita. It wasn’t hot. It was stupid. Careless and rash and stupid.’
And if anyone knew rash and stupid, it was her. Her teenage years had been made up of one rash decision after another as she’d rebelled against her mother’s family and their religious and cultural strictures, in an effort to prove that she could live her life on full throttle like her papa, that she belonged with him and not with them. Some of those rash decisions had ended up well and others were completely disastrous. She was determined not to make any of those mistakes again. If not for herself, for Carter.
‘Everything okay?’
Her eyes snapped open—when had she closed them?—and she stared at Flynn, leaning against the doorframe with that serious expression that did something to her insides that was medically impossible. The thrill of his presence raced through her, and if she was still being rash and thoughtless, she would cross that room now and plaster herself against him and lose herself to the magic she knew she’d find in his arms and hands and lips.
His hands.
Crap. She needed to get a grip and treat him like the patient he was. He’d hurt his hand and she had to fix it. And not entertain some stupid sexual fantasy. She reached up and pulled her ponytail nice and tight. ‘I told you to wait in the treatment room.’
‘You were taking a long time.’
‘I was only gone a few minutes.’ She forced herself not to roll her eyes and smiled her doctor’s smile. ‘Come on. Let’s get your hand sorted.’
She ushered him down the hall and into the treatment room, telling herself over and over that she was the doctor and he was her patient and for god’s sake, stop looking at his arse and those long-muscled legs.
She closed the door behind her. He turned to look at her, gaze clashing with hers and she was suddenly aware of how small this room was. And was the air conditioning not working? She listened. She could hear the whir of the fan. It was on. She licked her lips. His gaze tracked the movement. Breath tightened in her lungs.
She shouldn’t have come in with him alone. And closed the door. Should have taken him out back to where everyone was. Although, that would have been stupid as all her equipment was here. Maybe she could run out there and call Cherry in to help, even though she wasn’t officially starting as the practice’s registered nurse-cum-practice manager-cum-receptionist until Monday. Speaking of which, she would have to source someone to help Cherry because, despite being an amazing dynamo, Cherry couldn’t manage reception, practice managing and nursing. You see, this was good. Thinking of other things. Of organising everything the way it should be. That was helping her to forget Flynn as a man and see him as a patient.
You can do this.
‘Where do you want me?’
It was on the tip of her tongue to say something completely inappropriate, but knowing her, she’d say it out loud, so she swallowed down the urge and forced a smile. ‘Go sit on the examination bed.’
He strode to the bed. Oh god, his shoulders were broad, his back straight and tapered in that way that made a woman’s mouth water. He had nice legs, the calves well shaped and—
No. Patient. Doctor. That’s what was happening here. No thinking about sexy legs or other bits of heat making male appendages.
She made herself walk calmly over to the basin in the far corner and washed her hands with the disinfectant soap, drying them with the paper towel, wishing she could splash some of the cool water on her overheated face and neck—and chest and stomach and … She sucked in a breath and turned to face him. ‘Okay. Let me look at this hand.’
‘It’s fine.’
She gave him a look she’d learned from one of the doctors in the emergency room she’d done a rotation with—that look always managed to quell even the surliest of patients. In response he shot her a lopsided grin and held out his hand. ‘Good to see you’re being sensible.’ She walked the few steps towards him. Damn, she was going to have to touch him. She could do this. She could do this. The fight had just elevated her adrenaline levels, that was all. She was a professional. A doctor. And he was a patient in need of treatment. A simple transaction. That was all this was.
She took his hand in hers, managing to ignore the spark of fire that burned from the point of contact through every nerve in her body and flashed back up to her groin in liquid heat. Oh god, could he see her blushing? Ignore it and do the job. She cleared her throat. ‘You’ve split your knuckles open and there’s a cut in the palm that will need suturing. Can you move your fingers?’
‘Yes.’
She touched each of them and asked him to wiggle. He did so. ‘Good. I don’t think you’ve broken anything, although, if the pain increases or is still as bad in a few days, I think you should get it X-rayed.’
‘Will I be able to work with it like this?’
He sounded really worried, her mouth widening in a not-good-news-smile/grimace. ‘Not really or you’ll chance pulling the sutures out. You’ll also have to keep it clean or you could get a nasty infection and that would really put you out.’
‘We have a ride tomorrow.’
‘You can ride but you can’t saddle up.’
‘Damn it.’
‘I’m sure Reid and the others will be able to take care of it for you.’
‘They shouldn’t have to.’
‘That’s what happens when you go around starting fights.’
‘I didn’t start the fight.’
‘No, Bob did that. You just ended it. You’re my hero,’ she said, lifting her hand to her forehead and batting her eyes at him, all Scarlett O’Hara like.
He snorted, the movement of air brushing across her cheek, chasing little frissons of thrill over her skin. She swallowed hard, ignoring the sensation.
‘I’m no hero.’
Surprised at the bitterness in his tone, she dropped her hand and met his gaze. ‘I appreciate you trying to help.’
‘Even though it wasn’t necessary and I possibly made things worse?’
Her lips quirked. ‘Even then.’
Their gazes clung for long seconds until he flinched and she realised her thumb had brushed over his knuckles. Coughing, she let go of his hand. ‘So, sutures.’ She moved away to the cabinet against the far wall to get supplies, putting bandages, saline solution and a suturing kit on a little trolley and wheeled it to the lock safe where she got out a vial of topical anaesthesia.
She finished prepping the trolley, took a deep breath to steady herself, and forced herself into doctor mode. When she was in doctor mode, she could conquer anything. Doctor mode allowed her to channel her need for adrenaline with calm and control. As one of the doctors said when she was doing her ER rotation, that capacity made her a ‘superlative’ doctor in high adrenaline situations. She wasn’t sure she felt so superlative right now, but she would settle for reasonably good.
Turning, she pushed the trolley over to him. ‘I’ll just clean the wound first and then give you a topical anaesthetic to help numb the area while I suture it. I’ll give you some painkillers to take for when that wears off.’
‘That won’t be necessary.’
‘I thought you said you weren’t a hero.’ She quirked her brow at him. ‘Take the painkillers.’
‘Yes, doctor.’
She smiled at his half-mocking acquiescence. ‘Are you ready?’
‘Yep.’
> She went to work, hands steady the moment she began, as they always were when she lost herself in her job, in the clinical, analytical side of it. It wasn’t until she was done that she noticed the warmth of his breath brushing the side of her face. She glanced up. He was watching what she was doing. ‘Most people don’t like to see the needle in their skin.’
‘I’m not most people.’
‘No, you’re not.’
Their gazes met again and this time, god help her, she couldn’t look away. And why was she standing between his legs? The warmth of them tingled along her sides, even though he wasn’t touching her. She was so aware of them. She knew she should move away, move back, but she couldn’t, instead shifting a little closer to the bed, to him, so that his legs now touched her hips, those gorgeous, strong legs that could control a horse with the mere pressure of his knees. Dizziness swung over her, around her, the world shifting and she reached out to catch herself, her hand on his leg, the heat of him felt even through the thick drill material of his shorts. Breath hissed between his teeth and she looked up to see him staring down at her, eyes blazing with heat.
‘Prita.’
She swallowed, her throat so horribly, wantonly, dry. ‘I’m your doctor,’ she said, trying to remind herself of the protocol, of procedure.
‘Are you finished?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then you’re no longer my doctor.’
‘I’ve still got to write you up some painkillers.’
‘I don’t want them.’
‘Flynn.’
‘Prita.’
His breath brushed over her face. The fingers of his bandaged hand covered hers over his leg, warm and large and reminding her that she was touching him. Oh god, she should have moved her hand away from him, but she couldn’t. It felt too good. Her fingers moved, kneading the firm muscles there as if she was a cat kneading a blanket, instinct and that rush of adrenaline taking over reason. She knew she shouldn’t let it, but oh god, it felt so good and it had been so long.
He made a little choking sound in his throat. She licked her lips. His gaze tracked the movement. She did it again, bit her lip.
‘Don’t do that.’
‘What?’
‘Bite your lip. Your lips deserve better treatment than that.’
‘How?’
He groaned and then his lips were on hers.
She was expecting an assault of lips and teeth and tongue, with the amount of heat, the unwanted pull of desire that had built between them over months and months, but when his lips covered hers, it was with a gentleness that brought pricks of tears to her eyes. He nibbled with lips and teeth and tongue, soft little sups and licks, as if he was trying to know her lips, her mouth, every little crease and dip and fold, as if he was savouring every touch, every intimacy. His bandaged hand moved, gripping around her waist and pulling her closer—not that he needed to pull her closer when she was already plastered up against him, the hardness of his chest and stomach a delicious warmth against hers, the thickening rise of his penis pressing against her stomach pushing awareness up unbearably.
Oh that felt so good. She’d never known that to feel so good. She wanted more.
She slid her hands from his thighs, up to the top of his shorts, pushing under his shirt and skimming along the heated skin just above the band, the fine hairs on his stomach tickling against her skin. Oh, my, he was well-muscled. Her fingers flexed against him. A cat. She was being a cat again. And like a cat, she wanted to lick.
She licked along the seam of his lips as he’d just done to her, savouring the flavour of him, wishing he’d open up and let her inside. He made a growly sound in his throat, so she did it again, a sense of power shooting through her when his penis flexed against her. Why had she denied this for so long? It had been stupid. She was a grown woman. He was a grown man. There was no reason— ‘Oh.’ His mouth lefts hers to suckle his way down her throat, his hands sliding up to move over her breasts. She moved into him, nipples aching for more. He suckled at the base of her throat, thumbs circling her distended nipples, pushing against her bra. She wanted to tear off that bra. It was suddenly too tight, the soft lace too rough against her sensitised skin. His good hand moved up to cup her face, fingers sliding into her hair, loosening her ponytail until her hair fell, free and curling in heavy waves, around her shoulders. He lifted his head then, gaze roaming over her features, hand stroking through her hair.
‘Silk,’ he murmured. ‘Warm silk.’
She didn’t get to reply before his lips were on hers again, sipping and licking and stroking, offering more than he took, until she opened to him, and he slid inside where she’d wanted him to be from the very first moment she’d seen him a year and a half ago. He’d swung down from the back of a horse, his face sweaty and dust-covered, and laughed as Aaron ran up to him, tousling his son’s hair and smiled in a way that made Prita catch her breath.
It had made her ache with longing and with fear and she’d been fighting the attraction ever since.
Oh god, what was she doing? This wasn’t what she wanted. It wasn’t what she could have.
She pushed at his chest—how had her hands made it inside his shirt?—and stumbled back as he let her go immediately. She caught herself by grabbing at his leg again, then let go as if she’d been burned.
He stared at her.
She stared at him.
Then without saying another word, she turned and ran out of the room.
Chapter 4
Flynn could hardly catch his breath. His mind was spinning. What the hell had just happened? He’d never intended to kiss her. Had most definitely planned never to kiss her. But she’d been standing so close, her touch so soft as she’d sutured his hand, her light, slightly spicy perfume rising up to entice him, to urge him to shift closer. He’d held out against it though. She was doing a job and had no idea of the wild insanity of his thoughts.
But when her hand had landed on his leg and she’d dug her fingers into his muscle, kneading, had looked up at him with that fire in her eyes, any thoughts of control had turned to ash and he’d become the flame in her eyes, the madness of desire in his mind, needing to know her in every way, to taste, to scent, to touch to discover and savour, slowly, surely. He’d had no more ability to stop himself from kissing her as she leaned up to him than he would have a herd of wild Brumbies from stampeding from a threat.
And hell! The taste of her. The feel of her soft lips against his, then her tongue as she’d opened to him and allowed him to slip inside. She’d trembled in his arms as he’d trembled at her every touch. His mind had filled with fire, with light and heat, and he couldn’t think beyond that moment.
Then she’d stiffened and pushed away and the fire had turned to bitter ash.
He scraped his hand over his chin and swore as the fresh bandages snagged on the bristles. ‘Shit.’ Had he hurt her? Did she show signs of his manhandling her? Should he go check on her? But where had she gone? He didn’t think she would go back out to the party. No, if he knew her at all, she would seek out a space for herself, to think, to be alone. She didn’t seem to mind her own company at all.
Completely opposite to him. He hated to be alone, to be caught with his thoughts. He didn’t used to be that way. Just another change ever since he’d lost Anna.
He slid off the bed, annoyed at the jelly-like quality of his legs, the tingling sensation skating over his skin from where he could still feel the echo of her touch. Shake it off, Flynn. Go make sure she’s okay and promise never to touch her again.
The door to the family space was slightly ajar, confirming his belief she’d gone upstairs.
He jogged up the stairs and went straight to her room. He’d helped Reid and Mac carry the beds and furniture up here, so he knew which one was hers.
She stood by the window, staring out at the bush, at the sun turning the blue-tinged hills silvery as it lowered itself towards the horizon. Sunset was hours away, thank god. He hated that time of day when
the land turned orange and pink, and his chest would tighten, his skin tingle with the crawl of ants until the orange and pink turned to lilac and then the deep, dark purple of night and he could breathe once more.
He shook his head. He didn’t want to think of that now. He needed to keep his mind clear of the fears that bound him and make amends with Prita. Try to make her understand how much of a mistake the kiss was. How sorry he was. Beg her to forget it. He didn’t want to lose her as a friend.
‘Prita.’
She didn’t jump at the sound of his voice, as if she’d known he was there. Instead, she dipped her head, turning slightly to look over her shoulder before turning back to the view.
‘Prita, we need to talk.’
She sighed and then, after a long moment, turned to face him. ‘No. No, we don’t.’
He took a step into her room, but she shifted, her hands coming up a little in front of her, almost defensive. The move stabbed him in the chest, in the heart. Did she fear him? Maybe she had a reason to. He had no idea what was in her past. Why she was alone the way she was. It had always struck him as strange that someone so amazing wasn’t already married or at least with someone, and yet, she was doing the single mother thing and had never so much as indicated there was anyone in her life apart from Carter. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘For what?’
He gestured, at a loss for words to explain the depth of what he was sorry for. ‘The kiss.’
She waved her hand. ‘Don’t worry about it.’
He frowned. Her words were easy, but there was something about the way she held her mouth, the set of her shoulders, that told him she wasn’t as cool about it as she was trying to appear. ‘I am worried about it. It shouldn’t have happened.’
‘No. It shouldn’t. But it did.’
‘Yes and—’
She held up her hand. ‘Let’s forget it, okay?’
Blazing Fear Page 4